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&**r#m We*fu*se#*re #r# Sfr*ep ffier*Yes, the Hudson is a two-way river, but not onlybecause of the tides. After serving as the front linefor American independence, the river was thepipeline fot commerce during much of the nexttwo centuries. Over the years, the Hudson became
a conduit for wealth, recreation and urban sophistication soaking into its valleys. Today, art, haute
cuisine and cosmo chic siphon up from the Big
Apple to spice the country life. True to the
nature of the river, antiques, fine wine andenvironmental activism also flow out.And, a little rock & roll flows both ways.
Explorer Henry Hudson is thewaterway's namesake. He sailed it first in1609, and it wasn't long until otherEuropeans followed, settling into theValley to coexist - sometimes unsettlingly
- with a confederacy, an "IroquoisNation" of Native Americans that also
included the Mohawk, Seneca and Oneidapeoples.
For a century and more, relative peace
was maintained between these Valleyresidents and the Algonquian to thenorth. Then the French and Englishgovernments imported their European
conflict and dragged the locals into the
t6
French-Indian Wars. And those pesky Americanswanted freedom.
The Revolutionary War was fought all along the315-mile Hudson. Here, General George Washing-ton educated the British about the effectiveness ofguerrilla warfare. One critical battieground was thebluff at West Point where cannons ranged over a
large S-turn in the river. Rebellious colonists even
stretched iron chains made of 300-1b. links across
the water here to stop British warships ftom attack-
ing up-stream. The Point remains a vitalpart of the U.S. Army's strategy today(please see page 18).
Robert Fulton steamed up theHudson advertising his invention around1800, and fired up a century of economicboom. The Erie Canal opened in 1825 and
stretched the river from Albany to Buffalo,and thereby to the Great Lakes, Chicagoand Quebec. Railroads then used the same
route to go west from New York CitY.
Factories sprouted along the artery andmost of the dozen or so bridges spanningthe stream were built. Brick-lined aque-
ducts under the Hudson constructed 75
years ago still supply drinking water fromthe Catskill Mountains to New York City.
If you're looking for the birthplace ofAmerican industry, you've found it.
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"I want to hear the whistles of the trains in the valley...
It is the sound of money."William Henry Vanderbilt said this of his
family's 55-room mansion on a 700-acre river-frontestate in Hyde Park. The Manhattan-bredVanderbilts controlled most of the steam ships andrailroads in l9th-century America. Of the string ofresidences the family built from Newport, Rhode
Island and Palm Beach, Florida to East Hampton,N.Y., the one at Hyde Park is probably the mostostentatious. Its Italian Renaissance and rococo
styling add up to pure Beaux Arts. Today, thisHudson property is a National Historic Site, dusted
with picnickers, even though W.H. Vanderbiit also
said: "The pubiic be damnedl"Near the Vanderbilt pile, another notable
American family, the Rockefellers, built a palace
and museum-quality sculpture garden, called
Kykuit. For the first time since it was built, it is nowopen to the pubiic. Others that have been restored
and can be viewed include the Mills mansion inStaatsburg, showing 83 rooms, the Van CortlandtManor, Montgomery Place, Cherry Hill, SunnySide, Lyndhurst and Olana - all Hudson Valleymonuments to assets and ego.
Rose gardens, orchards, nature walks, stocked
ponds with waterfalls and ducks - the wondersone might create if wealthy - adorn these estates
for ali to enjoy.Other preservations required more heroics.
Boscabel is a 1806 wooden residence saved fromthe wrecking ball by local citizens in the 1940s, andagain in the 1950s. Built by a British loyaiist withfunds from the war, Boscabel was moved andtotally reconstructed with donations from thefounders of Reader's Digest. Nowadays, costumed
volunteers explain the hardships of Federalism inthe newly formed United States, lead Christmascaroi sing-alongs in front of a gigantic basement
hearth and ofler classical music concerts on thelar.ryn overlooking West Point. Boscabel is a model
of culturai heritage, and of community activism at
work. The Hudson Val1ey is known for both.
