One hundred years after Westport’s segregated semi-pro football team took the field, systematic racism still exists in the sport
By Alexander Filippides
Westport Owls team photo, 1925. From the collection of the Westport Museum for History & Culture.
Did you know Westport had its own semi-professional football team? The team, known as the Westport Owls, competed locally starting in the 1920s. The team is not only notable for its regional relevance, but also for its sometimes-unbelievable stories, like in one 1927 article from the Bridgeport Telegram where Michael Cuseo, a wide receiver (or “end,” as the position was known at the time), was arrested on the field for inciting a gang fight at a dance in Easton. Incredibly enough, Cuseo would make bail in time to participate in the Owls game that evening against the Bridgeport Black Rock Pirates.
Looking at the team photo, something else is immediately clear about the Owls: The team was entirely White.
This is hardly surprising; like many aspects of American society before the Civil Rights Act of 1960, semi-professional and professional sports alike were usually segregated. But when looking at the current National Football League (NFL) teams we see a league that is still segregated.
Table showing a breakdown of NFL positions by race, 2023. Courtesy of the Football Players Health Study at Harvard University.
Historic policies of the NFL also shed light on the ways in which African American players have been sidelined: “Within-group score conversion,” better known as “race-norming” is the practice of adjusting a numeric value in a test to account for imagined differences between races. The practice violates civil rights and was outlawed as part of the 1991 Civil Rights Act. For a long time, the NFL officially made use of race-norming when conducting concussion testing on its players. It was an official stance of the NFL that Black players had a lower baseline cognitive function than White players and were tested as such. When do you think this explicitly racist practice was ended in the NFL?
It would not be until 2021, when the NFL made a statement officially bringing an end to the practice. The decision followed the payment of a multimillion-dollar lawsuit by former NFL players. Race-norming made it impossible for generations of players who suffered brain damage from concussions to gain compensation for injuries. Worse yet, it was likely the reason that a myriad of serious brain injuries went untreated.
When discrimination is legitimized and propagated by an institution for so long, it can become embedded as part of the culture. Within the NFL, the systematic nature of this discrimination made it palatable for the thousands of people involved in the organization.
While the practice of race-norming may no longer be in effect, without meaningful reflection on why such practices were accepted for so long, nothing will fundamentally change.
Though there are no official rules and regulations codifying segregation or discrimination in the league, and even with laws that ban these practices outright, the cultural and societal conditions that allowed for them must be addressed if our goal is equity regardless of skin color.
This phenomenon isn’t exclusive to the NFL. In our society today, we continue to see a clear disparity between the economic well-being of People of Color and White People. Not necessarily because of any singular law, regulation, or attitude, but because the system that upheld the oppression of Black and Brown Americans has never been reformed in such a way that addresses the root issues that breed continued discrimination in our country. Singular laws and regulations cannot fundamentally change an inherently racist system.
While this clear and persistent inequity is disheartening, being aware of our own unconscious biases, recognizing and dismantling systems of oppression, and uplifting those from underrepresented communities can encourage the creation of a more equitable society.
Patrick Mahomes (right), quarterback of the Kansas City Chiefs, and Jalen Hurts (left), quarterback of the Philadelphia Eagles, at an interview together, 2025. Courtesy of Carolina Brehman, accessed via ESPN .
The 59th Superbowl will be the first to feature two Black starting quarterbacks. While still a position that is mostly White, trends show that more Black quarterbacks have been entering the league since the 1990s. There are real reasons to believe that change can happen, but it requires an active commitment by all of us to work towards a world where we are all equal.
Researched and written by Nicole Carpenter, this article was originally published in Teen Vogue on January 8th, 2024.
The news has been filled with exposés about aggressive rehabilitation programs using “tough love” to treat everything from addiction to “converting” LGBTQ+ people to a straight lifestyle. But the roots of these “tough love” treatments go back to the 1950s, and an organization called Synanon.
Nationally lauded for its allegedly successful treatment programs, the public turned against Synanon in October 1978, when its supporters’ put a 4-foot rattlesnake in the mailbox of Paul Morantz, a California attorney and investigative reporter. Morantz had been pushing for investigations of Synanon—which by then had declared itself a religion and gained nonprofit status. Morantz accused the group of abusing members and advocating violence against its “enemies.” Prior to the attack, the Synanon program had been praised for its groundbreaking treatment of drug addicts and alcoholics as well as the treatment of troubled youth. The public attack on Morantz outed the Synanon for what it really was: a violent cult.
