The Village of Lake Placid is, in its upstate New York kind of way, placid. If the Placidites had wanted the town to be loud and fun and raucous and sexy, they would have named it “Cohenville.”
To guarantee that the village remains, well, you know, relaxed, a new ordinance prohibits “yelling, shouting, hooting, whistling, singing,” between 9:30 p.m. and 7 a.m.
Too much hooting can bring you up to 60 days in jail and a $750 fine.
Imagine being in jail with the murderers and rapists and stuff and then the toughest guy in the cellblock asks you what you’re in for.
“I hooted in Lake Placid.”
This Lake Placid thing is no aberration. It’s not well known, but many Connecticut towns take their names very, very seriously. It’s best not to simply travel to a town, or locate a business there, until you’ve done an analysis of why it’s called what it is, and whether the citizenry takes the name seriously.
Taken Seriously
In Ashford, for instance, smoking is not only allowed in public places, but it is treated as somewhat of a sacrament. Local humor runs to warnings about not making an ash of yourself, but, in fact, ashes are revered in Ashford.
Most high school English teachers take pity on their poor students and no longer make them read Chaucer’s “Canterbury Tales” because everybody in the book talks funny and the plot is a bit obtuse and no one has a cell phone and it’s like kind of boring.
Unless you live in Canterbury, Conn., in which case not only do you have to read and discuss and attend seminars on “Canterbury Tales,” but you must also write your senior thesis on the book. One Canterbury valedictorian actually moved to Bulgaria, with the hope that he would never again come in contact with the story.
Imagine the complications in Chaplin, when your teenage daughter appears at breakfast one weekday morning in a short skirt, tight blouse, stiletto heels and Sarah Palin glasses. You want to tell her not to “dress like a little tramp,” but of course, in Chaplin, “Little Tramp” is a term of endearment. As everybody knows, the town is named for Charlie Chaplin.
No towns show the diversity of “name” influence more than Windsor Locks and Bloomfield. Windsor Locks is named for the 17th century political philosopher John Locke, a “life, liberty and pursuit of happiness” kind of guy who believed government’s job was to protect private property and get out of the way. In Windsor Locks, the public library charges admission, the parks are owned by Disney and if you go to Town Hall looking for help, they refer you to the Yellow Pages in the telephone book.
Bloomfield is named for Leon Blum, the Popular Front, lefty-Socialist French politician of decades past, who brought the country a 40-hour work week, mandatory paid vacation and welfare that just wouldn’t quit.
In Bloomfield, most of the stores and City Hall look closed, but they’re all just on vacation. Paid vacation.
This isn’t all fun and games, though. You really have to be careful.
No Polyester In Oxford
Presbyterians, for instance, aren’t allowed in Cromwell, named, as it is, for Lord Cromwell, who had some interesting ideas about the Hand of God and no dissent and those irritating Presbyterians.
Business attire is also impacted in Connecticut by the location of the enterprise and the name of the town. No polyester in Oxford; no plaids in Plainville or Plainfield.
And if you’re looking for a job opportunity, become a master carpenter and move to Bethlehem. They really, really like carpenters in Bethlehem.
Laurence D. Cohen is a freelance writer.