#$qlwr3#m*sa'* & ryqry.qiPerhaps the most vocal of the activists in theHudson River Valley are members of Clearwater.
Since the mid-1960s, this environmental group has
led the call to clean up water pollution in this river
and beyond. Pete Seeger, the legendary folk singer
of "Where Have AII the Flowers Gone?" fame, was,
er, instrumental in early efforts. He acted as themedia spokesman and helped raise funds. Then, in1969, the group launched Clearwater, a 106-footreplica of the sloops that sailed the Hudson a
century ago, to educate citizens about the area's
natural history and ecology.
"Laws are only so good," says John Myiod,Executive Director of Clearwater. The U.S. CleanWater Act was made law in 7972, in part because ofmedia pressure generated by non-profit Clearwater.Water quality in the Hudson has improved dra-matically since: swimming beaches have re-openedand sea-going sturgeon are spawning all the way toAlbany.
But Clearwater's efforts can only go so far, andthere's a long way to go, as evidenced by the factthat no other river in America has more "endan-gered" sites under the egis of the national Environ-mental Protection Agency. Three of these are
drawing support from that Agency's "super fund"and are currently being cleared of their deposits oftoxic PCBs, healy-metal waste from batteryfactories and other pollutants. But plans to extendthis support to other sites along the river are beingcontested in the courts, and meanwhile, the abuse
continues."It is only public consciousness," says
Clearwater's Mylod, "that makes these laws en-forceable."
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back to 1802 and include: DouglasMacArthur, Dwight D. Eisenhower,Ceorge S.Patton, even Ulysses S.Crant.On a dozen Saturdays during the springand fall, the spirits of these by-gonegenerals still rattle their sabers whenPoint trad ition is on parade - d ress pa-
rade, to be exact.A row of white pants pierces the
shadows of an archway in the L-shapedcitadel across the vast immaculate
green. Brass music swells as the or-chestra-sized band thumps to themiddle of the parade ground. Coldentubas glimmer in the midday sun. Acolor guard follows right behind, theirgray tunics crossed with white braces.From five arches in succession moreblocks of white and gray bob into theopen. Then another wave. Throngs ofcameras whirl and click as the field be-
comes checkered with squadrons ofcadets. Finally, t'"vo regiments - morethan 2,000 soldiers in all - are in for-mation, perfectly still. All at once, theysalute, their white-gloved hands crest-ing in a tsunami. The commandant ofWest Point stands rigid, and salutes, as
the "StarSpangled Banner" soars acrossthe plain. The sounds of rifle drills thenfill the air-to the grounds, up, across,and slap.
One by one, the units file by the re-
viewing stand mechanically, precisely,
in time to the piccolo-piped "Stars andStripes Forever." Then they return totheir caves and the drumbeats fade.The generals are satisfied for the week-end.
That is, unless it's a home footballweekend. At West Point, it's not a game,
it's an event. Tailgate picnics begin atbreakfast, and range from champagnewith candelabras to pork and beansand beer. The sidelines show is just as
dedicated - only noisier. While twobands bless the bleachers, dozens ofcheerleaders do gymnastics and Armymules embed hoofprints in the endzone. Canons roar after each score, andThe Black Knight leads plebes in a
round of push-ups totaling the Armypoints * every time. Against arch rivalNavy, it's more intense still.
Yet even with all the virility, the dis-cipline and rules, this is, after all, col-lege; a time of romance and raging hor-mones. So after the game, couplesinvariably end up strolling beneath thestone fortifications by the river along"Flirtation Walk." Traditionally, a kisscannot be refused down this woodedlane, lest West Point slide into the water.
Ah, tradition. We salute you.
TIIE I;OilGCMYRATTLEff *o young men whoosh pass me as
E I wanderamong canons and monu-ments on the plain above the sharpbend in the Hudson River. They are
walking fast, very fast - two steps per
second fast. Their heads are locked for-ward, their backs are ramrod straight,their gray and black uniforms are
unwrinkled. Even in the distance, I can
see their shaved napes sweat."Pinking," it's called, and all the
"smacks," "bean heads" and "plebes" -that is, all the men and (since 1976,
women) who are freshmen at WestPoint - must do it.
