Although it’s now known as a ski resort, for centuries Mohawk Mountain, with its great relative elevation (1,600 feet) and view of surrounding areas, has been used as a place for observation towers—it became known as Mohawk Mountain after other Native American tribes would light signal fires here to warn about impending Mohawk raids.

According to the Litchfield Historical Society –

The Mohawk Tower Association was formed in 1882 by residents of Litchfield, Goshen and Cornwall, Connecticut to provide an observation tower on Mohawk Mountain from which the view to the horizon could be seen in all directions. The first meeting of the Association was held at the Town Hall in Goshen on August 26, 1882.

A wooden pole tower was erected that year by Cyrus W. March and his son Charles, of Cornwall, on the summit of Mohawk Mountain after acquiring the title to an acre of land from Hunt, Lyman Iron Company. In 1882, 542 individuals visited the Tower, and the association collected $339.30 in receipts. In 1883, 687 persons visited the tower and a log cabin was built on the site at a cost of $400. In 1885 a subscription was started to purchase a telescope for the tower. By 1892 the tower was unsafe to climb, and the cabin was looted and began to fall into ruin. The wood tower later completely collapsed.

In 1912 Seymour Cunningham began acquiring land in the area. He purchased the Schlittenhart farm from Harrison Ives, as well as the adjoining farms of William H. Baldwin and Luke Richards. Mr. Cunningham was then able to secure the majority interest in the Mohawk Tower Association. At a meeting at Mohawk Tower on September 1, 1913 it was voted to deed and assign all the property of the Association to Mr. Cunningham.

After acquiring the land Cunningham erected a new round stone tower in place of the collapsed wooden structure. The new structure was thirty feet in circumference and thirty feet high, and referred to as “Aerie.” The area was fenced for sheep and many thousand Red and White seedlings were planted.

The sheep farm eventually failed, and the land was sold to Alain White, whose family eventually donated the property to the state in 1921.

The steel-braced tower has seen better days—the second level is completely gone, opening the top to the sky above. It has a large fireplace, which some visitors still seem to use for fires from time to time. The tower has also been abused by vandals and graffiti artists, which adds to the creepy, abandoned atmosphere. If you are so inclined, there are picnic tables where you can enjoy a bite while taking in the view.

Refreshingly, we can find no ghost or haunting stories about the tower, which is surprising when it seems that every other abandoned and slightly unusual place in the state seems to have claims of some sort of supernatural activity.

Our Damned Experience: We have never been to Cunningham Tower, but in our youth, we had a crush on Joanie Cunningham, even though she ultimately loved Chachi.

If You Go: Cunningham Tower is along the blue-blazed trail Mohawk/Mattatuck Trail in Mohawk Mountain State Park and Mohawk State Forest in Cornwall and Goshen. It is not too far from the ski area—it’s pretty clearly marked on the official “Northern Section” trail map.

The gates to the forest and state park are officially open to the public between April and November, and are located on Great Hollow Road in Cornwall, just off of Route 4; there are no parking fees.

Emory Johnson Homestead

The Damned Story: In East Haddam, a few miles north of the fabled Goodspeed Opera House and near to the border of Moodus, is a 52-acre parcel of land that once was the village of Johnsonville. Once a thriving mill community, then a Victorian Era tourist attraction, it’s now an abandoned ghost town, stuck in limbo waiting for someone to either come and restore it or to put it out of its misery and knock it down.

Of course, Johnsonville didn’t start with intentions of becoming a deserted village. Originally founded in the early 19th century, Johnsonville was home to a number of twine mills, who used the Moodus River as a power source.

In the early 1960s, Raymond Schmitt, the somewhat eccentric owner of AGC Corporation, an aerospace equipment manufacturer, bought the property with unclear intentions. He seemed to want to make it a tourist attraction, but despite making an effort to, never really officially did so.

After Schmitt took possession of the property, he purchased other vintage buildings and had them moved to Johnsonville, including a Victorian stable and chapel, which hosted weddings. Schmitt didn’t formally run tours on the property, but he did open the property for visitors on a regular basis. He also allowed special events including charity benefits and weddings.

According to a November 2000 article in Business New Haven, he also had “an exceptional collection of antique horse-drawn carriages, which he displayed in the livery stable.”

More details of the property, according to the Business New Haven story:

One of the jewels is the Emory Johnson homestead. Built in 1846 by the son-in-law of one of the original owners of the mill, the four-bedroom house has three fireplaces, pillared porches, a formal garden and original Victorian-era details. In later years it served as a museum depicting décor and furnishings of the 1800s.

