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Ben May is a Mount Sinai High School senior student. Photo from Ben May.

It doesn’t take much to start helping the environment.

Eight-year-old me was exploring a stream with my brother and our friends. As we began heading home, I spotted a large plastic container sitting on the bank. Everyone else seemed to ignore it, but I wandered over to examine its contents. After a quick examination, I decided it contained nothing of interest and threw it back to the ground. My brother yelled up at me to ask why I was not recycling it.

I responded, “No one else is going to do that, why do I have to clean it up?”

With a stern face, he said, “For exactly that reason.”

From this quick conversation, my outlook on the world was forever changed. Humanity faces many challenges, but not everyone chooses to help confront them. The environment is in danger of destruction; it is our obligation to save it.

I began my environmental activism at Mount Sinai High School. As a sophomore, I founded the Environmental Outreach Club. This club implemented a recycling program and facilitated annual beach cleanups each year with a turnout of more than 70 students. It amazed me how many people were ready to help. Even a small group of passionate youth can make an observable difference. Then, last fall, I found myself one of three high school students on the planning committee for the first Long Island Youth Ocean Conservation Summit. This event, where participants heard from environmentalists such as Fabien Cousteau, was meant to bring about youth-driven conservation efforts. Since earning a minigrant from the summit, the Environmental Outreach Club has been pressing for the elimination of one-use bottles and cans from the cafeteria of Mount Sinai High School.

Thus far, we have installed three water bottle refill stations throughout the school and plan on selling reusable bottles at the cafeteria. We hope to later replace the vending machines with beverage fountains to eliminate the need for one-use cans and bottles. Local projects usually have the most powerful impact to someone’s community with small-scale actions creating large-scale changes; however, national endeavors bring a far-reaching aspect to environmentalism.

Last year, I had the honor to be a member of the seven-person Sea Youth Rise Up delegation to lobby President Barack Obama (D) to establish a new marine protected area off the coast of Cape Cod. We met with the Environmental Quality Council at the White House, ran a live international broadcast on World Oceans Day, filmed a documentary and visited the United Nations in New York City to bring attention to the cause. As a teenager, it is difficult to enact change at the federal level, but this opportunity enabled me to engage in debates that directly affected legislation. When Obama heard our collective voices and established the Northeast Canyons and Seamounts National Monument, which protects large sections of the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Cape Cod, I realized change can be created by anyone — no matter their age. After returning from the Sea Youth Rise Up campaign, I was appointed communications coordinator for the national Youth Ocean Conservation Summit organization, was a guest speaker at this year’s Long Island YOCS, and have been invited to speak at an upcoming TEDx event in London this June.

From my limited personal experience so far, the world of environmentalism is composed of smart, passionate people. Today — even when temperatures and sea level are rising, fish stocks are being depleted, water is becoming scarce, petrochemicals are being added to the oceans at an exponentially increasing rate and a mass extinction is occurring — I am still extremely hopeful. After meeting other people who help mitigate these ailments of our society,  both by small-scale and large-scale actions, I am confident in our collective ability to save our world.

Over my few years of being an environmental advocate, I have learned two things: the opportunities to get involved are endless, and an open door foreshadows more doors to come. Every opportunity that presented itself to me has been the product of some previous action I had taken — all tracing back to my brother yelling at me to throw out a piece of plastic.

Ben May is a Mount Sinai High School senior and is the founder of the Environmental Outreach Club at the school.

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By Paul Feinberg

While walking near Central Park the other day, watching the construction of a massive skyscraper, a thought came to mind. On one hand, we as humans posses the brilliance to make this happen, and on the other hand, we have difficulty getting along in a humanistic manner.  Amazing, I say. Sad, I say. Unfortunate, upsetting and disturbing, I say.

In the words of Bob Dylan, “the times they are a changin’.”  But for the better? Or for the worse?     

As I see it, the concept of abuse is out of control. Whether the form taken is physical, mental, sexual, drug, alcohol, eating, et al., it appears out of control.

How difficult it is for humans to fully embrace the concept of “things are the way they are, because we, together, allow it; because we choose to be disconnected.” We seem to struggle to think clearly and to stay united and connected. It takes a conscious level of awareness or mindfulness, or whichever terminology fits, to be developed and focused.

Again we are currently witnessing a high level of abuse in our society, in various forms: violence, terrorism, drug abuse, mental abuse, suffering, among others. We all play a part in allowing it to continue. We can all benefit by training our minds to be caring, respectful, gentle, kind, loving, understanding, tolerant, patient and sensitive with each other and also with ourselves.

