Andrew Goldman

But Greenwich, Connecticut was the dream.

Its schools were among the best in the country, and it only took 25 minutes for the express into Grand Central.

Of all the towns on Connecticut's so-called Gold Coast on the Long Island Sound, a Greenwich address had, and continues to have, the most cachet among the moneyed elite.

But like every creme, Greenwich had its creme de la creme.

And the creamiest cream was Belhaven, which on a map looks like a toe dipping into the Long Island Sound on the south tip of Greenwich.

Belhaven was built as a vacation colony in the late 19th century.

Grand, white, clabbered cottages with wraparound porches on which you could sip your sherry at sunset while listening to scratchy Brahms symphonies on the gramophone.

VIPs, captains of industry, and a couple famous entertainers, like Frank Gorshin, the riddler from the 60s Batman series, were typical of Belhaven's residents.

In the summer of 1974, a moving truck rolled up to the big White House at 38 Walsh Lane.

It had come 3,000 miles, all the way from Piedmont, California.

42-year-old David Moxley had been tapped by accounting giant Touche Ross to relocate from the West Coast to run its New York office.

The job and the house and the neighborhood were a big step up in the world for the Kansas native.

David and Dorothy Moxley's teenage kids, Martha and John, would live among the most privileged families in America.

That being said, at least for kids, Belhaven didn't feel all that stuffy.

Sheila's a mom of two grown kids.

I interviewed her on her day off in the Newtown Connecticut Public Library near her home.

Like her friend and neighbor Martha, Sheila was also 15 in 1975, one of a big Catholic brood of seven girls.

Like most Belhaven kids, Sheila and her sisters were basically free range.

By the club, Sheila means the Belhaven Club.

It sat within a mile of each of the 120 or so houses in Belhaven.