A small one-and-a-half story single-family dwelling was built in 1900. A two-story Colonial-style house was built in 1846. The remaining residence is a two-story dwelling built in 1800.

The office, overlooking the 15-acre Johnson Millpond, was built in 1899. The former location of the Neptune mill office, the building was once a post office. The Gilead Chapel, which seats approximately 75 worshippers, was built in 1876 and moved to the village from Waterford in the late 1960s.

No one knows the exact age of the one-room Hyde School, which was the original schoolhouse for the community of East Haddam. The Red House Restaurant was built in 1900 and has been renovated into a restaurant/banquet facility for 150-200 people. A clock and toy store, originally used as a meeting house, was built in the 1800s; Frank General Store was built in 1845 in Peru, Mass.

The Gilbert Livery Stable was reportedly built in Winsted in 1920. Its three levels contain oak stalls with unusual woodwork, including beadboard and raised panels. All of this is in a beautiful setting with views of the river, a millpond, island, waterfall and some man-made features such as a covered bridge, wooden dam, paddlewheel riverboat.

In 1994, Schmitt got into a disagreement with the town of East Haddam and shut down the attraction, putting the property up for sale. Schmitt died in 1998, and his estate started selling off many of the antiques and other pieces of the property, including some of the buildings. At one point the property was listed for $3 million, not a bad price for 60-plus acres of scenic Connecticut countryside. With the market down as it is, it may be even more inexpensive at this point.

Some suggest that the ghost of Schmitt roams the grounds of Johnsonville, content to spend eternity in a place for which he had so much affection. We haven’t heard of any other specific ghost stories here, but like any long-abandoned settlement, there’s an undeniable creepiness inherent to the place.

Our Damned Experience: We took a trip to East Haddam in April 2011, which included a ride down Johnsonville Road and through the abandoned village.

As you can see, we stopped and took photos of the buildings that were still there, including the chapel and Johnson House. The village is in okay condition — some of the places could use a little paint and care, but it’s not like the walls are collapsing and the ceilings are caved in.

Like any good “abandoned” area, it was very quiet — although the funny thing is that just on all sides of Johnsonville is normal suburbia, with plenty of modest homes containing average American families. Kids ride bikes down the street, men tend to their lawns, minivans are parked in driveways … Johnsonville is like a weird dead spot in an otherwise regular Connecticut neighborhood.

We didn’t see or experience anything unusual, although it would’ve been great to hang around and take more pictures. Next time!

If You Go: The remains of Johnsonville can be found on Johnsonville Road in East Haddam, just off of Route 149 near the Moodus end of town. No trespassing signs are posted throughout the property, although there’s nothing to stop you from driving along Johnsonville Road.

Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

The Damned Story: When you mention a river flowing through Hartford, most would immediately think of the Connecticut River, which borders the eastern half of the city. Very few know that there’s another river in the city — or more accurately, under the city.

Time to take a trip down the Park River, a.k.a. Hog River or Little River.

For hundreds, if not thousands, of years, a small river ran in from the Northwest end of the landscape that is now Hartford, winding down through the heart of the city and to southeast, eventually joining up with the Connecticut River. Originally known as the “Little River” by early settlers (with the Connecticut being the “Big River”), development quickly sprung up along its muddy banks. Initially used as a source for mills and other factories, it soon became a dumping trough for industrial — and human — waste. It was referred to as the “Mill River” for a short time, and then the “Hog River,” because of the obvious: Pigs were kept in farms along some stretches of it.

Not surprisingly, between the pigs, factory waste and human poop, the Hog River became horribly polluted and eventually smelled as bad as it sounded.

Still, the river was a key, if noxious, aspect of the city. In an attempt to clean it up a bit, a park was created around it in the hopes that less factories and homes might render it a bit less odious. Spearheaded by respected Hartford minister Horace Bushnell, the effort didn’t quite have the desired effect, although the city did get a new park (named for Bushnell) and a new name for the byway — the Park River.

A new name and a pretty park were all well and good, but the city also needed a new plan to deal with the nasty river, which was becoming even more a problem during flooding season — imagine a proud capitol city swamped with trash, garbage and excrement on an annual basis. The floods of 1936 and 1938 were particularly damaging, and lead to the formulation of a more permanent solution to the problem of the stinking waterway: Bury it.

