Joan Warburg has died, at 93. A contemporary and friend of my mother, Joan was a modest woman (her obituary states that "after marrying James P. Warburg, a writer on foreign affairs, in 1948, Joan moved to Greenwich, where she raised four children and became actively involved in civic and charitable causes" without mentioning that that "writer on foreign affairs" was a scion of the Warburg bankers and was part of that institution himself. Al Capp's "Daddy Warbucks" was in fact, the man's father.)
Warburg herself, however, never put on airs. Her estate on John Street is a very humble home, by Greenwich standards (and deeded to a land conservancy, I believe), and one of my mother's "typical Joan" stories concerned the time when, dining at the Indian Harbor Yacht Club, my mother admired a scarf Joan was wearing: "oh, this? Greenwich Hospital Thrift Shop".
That said, now that she's gone, it seems fair to identify the "back country resident" I've alluded to previously who, seeing the entertainer Mr. 50 Cent cruise by in a caravan of Rolls Royces and assorted pimp mobiles en route to view the mansion next door, up for sale by a Russian oligarch turned spec builder, picked up her phone and told the listing brokerage firm just who, and what, she desired as a neighbor. Mr. Cent was immediately directed to another home in upstate Connecticut with regrettable results for his creditors.*
Hey, even the most liberal among us have standards.
*Speaking to the improvements, including a helipad, Mr. Fiddy added to that estate, his real estate agent told a reporter in 2007, "he’s put a lot into it, and it’s all very tasteful, except the stripper poles."