Tender Loving Care Club
The 1965 movie Synanon dramatized the group which would later become widely known as a cult. Among its stars was Weston-resident Eartha Kitt.
Created in 1958 by Charles Dederich, a former Alcoholics Anonymous member and speaker, Synanon purported to help those suffering from addiction to rehabilitate themselves through “self-reliance and making the person responsible for his own actions.” The program first began as a small community in Venice, California calling itself the Tender Loving Care Club. Members met in a small storefront to play “The Game,” a verbal exercise where anyone was allowed to say anything to debunk excuses given by addicts for their addictions. “Anything” could include mockery and degradation. Only threats and physical violence were not tolerated.
Dederich envisioned Synanon as a two-year residential program. Attendance grew rapidly and, to accommodate its swelling ranks, Dederich moved the operation from the Venice Beach storefront to a house in Santa Monica in 1962. Neighbors quickly protested having a drug rehabilitation facility in their backyard. The conflict ended with Dederich’ arrest because he didn’t have a health license.
In what was a cunning publicity move, Dederich chose to serve jail time for the violation while still refusing to move his facility. The highly publicized case drew the attention of some high-profile people who praised Dederich’s “revolutionary” program. Soon, public outcry on behalf of Synanon was significant enough that California Governor Edmund Brown, Sr. actually signed a bill exempting the group from health licensing laws. Donors nationwide began to support the group, supplementing the financial payments already being received by those in the program.
As Synanon’s star rose, Hollywood A-listers including actors Leonard Nimoy, Robert Wagner, and Ben Gazzara would stop by the house to play “The Game.” In 1965, Columbia Pictures released a film partially written by Charles Dederich entitled “Synanon,” starring Eartha Kitt and Chuck Conners.
Westport’s Synanon
Synanon’s publicity and financial windfall allowed the group to expand again. Setting his sights on the East Coast, Dederich purchased an 18-room Victorian Mansion located on four acres in Westport, Connecticut in February 19631.
At first, everything seemed rosy for Synanon’s foray into the other side of the country. With ample local support, plans to use Westport as a stepping stone into the Northeast were underway. Connecticut’s United States Senator Thomas Dodd championed Synanon calling it, “one of the most dynamic and vital programs that I have experienced.”2
Called the “Old Bedford House”, Synanon’s Westport location may have been the former residence of F.T. Bedford in Greens Farms. (Westport Museum Collection)
Residents in Westport and the neighboring towns of Norwalk and Bridgeport supported the non-profit with donations of food, supplies, and fundraising. The Sponsors of Synanon, a group founded by Westport resident Betty Sobol, helped underwrite and champion the organization. But not everyone on the East Coast was happy about Synanon’s growing presence. Residents complained “[Synanon] is in the wrong place”3 and balked “at the spectacle of criminals and addicts living in ‘respectable’ communities.”4
By January of 1966, the Westport facility faced legal trouble that reached the Connecticut Supreme Court because the building was zoned for single-family residential use only. Synanon claimed its 30 residents were a “family” since they were all united in the single pursuit of remaining clean and sober. The Court disagreed and a month later ordered the non-profit to vacate the property.
Boiling Point
The year after Synanon departed from Westport, Synanon began to change dramatically – converting from rehabilitation to a fully-fledged cult. Members were no longer allowed to “graduate” from the program because Dederich had become convinced that, without the pressure of the community, they would relapse. Couples were now separated, and children were raised communally, with infants living in what was called “the hatchery.” Despite this, juvenile agencies and the California court system continued to send teenagers labeled “juvenile delinquents” to Synanon’s “Malibu Re-Education Camp” throughout the 1970s. At this detention center, teenage attendees were called the “Punk Squad.”
Organizers soon found that Synanon’s hallmark methods, including participation in “The Game” had little effect on the Punk Squad teens who, unlike willing adult participants, had not consented to rehabilitation. Meanwhile, violence began to be a hallmark feature of Synanon at large. In 1973, in what some members would cite as a seminal moment, a session of The Game ended with Dederich pouring root beer over the head of a member. In 1973, teenagers were required to take part in The Game and became subject to escalating physical abuse.
Soon young people began to escape from the cult.Alvin Gambonini, a neighboring rancher to Synanon’s Point Reyes facility, sheltered many who had managed to escape. In retaliation, cult members beat Gambonini in front of his family.