"Hazing" like this is against the rulesat all colleges and universities inAmerica. ln fact, the United States Mili-
tary Academy's strict policy against itwas strengthened last fall. But hey, thisis more than college. This is The Point.
"Tradition here is more importantthan rules," as one upperclassman put
it. But official discipline is also meted
out corporally. Marching for hours in
the drab stone courtyard of the main
barracks in full uniform - and a heftyrifle - is the primary way to work offdemerits accrued from pinking, or forthat matter from such infractions as tar-
diness, chewing gum and so on.Craduates of this army grind are
called The Long Cray Line. They stretch
18
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"Pun'kins are my friends," says Trish, a sparklingchild who holds up three fingers on one hand totell her age lest she drop any of the five babypumpkins she's hoarding.
During Clearwater's annual Pumpkin Sail, thesloop visits 15-20 ports along the Hudson to raise
their $1.5 million annual budget and heightenenvironmental awarenbss among busioads ofschool kids through skits and songs. Pumpkins are
sold, folk music concerts are held and a "stonesoup" is prepared (a pot of water and some stones
are provided by the Clearwater and the locals
contribute the other ingredients).Trish squeaks as she lifts a basketball-sized
pumpkin, and nudges her friend to leave. "Say
good-bye to river!" she urges. "River is our friend."Another Hudson environmentai success story is
Iona Island. It's about 40 miles north of New YorkCity, near Bear Mountain, where the HudsonValley becomes steep and City drivers slow down.Iona Island was a munitions dump during W.W.IIand berthed dozens of mothballed Nar'y ships
afterward. The base was closed 20 years ago and theIand was rehabilitated. Wildlife was reintroduced.Wetlands surrounding it were flushed and spawn-
ing grounds were grooqled. Recently, a campsite
was opened on Iona called Pioneer. During a dawn
stroil, I saw scores of deer, a pair of beaver, a tbx,
and either a bald eagie or the largest turkey r.ulture
on the Hudson. One fisherman on the reed-spiked
bank had an eel and two shad in a bucket, and toldme about a whopper sturgeon that iust got away.
"100 kilos!" he cursed with a Baltic accent.
"More!"
The natural splendoi of the Hudson has inspirednaturalists and artists for centuries. The HudsonRiver School of painters - with Frederick Churchin the lead - depicted the 19th-century Valley insyrupy tones of romantic realism. Church'sMoorish hilltop mansion (Olana) set every windowas a frame for a landscape scene.
Washington Irving used the Hudson as thesetting for his "Legend of Sleepy Hollow" and "RipVan Winkle" tales. John Burroughs philosophizedabout the conservation of nature here beforeJohnMuir or environmentalism was heard of. RichardWright, the Art Deco designer, spent 30 years inthe Hudson foothills sculpting an S0-acre arbore-
tum called Manitou, Algonquian for "Place of Great
Spirit."Nature and art couple most grandly at the
Storm King Art Center. More than 100 majorsculptures - the BIG kind - by Calder, Noguchi,Armajani, Liberman, David Smith and others, are
scattered over an undulating 400-acre park. Sum-mer concerts of jazz, classical and folk music iuIIaudiences into the art, the land, and the conscious-ness in between.
F**-ss*d* *h*€sPerhaps the Hudson Valley's best synthesis ofhistory, activism and nature is the birthplace ofFranklin Delano Roosevelt at Hyde Park. As theonly U.S. president to be elected four times, FDR
lifted the country out of the Great Depression withsocial welfare initiatives and led the nation duringW.W.II. Archives, political memorabilia and filmsof his era are here in a huge presidential library.
