The following is an opinion submitted by Richard D. Rogovin. Mr. Rogovin is an attorney based in Ohio and Chairman of US Bridge. His daughter and her family live on Darbrook Road.
In honor of William F. “Crobar” Cribari, 1918 – 2007
Soldier. Neighbor. Public Servant. Friend.
Every town, if it is lucky, produces a person who embodies the best of what that community can be. Westport, Connecticut was lucky. His name was William F. Cribari — known to everyone in Saugatuck simply as “Crobar” — and for nearly nine decades he lived, served, and gave of himself entirely to the people around him. He asked for nothing in return. He is the reason this bridge bears a name.
But a bridge is only iron and stone. What deserves to be remembered is the man: what he did, how he lived, and what his life still has to teach the young people of Westport — and their parents — today.
Born here, rooted here
William Cribari was born at home in the Saugatuck neighborhood of Westport on August 16, 1918, the son of Francesco and Mary (Serena) Cribari. He never left. While the world changed around him — through Depression, war, and decades of transformation — Cribari remained exactly where he was born, putting down roots so deep that when he died, the town felt the loss like the loss of a landmark.
There is a lesson in that alone. At a time when mobility and ambition are celebrated above all else, Cribari’s life reminds us that the choice to stay — to know your neighbors, to tend your streets, to be present — is itself a form of greatness.
He went to war
When his country called, Cribari answered. During World War II he served in the United States Army’s 17th Engineering Battalion under General George S. Patton. He was not a spectator to history. He took part in three of the war’s great invasions: Normandy, Sicily, and North Africa. He stood in the Battle of the Bulge. He was awarded seven battle ribbons for his service and courage.
And then — as the best soldiers so often do — he came home, hung up his uniform, and went back to being a neighbor. He did not trade on his heroism. He did not seek recognition. He simply returned to Saugatuck and resumed the work of being useful to the people around him. That quiet dignity after sacrifice is perhaps the most undervalued form of courage there is.
One honor did find him, years later: he became the only civilian ever invited to lead a military band in review — at Fort Hood, Texas, home of the 2nd Armored Division, at the invitation of General George S. Patton Jr., son of the famous general under whom Cribari had served. Even then, it was his joy — his love of music, of community, of shared celebration — that the military chose to honor.
He gave himself to this town
For more than thirty years, William Cribari served as a special police officer in Westport. He walked Main Street every Saturday. He directed traffic at the intersection of Riverside and Saugatuck Avenues, and later at Riverside Avenue and Bridge Street, just steps from where he was born.
Anyone who saw him at work never forgot it. He directed traffic not with the cold efficiency of a machine, but with white-gloved hands, theatrical waves, dance steps, and a smile that could stop an argument. Commuters who had been stuck in traffic for twenty minutes found themselves smiling when they finally reached his corner. He made the difficult easy. He made the frustrating joyful. He turned a mundane daily inconvenience into something people looked forward to.
His full-time job was tool crib operator at Nash Engineering. But the titles tell only a fraction of the story. He was a Knight of Columbus. A tireless volunteer with the Westport Police Athletic League, dedicated to the youth of his community. A life member of the Saugatuck Volunteer Fire Department, which he had joined as a twelve-year-old snare drummer. Decades later he became drum major of the Nash Engineering Band and the Port Chester American Legion Band, marching in Memorial Day parades year after year. In 2003, he and his beloved wife Olga were named grand marshals of Festival Italiano — held in Luciano Park, just around the corner from where he was born.
He attended every Army-Navy football game from 1946 onward. He handed baseball cards to children on the street, keeping the bubble gum for himself. He helped a frantic young couple find their missing four-year-old — asking the one right question that led straight to the child, happily eating Oreos next door. These are not footnotes. These are the texture of a life given over to others.
What his life teaches
William Cribari was not famous. He held no elected office. He did not build a company or endow a building. What he built was something far harder to measure and far more important. Trust. Presence. Belonging. He was the kind of person whose absence makes a town feel diminished — and Westport felt exactly that when he died on January 30, 2007, at age 88.
The values his life exemplified are not complicated. They do not require wealth or position. They require only character:
- Patriotism that is demonstrated, not merely declared.
- Service that asks nothing in return.
- Joy offered freely to everyone you meet.
- Loyalty to community, to family, to place.
- Presence — showing up, day after day, decade after decade.
- Dignity in the ordinary work of life.
These are the values Westport’s schools should teach. These are the values Westport’s parents should model and name aloud for their children. Not because they are relics of another time, but because they are exactly what this moment needs — and exactly what is at risk of being forgotten.
Why the bridge matters
A memorial bridge is not merely a convenience. It is a public promise — a declaration by a community that certain lives deserve to be remembered, and certain values deserve to be honored every time someone crosses from one side to the other. The William F. Cribari Memorial Bridge, built in 1884 and still spanning the Saugatuck River, is one of the oldest movable bridges in all of Connecticut. It is a landmark in its own right. But its greatest significance is the name it carries.
If that bridge is destroyed and replaced by a structure bearing no name, bearing no story, the risk is real: not just that a bridge will be lost, but that a life — and the values it embodied — will slip quietly from the memory of a town that badly needs to remember them. Westport’s children deserve to know who William Cribari was. They deserve to drive or walk over that bridge and wonder, and ask, and learn.