By the time Synanon sought religious status in 1974, with Dederich as its leader, the organization numbered 1,300 members and had more than $30 million in assets. It was the largest property owner in Santa Monica and had a chain of gas stations and an airstrip by 1976. Dederich had fully abandoned nonviolence within Synanon and created the “Imperial Marines” to maintain order—within and outside of the community. Members were brainwashed, mentally tortured, and barred from leaving. Those who escaped were physically attacked if recaptured. In 1977, former member Phil Ritter was nearly beaten to death when his skull was fractured in retaliation for trying to free his child from the cult.
By October 1978, Dederich’s mania and Synanon’s violent tactics reached a boiling point with the rattlesnake attack on attorney Paul Morantz. Although Morantz survived, he sustained long-lasting injuries from the highly venomous bites. Dederich was arrested on December 2nd, 1978 in connection with the attack as well as multiple other violent crimes. He avoided jail time by pleading guilty to conspiracy to commit murder and agreed to step away from Synanon entirely. As a result of the incident, Synanon’s non-profit status was revoked and the cult slowly collapsed before filing for bankruptcy in 1991.
The Lasting Legacy of “Tough Love”
While Synanon may be gone, the group’s “tough love” approach of scaring or shaming individuals into rehabilitation, inspired programs that continue today. One such program is the infamous Élan school in Maine, which modeled its “general meetings” after Synanon’s “game,” with teens yelling at one another for any real or fabricated slight against anyone in the Élan house.
Élan also took inspiration from the work assignments Synanon put in place for residents.Adolescents in Synanon were observed working in “the medical laboratory, in the kitchen, in the news office, in the law office, on the ranch, and in the warehouse.” Likewise, teenagers were responsible for everything from cleaning to cooking to enforcing and policing their dormitory. In both cases, adults – who were former members themselves – were meant to oversee the teens but were rarely present. Additionally, Élan allowed physical abuse in the form of a boxing ring between teens. The “treatment center” closed in 2011 amidst charges of abuse.
Joe Ricci–Élan’s founder–attended Daytop Village, a rehabilitation program funded by former Synanon supporter Daniel Harold Casriel. Daytop staff included Synanon members and the program still operates today, though distancing itself from abuse allegations. According to a 1982 training textbook assembled for the National College of Juvenile Justice, Daytop Village and other similar centers including, Topic House, Phoenix House, Harmonie House, Odyssey House, Gateway incorporated Synanon principles.
Despite reports like these, there remain rehabilitation organizations which have continued to use “tough love” methodologies created by Synanon to allegedly cure addiction, deter undesirable behavior, or force LGBTQ+ individuals into heteronormativity.
In a 2007 hearing about residential treatment programs where teenagers had died, the Forensic Audits and Special Investigations Unit in the Government Accountability Office (GAO) found many of these programs had “staff with little or no relevant training,” and engaged in manipulative and “misleading marketing practices” and “negligent and reckless operating practices.” The GAO further elaborated on the complexity of potentially abusive teen rehabilitation programs, noting that since the early 1990s the increasing number of residential treatment programs across the country operated without federal regulation. The investigation noted, “common names for these programs include boot camps, boarding schools and wilderness programs…which are typically in the mountains, the forest or the desert…All of these programs offer in some way to reform the lives of very troubled youth.”
Despite reports like these, there remain rehabilitation organizations which have continued to use “tough love” methodologies created by Synanon to allegedly cure addiction, deter undesirable behavior, or force LGBTQ+ individuals into heteronormativity. Little action was taken until recently toward federal regulation of these programs and protecting the youth who find themselves inside them—in part because of the profit created by these institutions for the private equity firms that own them.
In April of 2023 the Stop Institutional Child Abuse Act was introduced to the Senate by Senator Jeff Merkley [D-OR]. Exposing these programs and ensuring open communication about their practices is a key step toward providing better and safer mental health services for America’s troubled youth.
1 “Narcotics Aid Home Stirs Westport Zoning Question,” Bridgeport Post, February 12, 1963, 35.
2 “Dodd Urges Westporters: Give Synanon a Chance,” Bridgeport Post, February 24, 1963, 6.
3 “Synanon at Home In Westport, And Not An Addict In the PLace,” Hartford Courant, July 21, 1963, 16.
4 Yabionsky, Lewis, “Synanon, Vehicle for Addicts,” Bridgeport Post, February 14, 1965, 46.
New staff member, Sasha Arellano, remembrances of the museum and why the historically themed spaces were retired.
