Sharon Hospital asks state to reconsider denial of bid to close labor and delivery
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Bridget Starr Taylor
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I’m confused! I look a little like Vincent Price, but I sound nothing like him! And why is that tree trying to eat my wife?
Provided
Terror is a Man (1959): Odd economy reworking of “The Island of Dr. Moreau.” Odd because it has a lot of weird plot that gets in the way of the story, and economy because there is only one man-animal hybrid, and because they shot it in black and white. Good production values throughout, which is also confusing when you’re expecting dreck. Decent monster and no nekkidity, because it was 1959.
The universe comes back into balance with the next film in the series, “Brides of Blood Island” (1968). Shot in color, very little plot to get in the way of the story, man-eating plants, day-for-night continuity problems, cut-rate Desi Arnaz, bargain basement Vincent Price, one bald henchman, mild bimbotation, a bit of gratuitous nekkidity, a sex-crazed beast, mutant transformation, a regrettable and lengthy dance of triumph scene, and nuclear radiation (which explains the art in the castle). I suspect Sam Raimi had this flick in the back of his mind for the first couple of “Evil Dead” movies.
The chlorophyll monster in Mad Doctor of Blood Island doesn’t stand up to close inspection, so the filmmakers wisely don’t let the audience get a good look.Provided
The Mad Doctor of Blood Island (1968): Well, here we are back at Blood Island. This time we’re looking for the cause of a strange disease that turns the natives green. Turns out it’s simple -- crazy Dr. Lorca shot a cancer patient up with a rare chlorophyll strain he found on the island. It’s just science. Gratuitous nekkidity, green blood, dismemberment, a sort of luau/orgy hybrid, and every time the monster is about to do something the camera zooms in and out rapidly, perhaps to prevent the audience from getting a good look at the lame monster costume. Spoiler: The beast hides out in a lifeboat as the gang sails away from Blood Island, the better to set up…
…Beast of Blood (1971), in which the monster kicks things off immediately by blowing up the boat, perhaps in protest of the producers’ decision to drop the word “island” from the title. Dr. Lorca’s got a whole army of green mutants now, and the islanders aren’t up to much in the resistance department, so it’s up to Bill Foster (John Ashley) and Myra the reporter (Celeste Yarnall) to get things sorted out. Which they do, eventually, but not before there’s some highly dubious surgery, a henchman who can only grunt, the usual nekkidity, an artificial head that talks. and plenty of extra fake-looking blood. Bonus points for the hero’s Modified Elvis haircut, a bold choice in 1971. This movie is an excellent example of the plot getting in the way of the story, but when a man sets out to watch all four Blood Island movies, he’s got to tough it all the way through.
Gillian Osnato, wearing her father, Sal Osnato's, signature cowboy hat. Gillian took over her father's business, the T-Shirt Farm, after his passing in April.
Photo by Aly Morrissey
“My dad was such a ’70s kind of person, and rock ’n’ roll was his thing,” she said. “I wanted the store to feel like a vintage candy shop — like you just walked into a cool, colorful place.”
Sal OsnatoPhoto provided
And she’s succeeded. Nearly five years in, Candy-O’s has become a sweet staple in town, drawing a steady stream of regulars and seasonal visitors — not just for the nostalgic treats, but for the store’s one-of-a-kind personality and charm.
“I’ve watched local kids grow up,” she said. “They come into the shop and I know their orders.”
Despite the daily grind of running a small business, Gillian says she wouldn’t trade it for anything.
“I find even when I’m mentally exhausted or in a bad space, I can have a positive interaction with a customer, and it changes my whole day,” she said. “I thrive on communication and connecting with people — and making people feel happy in my space.”
That connection to customers is something she learned from her dad.
“Dad could connect with somebody and find them a shirt in five minutes, just from getting to know what they liked,” she said. “He would always say, ‘Connect with your people, connect with the customer.’”
With storefronts just steps apart, the father-daughter duo often traded business tips, customers — and even swapped products.
“My dad would send one of his employees up every day for three pieces of chocolate,” Gillian said with a smile. “No more, no less.” She added that the Italian cookies now displayed at Candy-O’s were actually his idea. “He was pushing for cookies for a long time,” she laughed.
Gillian Osnato, left, with her father, Sal.Photo provided
Born and raised in the Bronx, Sal Osnato led a colorful life before relocating to the region with his family in the late 1990s.
“Everybody knew he was from the Bronx,” Gillian said. “He connected with every person that came into his store — and if you were from New York, he’d sense it right away and strike up a conversation.”
Sal’s strong work ethic and deep roots in a big Italian family shaped his approach to business. He left high school as a teenager to start working, learning early on what it meant to earn an honest wage. His first job was at his uncle’s deli, where he made fresh mozzarella and processed shipments of sheep’s heads around cultural and religious holidays.
