“A generation from now, this solar heater can either be a curiosity, a museum piece, an example of a road not taken, or it can just be a small part of one of the most exciting adventures ever undertaken by the American people — harnessing the power of the sun to enrich our lives as we move away from our crippling dependence on foreign oil.” President Jimmy Carter, June 20, 1979
NORFOLK — In 1979, at the height of a national energy crisis when OPEC countries limited the flow of oil to the West, U.S. President Jimmy Carter began a federal initiative to jumpstart the development and use of alternative energy. The goal of “Solar America” was that 20% of America’s energy would be renewable by the year 2000. Carter had solar panels installed on the roof of the White House to heat the water used in the West Wing.
Norfolk’s Tom Strumolo was on the original team that installed the 32 solar panels. He was part of a band of young, long-haired New England solar energy mavericks who made history.
As a recent Yale graduate, Strumolo was working in the new Energy Department in Hartford where he met Gordon Priess from Mystic, Connecticut. He was “a heat transfer guy who designed water heaters, and became chief engineer of the White House project,” according to Strumolo. They learned the White House was taking bids for a big solar installation, and their $50,000 bid was accepted.
Ed Butler, a Connecticut native, joined the crew. Butler and his partner Rick Schwolsky founded Sunrise Solar Services in Vermont in 1976. They gathered friends with skills necessary for the project. Students from a Groton, Connecticut, technical school welded the steel framework. They transported it to DC on a flatbed truck. The General Services Agency (GSA) installed 1” plywood to protect the entire White House lawn. A massive crane rolled in to lift the entire structure to the roof of the West Wing.
Strumolo laughed, recalling that security was very tight. “Our Secret Service detail told us ‘We shoot to kill,’ so we did not mess around.” They had sniffer dogs checking them out each day. When President and First Lady Rosalynn Carter climbed to the roof for an official photograph, Strumolo warned the President the paint was still wet on the metal. Carter said, “I am not going to mess up your paintjob!” Strumolo was more concerned about the President’s suit.
President Ronald Reagan had the solar panels removed from the White House in 1981. The parts were stored for years in a warehouse. The Reagan Administration reduced Carter’s renewable energy program by 90%. Half of the White House solar panels were moved to Unity College in Maine where they heated the water in the dining hall for 12 years. Some of the original solar panels reside in the Carter Museum and the National Museum of American History.
Tom Strumolo of Norfolk, founder Energy General LLC, was on the crew that installed solar panels on the roof of the White House for President Jimmy Carter in 1979.Jennifer Almquist
Jody Bronson, forester emeritus of Norfolk’s Great Mountain Forest (GMF), recalled, “Ed Butler’s team installed the solar panels on the White House for Jimmy Carter. My wife Jean and I have three of the panels that were supposedly installed on the White House. We can’t confirm this. In 1990 they were installed on our home in Falls Village by Ed Butler. The panels are still functional and have provided all the domestic hot water for our house for 35 years! If more households in our area had done this 30 or 40 years ago, think about how much energy they could have saved.” Bronson said there is a treasured can of “Billy Beer” in the Forestry Office at GMF.
Butler reminisced, “I was really excited when we won the bid to work on the solar project at President Jimmy Carter’s White House. It was such a great opportunity for a relatively small New England solar company. It was something I believed so strongly in and was proud to have been a part of it. Since 1976, we have done several hundred solar jobs in New England.”
Strumolo remains committed to “creating adequate and equitable responses to our changing climate.” He wrote “Decentralizing Energy Production” (Yale Press, 1983) and was a driving force behind the recently installed 13-acre solar array at the town’s transfer station. His energy audits have been used in thousands of buildings. After fifty years Strumolo is “still working, still on the path Carter inspired me to follow. There is so much work left to be done.” In 2008, artists from the Kunsthaus in Zurich created a film, “The Story of the Jimmy Carter White House Solar Installation”, which will be shown at the Norfolk Library in February.
In the words of the late President Jimmy Carter, “Pessimism did not build America, it was built with vision, faith, and hard work. It is time to pull ourselves out of our national doldrums, to recognize our great untapped potential and resources, to build a more prosperous, self-reliant future.” Had the original solar panels remained in use on the White House they could have saved 20,000 gallons of heating oil.
The Edgewood Restaurant, a beloved Amenia roadside restaurant run by George and Anne Phillips, pictured during its peak years in the 1950s and ’60s.
It began as a former gas station and tavern called The Narrows, on the road to Sharon, around a switchback east of Troutbeck. It became a roadhouse restaurant for weddings, bar mitzvahs, proms, graduations, birthdays and holidays with relatives. At Easter, New Year’s and Christmas, George and Anne served the food free — customers only paid for drinks as a thank-you for another good year.
It was a different time. Amenia was an isolated dairy farming community, and two large state psychiatric hospitals employed 4,000 potential diners. People needed a friendly neighborhood restaurant run by a local couple who knew everybody. They offered special-occasion favorites: fried chicken, meatloaf, sliced turkey with gravy, pork chops from nearby farms, and fresh white bread baked at 4 a.m. by George.
There was no maître d’. Waitresses, many still teenagers, greeted guests and helped them find a table. Cloth napkins and sturdy white plates sat in a knotty pine dining room that felt more like a family home than a formal restaurant. Large tables down the center accommodated families. George and Anne fed the staff before opening, and everyone ate the same meals served to customers. Everything was homemade classics of the 1950s and ’60s: cold shrimp and cocktail sauce, stuffed mushrooms, veal parmesan, King crab, clams and oysters on the half shell, chopped hamburger steak, French onion soup, fried chicken and pumpkin pie.
