Simsbury Sojourn: A Sweet Return

This hazy, yellowed photograph speaks to the high promise of a long- imagined return visit. The scene was a simple random moment, on a warm summer day, caught in an incidental picture showing kids playing baseball. Kids who cannot be positively identified. A photo that was taken by, ...well, who knows?

Even so, it captures concisely our attraction to the trip back in time, and in that sense, a trip back home– to the old neighborhood, and the old houses, some old friends...and to that field.

There are countless sayings about the idea of returning to visit your old home place. Is it advisable? Is it even truly possible? Perhaps most well-known is Henry David Thoreau's posit that you can never go home again. Too many aspects will have changed, goes the thinking. But whether or not it's practical to return, the urge to do so can be unrelenting.

Or so it seems, according to a few folks from the Atlanta area. Long ago, our two families spent a short time in a small town in north central Connecticut. Simsbury, to be specific.

In late April of 2026, two brothers from each of those two families made a return visit to New England, to visit an area that had briefly been home to them nearly 60 years ago.

Each of us recognized the pull to make such a trip, but we also found that urge difficult to describe, much less justify. Having pondered this same question many times prior, at this stage of our lives we simply acknowledge the pull and then make the trip.

Through the years, several of us had been back through Simsbury intermittently, but often for just a few hours. Hardly true visits, really ...just driving by the old house, or riding around the Mountain Farms neighborhood or maybe going past the old school. Certainly just seeing those physical settings always conjured up names and events from pleasant times long ago. But that was about the extent of it.

The most recent true visit we had made as a group was back in 2009. On that occasion 17 years ago , there was a total of six travelers, three brothers from each of these two families (for this 2026 trip, Brian Fallon and Clayton Conarro had been unable to clear their schedules to join). That year we convened in Simsbury for all of about 24 hours. All agreed that such a visit was wholly inadequate , but even a trip that was too quick was deemed far better than no trip at all. That 2009 visit was highlighted by an in-person conversation with our former neighbor, Pat Kerr. Her kids (Dave, Kandy and Randy) had been our neighborhood friends back in the late 60's, and the Kerr home had also been on my paper route for the Hartford Courant– not to mention the unofficial neighborhood headquarters for flashlight tag on warm summer nights.

On that random day in mid-summer 2009, Mrs. Kerr had welcomed us much more warmly than virtual strangers deserved, and for about 20 minutes, we traded names and memories with her, along with a few laughs. That chat with her was a coincidental result of our first stop in the old neighborhood- namely, our former home at 4 Chestnut Hill. The same folks who had bought it in 1969, the Petersen family, were still there. And when asked about other neighbors, Mrs. Petersen had quickly mentioned her friend Mrs. Kerr. To our good fortune.

For this 2026 trip, our plan would be a bit different. This time we were five in number– Doug and Steve Fallon, along with my brother Cody and his wife Wendy, and me ( Pat Conarro). Note that Wendy had been a past enthusiastic participant who had accompanied Cody on several mini-visits to Simsbury in the past.

We planned a noon arrival on Friday with a two- night stay through late Sunday morning. Certainly that's not a long time, but two nights in town with a full Saturday in between would lend time and flexibility for a more substantial visit. Our plan also included a large dose of Simsbury Little League, whose Opening Day for their 75th season coincided with our Saturday in town. ​From our group, Steve and Cody were actual "alums" of this league, impactful players in 1968-9.

And in light of his recent stout support for Simsbury Little League projects and renovations, and his ongoing friendship with League President Mike Germano, Steve was to be honored by throwing out the first pitch on this Opening Day, April 25, 2026.

Beyond that, I had hopes of an in-person visit with at least one or two friends from long ago in Simsbury. This goal was a bit more elusive, given that we had returned from Simsbury to Atlanta way back in 1969/70 . I had not seen or spoken with any old classmates over all that time. Those intervening 57 years represented an obvious high hurdle for tracking down old friends for any personal visits. But with some preparatory work via phone and email, I was hopeful that a contact or two would soon pay off.

Our stay began that midday Friday, after a one- day stop in Boston to catch a game at Fenway on Thursday night. The Red Sox lost that game (to the Yankees, no less), but the Fenway experience was every bit the five-star level of baseball fandom that we all had expected. The easy drive from Boston to Simsbury late Friday morning was its own treat, winding along scenic two lane roads with no clock to obey. En route, my brother Cody and I tallied up the changes that met us in Simsbury when we had arrived from our suburban home in metro Atlanta, Georgia back in 1967.

