SPELLING BEE

 

In the 1940’s I attended the Bigelow School which was a short walk from my home on West Fifth St. in Southie. In those days there was a very popular radio program where children from the Boston School system got together to compete in a spelling bee contest. It was similar to more recent national Television competitions but on a regional scale. I was chosen to represent the Bigelow school. The rules were simple. For every word you spelled correctly you were given a small monetary award which was yours to keep even if you didn’t win the contest.

It was a little nerve racking since it was live radio and we were quite young. It took some time to settle my nerves but once we got going it went fairly well. I didn’t win but I did earn a couple of dollars which made the experience worth my while. I managed to spell some fairly hard words but failed on one of the more simple ones. Some 80 years have passed and I have never misspelled that word again. This is the word “pretty.”

As the program was coming to the end the announcer called on me to ask what I was going to spend my money on. I suspect he was hoping I would say something like flowers for my mother or a tool for my father. Unfortunately my nerves came back and I blurted out that I was going to count out the money to make sure I received all that I was due. Needless to say I wasn’t asked to come back the following year.

Ninety years old

 

I lost someone very dear to me yesterday. We shared the same households on both the lower end and City point sections of Southie . Although technically a cousin he was more like a brother who I looked up to in my formative years. His name was George Kotelly and I will sorely miss him. He often commented on my postings because it reminded him of our common experience growing up in Southie. He constantly encouraged me to put my musings into book form. This is dedicated to him.

Ninety years ago this week I was born into this world. It was at the height of the depression so my parents opted to have me birthed at our home on West Fifth St. I lived my first 32 years in Southie, left when I married and returned often to help my parents through their old age. My early childhood memories reflect the period l grew up in, probably different than yours.

Men were the primary providers for the family and women mainly stayed home to raise their children. The majority of the work was manual or factory- based. Primary employment was at Gillette Razor, unloading goods from ships docked in Boston Harbor, working at the main Post Office and or the rail yards, both located at South Station. Others became policemen or firefighters and on our street, priests. This remained true until WWII started when many (men and women) went to the Quincy Yards to build ships for the war effort.

The main means of transportation was the electric trolley. They crisscrossed Southie and you could get anywhere in Town for the cost of a dime. Air travel was in its infancy and cars were still a luxury item only a few of our neighbors could afford.

The Carney Hospital was close by and was convenient for patching up bruises and stitching up wounds. I was a constant visitor, so I was sad went it moved to Dorchester. Even sadder when I learned its doors are now shuttered. Polio was a major concern since the vaccine was yet to be discovered . A sigh of relief when it did become available.

 My father took me to the seaport to meet the fishing boats recently returned from the sea. He would negotiate directly with the fishermen the price he was willing to pay, always successfully, and we would have the freshest fish for our meal that evening. Today I get lost among all of the high rise buildings.

Entertainment included radio shows and the movies, available at our two theaters Broadway and the Strand. Television was several years later for me. There were 3 networks and they signed off around midnight with the National Anthem playing. Telephones were a novelty and when we finally got ours we had to share it with 3 other parties. It was fun listening in on their conversations. The street had many children to play with and upon leaving your house you were engaged immediately in a game.

The ice truck brought huge trunks of block ice to the street. How the driver managed to deliver them to the top floor of the three deckers always amazed me. We waited until he was out of sight then grabbed the shavings off of the truck to suck on. Totally unsanitary, so it is amazing we survived. Each street had a mom and pop store at the end of it.

 WWII had a major impact on us all. Food was rationed and each household had a ration book which was presented to the grocer when making a purchase. The older boys went off to war and sadly several did not return. Their parents placed a gold star service flag in their window and the Street mourned for their loss. VE Day was celebrated at Dorchester Heights with hundreds of our neighbors.

I look fondly at my time in Southie and return now and again to my childhood locations. Carson Beach, the L St Bath House, Kelley’s landing, Castle Island, Dorchester Heights , the Boys Club-all  bring back many wonderful memories.

 

LUIS TIANT

 

Recently the news media reported the death of former Red Sox pitcher Luis Tiant . For those of you who are too young  to know he pitched in the major leagues for many teams over a 19 year period.  We who are Red Sox fans remember him during the 1970’s when he was with the Sox. He had an unusual wind up where he would turn his back to the batter swing around and release the ball from different locations which totally confused the hitter. He was extremely popular in Boston. I met Mr. Tiant long after he retired at a charity golf event where he was the guest of honor. It was after the golf event concluded when everyone retired to the clubhouse for drinks and dinner. I thought it was wise to visit the men’s room before we were due to eat. I was doing my business when someone joined me in the adjacent urinal. It was Mr. Tiant. It was somewhat awkward to shake hands considering the situation so we just nodded politely to each other.

