Note from the Editor the Ice Cream Scooper:

When I was 18, I saw an email from Al DiGuido about needing people to help scoop ice cream on the weekends.

Last night, now 26 years old, I helped lock the doors to Saugatuck Sweets Westport for its final time. It began to rain again as the small group of us stood outside looking at the darkened storefront. As one young girl said as she left the store: “they’re tears.”

A chapter ended for the Westport institution; the story continues at the Fairfield location on Reef Road. Same ice cream, candy, Al’s Angels spirit, and good people.

However, as I sit here today, I cannot thank the DiGuidos and the Saugatuck Sweets family enough for all that it’s given me. I was able to work for a locally owned business - and experience every up and down that comes with it. As Westport continues to evolve, I wonder how many teens will ever experience the wonders of working for a family-owned place in Westport. The frustration, the joy, the camaraderie of the staff, feelings of success after surviving a busy night.

From behind an ice cream counter I could observe a very different view of the community. I learned a lot with my head facing the ice cream bins.

I’ve been privy to devastation; a child getting a scoop of ice cream just before his parents gave him the news of his classmate passing away. “You’re lying” he said as he put down his ice cream. I can still hear him saying it. I kept scooping.

I’ve been privy to triumph; siblings running in and both ordering double scoops as they tell me about their mother’s cancer treatment, and how well it was going and the ice cream they’d bring back to her as she rested at home. Their whole family has come in ever since. I kept scooping.

I’ve been privy to pride; dozens of elementary schoolers lined the sidewalk after their concerts - the kids shouting and yelling orders as parents bravely protected their white dresses or button down shirts. Kids in basketball uniforms, soccer cleats, football pads, ballet flats, “Class of 20##” logowear; adults in softball jerseys, business suits, pajamas; police officers, firefighters, EMTs and paramedics in uniform. I kept scooping.

I kept scooping as families came in week after week, year after year. Some came in small enough to be lifted-up to see the ice cream, and left this weekend while looking me in my eyes. I’ve watched as mothers, who enjoyed their free scoops while pregnant, came in with their newborns. Just two weekends ago, a man came in without his wife, but with the biggest smile I’ve ever seen; on his phone was a photo of his beautiful newborn son, and his wife’s ice cream order that he was going to bring home as they get settled in to their new normal. Some of those newborns from our first years in business are in elementary school now - I was able to scoop them their first ice cream as an infant, and their 150th ice cream. They refer to the owners as “aunt” or “uncle”. A few came in to say “goodbye” to the store, and “see you in Fairfield” to the staff.

I kept scooping until we entered the pandemic - then everyone stopped scooping, but Chris and Lisa worked day and night to get families their Easter baskets by leaving them outside on the benches; holding together a store and a business that thrives on long lines and a packed parlor in the midst of a pandemic.

Some things were ritual - each night the entire staff shared dinner together - something that meant even more after the pandemic, some of us coming in just to share dinner even if we weren’t on the schedule to work. We got to know the Saugatuck restaurants and their staffs, like Tutti’s and Match Burger Lobster. We watched as some closed down - like Julian’s, and Parker Mansion, even Commuter Coffee where I’d enjoy breakfast before helping open the shop.

From behind the counter I met some really wonderful people - people who will remain a part of my life much longer than I would have expected any ice cream customer to be.

I’ve also met some really wonderful colleagues - colleagues who will also remain part of my life after we spent some very, very long nights scooping together. We experienced the kindness of some customers, the anger of others. We could predict the orders of people just by looking at them, we knew the orders of the local kids who arrived by bikes or kayaks just the same as the older folks who walked in with their walking canes and their own cooler bag that as ready to carry their to-go quarts home. All of those colleagues now dot the Earth - at school, at jobs, traveling or just “being.” All of them will forever be marked by the shiver they get from hearing the jingle of the bell as the door swung open, and all will forever be marked by some pretty firm forearm muscles.

On rainy days, Chris would make sure that one of us would grab the umbrella that was kept in the corner to walk customers out to their cars if they were moving a bit slower.

On hot summer days, droves of people would show up barefooted and shirtless from their boats or the beach. They’d stare into the window while we worked on their orders, bringing them outside while the salt water still dripped from their hair as the mint ice cream drops began to fall, too. Some parents just borrowed our garden hose to wash down their kids outside after particularly messy encounters with a particularly large ice cream cone on especially hot days.

One night - a group of middle schoolers came in. Customers complained about their loud voices and the space they were taking-up. They were acting like, well, middle schoolers. After a quick conversation, they turned out to be incredible - they ended up sweeping the floors as our crew worked on closing after a busy summer night; they always stopped in to say hi as they rode their bikes past the shop in the years after that.