“He loved it,” Gillian said, recalling his stories fondly. “I always told him he should write a book with all of the wild experiences he had.”
In the 1970s, Sal worked as a cab driver — one of many chapters in a life filled with hard work and adventure. It was during that time that his T-shirt business began. He would drive into the city, buy rock ’n’ roll T-shirts and sell them out of a van. Soon after, he opened his first store in Yonkers, naming it Denim Heaven.
While the T-Shirt Farm has been a fixture in Millerton for the past decade, its original location was in Canaan, Connecticut, next to the hardware store. But no matter the address — from Yonkers to Canaan to Millerton — people often came as much to see Sal as to buy shirts — drawn by his warmth, humor and unmistakable presence behind the counter.
Today, when Gillian isn’t managing every detail of Candy-O’s, she’s also running the T-Shirt Farm, keeping both businesses and her father’s memory alive on the street they once shared.
Sal Osnato showing off one of the many t-shirts on the racks at the T-Shirt Farm on Main Street in Millerton.Photo provided
On any given day, she can be seen walking between the two shops, serving customers and practicing what her father taught her; connect with people, find joy, and always keep the spirit of childhood alive.
“I think for my dad, this was his life force — working and being in the community,” she said. “He was also a kid at heart. He embodied that in his life.”
That energy still lives on. A quick stroll through the T-Shirt Farm reveals that unmistakable sense of adventure and play.
Some sharp-eyed customers have noticed the “For Sale” sign on the building that houses Candy-O’s, but Gillian is quick to reassure the community that she doesn’t plan on going anywhere.
“I’m hoping that if the building does sell, the new owner will see this store as a staple in the town and won’t want to change things.”
As for the T-Shirt Farm, she says she feels a deep responsibility.
“I’m trying to fill those big shoes,” she said of the business and community her father built over a lifetime. “He didn’t go to college or finish high school, but through hard work and personality, he created something lasting. I think he just wanted that to continue.”
Looking back, Gillian says she can see just how proud her father was of her — even if he didn’t always say it outright. “He told every customer to go visit my store,” she said. “I’m not kidding — everywhere we went, he mentioned it.” That didn’t change during his illness. Whether it was doctors, nurses, or anyone he met, Sal made sure they knew about the T-Shirt Farm and Candy-O’s. “That was his way,” Gillian said. “And looking back, I know he was proud.”
Paul Ramunni, owner and operator of New England Accordion Connection and Museum, with a small portion of his accordion collection.
David Carley
In the spirit of preservation and the creation of new memories and stories, Ramunni’s vision for the new expansion of the museum is a place for people with any instrument to get together and jam. The inspiration for this was about a year ago when two students from the Yale Summer School of Music and Art in Norfolk came to the museum wanting to see an accordion.
Ramunni asked where they were from; one was from Iran and the other from Israel. He recalled, “At that moment, what was going on is what’s always going on over there: their families were in the middle of battles. He said ‘Paul, when we met here for the first time, there was something that connected. It was music. We both agreed that we would never let anything come between us that would ruin that bond.’”
After they left, Ramunni said the idea for a community room struck him. Regardless of background or beliefs, he said, music can bring people together.
Ramunni has more than 650 accordions in his collection, each with its own story to tell.
“When we started collecting,” said Ramunni, “I didn’t think much of the backstory. I was thinking, ‘Hey, that’s a cool little one.’” He soon found out that “there’s a lot of memories packed into each one of these things, because you only played them when you wanted to make other people happy.”
The new “Community Music Room” at Canaan Union Station.David Carley
42 years had gone by since Ramunni first picked up the instrument, and he found himself in the garage of a collector with more than a dozen accordions. He was sending them to a Holocaust Museum in Glen Cove, Long Island. “Those came out of the camps at Dachau during World War II,” Ramunni explained.
“That’s what got me going when I went around looking at accordions, I’d look for the stories. This is history here. It’s not just bottle caps that we’re collecting here. This is what people did with these things, and sacrifices they made. It’s important to preserve,” he stated.
Even the origins of the accordion, according to Ramunni, came from a desire for community. “Since the birth of the country, these things were being made in people’s shops because they wanted music… So, they came up with the first accordions,” which were smaller, wooden contraptions called flutinas, originally patented in 1829 in Vienna, Austria.
The beginning of the 20th century is when the instrument took its modern form with a larger body and piano keys. From 1900 to 1960, millions were made in the United States, and competing companies would distinguish their product with intricate case designs and impressive craftsmanship.
Perhaps more important are the stories imbued within, and as Ramunni shared, “They each have their own personality.”
