Our friend Ted has moved away, and Nora bids him an affectionate farewell.


Ted Fulmore has left the building — actually the city, and no, he isn’t dead, but he’s moved to Louisville.

And my friends, this is too damned bad. It’s too bad for me, for you and for New Albany, although for Ted, it’s a chance to begin anew.

Verily, wretched bureaucratic time-servers like John Rosenbarger remain, and true revolutionaries like Ted depart.

It just isn’t fair.

My personal revenge comes through the use of Ted’s photo at Linked-In, so as to introduce Nora Egan’s affectionate goodbye, with addendum.

Ted, I know you’re close by. When (if) I begin my “Last of the Summer Wine” phase, I’ll come over your way. Just find some good beer and a place to smoke cigars, and I’ll tell you what you’re missing.

Take it away, Nora.

You all have heard me talk about “Neighbor Ted” for a decade. Today, a big, white moving van pulled up out front and away went the best darn neighbor in the universe — and I know my other neighbors will agree. 

Ted was the first person I met when I moved to Bright Leaf Cottage in the fall of 2004. He introduced me to the denizens of New Albany, both preservationist and political, as well as publican. He mowed my grass, gave me a television and a ficus tree, suggested my house… for the historic home tour, gave me cookies at Christmas, and introduced me to P&B — that’s our slang for pizza and beer — always at Rich O’s. 

Friend Becky Becky Willingham Backert referred to him as my anchor and I guess she’s right. A firm hater of squirrels (he’s a fan of All Squirrels Must Die), I named all “my” squirrels using Ted’s initials, TF, or “TFFY.” I don’t think he thinks it’s much of an honor, but really, it is. When I give someone or something a nickname, it means they are special. 

Several years ago, there was a mockingbird that made its home in Ted’s weeping cherry tree; I named him Fulmore. Again, this did not impress Ted. There is good news on this sad-for-us day, just like we’ve done for the last half-dozen years, he promised to come back for Halloween to sit on my front porch with neighbors, eat bean soup and corn bread, drink beer and wine, smoke his cigar and eat chocolate. 

I need him there to caution me when I mutter things like, “Aren’t you a little old to be trick or treating?” to the little monsters, and Ted always says, under his breath, “Nora, just give them the candy.” We’ll all miss you something awful, Ted Fulmore. You were the best neighbor EVER.


Ted also raked my leaves, shoveled my walks every winter, called the police when necessary, chased dogs, found dogs, gave me flower pots, and shared his exercise bike — which has been patiently awaiting use behind my Big Blue Chair. (In winter, with a box propped on the seat, it’s used by “Leaf” as her snuggy spot which we refer to as the “high hide.”)

He’s not just my neighbor, he’s my friend and at 18 years my junior, he was also my watchful “son.” It’s weird knowing he’s not just across the driveway. See you in October, NT. Bring lots of candy (and stick for me to poke those too-old tricksters).