When Howard Munce stands on the banks of the Saugatuck and gazes across the river, he has two or three views in his line of sight. He can look upon the rambling gray edifice of the Save the Children Foundation, or he can allow himself to see what was there in the 1950s, when the Famous Artists School was in that building. Howard doesn’t have to squint very hard to see what filled up that riverbank before the school was built.

“It was just seagrass and marsh,” recalls Howard, who seems to remember everything and everyone from his ninety-one years. Howard is one of those people who clearly hasn’t heard that people might have to start slowing down once they get past eighty.

I seem to meet these human spark plugs all the time. Recently I went to the tribute for the artist Tracy Sugarman at the Westport Arts Center. What a guy. At eighty-five, he’s as big, tough and vital as a stevedore getting off the morning shift. In the packed house were plenty of his contemporaries who all looked like they were ready for anything. Among them was the tireless sculptor Steffi Friedman, who was, as ever, bright as a sparrow. 

Love keeps you young, and high on the list of things they love, besides their work, is the love of their hometown. They’re all pretty quick to talk about a friend, or the campaigns they fought to make this area what it is. And perhaps there is also a frequent sense of longing in their voices — they just don’t know if another generation is coming along that cares as much they did.

It is not, of course, necessary to be an artist in order to care deeply. Thousands of people have come and gone in our towns who have no public honors or tribute nights or glowing mentions in the history books. They just cared enough to make sure this little corner of God’s green footstool was a good place. And some went further — to war or wanderlust. Sugarman actually went down to Mississippi in the dangerous days of the early 1960s to help the dangerous campaign for voting rights; he actually knew Michael Schwerner, James Chaney and Andrew Goodman, the three slain civil rights workers.

When we plunged into our cover story, “The People Who Made a Difference,” we were driven by the idea that we should all periodically reflect on the greats. Naturally, you might take immediate umbrage at the idea of calling Roger (or “Robber”) Ludlow one of the “greats,” when all he did was heist some land from the Pequonnocks, then do a seventeenth-century real estate flip before returning to England to settle scores for Cromwell. But, heck, he made a “difference” here, didn’t he? We hope the other choices are not so freighted with controversy.

But we know this will get some hackles up, anyway. If you have a turned-up hackle, or a suggestion for next time, do write us. Because we’re already at work on the next big history story. You don’t have to see as far as Howard Munce can see to want to know what sailed down the river the day before yesterday.