We have collectively allowed ourselves to tolerate behaviors which have become the norm in today’s society; behaviors which are abusive, hurtful and disrespectful. Consider allowing ourselves to focus on the effect our behavior has on ourselves and on others — to create a healthier society.

Focus on the effect our behavior is having on the receiver, with regard to sincerity, honesty, caring, understanding, sensitivity, love, compassion and truthfulness — so that this new approach may become infectious and result in an epidemic — like a plague, or a disease which spreads rapidly through society.

Each of us has within us the potential to develop this new consciousness, with the proper training, guidance and support. Let us focus not solely on ourselves, but on others — and collectively work towards creating a healthy society for ourselves and future generations.

Let us allow ourselves to empower ourselves, to feel a greater energy in being part of building a consistently better place to live. Let us be constructors of the creation, rather than recipients of unhealthy circumstances created by individuals with, perhaps, unhealthy motivations.

We do not have to accept these changing times, if we learn how to empower ourselves. Let us collectively do this — in great numbers. Let us not just talk about it. Let us live it as part of our lifestyle on a daily basis.

In the words of Eli Wiesel, “We must always take sides, neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented. We must interfere.”

Paul Feinberg lives in S. Setauket. He is a retired Three Village junior high school guidance counselor and acting administrator.   

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Above, one of two rufous hummingbirds seen in an Aquebogue backyard. Photo by Cathy Taldone

By Cathy Taldone

My holiday decorating was abruptly interrupted by a “RARE BIRD ALERT!” received from the Cornell Lab of Ornithology and National Audubon Society. A rufous hummingbird, a western native, was spotted at a private garden in Aquebogue on the east end of Long Island. I dropped everything, jumped in the car with binoculars and camera hoping for a glimpse of this tiny creature. This was a rare sighting indeed! While there are over 350 species of hummingbirds in the world, the ruby-throated hummingbird is the only common species on Long Island. Rufous hummingbirds are known to be found west of the Great Plains but not in the East.

Above, one of two rufous hummingbirds seen in an Aquebogue backyard. Photo by Cathy Taldone
Above, one of two rufous hummingbirds seen in an Aquebogue backyard. Photo by Cathy Taldone

The bird loving homeowner noticed this unusual hummingbird at her feeder in November and contacted the Quogue Wildlife Sanctuary and the Eastern Long Island Audubon Society. She knew the bird should have migrated south and had lost its way. She was looking for advice on how to help it find its way back on its journey. She was keenly aware that with winter approaching, this 3.5-inch bird weighing slightly more than a penny had a future that was in jeopardy.

The ruby-throated and rufous hummingbirds make their migration each year to Mexico. The rufous hummingbirds may breed as far north as Alaska and make their 3,000-mile trip along the West Coast to Mexico to spend winter in a warmer climate.

As I and other birding enthusiasts arrived in her backyard this past weekend, we were delighted to learn that there was not one but two rufous hummingbirds in this quiet east end backyard. We were rewarded with the visual display of two rufous hummingbirds fighting over the feeder. Hummingbirds are the tiniest birds in the world but also very aggressive and will fight another to protect its territory. For me, this was a “lifer,” my first time seeing the species. We all watched with excitement and joy as these birds went back and forth to and from the nectar-filled feeders and the flowers still in bloom due to our warm fall weather.

While a sighting such as this would be extremely rare during the warm months, it is extraordinary to find one the first week in December. However, this summer a rufous hummingbird visited the Morton National Wildlife Sanctuary in Sag Harbor. It was there a few days and then disappeared.

Recently, wintering rufous hummingbirds have appeared in eastern states as far north as Massachusetts. There was a rufous hummingbird in NYC the winter of 2012 and another in 2011. One made it through to the spring and the other did not. How did these hummingbirds get so far off track?

Above, the second hummingbird spotted at a feeder in Aquebogue. Photo by Cathy Taldone
Above, the second hummingbird spotted at a feeder in Aquebogue. Photo by Cathy Taldone

Researchers over the last several years determined that some have changed their route, traveling east before heading south, giving rationale as to why these birds have been sighted in a number of eastern states from October to January. The challenge for these wintering birds is to survive the weather and lack of protein. They live on the nectar from flowers and insects for protein.

According to Dr. Paul Adams, founder of the Baiting Hollow Hummingbird Sanctuary, two rufous hummingbirds appearing in November is an extraordinary occurrence. To help the birds make it through the winter there needs to be a cooperative effort to help them meet the challenges of the cold.

