On a snowy November evening during his train commute home from New York City, John Daly falls
asleep and, perhaps in a dream, sees a simpler life with bands playing in the bandstand,
people riding penny farthings through the park, and kids fishin’ at their fishin’ holes
the 1888 summertime of idyllic Willoughby.
— Michael Main
Willoughby, sir? That’s Willoughby right outside. Willoughby, July, summer. It’s
1888—really a lovely little village. You ought to try it sometime. Peaceful, restful,
where a man can slow down to a walk and live his live full-measure.