The Army Corps of Engineers were brought in, and over the course of the 1940s, the Bushnell Park section of the river was re-routed into a 30-foot-high by 45-foot-wide concrete tunnel under Hartford. During the next four decades, the rest of the river was buried, a public works project that when complete, cost over $100 milli0n and resulted in nine miles of river being placed out of sight, and for the most part, out of mind.

Currently, there are parts of the Park River in Hartford that are above ground — where it runs through the University of Hartford campus, meanders through town to the UConn Law School campus and to Farmington Avenue (not too far from the Mark Twain House). It is at this point that it begins its subterranean journey beneath the city, essentially a straight shot under the Capitol and Bushnell Park before dumping out into the Connecticut River, close to where the Whitehead Highway connects with I-91.

The underground portion is accessible when water levels are low. From somewhat recent accounts, however, the river is still a bit of a nasty, stinky place, with sewage and other runoff.

For a more detailed history of the Little/Hog/Mill/Park River, you can visit the Bushnell Park site or Connecticut Explored, formerly known as The Hog River Journal.

Our Damned Experience: Although we’ve been left up more than one river without a paddle, we have not yet made our way down the Park River and under Hartford.

If You Go: The upper, exposed portion of the Park River is open to the public, but the part under the city is currently off limits. At one point, canoe tours were available — we contacted the group that used to run them, and they informed us that they had to stop because of legal liability issues.

You can visit where the river goes underground, which is right off of Farmington Avenue, or where it meets up the Connecticut River near I-91 in Hartford, which is shown in the picture above.

All images by Ray Bendici

The Damned Story: Dr. Harvey Cushing was the acclaimed “Father of Modern Neurosurgery,” an 1891 Yale graduate and brilliant physician. In addition to pioneering critical surgical techniques, such as using X-rays to diagnose brain tumors and monitoring blood pressure during operations, he also created one of the most unique medical teaching tools ever assembled, featuring the donated brains of hundreds of his patients. This collection is now on permanent display at the Cushing Center at Yale’s Whitney Medical Library.

That’s right — it’s a brain museum.

Okay, let’s get it out of the way: The brains of Hans Delbruck, scientist and saint, are not here, although many of the 400+ specimens here could be called “Abby Normal” — the reason they were a patient of Dr. Cushing’s in the first place was because there was some sort of abnormality. Ever the diligent researcher, Cushing stayed in contact with those he successfully operated on and was able to convince many to give their gray matter to science when they were done with it so the long-term effects of brain surgery could be studied. He also kept many of the tumors and other masses he removed from patients for observation, placing them in leaded glass jars as he did with the donated brains, all of which was meticulously cataloged and labeled.

Cushing also had glass-plate photographs made of his patients, another groundbreaking practice in the development of neurosurgery.

For years, Cushing’s collection was studied by medical students and aspiring neurosurgeons. After Cushing’s death in 1939, the collection was donated to the Yale Medical School, where it was stored in a sub-basement for decades. In the mid-1990s, a medical student — who, with other students, had been sneaking in to “commune” with the brains and Cushing’s spirit — went to the medical school and asked to do his thesis on the collection.

Rediscovered, it was decided that the entire collection, still in its original jars and with the patient photographs, should be displayed. Careful restoration was undertaken, although it turned out that the original specimen jars were ideal (the leaded glass will never get cloudy), so they only needed to be cleaned. (The original “Cushing Tumor Registry” labels are also in place, some of which have notes added by Cushing himself.) Five years and $1.5 million later, the Cushing Center officially opened to the public in June 2010.

For the record, Cushing was a true Renaissance man — in addition to being a teaching and practicing surgeon, he was a talented artist, who deftly sketched surgical procedures and anatomical figures. He served during World War I and also was an exceptional writer, authoring medical texts and even scoring the 1926 Pulitzer Prize for a biography he penned on Sir William Osler, one of the fathers of modern medicine. (Yeah, what have you done today?)

In addition to the brains and other specimens, some of Dr. Cushing’s personal items are on display including a lab coat, family photos and journals. There’s also a small conference room in the center.

Our Damned Experience: We got to visit the Cushing Center in January 2011, and were duly impressed. As you might expect, it is located on the lower level of the library, because where else would put a brain museum but in the basement?

