Town Topics

Donna Evers •

It’s hard to believe, but true. When Grover Cleveland was president, his young wife used to pick him up at the White House in a horse-drawn carriage and drive him home to their summer getaway in a leafy rural area that is now Cleveland Park. No Secret Service for President Cleveland, no bullet proof glass, no escort carriages leading or trailing the “presidential carriage.” As they drove home, they would pause to watch the girls at the National Cathedral School playing tennis.

Theirs was the only presidential wedding to ever take place in the White House, and even more unusual, the beautiful bride was 28 years younger than the bachelor president. When asked why he waited so long to marry, Cleveland said he had to wait for Frances Folsom to grow up.

As young as she was, Frances was the perfect First lady. She thrilled Washington society by observing the social season with exquisite parties and receptions. Besides, she was an accomplished pianist and photographer, and she read Latin and spoke German and French. Best of all, her political instincts were first rate. Aware that many women were entering the work force, Frances instituted Saturday Open Houses at the executive mansion, so the working women could drop by on their day off and shake hands with the wife of the President.

Like a lot of other people, the President and his wife felt they needed a place to escape the heat of Washington summers. They found respite in a 27-acre stone colonial in what is now the 3500 block of Newark Street. They transformed the home into a fairy-tale Victorian with double-decker porches and a roofline full of turrets, towers and gables. Frances named the home “Oakview” but the reporters called it “Red Top”, because they kept at a distance from the house and all they could spot through the trees were the fanciful red roofs. The house is gone now, but the neighborhood that kept the Cleveland’s name still sports an enviable supply of elaborate Victorian houses.

It’s not unusual that a First lady as pretty as Frances Folsom Cleveland was the darling of the press, whether she wanted the attention or not. Reporters referred to her as “Frankie”, a name she disliked as much as Jacqueline Kennedy was said to dislike “Jackie”. Worse yet, her photogenic face appeared on soap and cosmetic products. A political opponent of Cleveland’s once said, “I detest him so much, I don’t even think his wife is beautiful.” But he was in the minority.

While we know that Grover Cleveland was the only president to serve two non-consecutive terms, history books don’t tell us about the prescience of the President’s wife. When they were leaving the White House after Cleveland lost his bid for a second term, Frances said her goodbyes to the servants, but told them to take good care of everything, because they would be back in four years. And they were.

Robert Sacheli •

The June 1970 memo that records Air Force General Peter R. DeLonga’s first staff meeting as Deputy Chief of Staff, Materiel at Tan Son Nhut Airfield in the Republic of Vietnam includes a section that clearly sets out the expectations of the new leader.

“The General will be rough and questioning,” it begins. “He will play the ‘Devil’s Advocate.’ Though things will get hot he will not hold a grudge. He expects the truth and facts — no B.S. He wants a straight YES or NO.”

The no-nonsense tone continues through more admonitions (“Be sure your brain is in gear before you activate your mouth” is one) and concludes with, “when I ask something to be done I mean NOW.”

The memo provides a snapshot of a dedicated, demanding but fair officer with high standards, and that’s how his son Steven DeLonga remembers his father.

“Military was first in his mind,” he recalls, although, he adds, “he was one of the few military officers who did not speak of his past successes.”

In DeLonga’s case, those successes were notable. With a distinguished career that spans the China-Burma-India theatre of operations in World War II, the Berlin Airlift, Vietnam, and beyond, Peter R. DeLonga achieved the rank of major general and was the Deputy Inspector General of the Air Force. In that post he provided the Secretary of the Air Force and chief of staff evaluations of the effectiveness of Air Force units and monitored worldwide safety policies and programs. He also directed the counterintelligence program and was responsible for security policy and criminal investigation within the Air Force.

A roster of decorations — including two Air Force Crosses, the Distinguished Service Medal, Legion of Merit with two oak leaf clusters and Air Medal with five oak leaf clusters, among others — attests to Major General DeLonga’s career achievements.

Despite his father’s professional responsibilities, Steven DeLonga remembers “We’d have dinner every night at six.” At those dinner tables, no matter where in the world the family was stationed, he learned valuable life lessons.

“My father would put a quarter on the table and ask us what it was,” DeLonga says. The object was to think before answering. “Once you made a statement,” according to his father, “you made sure it’s 100 percent correct. Your credibility is on the line, and you may never be able to get it back.”

That emphasis on integrity and honor was the foundation of his father’s philosophy, and part of the code of what DeLonga describes as “a John Wayne era when your handshake was your bond. It was a different world from what we have today.”

