Cheever_ A Life - Blake Bailey [174]
CHEEVER'S NEIGHBORS on Cedar Lane were Ted and Sally Ziegler. Ted, an energetic polio survivor, was himself an author (Men Who Make Us Rich), which perhaps had something to do with what appeared to be a defensive attitude toward his more famous neighbor. After their first dinner together, Cheever noted the “sharp edges to Ted's personality” and suspected he'd made a bad impression for some reason—confirmed a few days later, when Cheever went to get his mail and noticed that Ziegler, working outside, abruptly seized his papers and stormed into his house, slamming the door. From there matters went downhill, though long placid intervals passed when the two didn't speak at all. Every few years, however, the feud would get hot again. Ziegler took up the French horn in middle age and began practicing outdoors at night, until Cheever “marched up the hill” and threatened to “fire off [his] shotgun at intervals of five minutes.” That was in 1967; nine years later, Ziegler suddenly began railing at Cheever about his dogs (“For fifteen years his wife hasn't been able to take a walk, his daughter has been terrified, his old cat is miserable …”). Meanwhile one of Ziegler's sons, Andrew, sometimes found himself in the midst of these imbroglios and would notice an odd tangy odor he couldn't quite identify until the Proustian moment, many years later, when he took his first sip of gin and “immediately thought of John Cheever.”
Partly as a means of staving off (or sweating out) those first drinks of the day, Cheever had become a great taker of walks, for which the pastoral environs of Cedar Lane were well suited. His favorite route was along the Croton Aqueduct—a forty-five-minute (or so) hike through the woods and along the Croton River leading at last to the fabulous spectacle of the Croton Dam, which Cheever especially liked to show companions in spring, when the 180-foot marvel overflowed (“in spate”) and the crashing water could be heard a mile away. “This is the second largest cut-stone mortised structure in the world,” Cheever would always explain to first-time visitors, adding in later years, “—and one of the last things on the planet to be seen by Neil Armstrong before he was hurled into space.”
On his way home from the aqueduct pathway, Cheever would often stop for a drink at Shady Lane Farm, which Aaron Copland had sold in 1960 to the Italian poet and novelist Antonio Barolini (“a member of the Vicenza aristocracy,” Cheever was apt to point out). Barolini was a gentle eccentric who tended to greet Cheever with a great hug and buss on both cheeks, calling him “my dear” and affably declaring his love. The two would then retire to Barcaloungers and attempt to communicate in a curious pidgin accompanied by florid gesticulation—until one day Cheever noticed Barolini had begun speaking entirely in English, translating even the simplest bits of Italian. (“Is too bad you cannot read my article, he says. But I can read Italian I say shyly. No reply.”) “I am loving the Beatles,” Barolini suddenly announced in 1964. Cheever asked if he'd seen them on TV or bought their records, and the man presently explained that he was referring to “George and Helene Beatle” who lived in Croton. These were the Biddles; indeed, Cheever had kept up a witty correspondence with George