As I return to the routines of the holiday season, I plan to make another trip to see the birds again. Dr. Adams will visit the residence and give his advice on how to help the birds manage the winter here, and hopefully these birds will survive the Long Island winter cold and snow. Meanwhile, nature will take its course. The rufous hummingbirds of Aquebogue may or may not make it to spring. These birds, just like all species, hope to make it to the next season, taking life’s challenges one moment at a time.

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Ricardo and Eva Estevez with their children, Amelia Estevez Creedon and Ricardo Estevez Jr. Photo from Amelia Estevez Creedon

By Amelia Estevez Creedon

I am a Cuban-American woman born and raised in New York City. My parents have instilled in us a love for the United States and patriotic passion. We are also proud of our Cuban heritage and are affected by situations that arise in my parent’s native home.

My father came to the United States in 1960 after fleeing the Communist regime. My mother came to the United States in 1961. They met in the United States and married in 1971.

My father lived a prosperous life in Cuba.

He was a farmland owner and a veteran of the Cuban military. He also did many side jobs. One of his side jobs under the Batista government was to drive dignitaries to their desired destinations. My father loved Cuba. He loved the nightlife and  time with friends and family and was very proud to be Cuban.

My father was imprisoned. He remembers hearing men cry before they died in front of the firing squad. He was beaten, starved and tortured.

But when Fidel Castro took power in Cuba, everything changed. My father was imprisoned. He remembers hearing men cry before they died in front of the firing squad. He was beaten, starved and tortured. The soldiers would insult, humiliate and mutilate the prisoners. The men in the prison were not criminals, but people that were incarcerated for voicing their opinion, going to church, refusing to join government-run organizations and more. My father was able to escape from prison and Cuba and help other families come to the United States.

My mother lived with her parents and two sisters. They were poor and worked hard to make a living. My grandfather was a mailman. My grandmother washed clothes for neighborhood families. Despite their poverty, my mother has precious memories of her country. She remembers school being a place of great learning. She recalls the love that existed between neighbors. She remembers a childhood filled with dreams, play and joy. All that changed after Fidel Castro took power.

Castro established watch groups within communities to make sure that civilians were obeying the rules he had in place. Neighbors began turning in neighbors for playing television programs that were considered anti-revolutionary, or eating food that was meant for the soldiers, or for gathering for prayer, or expressing views that were different from that of the government.

My mother remembers the frequent assaults on her house. Soldiers would enter by force in the middle of the night. The rationale for this entry might have been that a neighbor had heard them speaking ill of the government, or that they had some item that was considered counterrevolutionary. One night, my mother’s family was told to remove their crucifix from the house and replace it with Fidel Castro’s picture. My grandfather refused and was taken prisoner. He was incarcerated in a dark enclosed space, alone, starved, beaten and humiliated.

My grandparents knew they had to leave the country.

My mother remembers the frequent assaults on her house. Soldiers would enter by force in the middle of the night.

They applied for a program through which they might gain permission to leave. This program consisted of the family working in an agricultural camp for two years. This did not ensure exit from the country but placed their name in a lottery. The family was separated within the camp and lived in barracks. Life in the camp consisted of working from dawn until dusk cutting sugar cane. The work was brutal. The workers were given raw horse meat to eat, had no work breaks and limited water. My mother remembers being taunted by the soldiers. They would spit at her, call her “gusano,” which means worm, and was a popular derogatory term used to describe anti-Communists. The barracks had bunk beds with no mattresses or pillows. The workers were housed in these cramped quarters and the outhouses were filthy and unkempt.

My dad passed away this past March. My grandparents died two years ago. They knew that the government was still oppressing many, as well as incarcerating political prisoners and dissidents on the island.

This type of oppression continues today. The inhumane treatment of many Cuban citizens is still occurring. My parents, as well as grandparents, became United States citizens shortly after arriving. When they first arrived they worked long hours cleaning floors, waiting on tables, basically doing whatever work was available. My father was able to learn different trades as time passed so that he could better provide for our needs. Neither of them was a stranger to hard work and they taught my brother and me to value it as well.

They came to love the United States as their home. They were, and my mother still is, fiercely proud to be United States citizens. They taught us to love our country but to always have hope that Cubans in Cuba might also one day be free. They always reminded us that anyone could be successful if they worked hard in the United States and that freedom was not free. Every year our family prayed that Cuba would be liberated from this dictatorship. For my father and grandparents, Castro’s death would have restored a glimmer of hope that despite the years of tyranny, things could change.

Unfortunately, my grandparents and father never saw this day. Fidel Castro’s death does not mean that communism is over or that the brutalities will cease. His brother, Raul rules similarly. Yet, Castro’s death gives many Cubans a hope for the future, a hope that one day democracy and freedom might come to Cuba.