DeLonga closely observed how his father treated the people under his command. “My dad was known as an enlisted man’s general,” who believed they were the backbone of the Air Force. “He was very considerate” of those men.

Steven DeLonga still marvels at his 24-year-old father’s resourcefulness and courage in April 1945 when he was forced to spend 16 days in the Himalayan jungle after his plane was disabled during one of the 86 missions he flew during World War II. “He thought of other people before himself and had the presence of mind to rescue two fellow crew members,” says Delonga.

He’d parachuted into the “Tin-Tin Jungle” — so called because the terrain was strewn with the remains of American and Japanese planes. “He ate lizards, snakes, rats and talked himself out of being eaten” by tribesmen. (“Headhunters Are Friendly to Three Yankee Aviators” was one headline back home in Pennsylvania.) “I don’t know how I could have survived,” says the younger DeLonga.

His father’s was a generation that put country before considerations of financial reward, Steven observes. He cites Chuck Yeager, a good friend of his father’s, who, when asked why he continued to face the dangers of test flying despite being pursued by lucrative opportunities, replied: “I like flying. That’s my life.”

It was also a generation that saw military service as a chance to advance themselves as Americans. Peter DeLonga’s Italian-immigrant father was a foreman in a coalmine, and, says his son, “the military was an equal ground, where people were judged on merit and performance, not family.”

Though Steven DeLonga’s own military career was a brief stint in the Army (“My military bearing was non-existent”), his brother, Peter, spent a decade in service, receiving the Army’s Bronze Star for heroism in ground combat in Vietnam. His nephew, Nick, is a Marine captain who’s a veteran of tours in Afghanistan and Iraq.

“Dad would be disappointed” at how the military is generally viewed today, suggests DeLonga. “The caliber of Army recruits is probably the highest it’s ever been, but we’re not fully supporting them. We need a commitment from the executive branch to support the military for the future.”

DeLonga attributes much of his own success (he is the founder and CEO of Ste-Del Services, an Alexandria company that deals in corporate apartment rentals) to some of his father’s qualities “that carried over to me.” He knows which are the most influential: “Honesty and integrity are things I pride myself on.”

“How do you measure success?” he asks. “In business, it’s monetary. But for the older generation it was more about altruism,” citing John F. Kennedy’s famous “ask what you can do for your country” challenge. “They saw a bigger picture.”

“Honesty. Integrity. Devotion to country and to duty. That is why my father succeeded,” says Steven DeLonga. “His was a generation I was lucky to be around.” [gallery ids="99133,102725,102721,102712,102704,102689,102696" nav="thumbs"]

Ari Post •

Nassau Valley Vineyards

Producing a wide variety of wines, Nassau Valley is Delaware’s first and only farm winery. The winery is open for free tours and tastings year-round. The self-guided tour includes a chronicle of wine’s 8,000 year history, up to the process and production of modern day vineyards. Picnickers ?are welcome, and specialty tastings and wine and food pairings are available on site or off. Theater and musical groups perform during the summer months. This is an ideal stop on a rainy beach day or a midweek break from the pulsing July sun.

Chincoteague and Assateague Islands

Chincoteague Island, just a 30-minute drive from Bethany down Route 1, is Virginia’s only resort island, and one of the more beautiful islands that salt and pepper Virginia’s eastern shore. This bucolic beach is famous for its wealth of breathtaking and accessible wildlife, oyster beds and clam shoals, migratory birds, and wild horses (often grazing casually around the parking area).

Throughout the summer, crowded beaches give way to stretches of secluded shoreline, marshes and forests, if you’re willing to walk beyond the crowded entrance. As a Natural Wildlife Preserve, the Chincoteague and Assateague islands harbor plenty of inspiration for the adventurous, Thoreauvian journeyman.

Cottage Café

Set in what looks like an over-sized bungalow, with warm yellow lights strung across the frame, the Cottage Café is, has a comfortable atmosphere and quality, unpretentious seafood.

A wide bar sits in the center of the restaurant, with dining on either side. Among the many choice menu options and a solid brunch buffet, a notable item is a generous plate of “dune fries,” a deliciously fun seafood spin on chili-cheese fries.

Dogfish Head Brewery and Brewpub

No one does beer like Dogfish Head. What started as the smallest commercial brewery in America in 1995 single-handedly brought the culture of craft brewed ales back from near extinction.

Whether looking for a finely balanced, classic ale, or a beer based on the chemical analysis of pottery fragments that revealed the earliest known alcoholic beverage, Dogfish Head brewery is a good time with some great beer. Tour the brewery, sample fresh brews, and talk with the casual, friendly staff. Their brewpub, on the Rehobeth Beach boardwalk, pairs their ample beer offerings with classic American cuisine, and features house-made vodkas from a small distillery operation in the back. Live music plays throughout the summer.

