MILLERTON — On July 13, 2024, 75-year-old Paul Perkins of Millerton won the USA National American Drug Free Powerlifting Federation competition in Boston, Massachusetts.
Perkins wants others to know that they can be active and fit at any age. “I am living proof that it can be done because I am 75 and still going strong,” he said.
Whatever exercise you choose, the key is to “make yourself do it every day,” Perkins said. “Even if you don’t feel like it. It has to become part of your lifestyle, like brushing your teeth.”
Paul Perkins became interested in powerlifting when he was looking for something to change his own routine. He also runs and loves to surf.
“Powerlifting has introduced me to a whole new set of exercises,” Perkins said.
Perkins belongs to Gold’s Gym, but during the COVID-19 pandemic Perkins converted a bay of his three-car garage into a gym.
Perkins has a routine that he follows every day. He begins with an hour of warm-ups. “Warming up is especially important as you age,” he said. He favors “dynamic stretching” which takes muscles and joints through their full range of motion. He goes on to interval training, in which for example, he might run for four minutes and then walk four minutes, and train with weights.
He points to Dr. Jeffery Life who wrote “Mastering Life Plan,” Bill Phillips who wrote “Body for Life,” Chris Heria of YouTube, and Dr. Mike Israetel, author of “Scientific Principles of Strength Training” as inspiration.
Perkins eats a few small meals a day beginning with a breakfast of Greek yogurt and fruit, then a lunch of egg whites for protein and rice. Dinner is usually a salad and at least once a week salmon for Omega-3’s, with small snacks like an apple between.
He said of the powerlifting competition where he won in the 150-pound deadlift category, “It was one of the best experiences in life.” He “still gets goosebumps thinking about it.” Not only did he have his family cheering him on, but other competitors and spectators cheered too. “The comradery is stunning.”
The rules are strict in powerlifting. Each competitor must compete in the “Squat,” holding a weighted barbell across the shoulders, squatting with it, and returning to standing position; “Bench Press,” lifting the weights while laying down on a bench; and “Dead Lifting,” picking the weights off the floor to a standing position. Competitors are weighed in and judges look at your clothes, “even your underwear,” said Perkins. Competitors can win a category or have the best score in all three for the overall win. Judges are on all sides watching each competitor as they lift the weights.
For Paul Perkins, his message is one of “health and longevity.” He stresses there are “no magic pills” and that “they simply don’t exist and do not take the place of boring, daily, consistent hard work and common sense.”
Perkins points to what research has found as “five fundamental lifestyle behaviors” to achieve longevity: “1. Exercise regularly. 2. Eat a nutritious diet. 3. Avoid cigarettes and limit alcohol consumption. 4. Sleep eight hours a night regularly 5. Nurture meaningful relationships.”
Perkins has set his sights on the World Drug Free Powerlifting Federation Competition which takes place in November in Cape Cod, Massachusetts.
In Boston Corners, 74-year-old powerlifter Mike Burch has been busy breaking records. In fact, he has broken twelve for his age group in three years. He has his sights set on the World Powerlifting Associations World Championship on Sept. 28. in Oakville, Conn.
Mike Burch, now 74, of Boston Corners, competing at the American Powerlifting Competition. Mike has been lifting since he was six years old and has never stopped. Photo provided
Burch has been powerlifting since the 1950’s. He began weight lifting as a child to help with his lung capacity when he was diagnosed with asthma. He has continued ever since and was top ranked in the 1960’s, 70’s and 80’s.
“I’m the only one still out there of all I lifted against in the 60’s and 70’s.” Burch commented. Burch has never stopped lifting weights although he did stop competing for a while. He began again when his grandson, Eli, encouraged him to get back into it. His grandson now competes and trains with his grandfather.
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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