Amelia Estevez Creedon lives in Sound Beach. She is an elementary school teacher at Riley Avenue Elementary School and a school librarian, the leader for a Webelos and Bear den for Cub Scout Pack 204 in Miller Place and a member of the Sound Beach Civic Association.

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Visitors wait to enter one of the homes on the tour. Photo by Heidi Sutton

By Patty Yantz and Patty Cain

The Three Village Historical Society hosted its 38th annual Candlelight House Tour last weekend. Titled Visions of Historic Setauket: A Look Back in Time, the event attracted over 1,000 visitors to our little hamlet.

This year’s tour was dedicated to four members who passed away this year, Blanche Tyler Davis, Chuck Glaser, Bruce McCauley and Elaine Stow, each of whom played a vital role within the society.

A living room is decorated for the holidays. Photo by Heidi Sutton
A living room is decorated for the holidays. Photo by Heidi Sutton

Four of the five homes featured in this year’s tour were originally owned by members of the Wells family. The tour served as a history lesson of life as it was around the pond. The ticket contains much history of the area and is a keepsake in itself. We are honored to have the kindness of the wonderful homeowners who opened up their beautiful homes decked out in holiday decor.

Gallery North and the Three Village Historical Society history center added more historical interest to the tour. We are so thankful for our generous sponsors and restaurants, and the numerous volunteers who served as decorators, house chairs, committee chairs, traffic people and docents and our staff who worked hard to make this event come to life. Without their support and generosity the tour would not be possible.

Visitors wait to enter one of the homes on the tour. Photo by Heidi Sutton
Visitors wait to enter one of the homes on the tour. Photo by Heidi Sutton

The Candlelight House Tour is the biggest fundraising event held by the society. The proceeds enable the society to continue to preserve local photographs with proceeds benefiting the society’s educational programs.

This year the Friday night tour with a reception at the Old Field Club was in such high demand that for the first time we opened a few tickets to the Friday night tour without the reception. This too proved to be successful. On Saturday people could start the tour with breakfast at the Old Field Club. The food and the views at the site set the tone for a wonderful day. The weather was perfect, the homes were perfect, the location was perfect and everyone who supported this event was perfect!

On behalf of the society, a deep heartfelt THANK YOU for all who helped make this year’s tour the success that it was. It is events like this that makes the Three Village area a wonderful place to live!

Patty Yantz and Patty Cain are the tour co-chairs of this year’s Candlelight Tour.

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By Tracey Farrell

I was honored to be named a Person of the Year by Times Beacon Record News Media for 2015.

While I was truly honored, I was more excited at the prospect of getting the word out about the work I do with my group: North Shore Drug Awareness.

After losing my son to an accidental overdose in 2012, I was given a voice I chose to use to help other families who are struggling with addiction — to share my failures and successes, and the resources I have found and acquired through networking.

The absolute most poignant part of this story is that my story was published. The original story — in which I was named a person of the year — was seen by a woman who recognized me in my photo that accompanied the article as a client in her accounting office. She immediately shared the story with her best friend — a friend who desperately needed help with her addicted children.

A message I received from her changed a life. Linda Cirone was absolutely paralyzed by her children’s addictions. Not only did she enable her adult children, but she hid in shame. She could barely function or participate in her own life, and in her message in my Facebook inbox, she used that key word — Help.

Tracey Farrell with Linda Cirone at TBR News Media’s honorary dinner. Photo from Tracey Farrell
Tracey Farrell with Linda Cirone at TBR News Media’s honorary dinner. Photo from Tracey Farrell

I brought her with me to the honorary men and women of the year dinner, because her story of how she reached out to me was too important not to share. The power of that article could potentially save a life. And it did … her own.

This past year has been a roller coaster of change for her.

She chose to finally open up and share beyond the confines of her best friend and family members who would listen. She reached out through social media to the different parent groups that she learned of and began to realize she was so not alone. She began to share her story, which, like mine, has helped others.

Her children are still struggling, and while one is improving, Linda has grown in her own recovery. Yes, her own.

Addiction is a family disease and, as a parent, you too must learn to cope, or you will lose yourself in the process. She has learned to no longer enable like she did in the past. She has also followed a dream. She moved away from her children to the warmth of Florida, and now has a lovely condo on a small waterway. While she still feels the pull of her children’s addictions, she has also started to feel some freedom. Freedom to feel the sunshine, enjoy a nice day out with friends and family she has near her. This was not even an option to her a year ago — just a dream.