Considering it’s essentially a room full of brains in glass jars, which might be creepy for some people, the space, designed by Turner Brooks, is hauntingly beautiful. The majority of the specimens ring the center in dramatically lit glass cases, making photography particularly challenging. (Yeah, it’s all the glass display cases, reflections and lighting that hampered my pictures, which you can see in the gallery below — not the glaring lack of photography skills!) Speaking of images, the photographs of Cushing’s patients are particularly compelling; according to the center”s curator, Terry Dagradi, there are thousands of glass-plate negatives, only a fraction of which have been developed to date.

Also interesting are the hundreds of vintage medical texts, tools and paraphernalia collected by the good doctor. Apparently, if he were alive today, Cushing might be a candidate for an episode of “Hoarders.”

Make sure to take time to open all the drawers that start at the bottom of the entrance ramp — they are a treasure trove, stocked with books, drawings and all sorts of odd goodies, from random bones and specimen slides to test tubes and acupuncture needles to medical diagrams sketched by Cushing himself.

The Cushing Center is not a particularly big place, so although there’s all sort of neat things to see, don’t plan on making a day of it.

And no, we did not observe any zombies hanging around looking for a well-aged snack. Nor is there a sign that says, “After 5 p.m. slip brains through slot in door.”

If You Go: The Cushing Center is located in the Whitney Medical Library of Yale Medical School at 333 Cedar Street in New Haven. It is open free of charge to the public, although visitors must check in at the Circulation Desk to get a Yale Proximity ID card and access to the collection. Check the website for specific hours and holiday closures.

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The Damned Story

The study of puppetry at UConn was initiated by Frank W. Ballard, who joined the school’s faculty in 1956 and began what would become a world-renowned fine arts puppetry program in 1965. Together with a group of the program’s alumni, Ballard founded the National Institute of Puppetry in 1987, which soon after took his name.

In 1996, the museum facility officially opened, originally displaying dozens of puppets created by Ballard and others. The collection has since grown to include puppets from around the world as well as historically important creations, some of which are centuries old. Essentially every kind of puppet imaginable is on display, including marionettes, shadow figures and hand, rod and finger puppets. In addition to changing exhibitions, the museum regularly offers workshops, tours, lectures, forums and other programs.

Sadly, Frank Ballard died in June 2010 due to complications of Parkinson’s Disease. The museum continues on under the direction of Dr. John Bell, an accomplished puppeteer and theater historian.

Our Damned Experience: We visited the Ballard Museum of Puppetry on a quiet Sunday afternoon in August 2010. Since we were the only visitors at the time, we were able to see the entire place without any restriction.

The two students who greeted us upon our arrival were very friendly and politely offered us the choice of either a guided tour or the opportunity to wander the museum on our own and then ask any questions. Since we had two (somewhat impatient) kids with us, we opted for the latter, and went through the exhibits, which basically were dozens of vintage puppets and marionettes. The museum has two main wings, neither of which that are all that large — you can go through the entire place in an hour or two, including seeing some of the classic videos and DVDs that are available to watch.

For the record, this is not a place full of warm and fuzzy Muppet-like creations or characters that a child might currently see on TV. On view are one-of-kind, older wooden puppets important to the evolution of puppetry; however, many of these characters that entertained children decades ago now look like things that escaped some sort of Tim Burton retro creepfest. Just sayin’. Seriously, it’s fine to visit the place during the light of day with other people in the building, but if you have an overactive imagination (like we do), you would not want to have to spend the night there, that’s all.

Anyway, the museum is a loving tribute to Frank Ballard, his legacy and the art of puppetry.

We should mention that the museum is in a weird, seemingly abandoned area of UConn that is not exactly part of the main Storrs campus. It’s on the Depot Campus a mile or so west of the main campus, located on Route 44 — some of the buildings around it are actually empty and overgrown by vines and bushes.

If You Go: The Ballard Institute & Museum of Puppetry is located at 6 Bourn Place on the Depot Campus of the University of Connecticut. During the school year, the museum is usually open Friday to Sunday, noon to 5, except for holidays.

As mentioned, the museum is not a big place, so don’t plan on making a day of it. Still, a quirky little odd place (bordering on creepy because of the sheer number of antique puppets and marionettes) and well worth a visit.

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Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

The Damned Story: On Scarborough Street in Hartford stands a two-story replica of a 16th-century Palladian villa that appears as stately as any home in the neighborhood. Closer inspection, however, reveals that instead of being built of brick and stucco, it’s made of painted pine boards — and it’s only 18 feet wide!