When I applied to work at the Westport Museum for History & Culture in May of this year, I didn’t even realize it was no longer called the “Historical Society.” I remembered having fond memories at 25 Avery Place as early as 2004 (anyone remember the Teddy Bear Tea Parties?), but I hadn’t stepped foot inside the Bradley Wheeler house since I volunteered at the museum in college. I couldn’t even figure out as to why I hadn’t visited in so long.
I was offered the job in June and was eager to start, but on my first day, I was stunned by how much had changed. I missed the homey feel and nostalgia of the period rooms.
In the programs gallery, I was met with a big panel of text that discussed the Paugussett people- the indigenous community of the area we now call Westport. As I am writing this, the word Paugussett is underlined as a misspelling by my computer. The community that is native to this area isn’t even recognized as a word.
I moved on to the next panel, which states the museum’s mission. In short, the Westport Museum aims to “make history whole” by representing ALL voices in Westport’s history.
As I went through our main exhibit, Playful Pastimes, I could see the mission statement was not just for show—its essence was weaved into each picture and piece of text I came across. The exhibit focuses on the “Golden Age of Leisure” in the early 20th century—think sports, games, and community events. While the overall theme was fun and colorful, the text was quick to acknowledge the downfalls of this period as well.
Playful Pastimes 1890-1910, a temporary exhibition, explores the golden age of leisure in Westport.
Baseball, the classic American pastime, proved to be a game of discrimination for Black players, and became fully segregated until 1947. Biking, another favored activity, was looked down upon for women. World fairs, while showcasing mostly new inventions and gadgets, also displayed people of color from Africa, the Philippines, as well as indigenous Americans as “exhibitions.” While these are tough topics to discuss, we need to address them in order to see the entire view of our community’s history. Understanding the past lets us really understand why things are the way they are now—so we can ensure inclusion and respect for everyone in the future.
Having walked through the Museum, I felt great about starting my new job—confident that I was part of an organization that was making a difference by sharing the truth. Sitting at the front desk, I was eager to share all we did with visitors.
A lot of people come in as excited as we are to see what we’re doing. But then, there are others who are only focused on one thing:
“Where are the periods rooms!?”
“I don’t understand why you took them out.”
“I bet you’d get more visitors if you brought them back.”
So, Why Did the Period Rooms Have to Go?
As someone who grew up frequenting the museum, I LOVED the period rooms. Something about them made me feel so at home, despite being born at the turn of the 21st century. I understood our visitors’ sadness that they were no longer. However, once I started working at the museum, it became clear to me why the period rooms were not sustainable.
The period rooms only showed a small glimpse into Westport’s history and did not align with our mission of inclusivity and telling the whole story. How can we understand Westport’s history when we are only being shown a minuscule portion of it?
Visitors were kept from entering every room with large iron gates, and some guests were weary of our mannequins.Displayed for nearly 40 years, this friendship quilt is partially bleached due to light exposure.
It also became clear to me why I hadn’t visited for so long. When there is one main exhibit that never changes, people just don’t return that often to see the same thing. Without high visitation numbers, maintaining a museum becomes unsustainable. Many of the people who inquire about the period rooms follow up with “I haven’t been here in years, I was looking forward to seeing them!”
Many of the people who inquire about the period rooms follow up with “I haven’t been here in years, I was looking forward to seeing them!”
We hear you—but we also hear that you haven’t visited in a decade or so. Since we are an independent organization, admission fees are a huge part of what keeps the museum up and running. Rotating exhibits on different topics let us keep the public interested and piece together Westport’s history as it relates to the nation to tell as complete a story as possible. Plus, because we get to share a lot of super-interesting stories on a regular basis, we can aim to have something for everyone—including people who loved the period rooms.
Legacy exhibition (2023)Liberty to Set Down exhibition (2019)I Thee Wed exhibition (2023)
How? We include objects and costumes from our collection in our exhibits. Some of which were used to create the furnished rooms. The difference is that we provide a full and accurate interpretation of these items with lots of rich detail. Our Local History gallery tells the story of the house and the town very specifically, building on what the period rooms started all those years ago.
Now, we have the freedom to create period rooms across different eras when needed—like the 19th century parlor of the Adair family in our exhibit Legacy. Look for more of that in our 2026 programming for the 250th anniversary of the American Revolution.
I hope that what I’ve written here has intrigued you enough to come and check out all that’s here—instead of what’s not.