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His sprawling-yet-cozy home became the"Summer White House." It is criss-crossed withramps for FDR's wheelchair and its walls are full ofCurrier & Ives prints, political cartoons and familyportraits. Roosevelt loved to gather people alongthe crest of the hill behind the house to absorb thebeauty of the Hudson River and the hundreds ofdifferent ffees he planted on the 188-acre estate.
And FDR often broadcast his "fireside chat"radio speeches from here; today, recordings ofthem are aired on a side porch outdoors. A fewyards from the porch, while standing in the rose
garden before the simple tomb that holds thepresident and his wife, I overhear the recording ofhis first inaugurai address: "...the only thing we
have to fear is fear itself."
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Michelle Dremann, a boomer businesswoman, is
part of the Valley's "ner,.r gentry." This former NewYork City resident didn't have a driver's license
when she started visiting the Valley, so she'd come
up by Amtrak train and take taxis all over theRhinebeck region. Then, about eight years ago, she
fell in love with and started renovating a9O-year-
)6
old carriage house and barn on the oldMansakenning estate. Her aim was to turn it into abed-and-breakfast inn.
She laughs: "Me, in my high heels, puttinglumber into taxis... The locals thought I was crazy ."
It took her four years of hard labor to transformthe historic site. But now, the 1Z-roomMansakenning Carriage House - with its gabledroofs, plank-wood floors and well-worn antiques -offers several suites with baiconies, firepiaces and
Jacuzzi's.Gourmet brunches by Culinary Institute of
America chefs offer the iikes of "Pecan and CreamCheese-stuffed French Toast with Warm Orange-Maple Syrup." Two yellow Labrador retrivers -Franny and Zoe, no less - serve as amiable rent-a-pets for those needing a dog fix.
Dremann says it takes New Yorkers a while toget used to the peace and quite of the Valley, tohaving no locks on the doors and no jackhammers
tearing up the streets. But eventually they begin torelax - and even get some work done: Mansaken-ning is popular for shooting films about murdermysteries for TV, and for, among other things,getting married.
Gentrification like this during the "go-go" '80srenovated scores of historic buildings, and drewtourists to discover Hudson Valley's past. AtCromwell Manor Inn, a 2O0-year-old Quaker homein Cornwali-on-Hudson now crammed with perfect
plumbing and style, you can read a teenager's diaryfrom a century ago. (She was bored with a suitor,but thdlled by new ribbons.)
Other bed-and-breakfast inns with names likePink House, Pig Hill and the Bird & Bottle Innflourish as well. Rhinebeck's traditional BeekmanArms now presents gourmet cuisine by a Manhat-tan culinary star, Larry Forgione, who puts theemphasis not on fancy French fare, but on good ol'American dishes.
,&, Yms€c d *k* &rmp*Several of the local wineries are promoting "Ameri-can traditional" as well - even though the revivalof the industry here was sparked by European grape
imports.Wine has been made in the Hudson Valley
since the 17th century, and Brotherhood Winery is
actually the oldest one in America. But until theIast few years, the wines of the 20-some Valleyvintners were, well...undistinguished. Then, NewYork State's Agricultural Department and privateinvestors began importing European vinifera grapes
- the species that yields chardonnay and cabernetsauvignon wines - and the wine business cameout of its deep, deep sleep. Millbrook Winery was
one of the first to wake up. It started its "money-no-object viniculture" more than a decade ago andnow makes the best wine in the state.
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;sS,.+ ontact!" shouts the pilot behind
"1F me. A pair of arms reaches uP
from suspendered shoulders and yanks
the wooden propeller. The engine sput-
ters, belches a cloud of smoke, thenthunders to life - the entire plane shut-
tering to the drone.Built of wood, canvas, and hope,
this 1944 De Havilland feels like an
over-sized model airplane or worse -a go-kart with wings. The whole thing,including the massive exposed motor,weighs less than I ,000 lbs. lt's a plane
built for stunts and it's called a TigerMoth.