Behold The Austin House, which despite image of grandeur it projects with its  nearly 90 feet long facade, is only one room deep. Talk about narrow-minded thinking …

Built in 1930 by A. Everett “Chick” Austin Jr., legendary director of the Wadsworth Atheneum from 1927 to 1944, and his wife, Helen Goodwin Austin, the “Facade House” (as the family home has become known) was inspired by a villa the couple had seen during their honeymoon in Italy. Originally, the residence’s interior featured decor that reflected the Austin’s love of art, featuring various works from and inspired by 16th and 17th century Europe. It was a dramatic living space with a travertine stone floor, arched doorways, a wide circular staircase, period furniture and ornately carved moldings. And as Chick was fond of magic (he was a member of the International Brotherhood of Magicians), it was fitting that his home was a bit of an illusion.

Because of their association with the Atheneum, the Austin’s home was the heart of the Hartford social scene, and its roster of guests reflects the influence they wielded. The house was visited by a veritable who’s who of the early 20th century, including Salvador Dali, Alexander Calder, Gertrude Stein, George Balanchine, Buckminster Fuller, Aaron Copland and Martha Graham. Not too shabby!

Despite such impressive visitors and having being heralded for its design by architects the world over, the neighbors — living in their respectable Tudor Revival residences, neo-colonials and Georgian-style homes — didn’t particularly care for No. 130 Scarborough Street when it was first built: It was met with derision and dubbed “the pasteboard palace.” Now that it’s a National Historic Landmark, however, it seems as though those living around it are more accepting of the Austins’ vision.

Chick Austin moved out of the house in 1946 and died from lung cancer in 1956. Helen stayed there with her children until 1985, when they donated to the Wadsworth Atheneum.

Even though it looks like part of a movie set that might fold up quick, the Austin House still stands proudly today in Hartford.

Our Damned Experience: We have yet to visit The Austin House — seriously, we ain’t frontin’ you! But we would love to slip in a visit at some point.

If You Go: The Austin House is located at 130 Scarborough Street in Hartford, and is now part of the permanent collection of the Wadsworth Atheneum. It is only used for special functions, although tours can be arranged by appointment for those who donate to the Sarah Goodwin Austin Memorial Fund. For more information call (860) 838-4049.

Just remember to have a salad (or two) before visiting.
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Of course, the replica “Moai” (as the distinctive and mysterious giant stone statues are called) isn’t just randomly standing in town — it’s a key part of the Timexpo Museum.

As you may (or may not) have guessed, the museum showcases the history of Timex Watches, which is headquartered in nearby Middlebury, and presents the development of the company from its start as the Waterbury Clock Company in 1854 through the present. Throughout the museum there are dozens of historic timepieces, from century-old grandfather clocks to Mickey Mouse wristwatches. Also on view are classic John Cameron Swayze Timex “It takes a licking and keeps on ticking” TV commercials and prototypes for the next generation of personal timepieces, including one that may even be fitted on an eye. The Timexpo Museum is also home to the largest Indiglo clock face in the world, which is housed in a tower atop the former brass mill.

As for the Easter Island connection — the Olsen Family, who owns Timex, was close friends with renowned Easter Island researcher Thor Heyerdahl, and helped to fund his exploits aboard his famous ship, Kon-Tiki. Consequently, when the museum was created, it was decided to dedicate part of it to chronicling the work of Heyerdahl, and the subject of Easter Island.

Our Damned Experience: We visited the Timexpo Museum in April 2010, and in person, that Easter Island head really is impressive. And for the record, it truly is bizarre to have such a genuinely foreign-looking object sitting a few yards from the highway and Chili’s Restaurant.

The museum itself is well-organized and the exhibits are presented in easy-to-understand fashion. The majority of the place is devoted to watches and clocks, with lots of historic timepieces on display, including classic grandfather clocks and giant Mickey Mouse watches. (Apparently size matters at Timexpo!) There’s some cool classic commercials, and the Indiglo area is a bit trippy.

All the information about Heyerdahl, the Kon-Tiki and his research is in a large exhibit area on the second floor. Here you will find maps, interactive displays, small exhibits and another fairly large moai, although it’s not nearly as big as the one out front. Essentially, if you’re looking for information about Heyerdahl and the Kon-Tiki, you’re probably not going to find a better source on this side of the Atlantic. Or is that the Pacific? In North America? You get the picture — and if you don’t, you can check out some pics down below.