While her son was in Florida after we came up with a plan for him to seek outside-of-state rehabilitation, she met a woman who is the guardian angel for parents who send their kids to Florida for rehab.

The other day, as I opened my Facebook feed, I saw a post.

Linda checked in to the Children’s Services Council of Palm Beach County with that angel I spoke of. She attended her first task force meeting to help fight for positive changes in addiction services and housing in that area.

She has grown exponentially over this past year. She needed to. She was sick of hiding, but didn’t know where to look for help. And she found it. All because of an article in a local newspaper.

Tracey Farrell, previously Tracey Budd, is a Rocky Point resident who, since her son’s passing, educates others on drug abuse and assists in finding help for those who are struggling or know someone who is struggling with addiction. She is the founder of North Shore Drug Awareness Advocates and also a 2015 TBR Person of the Year.

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Stock photo.

By Bruce Stasiuk

We were talking about our schooling …

Remember the names of Columbus’ ships, anybody? Yes. Of course you do. Everyone in this overflowing audience knows the three names. Furthermore, you all know them in the same order. Good for you! Doesn’t matter where you went to school — from the Redwood forest, to the Gulf Stream waters, to the New York island, those names were taught to you and me — and in order!

Quite an achievement. Or, is it? Of what educational value are those three names? Virtually none, except maybe to a contestant on Jeopardy. But students are in real jeopardy if we continue to consume their limited school time with pointless facts, trivia, backward thinking, and low-level knowledge.

I dub it the “Nina Pinta and Santa Marianization” of our schools. Let’s sail back in time to Columbus. The big date — you know, it rhymes with “ocean blue. What was going on in the world during that era? Was there a printing press? Was there a global power? Were there wars going on? (Good guess. Seems there’s always a war going on somewhere.) Was his trip around the time of the Great Potato Famine or the Black Death? How long would the journey take and how was it estimated? What provisions did Columbus need to stock in order to survive the journey? How did the food not spoil? How much water could be used each day by each person and animal? How many men and animals should be boarded, realizing that each man and animal consumed food and water and made the living quarters tighter? What if winds were becalmed in the Horse Latitudes and the ships barely moved? Did they need weapons, and if so, why?

How many of us considered those questions in school? The teachers didn’t ask them, nor did they know the answers. Remember, teachers are a product of the schools themselves. They are primarily people who succeeded in school, liked it, and went on to do it — not change it. They are educational conservatives.

During the eight years I directed a class for teachers, I’d give them a test developed from fourth- and fifth-grade books. Not one teacher ever came close to passing. I’d tell them that they were either not very bright or that the material we’re teaching our kids is irrelevant to a functioning adult.

So, what if our educational system comes to its senses and realizes that constructive destruction of curriculum and teaching methods is necessary, and Common Core was not a common cure? What should we teach? Here’s a start:

Personal finances. Every school should create a bank where students have the option to invest by purchasing shares. The bank would issue loans to students and would require a student co-signer. Interest would be added to the loan reflecting the amount and length of loan. Credit rating would be developed. [Yes. I’ve done it and it works.]

What is fire, auto, and life insurance — and how do they work?

The art of being skeptical without being a skeptic. Time. What it is and how to manage it.

Relationships: What are they? How do they develop? And what is their value? Introductions: How to offer and receive.

Black boxes in airplanes and cars. What do they reveal? What are mortgages? Why do they exist?

Waste management. Where does garbage go? What are sewers and cesspools? [Water, water … not everywhere.]

Logic and reasoning with and without Venn diagrams. The art of questioning and the value of wrong answers.

The media. What it is, how it works, and the choices it makes. The illusions in movies and TV through editing, music, and more. PG-13: How and why things are rated. The goals and methods of advertising.

A school farm with irrigation. Students would have scheduled time working on the farm. A student and adult committee would handle the summer months. Kitchen duty with student assignments. Custodial duty with student chores.

The science of raising, preparing, and cooking food. The food we eat: Where does it come from? What is a hamburger bun?

Negotiating and compromising. Shipping and transportation. The evolution of things: the medicine bottle, the telephone, the sneaker, etc.

Dilemmas: how can Italy, the world’s biggest exporter of olive oil, also be the world’s biggest importer? Is there such a thing as too much?

Plumb lines, centers of gravity and sea level. Architecture, engineering, stacking blocks. Physics is everything. How technology affects our lives.

Language travels with us but never reaches a final destination.

Objects: magnifying glasses, prisms, levels, stethoscopes, magnets, ball bearings. The magic of perimeters. Zero-sum games.

The gift of failure, and the hardship of failure-deprived people. Thinking about what others are thinking by using game theory.