Because it was a charity golf tournament everyone purchased chances for prizes, and a good amount of money was raised. Around the third round of picking chances from a hat my number was called. I was awarded a dozen golf balls which pleased me no end since it was a real practical gift. The final award was an autographed photograph of Mr. Tiant. You guessed it, my number was called again. Now I am not a collector of either autographs or photos of celebrities. I knew I would probably put it in a drawer never to be seen again. However I went to the head table and collected my prize, shook Mr. Tiant’s hand and headed back to my friends.  Halfway back a hand reached up, grabbed me by the wrist and asked “would you take $25 for the photograph?” Hell $5 would have been enough. My friends were anxious to see the photo. I had to disappoint them by telling them “I sold it”

 The Mid Wife

Those of us who live in Boston know it is a nightmare driving in the city. It is especially difficult if you are in a hurry or under duress. I found myself in that very position back in the 1950’s when I was in my early 20’s. I was enjoying sunbathing in my backyard in Southie when I got an unexpected visit from my next- door neighbor. She was frantic because her water had broken and was having difficulty reaching her relatives who were supposed to assist getting her to the hospital. Today she would call 911 and the paramedics would have been at her door within minutes. That was not the case back then.

Of course I would help. I rushed inside my house, got dressed and grabbed my keys. I helped her in my car and asked where we were going hoping it would be nearby. Over to the “Fens” on Longwood Ave was her reply. For those who are unfamiliar that is one of the most congested parts of Boston because it is the location of
several of the finest hospitals in the city.

On we went with me trying to comfort her with the calmest voice I could muster. I swear I stopped at every red light the city ever erected to control traffic. As expected, it was as bad as it gets in Boston with every truck double parked for deliveries and every tourist trying to find that historic monument mentioned in their guide. I regretted that with all of my years of schooling I never took a class in mid- wifery. My passenger was way calmer than me, but she must have seen that that I was squeezing the life out of the steering wheel.

We did reach the hospital in time and mother and child were perfectly fine. The nurses told me I needn’t have worried since this was her first. That information would have helped at the beginning of our journey rather than end. No, they didn’t name the baby after me. I didn’t mind. I was just glad I could help.

FAMILY PHOTO

 

The photograph is of my family taken in 1937. That is me on my father’s lap. I am the sole survivor of the photo. My parents settled in South Boston in 1925 as a young married couple. They first lived on Silver St., then West 5th St. and finally on Columbia Rd in the City Point section of Southie. They remained there for over 70 years. Not once did they think of moving out.

The Southie they knew was crisscrossed with trolley cars, streets lined on both sides with Maple and Oak trees, a Hospital ( Carney), fantastic beaches and a scarcity of cars. There was no reason to move.

The photograph was taken at the height of the Depression when funds were scarce. Nevertheless they made it a priority to have this taken. They dressed in their finest Sunday go to Church clothes and sought out a professional studio for the photo. I am so glad they did. It is very precious to me.

THE REDWOOD TREE

 

The Redwood Tree

In my early professional career I was a civilian employee of the Corps of Engineers out of the Boston office. It was not unusual to have Corps offices request personnel assistance when an emergency situation arose. That was the case in 1965 when the state of California experienced the worst flooding in the North part of the State. Whole communities were wiped away by the floods, thousands of cattle lost, acres of agricultural land gone, roads and bridges severely damaged, thousands of logs uprooted from the mills and worst of all 30 lives were lost. Governor Pat Brown called the floods ”the thousand year storm.”

Five of us volunteered to help assist in assessing the damage. We spent a week in San Francisco getting briefed and receiving our assignments. About 3 weeks into the survey my 2 member team got an unusual call. We were to go into the National Forest and find out if the tallest redwood tree in California (really the world) was still standing. We drove into the forest as far as we could, grabbed our snake bite kits and hiked our way in. We eventually found it and it was just fine. Standing 350 feet tall it was absolutely magnificent. How did we know we had the right tree---the Forest Service had a huge sign at its base saying so.

In 2006 a giant sequoia (redwood tree) was found to be taller measuring 380 feet high. In 2022 the Forest Service closed it down to hikers since degradation and erosion of the tree were evident. If found near the tree you will be fined 5000 dollars. If you are ever in San Francisco visit a redwood state park and see one for yourself. You won’t be disappointed

POST OFFICE

 

My first job with the US Government was with the Post Office. When I was in College in my freshman year I looked forward to Christmas break. Reading the Boston Globe I saw an ad from the Post Office looking for temporary help to deal with the extra influx of mail expected during the holidays. The job was in Southie so I applied. My instructions said I would be sorting mail which meant a good knowledge of the streets On arrival I was faced with a large stack of addressed mail which had to be placed in certain “pigeon holds.”  If I got it right I had the job.

I wasn’t worried. My strategy was to put the ones I knew quickly in place, those I didn’t know were set aside. Time was called and my work checked. !00 percent correct. The job was mine. I was told to come back and the Postmaster would assign me my location. When I returned I recognized him as my neighbor from when I lived on West Fifth Street. He didn’t remember me but he did know the family name. We chatted a while and he brought me up to date as to who still lived there and who had left.

He asked if I would like to deliver mail rather than sorting. That was fine with me. He gave me a route that ended at my home. In those days, the 1950’s there were 2 deliveries a day. I finished my morning route just in time for lunch. I killed a couple of hours and returned to finish the afternoon deliveries in time for dinner. It couldn’t be any better. The moral to this story is be kind to your neighbors because “you never know.”