In Disney style, after you’re done touring the museum you pass through a Timex watch shop, where it seems that you can get a decent watch for a ridiculously discounted price. A bargain as big as the head out front!

If You Go: The Timexpo Museum is at 175 Union Street in Waterbury, in the Brass Mill Commons. It’s open Tuesday-Saturday, 10-5, year-round, although you can see the giant tiki head from Route 84 at any time of the day.

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The Damned Story

As with many truly ancient sites, it’s not exactly clear who originally built Gungywamp or for what exactly it was created. The complex — which is divided into north and south sections — has many fascinating features, including a double circle of stones, standing stones and multiple stone chambers. At least one chamber is constructed so that during the vernal and autumnal equinoxes, sunlight streams in through an opening in the wall and illuminates a “hidden” subchamber. There are also stone mounds, cairns, walls, petroglyphs and a rock ledge called “The Cliff of Tears” where visitors have been known to experience sudden bouts of inexplicable sadness or depression.

A few people who have visited the site seem to think that it may have been originally built by ancient Celts who came to Groton in hopes of establishing a new colony; others think that the mounds and chambers may even be some interdimensional portals. Not a shred of evidence supporting either wild claim has ever been unearthed at any point during the many excavations of the site.

Evidence has been discovered suggesting that the site was first used by Native Americans for centuries, and then later by colonial settlers. The stone foundations of colonial dwellings still stand in a few spots. All in all, a treasure trove of damned history.

As you might expect, Gungywamp has been the focus of multiple professional archaeological explorations, which has unearthed a lot of information as well as everything from arrowheads and pottery fragments to coins and animal bones. One of the stone circles appears to have been a mill for extracting tannins, which would’ve been used in turning animal hides into leather. Some of the standing stones seem to be along astronomical line and could have been a calendar of sorts. The exact purposes of the chambers are unclear, but if the site was initially a sacred complex, then it’s possible the chambers used in various rituals. Later, they were used by settlers as root cellars, among other things.

Investigators have also discovered that the area around “The Cliff of Tears” has a very strong electromagnetic field, which would explain the many odd feelings and reactions by those who come in contact with it.

Stone Structures of Northeastern United States has an excellent in-depth investigation of Gungywamp, including images, detailed maps and more.

Our Damned Experience: We finally got to visit Gungywamp in March 2010 as part of a tour organized by Atlas Obscura, who was celebrating their worldwide “Obscura Day.” Even better, it was on the vernal equinox, so we were able to witness firsthand the setting sun shining through a shaft in the calendar chamber and on the side wall, as you can see in this picture we snapped — one of a bunch we took that day. (See the full gallery at the bottom of the page.)

Just to the right of this image is the “hidden” subchamber, and a little after this picture was taken, the light reached that chamber. (Unfortunately, we weren’t able to get a picture of that because there were a few different research groups there trying to record the moment, none of whom that seemed all that eager to share with the others.) In the gallery, there’s a picture of the shaft from the topside.

Our tour was happily guided by Bill Dopirak, a member of The Gungywamp Society, who clearly has spent a lot of time at the site, researching and excavating various areas of it. He took us around to the many chambers and other structures, and shared what he knew about the site. Interestingly, it seemed like he originally started investigating here hoping to find evidence of the Celts or something unusual, but all their research and study seems to keep pointing to the same, not-surprising idea — that various parts of the site were created originally by ancient Native Americans, and over the centuries, was taken over by colonists, who shaped the structures to their own, more mundane uses.

Despite that, many of the stone structures are impressive in their own right. The alignment of the stone circles along celestial events, and places like the calendar chamber, which were constructed with an eye to special days of the year, just illustrate the fact that the native people who lived here a few thousand years ago were a lot more intelligent and capable than most want to give them credit for.

A few other things of note to look for in the gallery:

• The one stone formation that looks like the profile of a Native American.
• The row of standing stones — no one seems to have an idea of exactly what they were for. Astronomical timepiece, or a place to hold sheep while they were sheared?
• The close-up of one of the standing stones in which a petroglyph of a bird is apparently carved.

Anyway, it was a damned interesting afternoon.

If You Go: Gungywamp is on private property in Groton, not too far from Route 12. The Gungywamp Society offers guided tours of the site from time to time.

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Courtesy of philipjohnsonglasshouse.org

The Damned Story: In the beautiful countryside of New Canaan sits an unusual structure, a starkly beautiful residence that has become known as The Glass House. Created by famed architect Philip Johnson, it’s a brilliant legacy to a man who deeply embraced the Modernist movement and style.