Your body: A user’s manual.

Bruce Stasiuk of Setauket continues to teach. He currently offers workshops as an instructor in the Osher Lifelong Learning Institute, located at Stony Brook University.

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Stock photo.

By Bruce Stasiuk

Ahem.

The subject of this talk is American education; or, as I sometimes call it … artificial intelligence. Full disclosure: I admit that I don’t know much about what goes on in high school, having spent only four distracted years at that level. This presentation refers to the foundational years — the K-6 building blocks where I invested six seasons as a parochial student.

After completing the requirements at Adelphi Suffolk University, I was invited to teach a few graduate courses there. Afterwards, I spent 34 enjoyable, yet disorganized seasons as a classroom teacher, then eight more years instructing a course called Thinking Inside the Box for K-12 teachers, which gave me the opportunity to examine the species up close and personal. That comes to about 50 years in fuzzy numbers. But, who’s counting on me?

You’re urged to disagree with anything expressed here, because I make mistakes regularly, myself being a product of the American industrial-education complex. Let’s start with the premise that all knowledge is worthwhile and desirable. There is no benefit to not knowing something. Ignorance is not blissful. However, all knowledge is not of equal value. The ability to read about the inventor of the cotton gin is of more value than knowing and memorizing his name. Likewise, although there would be some usefulness in recalling every number in the Manhattan phone book, and the cognitive exercise would be an accomplishment, it would mostly be a huge waste of “edu-minutes.” Knowing how to alphabetically look up a phone number is a more valuable and transferable skill. At least until it’s made obsolete in our advancing digital world. So, can we agree that some knowledge is of lower value, some is of higher value, and some is rapidly approaching an expiring shelf life?

Since schools operate by the clock and calendar, there is a finite amount of class time for learning. There is so much to learn, but students can’t learn it all. So, choices must be made. Schools need to adopt a regular policy of knowledge triage. There’s got to be jetsam and flotsam in order to make room for the important cargo. But even if schools agreed to do it, would they flotsam the right jetsam?

Ask your local administrator what’s the last thing added to the curriculum. Then ask, what was removed to make room for it. If there’s no answer, it means the program was diluted (unless the school day or year was expanded — not a chance) or in a misguided way, the usual ballast of art and music were reduced. Like the roach motel, once something enters the schoolhouse door, it can almost never leave. Schools change very little. If you were in the fifth grade 25 years ago and you visited a class today, it would look very familiar. Computers and tablets are used like electric paper, but the substance is the same. Oh, the blackboards are now smarter … but are the kids? Old wine in new bottles.

Remember, the learning clock is ticking. Time is passing. As a child, I had a fantasy of every person, at birth, receiving a huge hourglass. Except it wasn’t designed to measure an hour. It was constructed as a lifetime-glass. The top bulb contained all the sand representing one’s life according to actuarial tables. It was inverted at birth and the sand started trickling through the narrow stem passageway. One could see the top bulb dripping sand into the bottom bulb. Even at night, opening one eye, one could visualize their lifetime with the lower heap growing while the upper kept draining smaller. I wondered if a life would be led differently with such a visual aid.

Schools have to think that way. They must sort out, rummage through, and evaluate all available knowledge and select those age-appropriate things that will help develop students into educated people with transferable skills and functional wisdom. Ideally, layer upon layer will build up until enough practical knowledge and related talents enable graduates to negotiate life in a fluid and uncertain world — a very moveable feast. A friend recently told me the experience of his dental school orientation at the University of Maryland. The dean advised the new students that 50% of what they’d learn would no longer be true by the time they graduated. Furthermore, he advised, they won’t know which 50% it was.

So what did we learn in school? Reading. Of course reading. And math. Although I never did divide 4/7 by 3/9 ever again, I remember some lessons quite well. Pilgrims wore funny hats and buckled shoes. We drew pictures of them. They were brought home and taped to refrigerators — or iceboxes —remember, this was the South Bronx in the ‘50s. “Mary’s violet eyes … ” helped us learn what was, at the time, the order of the planets. But of what practical value is there in knowing that Jupiter is nearer to the earth than Saturn? So little time … so much knowledge.

Bruce Stasiuk of Setauket continued to teach after retirement. He currently offers workshops to seniors (citizens, that is) as an instructor in the Osher Lifelong Learning Institute, housed on the campus of Stony Brook University.

Look for part 2 in next week’s edition.