Dickey’s Frozen Custard

Well before the days that Bethany Beach became the Delmarva tourist haven it is today, Dickie’s Frozen Custard was serving the local in-crowd from their modest corner store, just off the main boardwalk drag.

This is quintessential beachside custard. The employees are often found without shoes. Young customers, five or 10 at the most, commonly sit against the wall in the shade of Dickie’s awning, licking and slurping at their over-sized cones with sprinkles as they drip down their knuckles, chins, and shirts. Yeah, it’s cheesy. Yeah, it’s nostalgic and silly. Yeah, it’s just custard. But I’m willing to bet it’s the best you’ll ever have.

Coastal Kayak

Offering sail-boat rentals, guided kayak and bicycle eco-tours, Coastal Kayak allows guests to experience the bay-side marshlands and wildlife from a completely new perspective.

The salt marsh tour is a brilliantly fun addendum to any list of activities. Paddle through the salt marshes around a state wildlife refuge, the feeding grounds for many animals, some of which include herons, osprey, horseshoe crabs and skimmers. One of the premier offerings is the exploration of a small sandbar where you get out of your kayak and comb the beach for a variety of beach dwellers such as fiddler crabs, starfish, and clams.

Grotto Pizza

If you’ve been anywhere near the Delaware Beaches, you have doubtless fallen prey to the wafting, tantalizing scent of Grotto’s pizza in the salty air. Synonymous with Bethany and Rehobeth beach culture, there is hardly another pizza joint in town — not that you would ever want one. It is awfully, awfully good.

The local restaurant behemoth and area staple, with its signature “bull’s eye” pizzas, is celebrating its 50th anniversary with a summer-long celebration. Whatever time you’re there this summer, keep an eye out for special deals and promotions.

Dewey

A one-street town sandwiched between its larger siblings, Bethany and Rehobeth, Dewey Beach is undeniably the college crowd’s scene. With a slew of bars, crab shacks, and motels, Dewey makes for a pretty fun night if you’re looking to get away from quiet evenings in Bethany and knock back a beer and a basket of fried shrimp with your friends.

Stop by The Starboard, voted one of the top 25 bars in America by Men’s Journal magazine, and concoct one of their build-your-own Bloody Marys, with over 700 ingredients and 18 brands of vodka. Or check out the Bottle and Cork, an outdoor bar and music venue.

Caitlin White •

Metro rail and bus riders can expect to see changes in terms of pricing for SmarTrip cards and paper fare cards over the next few months.

The transit agency plans to decrease the price of the SmarTrip card and increase the cost of a rail trip for users of paper fare cards in order to encourage riders to use the reusable plastic cards, the Washington Examiner reports.

SmarTrip cards will drop in price from $5 to $2.50 on Aug. 29, but Metro riders may want to consider all their fare options before purchasing one. Other changes to SmarTrip are expected in the fall.

Metro decided to reduce the SmarTrip card cost to decrease the burden on riders caused by the new fare increases, the Examiner said.

Metro initiated the first phase of fare hikes on June 27 and plans to further increase them later this summer. One such increase will be an extra 25-cent charge per rail trip for users of paper fare cards, beginning Aug. 1.

Bus riders who use cash instead of a SmarTrip card already pay a 20-cent differential. They also lose the transfer discount when switching from train to bus or bus to bus.

The transit agency will lose 90 cents on each SmarTrip card sale after the cost drops to $2.50, since it costs Metro $3.40 to make each card.

Donna Evers •

As you leave the Dupont Circle Metro station’s north exit, you will see words carved into the granite walls — lines from a poem by Walt Whitman, called “The Wound Dresser.” Since it’s hard to get the whole inscription when you are riding the escalator, here it is:

Thus in silence in dreams’ projections,
Returning, resuming, I thread my way through the hospitals;
The hurt and the wounded I pacify with soothing hand;
I sit by the restless all the dark night — some are so young,
Some suffer so much — I recall the experience sweet and sad.

This was a subject Walt Whitman knew a lot about, since he served as a volunteer nurse during the Civil War. Already known as a journalist and poet, he first got involved after the bloody Battle of Fredericksburg in 1862, where he went to take care of his brother who had been wounded in battle. There he met another impressive volunteer nurse, Clara Barton, with whom he would cross paths again in Washington. When Whitman arrived in the District to help out as a medical volunteer, the city’s public buildings were turned into crowded way stations for wounded soldiers. There were not enough doctors, and no formal nursing profession, so the military had to rely on recruits and volunteers. Even with that, doctors could not deal with the types of wounds inflicted by the advanced bullets and weapons of the war. The quickest solution to treat an infected limb — and save the soldier’s life — was to amputate. Meanwhile, the wounded were crowded into any shelters available, waiting for the meager medical help to arrive.