Whatever is decided about the bridge’s future, the story of William F. Cribari must not be left behind. It belongs in Westport’s schools, in its civic culture, in the conversations parents have with their children. It belongs on a plaque, in a classroom, in a speech at graduation. It belongs wherever people gather to ask: what does it mean to live a good life?
He was born here. He served here. He is still here — if we choose to remember.
William F. “Crobar” Cribari
August 16, 1918 – January 30, 2007
Saugatuck, Westport, Connecticut
Sincerely,
Richard D. Rogovin
Attorney at Law
Chairman, U.S. Bridge
dickrogo@gmail.com
(614) 209-5010
A very humbling article, he was even a better father. Cro as we would call him was pre deceased by his son Tucker and his daughter Sandy, this no doubt was devastating for anyone losing a child never mind two, Cro carried on, on the outside he never missed a beat, but it was a heavy weight, he was so proud to be from Saugatuck and he instilled that proud tradition in all his children, he loved being the “traffic cop” his Saturday beat on main street was legendary, his Military commitment was passed on to his two sons, it was fun having Cro for a father he was also a friend, I think what he would say about the future of The Cribari Bridge is “make it safe do the best for all the surrounding communitie, don’t EVER forget your heritage,,,
Thank You for writing this article it brings the Cro back to life
Ed Cribari
Ed, your Dad was always “cool as a cucumber” in the chaos of that intersection. No matter what the CTDOT decides, the span will remain named in his honor ( Lou Mall spoke of that to the rtm ), and I’ll keep pushing for the Cribari Bridge park to share his story, Saugatuck’s deep connection to the river, and the heritage of the place he loved so much and managed so well. I just wish he were still manning his post.
Robbie, there was a plan for a little something near the fire house, then Covid came along and that ended that, if you would like to meet sometime in Saugatuck, I’d like to share the idea, you can email me at ecribari71@gmail.com
I remember a story told of Crobar which raised my estimation of the man. Whether the story’s true or not, I wasn’t there to witness. It was told by Tim Smith down at the old Glynn’s Cafe. They used to throw a pretty good happy hour down there, so one has to take that into account. Tim used to run the Playhouse back in the 70’s and he would get some pretty great bands/ musicians in there passing through town, on the way from NY up to Boston. One was Buddy Guy, who absolutely brought the house down. When he finished dusting the strings and Tim closed the place down, “they took the party to the other end of Imperial to the House on bridge street with the cupola.” I do not know of the two left there, but as the story went, it was one of the two.
Apparently, the party just grew and grew w/ Buddy jamming on his accoustic. Cars were parking along Bridge Street and up on the lawn of the party house. Pretty soon the complaints came into the cop shop. So next thing you know who shows up , but Officer Bill Cribari, ostensibly to shut it down. But as Tim said, he more or less just directed traffic for a bit and then came up to the house and told folks they had to tone it down. Which eventually they did. Now that’s a forgiving cop!
Ed- did your father ever tell a tale similar to the one I heard?
So much of my life intersected with Crobar. Because my dad took the train everyday we saw Crobar directing traffic quite a bit. And I always hung out downtown on Saturdays and he was there.
Crowbar was part of the fabric of our town. His white gloves were classy his whistle was loud and his attention to the flow was uncanny in how he perceived always one moment ahead of normal time; rolling up, you heard a high pitched sound and noticed a man waving you through— with a smile.
We took those things for granted—about the old Westport.
Around about 2000 I began to notice a new crop of cosmopolite milling about town talking about things as if they hadn’t spent the last few decades here. I started noticing strange recommendations about changes, odd prescriptions for problems that had never been.
Without going into it all… Westport had a special magic back then. It still has it, only diminished now. Downtown crowds at Kleins on a Saturday morning, the sound of the minibus, or the sneaker chirps from the gymnasium windows on Main Street on any given day. It was the rhythm of a community.
Things change, I had read Marshall McLuhan to keep up with Westport’s changes. Every single deviation from that old magic was like a dagger to my heart. I grew up with Sigrid whom my grandfather had been friends with in Berlin, he covered the Olympics for her as a photographer along with other more clandestine assignments. Me and my mom had breakfast with Crobar at Oscars on more than one occasion. Seeing Meatloaf come into the pizzeria and picking up an order was normal. The smell of the popcorn at the Yankee Doodle Fair…all of it.
But I could always tell a newcomer because it was so obvious they didn’t see the magic. You could tell by their ideas about improvements.
I am not afraid of change, the new people are free to create new magic, I’m all for it. There comes a time when you have to start over. I have been reading about neo- Sumerian literature — they took the best of the old magical stories and combined them into the Epic of Gilgamesh. It’s a creative destruction where you rip a society apart but it allows a new better culture to grow up in its place.
As for the old Westport magic, the Barron, Drew Friedman, the hippies at The Green, election night counting the votes in basement of the old town hall, Big Top—- I lived it.
I couldn’t imagine a Westport without the old bridge, I’m biased, to me it’s the most wonderful thing in the world. To a newbie it’s just a hunk of rickety old metal—so it goes, so it goes…