In Defense of Connecticut
Taking a recent humor column in Boston magazine very seriously.
“Why Doesn’t Connecticut Ever Really Feel Like Part of New England?”
That’s the digital headline for a story in the March edition of Boston magazine. It’s the second installment of Steve Calechman’s new monthly humor column, “The Salty Cod,” which comments on “uniquely New England dilemmas.” If the first couple of entries are any indication, the series promises to both amuse and rankle (and provide some fodder for this newsletter).
The inaugural edition tackled snow removal and whether you can hold a grudge against a neighbor for shoveling the fluffy stuff onto your property. I snickered throughout. This part is certainly relatable:
“Snow always ups our orneriness because it’s unlike all other yard work. Raking and pruning can wait. Snow has to be dealt with, like, right now. The problem is we don’t want to go outside. It’s cold out there, and the snow might be heavy, sticky, and wet. But then we remember that we’re from New England, goddammit. Snow removal is our fifth sport.”
But comedy can cut both ways. And if you’re a Nutmegger, or just someone with an affinity for Connecticut, Calechman’s latest piece will likely leave you smarting.
The writer begins with a broad observation about our region that was, in part, the impetus for this newsletter: “We’re a collection of states that tend to be crabby, independent, and suspect,” Calechman writes.
But unlike this project, which aims to transcend New England provincialism, Calechman celebrates it. In his telling, Connecticut is nothing more than a pit stop between Boston and New York, a place where sports loyalties are muddled and the pizza isn’t worth the wait. While he can appreciate the value of visiting Vermont for skiing or Maine for lobster, he sees “no reason to come and get to know” Connecticut. He claims that the best part of the state is the Merritt Parkway.
Calechman is being satirical. But if there’s at least a little truth in every joke, this column speaks to a nagging sentiment held in more than a few quarters of this region: that Connecticut isn’t really what we mean when we say “New England.”
When I first saw the headline for Calechman’s column, I rolled my eyes—not because I’m from Connecticut, but because, as someone from the Boston area, I know that this type of take is typical from the “hub of the solar system.” For a wicked smart place, the Hub can be myopically narrow-minded about its neighbors.
Perhaps I’m sensitive to this particular strain of snobbery because my extended family has ties to Connecticut. Since I was little, I’ve spent many weekends and holidays traveling from Boston to the eastern part of the state, staying up near the Massachusetts border and down by the Long Island Sound.
These trips have never made me feel distanced from New England. Despite what Calechman suggests in the column (and more than a few classmates believed over the years), driving there doesn’t take very long; the northeastern part of Connecticut is about as close to Boston by car as the southern reaches of New Hampshire and Maine, and Vermont is farther away.
Along the road, it’s easy to see Connecticut’s connection to the rest of New England. When the branches are bare, one can glimpse the old stone walls and ancient rivers that vein our region and hold our history, from feats of art to overreaches of industry.
And the people? As Calechman points out, the creep of New York is undeniable in Connecticut, especially once you move closer to the Gold Coast. There are Yankees hats and references to “the City” and “tri-state area.” But there are just as many Sox fans across the state, if not more. And many of the New Yorkers I’ve met who have settled in the state are seeking the New England way of life, not the other way around.
So remember that the next time someone picks on Connecticut. New Englanders should be proudly claiming the state (and all of its March Madness successes).
But also rest assured that neighbors of the Mark Twain House and Museum can, perhaps better than some of us, take a joke.
I’ll try to remember that, too.