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Billie Phillips, the original owner of Billie's 1890 Saloon, will retake control of the Port Jefferson property on Main Street. File photo by Elana Glowatz
Billie Phillips, the original owner of Billie’s 1890 Saloon, will retake control of the Port Jefferson property on Main Street. File photo by Elana Glowatz

By Billie Phillips

My name is Billie E. Phillips. Thirty-five years ago, my late first wife and I, borrowed every dollar we could and spent every dime we had to open up the Bar/Restaurant, Billie’s 1890 Saloon. Like every venture into the hospitality business, it was a gamble. We were very fortunate. Through the first years it became apparent that Billie’s was becoming a special place for the community, a place for stories to be told, laughs to be had, and new memories to be made.

Since then and after my sale of Billie’s it has maintained its standing as part of the fabric of the community. Unfortunately, as most of you know, Billie’s sustained a kitchen fire and has been closed since late June. Since then, the current tenant’s lease was cancelled for reasons many people have speculated about, but most people have no true knowledge of.

Rumors have spread to the point that petitions were started to save the building from being torn down. The building will not be torn down and the bar and restaurant you have grown to love will continue on in the tradition of Billie’s 1890 Saloon for as long as I have a say in the matter.

After a brief tour of the building by the landlord, I was asked if I would be interested in leasing the property, as a new lease would not be offered to individuals of the previous corporate tenant for reasons that were explained to me. After some contemplation, I felt the reasons were understandable.

At the end of the day, I could not stand by and watch Billie’s 1890 Saloon be taken over by anyone without ties to the Port Jefferson community. In a decision that was very difficult to me because of friendships I have with people connected to Billie’s, in many capacities, my family and I have assumed control of the space used by Billie’s 1890 Saloon. It is my hope people will begin to understand this could have been the end of Billie’s as they knew it, and to some it will probably still feel this way. However, to those that are skeptical, please know my family and I will endeavor always to maintain the intangibles that make Billie’s such a special place in the hearts of so many.

Billie Phillips is the original owner of Billie’s 1890 Saloon, located on Main Street in Port Jefferson.

 

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By Tracey Farrell

In 2002, my 16-year-old son Kevin had surgery on his shoulder for a football injury. He was prescribed 60 Vicodin pills with no other instructions but to take one or two of them every four to six hours for pain.

I didn’t know they weren’t like antibiotics, and you weren’t supposed to take all 60. He was still in pain, so they gave him 60 more. Well, guess who is now addicted to them? He was buying them during lunch.

This is the high school quarterback. His girlfriend is the cheerleading captain. He is beautiful, loving, fun and funny. His friends love him. His teachers and coaches love him. He has not an enemy in the world. He graduates. He works. He is a great kid.

Kevin chose to smoke pot instead of taking the pills soon after high school, but at some point he went back to the pills — especially since I was on him all of the time to stop smoking. He had multiple concussions over his high school football career. After his last one, I saw a change in his personality. He was easily angered, depressed, anxious — all things he was not before.

I didn’t know at the time that marijuana and opioids help make all of those symptoms so much better. The drugs make them disappear. I didn’t know that the only enemy he did have was the one within himself.

Tracey Farrell and her son Kevin Norris in 2010. Photo from Tracey Farrell
Tracey Farrell and her son Kevin Norris in 2010. Photo from Tracey Farrell

When Kevin went back to the pills, he began snorting them this time. A lot of them. Once I saw a powder residue on his glass desk and, only knowing what I saw on TV, I put it on my tongue to see if it would numb it.

Nope, not cocaine.

I knew deep down something was going on. He didn’t shower as often or take care of his teeth. Changes in his habits were starting to happen.

These Oxycodone pills are expensive, and make you painfully sick when you don’t have them. An addict becomes so desperate that they will beg, borrow and steal to get them — literally. Eventually when you have exhausted stealing your family’s available cash, you steal their jewelry, sports memorabilia and anything else of value you can sneak out of the house. You write bad checks from your mom’s bank account. Eventually you realize there’s an alternative available and you turn to heroin. It’s cheap, and readily available. You just have to put money in your mailbox and drugs appear moments later.

That point happened some time in 2011. I assume he started snorting it before he shot it.

Nine years in and I am still clueless, uneducated, unaware to so much of it. Kevin never, ever looked high in front of me. I was missing spoons, which are used to melt the heroin down to a soluble form, but I still thought maybe they were thrown out by mistake? Yes, he had been to rehab, but I didn’t know that it didn’t fix you. I didn’t know that me giving him no option but to enter rehab wouldn’t work. I didn’t know that he had to want to be in recovery.

I learned how to be manipulated. I enabled everything. I believed every lie he told me and would hand over money in fear he would be killed for the money he owed.