For starters, Simsbury was much more of a small town setting. Situated in the middle of the Farmington valley and founded in 1670, Simsbury was surrounded by other similar townships, small but venerable. Among them were Avon, Canton, Granby and Bloomfield. And though the drive to Hartford is only 12 miles, Simsbury felt more isolated from the big city. There was but one high school. One Catholic church. No movie the​ater. No bowling alley. No major league sports. What do they do for fun, we wondered. Step one was to make some new friends.

And yes, we newcomers heard plenty of odd accents– but according to our new schoolmates, we were the ones who talked funny . For the most part, all that our southern accents earned us was some good- natured razzing from our new friends--of whom there were a gracious plenty.

Henry James Junior High had 16 classes of 7th graders! My former school had only three. For that matter, the junior high school concept (6th, 7th and 8th grades) , had not arrived in metro Atlanta in those days. Another school revelation was downright stunning: there were two options for lunch each day, one of which was always pizza. And maybe most incredible--an ice cream vending machine, right there in the corner of the cafeteria? Unbelievable.

The system for street addresses seemed quaintly logical- we lived in the fourth house on our street, so the address was 4 Chestnut Hill Road. Simple enough.

Riding a school bus each day was new to us too, and that 2:45 PM dismissal time seemed generous– at least until winter arrived and we realized that December darkness fell about 4:30. Christmas time in 1967 also brought our first big snowstorm– more than a foot of snow! Many of our neighborhood friends were also new to Simsbury, but almost all of them hailed from northern climes, so they were amused at our elation about a foot of fresh snow. All of those things and more were new to us, and recalling all of these changes was integral to our enjoyment of the trip.

About a month prior to this April 2026 trip, a few texts and one phone call with Kandy (Kerr) Simon had prompted me to investigate various names from yesteryear by using old yearbooks. Through a Classmates website, I gained an email address for Mark Verrillo, a classmate from Henry James Junior High in 1969. On a whim, I emailed him with my offbeat story. I was pleasantly surprised when he honored my request for a call three days later. We enjoyed a long, pleasant conversation, recalling names, places and events from 57 years earlier. Mark has long lived on the West Coast, but he has visited Simsbury regularly over all those decades, plus he had been heavily involved in many reunions for the class of 1973–including their 50th just three years earlier. Thus he was able to provide me with contacts of former classmates who still lived in the area around Simsbury. In turn, those contacts would enable me to find a couple of my old friends in person– finally, I had a foothold to track down a few folks from back when.

Our base of operations in town for this visit was the Simsbury 1820 House , a stately home that long ago had been converted to a cozy hotel, right on the edge of "downtown". The 1820 was a fine choice– comfortable and affordable, providing warm hospitality and a fine location for our purposes.

Over the next 36 hours, we traversed the downtown neighborhood,– largely on foot--up and down Hopmeadow Street, checking out various eateries and shops. Plan B restaurant and Winged Bear pizza, plus the Soma Grille right in our hotel--each worked well for us. Almost as important for provisions, our hotel had a substantial continental breakfast , self-served in a cozy den area, making easy the chance to converse with other guests.

I made certain to visit Vincent Sport Shop, the very same business where I had purchased my catcher's gear back in 1968 for use at our neighborhood field. The business carries on, now under the energy and vision of owner Kenny Chapman, who decided a good while ago to make this endeavor his career. Kenny and his associate Joe Serafin answered myriad questions about the town, the schools and local sports identities ( including Joe himself, a Simsbury native who made it to the Double-A level as a minor league pitcher a few years back). When I asked to see their most expensive bsseball bat , Joe pointed to a USA Baseball model, multi- colored aluminum and available for $349.99. I'm pretty sure that back in the '60s, we paid about eight bucks for a new bat. A wooden bat, of course– it was a simpler time.

I also dropped by St. Mary's Catholic Church, still stately and dignified, ​ and extra-busy on this fine Saturday morning with a ceremonial Mass being held for a fresh class of students making their First Communion.

And then it was time for a brief pause at Vincent's funeral home, where I stopped in to meet Sue. She had answered the phone by chance a few months earlier when I had called there in random desperation looking for any hint of a clue of old friends. It turns out that Sue was a Simsbury High grad and she knew personally a woman named... Kandy Kerr. Sue was willing to provide my contact to Kandy, who in turn texted me a few days later, enabling my search. Ah, small town social connections.