George was a tough but fair boss with a quirky sense of humor. Former employee Kevin Rooney, who worked there as a teenager, recalled being served a hot fudge sundae on a sweltering day — only to discover the “ice cream” was Crisco. Revenge came later in the form of a Coke spiked with Tabasco sauce.
George also kept a series of German shepherds — Rinny, Schultz and Dooley — named after a Jonathan Winters routine featuring talking beer steins. The dogs were locked inside at night for security. Tony Robert, another former employee, remembered coming in one day to find Schultz with the seat of someone’s pants in her jaws. When kids tried to sneak into a dance through the bathroom window after the fire marshal had closed the overcrowded place, George put Rinny in the restroom. Problem solved.
Anne also ran a no-nonsense operation. She marked liquor bottles at night so no one would sneak a drink, though the cleanup crew found ways around it, sipping the blackberry liquer instead. Along with cooking and baking everything from scratch, she raised their children in a life closely tied to the restaurant. The bus dropped their daughters off there after school, and one recalled doing homework while the family spent more time in the restaurant than in their nearby home.
George Phillips bakes fresh bread in the early morning hours at the Edgewood Restaurant.Provided
After 23 years of long hours — often more than 100 a week — George began stepping back, at times closing the restaurant to recover. He later moved into real estate and Anne opened a successful craft store.
George sold the place in 1972. At one point, it became a lively beer joint and concert venue, featuring local bands, such as Random Concept, Little Village and Good Friend Coyote. When New York lowered its drinking age to 18 — while it remained 21 just across the state line — it drew crowds from Connecticut. Locals called them “Connecticut Rags,” kids with fancy cars who came to dance, drink and sometimes fight, rocking the floors so hard they bounced like a trampoline and shook dust from the rafters.
At closing time, they had to dodge police waiting across the state line. Sometimes Jack Rooney, Kevin’s father and the bartender, drove them home. One morning, Betty Rooney got a call from a worried mother asking if her son was there. “If he’s wearing red tennis shoes,” she said, “he’s asleep on my front lawn.”
The Edgewood also drew actors from the Sharon Playhouse and notable visitors, including Paul Newman, Cole Porter and even Supreme Court justices. George showed silent movies on a sheet in the dining room, and guests could dance to the Les Schulman Orchestra or to George and his brothers, who had their own band.
It served as a gathering place for groups such as the Eastern Artificial Insemination Cooperative and for events like the Knights of Columbus Communion breakfast. Families marked milestones there — including one that celebrated five birthdays at a Palm Sunday brunch in 1970.
Christmas dinner cost $3 and included stuffed olives, roast pig, prime rib, Virginia ham, deep-sea scallops, Long Island duck, creamed onions and, of course, crème de menthe parfait. On New Year’s Eve 1959, dinner was $15 a couple — $7.50 each for all the champagne you could drink.
The venue came to an end when the building burned to the ground in 1985.
The building is gone, but not the memories — the laughter, the music, the meals, and George carving steaks by hand. He lived a century, but the Edgewood, for those who knew it, was timeless.
Next time you’re driving to Sharon and pass the empty, weedy lot with a rusty electric meter, imagine calling George’s old number to make a reservation for a place that lives on in memory.
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Minimalist works by Agnes Martin on display at Dia:Beacon.
Martin, the Canadian-born New York and New Mexico resident who died in 2004, made the kind of ambiguous abstract art that inspires countless imitators and interpreters.
At first glance, most of the pieces in the new show, “Painting Is Not the Act of Painting,” (on display until June 22) are variations on simple lines and grids painstakingly applied by the artist’s own hand using paint and pencil.
Despite their relative simplicity, it took Martin years of rejecting her own artwork to reach this level of pure abstraction. She would often take knives to paintings she didn’t like, literally slashing work that didn’t live up to her expectations. It wasn’t until she was in her 50s that she began making the work she would become known for.
That evolution is reflected in the exhibition’s 24 works.
Dia:Beacon seems like a perfect place for them. The museum is a monument to simplicity. Even the most complicated pieces are abstractions in their own ways. A straight, unpainted plywood wall with diagonal backing by Donald Judd suggests a room under construction. Michael Heizer’s singular ovoid boulder embedded into a gallery wall strikes unease into visitors.
Subtle grids and softly layered lines by Agnes Martin draw the eye at Dia:BeaconD.H. Callahan
Martin’s pieces feel at home here. In the context of such visual, if not conceptual, simplicity, her art seems louder than it might in almost any other setting. Faint blue and peach stripes gain vibrancy when compared with the all-white canvases of Robert Ryman or the large gray mirrors of Gerhard Richter, both a few rooms away. By comparison, the visibly human-drawn lines of pencil or etched-out paint seem almost complicated, and technically masterful.
It’s enough to make you ponder the name of the exhibition, “Painting Is Not the Act of Painting,” pulled from a quote by Martin: “Painting is not making paintings; it is a development of awareness. And with this awareness, your work changes, but very slowly.”
In a world where studio assistants and fabricators contribute to the output of many artists, Martin relished the act of painting. She painted nearly every day of her adult life. For her, the process was an integral part of the work, and it’s hard to look at these pieces without appreciating her hand.
This repetitive study is also demonstrated across the hall in a gallery dedicated to a single work by Andy Warhol. The piece, “Shadows,” is a study of variations on a single subject. Warhol took photos of shadows in his office and, using a silkscreen process, painted them 102 times on identically sized canvases.
Walking into the room, it may seem like the same image repeated. On closer inspection, the canvases vary widely in color and composition. The work suggests that repetition can produce unexpected forms.
Agnes Martin has become enshrined as one of the leaders of the minimalist movement of the 1960s and ’70s. Her work and artistic philosophies have inspired countless admirers. This exhibition displays a selection of important pieces from nearly 50 years of practice.
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