As we bound down the rolling grass
runway, the soft leather helmet slaps
against my cheek, reminding me
the runway grandstand. The audience
boos the scoundrels on command fromthe master of ceremonies, warming tothe melodrama as if they were watch-ing - or a part of - a Keystone Kops
film.Every weekend from April through
September, weather permitting, a
troupe of volunteer pilots scores ofvintage contraptions and skits in thisold-fashioned air show. Buildings ex-plode in puffs of corn-oil smoke, dum-mies get thrown out of planes, and ahero always saves the day.
"No director, no actors," says Palen,
perhaps the zaniest one of all, ' justfun."
Spectators can also ride in an open-
ln 1958, when Palen began thismuseum-of-the-sky on a "level-
enough" runway at a clearing in thewoods between two farms, not much
else was here. Now, the Aerodromeflies - and that's the amazing part -a world renowned collection of WorldWar laircraft including three Fokkers(tri-, bi-, and single-winged planes, re-
spectively), a Sopwith Camel, a
Nieuport, an Avro, and a I9l I Bleriot(which could barely fly when it wasnew!). Model-T Ford automobiles,hand-pump fire engines and lndianmotorcycles round out the props forthe show. To house all these heir-looms, New York State recentlygranted funds to build real hangars on
the site.Palen who suffered a stroke recently
and is no longer flying, pushes back his
beret, rubs his head and tells me, "The
young types will carry it on. They can'tget enough of flying." He looks skywardas another antique craft baarrrroooomsoverhead, making a sharp turn and div-ing almost to the ground before zoom-ing skyward again.
I duck and Palen smiles. "That's
what barnstorming is all about," he
says. "Cet it?"
Even though there's no barn in
sight, I get it. Now all I need is a longsilk scarf and goggles.
there's no cockpit. Even though the twocloth-covered wings are wired to each
other and to the fuselage, theY are
twanging and bending and swaying as
if they are trying to flap. I turn back topoint this out to the pilot, but he's lean-
ing out the fuselage to steer. And we'vejust lifted offl
Up, up we go, up like a fast eleva-
tor. The acceleration drives me downinto my seat as the 1 00-mph winds peel
back my cheeks and lips into a forcedgrin.
This is Rhinebeck's Old Aerodrome,a living museum and community the-
ater all in one. And it's the result of one
man's vision: when Cole Palen went toinspect one World War I biPlane at amilitary auction in 1951, he was the
only bidder. So he bought six.
Now 70 years old, wearing an eye
patch and a black beret, Palen couldpass for a Hollywood director of the1920s. ln fact, he's too down-to-earth,too full ofgap teeth and laughter to be
a DeMille, though he does like his the-
atrics.A charcoal dust bomb exPlcdes in
the air as two antique biplanes stage a
mock dogfight in the air and the "Black
Baron" menaces "Trudy True Love" by
cockpit 1929 mail plane (a New Stan-
dard D-25, to be precise). Four goggledpassengers cram into two front seats fora low-altitude look at the Hudson. This
big plane rides like a classic Cadillac -smooth, stable, almost comfortable.
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Millbrook is in a converted dairy barn atop a
hi11ock. Because it's smail, most of the processing is
done by hand, and visitors can see fermentationbubbling in stainless-steel barrels which oncestored milk. The tasting room is in the loft whichoverlooks 100 acres oi vines.
Our group of two dozen strangers stafied our tast-ing session with a sparklingntethod cltampenoiseblendof pinot noir and chardonnay. Like the first fast danceat a prom, that tasty tasting broke the ice, and soonwe were sipping a splendid 1991 Estate Chardonnaythat had us spinning. From there we sashayed into a
lruity Claret, and by the time we hit the Merlot, wewere dancing on the baicony.
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Horses graze across white-fenced fields and deer are
seen on the roads at dawn. Pass by just about anyorchard and you'll see apples for sale - not some-one selling apples, iust a stack of apple crates and a
tin can with a sign that reads something like "Justput your money here - keep that doctor away!"
