WESTLAND, Mass. When Rob Ditmer opens up his real estate tax bill, he experiences what he calls in the academic jargon of his trade as a professor of psychology at Harvard, “cognitive dissonance.” “On the one hand,” he says, “there’s real sticker shock,” but that’s the price he pays to live in this western suburb of Boston, with high-quality schools, plenty of open green space, a cozy downtown shopping district “and NO industry!” his wife Cynthia adds in a loud footnote.
That’s the downside, but what’s the upside, this reporter asks. “My taxes go up because our home is worth more,” he says smugly. “We bought this place for half a million in 1990, and now it’s worth five times that much!”
With that sort of valuation, one might expect nearby residences to be uniformly upscale, but as is often the case in wealthy suburbs of Boston the neighborhood is in fact a patchwork quilt; spanking-new mega-mansions sit cheek-by-jowl next to drabber homes occupied by long-time residents or their children, who are waiting to cash in when a developer buys them out and tears down their house to build something much bigger, and much more expensive.
“Therein lies the rub,” Cynthia says, quoting Shakespeare’s Hamlet, which comes naturally to her as a professor of English at Harvard. “The first thing you see when you turn onto our street is a one-story ‘Cape’-style house that’s about to fall down,” she says with disgust. “And it’s occupied by a horrible, horrible man who mows his own lawn–in a t-shirt!”
The man in question is Jerry Nugritz, a local elected official who makes ends meet by selling insurance, but between those two occupations it’s clear that politics and not premiums are his passion. “I’m a throwback,” he admits. “This town used to be solidly Republican, but ever since Kennedy was president–with his good looks, glamorous wife, cute kids and Boston accent–we’ve been slipping towards fashionable socialism,” he says with a scowl like he just sniffed a carton of sour milk.
Nugritz is the third-generation of his family to live in the town, and his disdain for “la-de-dah” types like the Ditmers finds expression in his eagerness to rub their noses in his political views. “The unwritten rule with the newbies is you don’t talk politics,” he says as he pushes a plastic “Trump 2028” sign into his front lawn. “Since my wife died, God rest her soul, politics is just about all I got, except maybe the Patriots, the Celtics, the Bruins, the Red Sox, and candlepin bowling.”
The public displays of partisanship are bad enough, but Nugritz makes sure that the Ditmers and their like feel the pain whenever their employer and alma mater stumbles. “As an elected official, I have to take an on-line pass-fail ethics test every year,” he says with a serious tone. “I don’t know what they’re teaching over in Cambridge, but it ain’t right and wrong.” Nugritz is referring to a series of lapses that have caused some in academia to refer to America’s oldest institution of higher learning as “The S.M.U. of the Ivies.” First came the resignation of Claudine Gay as President after a disastrous appearance before Congress to explain her lax attitude towards anti-Semitism on campus, followed by evidence of her plagiarism. Then came revelations in emails of convicted sex offender Jeffrey Epstein that former Harvard President Lawrence Summers sought Epstein’s counsel on how to consummate a sexual relationship with a younger female economist at a time when he was married to Elisa New, a professor emerita, at Harvard, who received a six-figure grant with Epstein’s assistance.
“I don’t like to gloat about the downfall of a fine institution like that,” Nugritz says as he rakes leaves in his front yard. Then with a puckish twinkle in his eye, he adds, “Just kidding. Actually, I’m enjoying it very much.”
Our conversation is interrupted as the Ditmers emerge from their house on their way to pick apples in an orchard one town away, and Nugritz calls out to them is the smarmiest voice he can muster. “Hey you two–out for a little fresh air today?”
“Yes,” the male half of the couple mutters with downcast eyes, hoping to avoid further conversation.
“Hey–how about that Summers guy. Pretty wild, huh?”
“It’s . . . a sad state of affairs.”
“And on the other hand you got Trump asking what’s her name, Maxwell, to stop.”
“I . . . don’t know anything about it.”
“It’s a shame, isn’t it?” Nugritz continues.
“It sure is.”
“I never thought I’d see Trump with higher moral standards than the President and faculty of Harvard, but there it is. Have a nice day!”
I would be that guy who mows his own lawn in his t-shirt … and I’d wave and give the neighbors a big smile.
The horror!