Eventually, he must leave the house. Kevin would live in his car, on which I was now making the payments and insuring. It’s winter and I cannot fathom the thought of him in a car at Christmas, so I get him an apartment. I sent his stepfather over many times to see if he was alive when I couldn’t get in touch with him. I even called 911 on him when I thought he was suicidal, which resulted in a short hospital hold. I started to understand that he does not want this for himself, but doesn’t know how to stop. He fears withdrawal, and I hear his pain and cries when he begs me for money because he is so sick. He is eventually hospitalized for a blood infection. I realize I can no longer keep him in that apartment.

I clean the place out.

He didn’t need much food. The only thing in the fridge was water. I find all the things he has used as a tourniquet. There is an amazing amount of plastic garbage bag drawstrings removed from bags, Q-tips everywhere with the cotton taken off which are used as filters. So many water bottle caps. So many syringes.

“There were times I threw money into his car so angrily when he asked me. I struggled between loving him and hating him.”

I didn’t want my son to die, but I’m realizing I’m making it more comfortable for him.

Through most of his addiction he was highly functioning, always holding down a job. This was no longer the case.

He gets out of the hospital and is back to his car. I’m giving him $20 a day. He gets food stamps and Medicaid from the Department of Social Services. I find he sells what’s on his food stamp card. I pump gas in his car, but I do not hand over more cash. There were times I threw money in his car so angrily at him when he asked.

I struggled between loving him and hating him.

He began living in a hotel with his dealer and got arrested for possession of a syringe. He’s assigned a public defender, but of course Mom pays the fees and it’s knocked down.

But a few days prior, he made the choice on his own — which is key — to seek help.

He made the calls on his own, instead of me doing all of the legwork, to enter South Oaks Hospital in Amityville. His third try at rehab. But now, he wants it.

I went to a family meeting about 10 days in.

There he is. My son, my real son. Thank you, thank you and thank you.

He was enrolled in a 28-day program. He went to Mainstream House in Riverhead, a sober house. We do family things together again. We shop, we go to lunch, dinner. He wanted to be around us again. I haven’t had this in years. We laugh, we cry.

He got kicked out of sober living for having Ambien, a prescription drug, because he had a hard time sleeping. I let him back home. Kevin has a new job, a new girlfriend. He seems happy.

Tracey Farrell, a Rocky Point resident and founder of North Shore Drug Awareness Advocates, displays her luminaire in memory of her son Kevin during the third annual Lights of Hope event in Port Jefferson on Aug. 31. Photo by Nora Milligan
Tracey Farrell, a Rocky Point resident and founder of North Shore Drug Awareness Advocates, displays her luminaire in memory of her son Kevin Norris during the third annual Lights of Hope event in Port Jefferson on Aug. 31. Photo by Nora Milligan

I didn’t go to the classes I should have. I didn’t learn that someone new to recovery does not want their past thrown at them. One day at a time is their mantra. Yesterday is the past. He’s going to his meetings on a regular basis, but now that he is working, that starts to not be as often. Anything that goes missing I automatically accuse him. He wants a new phone because his is old and cracked. I bought him a new one and he “lost” it. I still tell him that if he didn’t sell it he would have it. He tells me he is working an honest program and that he has told me everything — including that he did not sell the phone. I apologize and tell him I am proud of him.

Kevin is working for a company which does party rentals.

One Sunday, in September 2012, he came home looking tired. He was thrilled that they gave him a $100 tip. They even gave him the leftover cake, which we of course ate together. We spoke of the cotton candy on his sneakers, because he worked the cotton candy machine. He thought it was fun.

The next day, his sister found him dead in bed. It was an accidental overdose.

They say money is a trigger.

I will never know what led him back. I know now I didn’t cause it. I couldn’t control it and I couldn’t cure it. I prepared myself that this day could come, but I thought he was in the clear. Our very last conversation was about cotton candy, one of the things I craved most when I was pregnant with him.

I still have the cotton-candy-covered shoe laces. I miss him every day. I still struggle with not doing the things I now know I should have done, and I try to teach people every day to not make the same mistakes I did. Learn from me please. Let me tell you anything and everything that may help you or your loved one. It helps me to help you.

I just went to a celebration meeting of one of his best friends celebrating one year of sobriety on Sunday, and he said, “I think he may have died so I can live.”

Tracey Farrell, formerly Tracey Budd, is a Rocky Point resident who, since her son’s passing, educates others on drug abuse and assists in finding help for those who are struggling, or know someone who is struggling, with addiction. She is the founder of North Shore Drug Awareness Advocates and also a 2015 TBR Person of the Year.

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