It’s also a place for someone who never throws stones at other people’s houses.

Incredibly talented, Philip Johnson founded the architectural department at the Museum of Modern Art, and was integral in bringing the Modernist movement to American architecture during the first half of the 20th century. In addition to numerous private residence, some of Johnson’s notable architectural works include: the Abby Aldrich Rockefeller Sculpture Garden at The Museum of Modern Art and the AT&T Building (now Sony Plaza), both in New York; the Transco (now Williams) Tower and Pennzoil Place, both in Houston: the Fort Worth Water Garden; and the Crystal Cathedral in Garden Grove, California.

In 1949, he decided to create a unique home for himself, and on 47 woodsy acres that he had acquired in New Canaan, set about designing a domicile that would include and extol his beloved Modernist principles. Essentially a rectangular glass box (some might say a glorified fish tank) on a brick base, the structure is a simple as it sounds — glass walls all around with only a brick cylinder housing a bathroom offering anything resembling privacy. The rest of the interior space is open aside from a set of cabinets that serve to divide the area into “rooms.” As you might expect, Johnson also kept the decor true to the spirit of the design, very minimal and clean, with furniture that would make IKEA proud.

A total Modernist construct, the house has been called “an essay in minimal structure, geometry, proportion and the effects of transparency and reflection.” We call it a place in which you wouldn’t play baseball or old Ella Fitzgerald records.

One of the things you have to admire about Johnson is that his glass house wasn’t simply architectural attention-whoring — well, maybe it was to an extent — he designed it for himself and lived there from when it was completed in 1949 until the day he died in 2005 at the age of 98. Clearly, it was a home as well as a work of art.

Philip Johnson’s Glass House was declared a National Historic Landmark in 1997, and following Johnson’s death, became part of the National Trust for Historic Preservation.

The grounds are also home to other Modernist structures, which can be viewed during the tour.

Our Damned Experience: We have yet to make like an old Billy Joel album cover — not that we would if given the chance. We will make sure to bring the Windex when do visit, though.

If You Go: Philip Johnson’s Glass House is located on his former estate in the backcounty of New Canaan, and is open for guided tours from May to November. You need to purchase tickets ahead of time, either from the official website or by phone (866.811.4111).

Tours begin in downtown New Canaan at the visitor center at 199 Elm Street, which also features an exhibition and museum shop. There are multiple tours — the extended one visits more houses on the property and allows time for photography.
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Harkening back to the days when kitschy roadside attractions dotted the highways and byways of this country, Classic Auto Wash embraces that spirit. The business was originally opened by Anacleto “Nicky” Vento, and is still run by his family who adheres to the idea that, “Give ‘em something to see and they’ll stop the car (and hopefully get it washed)!”

Part tourist attraction and all car wash, the facility in Cromwell is surrounded by an eclectic bunch of figures ranging from Elvis Presley and the Blues Brothers to saucy pirate wenches and blue oxen to John Wayne on horseback and Clark Kent in a phone booth! Around the property there’s also other sundry eccentricities, including small lighthouses, some vintage gas pumps and even a 20-foot-tall Santa (who you can talk to during the holiday season). Music blares from speakers all throughout the place, helping to keep the fun mood going.

Suds and sights — what more could you want?

Our Damned Experience: We stopped by Classic on a bright spring day in April 2009, and of course, the first thing we did was start taking pictures!

"One of these things is not like the others ..."

As you can see from the gallery below, there’s quite a collection of figures, and we tried to take pictures of many of them — that’s Steve making friends (as usual) to the right.

Beyond the many whimsical figures, this place is … well, a car wash! Go figure. Obviously, getting our vehicle scrubbed clean and detailed should’ve been on the agenda, but then again, we were in the Damned Mobile, a.k.a. an early ’90s station wagon, so we didn’t bother — you know, the clean hot water might cause the dirt and rust holding everything together to come apart!

But if you have an actual nice car, we couldn’t recommend a more interesting place to take it to make it all shiny.

If You Go: Classic Auto Wash is located at 14 Berlin Road and 23 Shunpike Road in Cromwell. It is open daily year round, and the various and sundry statues are always on display.

If you have some time, check out Classic’s website — probably the most lively and active site we’ve ever seen for a car wash. Then again, this place is clearly all about making a big splash, literally and figuratively!

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