After the brief meeting with Sue, it was now time for the easy walk back to our hotel for a special visit to the coffee bar. This portion of the morning was dedicated to a brief meet-up with Jeff Verney, a classmate from our 7th and 8th grade years at Henry James Junior High. Jeff was among those several contacts provided to me from Mark a month earlier. He was nice enough to drop by the hotel , where we covered 57 years of history in about 45 minutes. He had enjoyed a busy career in heath benefits industry, which had eventually brought him back to New England after a long stretch out west. Retirement has now given Jeff more time to devote to his strong creative side, including making music, singing and writing. He donated to us a CD featuring the music of his band, Belfalus Khan.

Our conversation was then held up for a beautiful surprise moment. Cody's daughter Molly and her husband Zack dropped in from nearby Turners Falls, Mass, with some special news--they are expecting their first child in the fall. It was a treat to see joy in the faces of my brother and his wife as they learned of a soon-to-arrive grandchild, their first.

From there, we headed back to Memorial Park, and the home fields of Simsbury Little League. Early that afternoon, I met up with second old friend- Chris Collacchi, another Henry James Junior High classmate.

Chris and his family now reside in Rhode Island, but he visits the West Hartford area frequently. Such was the case this weekend , and from there he made the trip over to the ballpark to find our group. That meet-up with Chris was the direct result of the same sequential process mentioned above– Sue– Kandy– Yearbook– Mark, to a local ( Jeff) and now a regional , with Chris. Delightful.

While watching the Little Leaguers play, Chris and I spent a couple of casual hours recalling names and stories from long ago, an intricate process since our burgeoning friendship had taken a 57 -year hiatus. Back in the 8th grade, our mutual enjoyment playing team sports--particularly baseball at St Mary's– was a strong basis for a bond (along with the occasional indulgence in moderate level schoolday mischief).

Chris related how well the SHS 50th reunion had gone in 2023, including a newly realized group goal to re-nourish old friendships long idle. He and I parted company that afternoon with a goal to do the same on a personal level, including a possible plan to reconvene in the fall.

From there, our entire travel group returned to our former neighborhood, Mountain Farms, in West Simsbury. Once again we called on the Petersen family, Debbie and her dad Fred at 4 Chestnut Hill. (This time they had the slight advantage of a warning phone call). Again they greeted us with warmth and good humor, plus a high tolerance for questions and remember-when's.

Following this visit to our favorite former backyard, we took a stroll down Chestnut Hill where Doug and Steve Fallon stopped to take in a view of their former home. The corner of Huckleberry Lane and Chestnut Hill was​ their spot, and the home and the yard both looked beautifully maintained.

The wide streets and broad bike paths along the touted Open Space design beckoned to us just as they always had.. bikes, anyone? The trees and other plant life of the neighborhood were more mature of course, but the open spaces and setbacks looked as inviting as ever.

The neighborhood review would have been sorely lacking without a stop at The Baseball Field. Our old carved -out piece of Petersen's pasture had long since been made nice by the city of Simsbury. So the field was now more official, more meticulously groomed , more secure...and less charming. Nonetheless, simply standing there for a moment takes us back, in a way that no picture possibly could. A whimsical moment, sure --but also real enough to trip memories from decades ago.

Those days seemed in retrospect to be utterly carefree, uncluttered by time demands or job constraints (other than that Hartford Courant delivery each morning). Summer days started early and ended late, tumbling off the calendar deep into July and then right on through August. If not for Sunday church, it could be easy to confuse a Tuesday with a Thursday. That's an intoxicating stretch of freedom, soft and easy, that I have not lived since.

We made our way back to the hotel and readied ourselves for a Sunday morning departure. As ever, it seemed like more time to re- explore our old town would have been most welcome.

I was grateful that we'd had such a substantial visit, one that included meet- ups with two old friends from so long ago. Grateful too, for the time and effort put forth by both Jeff and Chris to make those moments possible. And certainly grateful to Kandy, who found the generosity, along with a dollop of courage, to return an odd message from a vague old source , and to deliver her sound advice– "try the internet to track people down". It worked.

All of those ingredients blended together to yield a fantastic trip. Old sights and scenes, familiar again.

Friendships that were fresh 57 years ago had grown old and quiet. Now they had been renewed. That phenomenon in itself is a blessing beyond.

It's a fair bet that we will do it again.

Why not?

Patrick Conarro

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