When I retired to Port Townsend in the summer of 2000, there were days when I thought I had missed a turn and gone to heaven instead.

The weather that summer was sparkling. It even rained a few times, making the usual sunny days just more crisp and invigorating. Best of all, I was enchanted to discover that, unlike my hardscrabble Colorado town, Port Townsend had music and art and poetry in abundance too. When Peter Simpson, legendary editor of “City of Dreams,” asked writer Kay Boyle, a Centrum presenter, for her impression of our city, she compared our charm and even our cuisine to that of Paris.

And that was the summer Peter and a few others brought the Port Townsend Film Festival to life. Resident film patrons, already appreciative of cinematic art through Rocky Friedman’s selections at the Rose, found themselves strolling Water Street with real honest-to-god actors and directors. My favorite day in all the year became the Saturday in September when West Coast Live, a San Francisco radio show, came to the Film Festival.

Broadcasting from the Upstage (a marvelous performance venue), host Sedge Thompson interviewed national luminaries from the arts world who were in town for the weekend. One memorable day, two of my heroes — Billy Collins and Elliott Gould — were just a table away.

Festing in September became an art for many people. We would stroll the streets with film makers and film goers, exchanging tips and enthusiasms. We would drop into the Festival headquarters, have a free coffee, buy a membership, and purchase at least one movie ticket. Then it was off to the Peter Simpson Free Cinema, where, with craft and timing, we might see half a dozen interesting films over the weekend.

We couldn’t afford the pricey events on Taylor Street, but we could always have a drink at the outdoor pub, relax on the hay bales, and savor the movie glamour all around us.  The key to our festival adventure was always the free cinema. Because of it we saw enough eclectic films — some contenders for awards, some low-budget experiments — to feel we were members of the weekend party. We would always trudge home after the last outdoor movie on Taylor Street feeling lucky to have been a part of this new hometown tradition.

Alas, this year our beloved PSFC was no more. Our weekend block party now belonged to those who came with fat wallets from out of town. It was still a glamorous event and I was gratified to see our hard-pressed stores and restaurants full of customers. But I stayed home. It didn’t feel like my party somehow. And I had to wonder: What would Peter say?

Dick Conway
PORT TOWNSEND