North of Bear Mountain, life gets simpler. Thecounty fairs feature livestock shon,s, competitionsbetween various 4-H Clubs, craft bazaars and evenbaking contests. Depending on which weekendyou happen to visit the Dutchess County FairGrounds you can gander at collections of classic
lnnon"'ff hereareboattoursthatwill takeyoufromNewYorkCityuptheHudson-atleastpartoftheway.Butto? get a better look at the lifestyle enjoyed here - today and in the past - it's best to drive, and these country
roads are meant for driving, and rent-a-car companies are rife. You can ofcourse motor up from the City, but a more leisurely (and cheaper) way is totake the Amtrak train from New York Central, with local stops all the way toAlbany; alight at any of lhese, then rent your buggy.For details, schedules and suggestions:. New York Tourism: ln the U.S., call: I -800-CALL-NYS or 518-474-6950.. Dutchess County Tourism: call: 9l 4-229-0033 fax: -6276. Orang€ County Tourism: 91 4-294 5151
cars, shop for antiques or duck decoys, listen to folkmusic hoedou'ns, join in a square dance or do just
about any of the things you might have thoughtAmericans didn't do any more.
The fairs draw a lot of visitors - mostly NewYorkers - and flood nearby Rhinebeck with a
flavor-of-the week coating that doesn't really sinkin. But the prosperity does. Intimate four-stareateries like Le Petite Bistro are down the street
from a church converted into a rock & roll bar.
"Rhinebeck is changing nicely," says Cole
Palen, a 7}-year old barnstormer. It's still a smalltown and "looks the same as 50 years ago."
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The main intersection in Rhinebeck, where the OldAlbany Post Road meets Sepasco Trai1, is home toAmerica's oldest inn, The Beekman Arms. Hun-dreds of finches tweeter in the oak out front.
Down the street is Schemmy's, a drug-store
soda-fountain which dispenses only calories now.
Joe Curthoys, a son of a son of the founder, says
their business was built by "treating people withrespect. "
While admitting that city folks have educated
the locals about business, Curthoys says thebackiash has begun, with demands for stricterzoning and slow-growth policy. "Nobody wants
gridlock," he says.
Other towns are also feeling the heat. "The last
thing we need is another antique shop," said an
antique-shop owner in Cold Spring, across fromWest Point. Sundays during the summer and fall,
crowds of pokers, sniffers and "how-old-is-this-thing?" casual shoppers do their thing at the 40-
some antique boutiques that line the town's steep
main street.
Some visitors overnight in the antique butcharmhg Hudson Inn right on the river. But these
days, most take the train up from the City, strollaround, grab a bite to eat then catch the returntrain, loaded down with mementos.
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Zealous antiquers go north, to Tivoli, Saugerties orHudson - tiny towns, river towns, towns that maylack some of the gosh-all-mighty quaintness ofRhinebeck but who are seriously into reaping theirshare of the back-to-America avalanche.
Here, antiques, replicas and hand-me-downs are
stacked in converted supermarkets. Chippendale,Shaker and Empire furniture cascade out of shops
onto the streets. After I looked at one well-oiledcedar chest in Saugerties, a leather-iacket man.andhis hungry wife lifted its lid and asked the price.
"We'11 come back after brunch," he said, leaving.
With a nod to the shop owner, I returned to thechest as if interested. The man rushed back with$200 in hand. "We want this piece of country byour bed," he said. The shop owner just smiled, and
winked.Saugerties, by the way, has the notoriety of
rejecting a certain music festival back in 1969,
rescinding the permit only a week before theconcert was to have taken place. That's why theconcert's promoters ended up on Max Yazgur's
farm in a nearby town - a town called Woodstock.But now, 25 years later, Saugerties has the
chance to redeem itself: Woodstock II is scheduled
for this August in the town. The tickets, it is said,
will cost a minimum of $100 each. This revenue -inflated by TV and movie deals, CD recordings andother perks - could fill Saugerties' coffers for thenext generation or two.
Meanwhile, as the Hudson flows on, plans are
already in place to make sure the surge of visitorsfrom the City won't swamp the little town: crowdcontrol for the concert will begin some 50 milesdownstream. I
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