One of the most haunting passages in Whitman’s journal about his experiences during the war was his account of the makeshift hospital at the Old Patent Office in Washington. This building, recently restored to its original grandeur and serving as the National Portrait Gallery and Museum of American Art, made for a bizarre hospital ward. The maze of long narrow galleries was originally created to hold glass display cases, which held wood and metal models of inventions submitted for patents. Wounded soldiers, sometimes as many as 800, were laid on cots arranged alongside the glass cases, creating a path so inspectors and inventors could still get through the maze to view and judge the models, stepping over the soldiers as they moved along. This was one of many hospitals where Whitman volunteered during the war, bringing food, paper and pens for the men and sometimes just staying on so a wounded soldier would not have to die alone.

Out of these terrible experiences came some good. The war encouraged many advances in medical science. Volunteer nurse Clara Barton went on to found the American Red Cross, an organization that we rely in times of national emergencies and disasters. Meanwhile, Walt Whitman, who continued to write poetry, supported himself with a job at the Department of the Interior. Ironically, when Secretary of the Interior James Harlan discovered that Whitman was the author of “Leaves of Grass,” he fired him, citing the poems as “damaging to the morals of men.” By that time, though, Whitman was revered as a poet and supporters rallied to his cause, soon securing him another government job.
Whitman’s war experiences earned him the title “the good gray poet,” and his poems about the Civil War are forever burned into our collective memory. There are many, among them “O Captain! My Captain!”, “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d” and, of course, “The Wound Dresser.” And while his words carved on the subway’s wall describe the horrors of war, they also tell about human compassion, which will always be our saving grace.
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John Blee •

The greatest antiques in Georgetown are the amazing townhouses and homes that climb the hill. A New Yorker once said to me that Georgetown is more beautiful than Greenwich Village, and indeed it is. The caretaking of Georgetown’s homes that are mostly built in the 18th, 19th, and early 20th centuries is best left to architects who respect the building, and without violating them, give them new life. Christian Zapatka, winner of the Rome Prize, is the architect today who makes the most out of re-inventing the Georgetown townhouse.

One of Zapatka’s newest re-inventions is for sale on Q and 30th Streets. This is a part of Cooke’s Row, made up of four pairs of semi-detached houses built in 1868.

Cooke’s Row has Italianate and Second Empire features, including mansard roofs. D.C.’s first governor, Henry D. Cooke, commissioned these houses. Cooke had been appointed by President Grant and belonged to the Republican political machine during the post-Civil War era.

This house had been neglected for a good while and was in need of drastic repair. What is interesting is what Zapatka left intact and what he created out of the traditional maze of bedrooms and few bathrooms. The single most amazing thing about the interior is the circular staircase that goes all the way to the third floor. It has been reinforced using its original balustrade, but with a newly invented round skylight at the top. Some of the original flooring has been retained and doors, including pocket doors, have been refinished and reused. All windows were removed and reinstalled, faking some of the original glazing when pieces were missing. An unusual feature is the slate fireplaces that were found under several layers of paint. They are polished to a dark luster.

With Zapatka in charge of the renovation everything flows; the traditional features ebb into the modern. There is never a disjunction. Because Zapatka works closely with contractors on site, he adjusts the design details on the spot. Therefore they attain certain perfection. He also employs one of the rarest of artisans: a great plasterer. Bathrooms and the kitchen are modern, created with a mastery of refined understatement.

Studying architecture with Michael Graves at Princeton and later working for him formed Zapatka’s vision. Zapatka says that Graves frequently referred to a building as a piece of furniture, or furniture as a building. Recently he attended a symposium where Graves spoke on the antiques in his house. Perhaps this is why Christian Zapatka can cull the best of an old house, at the same time renewing it.

GEORGETOWN’S ANTIQUES:

Christian Zapatka: Reinventing the Georgetown Townhouse
Frank Randolph: Interior Designer Extraordinaire
John Rosselli: Georgetown’s Antique Aficionado
Marston Luce: In Search of Elegance
Scandinavian Antiques & Living: International Accents
Susquehanna Antique Company: Redefining Tradition
Sixteen Fifty Nine: A Mid-Century Renaissance