One afternoon (one of my first ever being allowed to work alone) - a woman came in and asked if I had hot balls. Pallor took over my face and I stuttered for words. She then corrected herself, and asked if we had “Fire Balls”. I pointed to the bin of cinnamon candies, then sat myself down while trying to regain feeling in my fingers and called the owners with my story. I was laughed at, and am still laughed at, for my adolescent misunderstanding.

Another night - a woman came in and ordered a single ice cream; she usually ordered two for the several years leading up to that point. She was told that the ice cream was “on us” when she attempted to pay, and she broke down crying. She continued to come in every week after that - her single ice cream was always ready.

One afternoon - a child came in and we asked about the best and worst part of his week. He exclaimed that he had failed a math test. We took out some dry erase markers - and he, the two other ice cream scoopers, and I all practiced math problems on the ice cream case glass. He came in a few months later and was very proud of the high mark he received on his maths exam, and he continued those good grades for years afterward.

In the midst of a snowstorm, I drove down and opened up the shop on a whim - the parlor was pure magic in a snowstorm. A few police officers stopped in to chat and for a scoop, a few snowplow drivers enjoyed some hot coffee, and then 3 kids showed up with literal skis and snowboards after a long day shredding the gnar at the Birchwood Country Club hill. Everyone began to crowd into the shop as the Christmas lights alerted them to our being open. We ended up propping the door open as people came and went - snow swirling around the Christmas tree in the courtyard as kids slid on the iced over puddles.

On another evening, with a line out of the door - a mother approached me at the cash register. She handed me a jar of honey with her child’s name on it; it came from his own beehive. The child had passed away, the mother explained, and they wanted me to have some of his honey. The glass jar now sits on my desk at home.

Saugatuck Sweets was the epitome of small-town and locally-owned. Some of our first customers, who were just six years old when Chris and Al opened the store, became official employees this past summer - some of them asking every month for years “how old do I have to be to work here?” Their pictures lined the ceiling - each year they got taller and older - the pictures of the local kids remained a time capsule that will now head to Fairfield.

Some of our Saugatuck neighbors became our closest friends - we shared meals, laughs, and complaints as the neighborhood continued to evolve. We celebrated, we vented. We watched the world go by from one of the greatest spots in the world - the parlor was electric on a busy night, peaceful and calming on the coldest winter afternoons - the river and tides constantly giving us a rhythm by which we could work by. Scoop, after scoop, after scoop.

I was spoiled for having Saugatuck Sweets as a weekend job. After particularly long days - I knew I could stop in to the shop to vent to whichever staff members were there. I knew that during my busiest and hardest weeks, I would get a text message from Chris or Lisa that simply said “cookies just came out of the oven”, because they knew I was a sucker for a warm cookie. Everyone put up with my lack of attention-span, especially when I would hear the horn blow that announced the Cribari Bridge opening - and I’d run out to watch every. single. time. I spent hours and hours working on this website after the doors locked - I would sit outside at one of the tables or inside at the countertop and write and re-write until things looked just right, with shots of espresso in between to keep me going. Some days I’d take my small Boston Whaler to work instead of driving, always keeping a spare pair of shoes at the store in case I showed up damp from the drive over, almost always showing up on “Jaime Time” [late].

I was even spoiled for being able to mop the floor - when the world was turned upside down around us, I just scrubbed harder until the seemingly endless drips of ice cream came off of the small blue and white tiles and everything else didn’t matter as much. Back and forth, more hot water, back and forth. A therapy all its own.

Westport was spoiled by this landmark - a cornerstone of many childhoods, and many moments of growing up; a first job, a first ice cream, the first time allowed to go out with friends with a five dollar bill in-hand; a first date, a place to meet after a meeting, or before a meeting; a place to go to celebrate, or to console. Dozens of donations to countless PTAs, sports teams, schools, charities, and free scoops for being pregnant, wearing a helmet on your bike, or just being kind sometimes. It was simply “the place.” We might not have known your name, but we definitely knew your favorite flavor.

As we head into the final days of the holiday season: I urge all of you to support our local businesses. Make it a point to go out and spend some money at your favorites this week. Don’t wait until the news article comes out announcing their closure. These businesses support the community you live in - so go support your community; support the small guys. They don’t have corporations to fall back on when times get tough - they have us.

Thank you to everyone who helped “raise” me the past 8 years from behind the ice cream counter. An experience that has changed my life. I can only hope that the next generations of Westporters will have family-owned businesses to work for as they, too, grow up in our community.

In partnership,

Jaime Bairaktaris, Editor & Ice Cream Scooper