July 17, 2013 Article

The Old Coot salutes the Village People.

By Merlin Lessler

There is a bunch of people who walk Owego. There are the noon walkers, taking a break from work and stretching their legs. There are the after-dinner walkers, taking a stroll to burn off that extra piece of pie. There are the mothers and fathers (mostly mothers) pushing strollers, sometimes at a walk pace, sometimes at a full jog. There are dog walkers, sightseers from out of town, historic tour walkers and then there is my crowd, the morning walkers, taking in the sights while the village sleeps.

We’re a nosey bunch, us morning walkers; we’re like news reporters working a beat. “Did you see that the Hennessey house is for sale?” – we’ll report to anyone we meet. “Did you see the color the Smith’s are painting their house?” We’re walking but mostly we’re gawking. And why not? A walk through the village is like a walk through a Norman Rockwell painting.

We nod to each other as we pass. Sometimes, we know who we are nodding to, sometimes we don’t.  We exchange weather comments or give a heads up on a sight not to be missed on the next block. My favorite walkers are Sue Johnson and Jane Murphy. They both winter in Florida, but from May to October you will find them on the sidewalk most every morning.

Sue is the one in the lead; she’s five feet ahead of Jane, turning her head back to carry on a running conversation. Jane claims it’s because Sue has longer legs and walks faster, but I don’t buy it! They both walk at the same pace; it’s just that they do it five feet apart. Sue is the scout! Jane guards the rear!

But these two morning walkers don’t just walk, talk and check out the sights; they stop and interview whoever crosses their path. “What are you up to these days?” – “Did you go south this winter?” – “Did you sell your cottage at the lake?” Running into them is like being interrogated by Mike Wallace on Sixty Minutes, just more enjoyable because after they finish your debriefing, they get you up to date on what’s going on around town.

I miss them in the winter when they are in Florida, these two friends who have pounded the pavement together (five feet apart) for several decades. But every spring they come back, about a month after the robins, and join the morning crowd:  Eddy, scouting for recyclables - Thelma, checking trash cans for scraps to feed the birds -  David, keeping track of police and fire calls on his portable scanner - Nancy, down from the mountain to put in her laps. And, me! (among others) We’re the village people. We walk the beat.