by John Foreman
About 20 years ago, during a very fluid period in my career, a girl I knew suggested we rent a mansion together in Stockbridge, Mass. Either a single or a double homicide — depending on whether or which of us escaped — would surely have ensued, so it was a lucky thing we dropped the plan.
One of the places we looked at was a fantastically decrepit pile in nearby Lenox called Ventfort Hall. Where I live now didn’t look a lot different than Ventfort when I moved in. However, Ventfort is about 14,000 square feet bigger.