My godfather Ben Moore died last week at his home in West Tisbury. His wife Paddy says that as an architect he built more than houses, he built families. I am living proof of this axiom.

Ben designed the home I grew up in on Abel’s Hill in 1976. He did so for my father Stan Hart, who was his cousin. Ben and my father were close and had one winter traversed the south side of the Island from Chilmark to Edgartown, skating every pond, great and small, along the way. My father told me before he died that he wanted our house to be a sanctuary for him and my mother Maria Look. It was to be a place where they could raise my sister Sloan, brother Max and me in a healthy environment, a peaceful place where my dad could finally write his bestseller, and a safe place where my parents could stay sober, or so he thought.

Everything about my childhood home reminds me of Ben and some of the earliest pictures taken in it show Ben in our living room with me, then a toddler, on his lap. There is Ben, wearing a bright red flannel shirt and beard that makes him resemble Abraham Lincoln, full of life and warmth, his eyes expressing his trademark kindness and his mouth half open, filling with something nice to say or a song to sing.

As I grew into childhood, I saw Ben and Paddy less frequently, another casualty of my parents’ drinking which continued for some years after we moved to Chilmark. Despite this, my love for Ben and the bond we shared was renewed by the sacred connection to those now distant moments of grace and beauty that permeate the memories of my childhood, made more beautiful still by the home, thoughtfully created by Ben, in which they took place.

For the past five years, I have had the blessing of being close again with Ben, Paddy and their wonderful family. This was made possible by Paddy, who at a work meeting my first year back from New York, approached me and said, in a sweet and straightforward manner: “Sam, I am Paddy Moore. I am Ben’s, your godfather’s, wife and you are coming over for dinner.” It was Paddy’s great strength and insight that brought us back together. It brought me great joy to be with Ben again and to have him know my wife Laura, to sing with him the songs from the Big Band era that he and my father listened to in their youth and that, thanks to being raised by my father, I know by heart and to take him golfing on Chappy.

Lastly, I am grateful that Laura and I got to be with him in his final days and listen to him sing, as we shared stories and pictures with Paddy and surrounding family.

It is said that music creates the space it takes place in. For me, growing up here, it was Ben’s music that created the space I took place in, and allowed my family and me to find love in ourselves and our community.

Sam Hart
Aquinnah