CARSON BEACH

When I was quite young my mother would pack us lunches for an all day excursion to Carson Beach. We would leave West Fifth St., climb Old Harbor St., circle Telegraph Hill, descend the “Golden Steps” and eventually land at the beach. It was always best when the tide was all the way out. I would take my pail and gather as many small crabs that I found in the tidal pools. The older boys taught me that if I stomped hard on the wet sand the clams would emit a stream of water from below. So I would spend hours doing just that. What fun. It is amazing what will entertain a young mind.

The only time I looked up is when a low flying DC-3 airplane was heading for Logan. I used to wave believing they could see me. Maybe they could, I will never know.  Other small military planes landed across the Bay at Squantum. You would think with so much interest in marine life and aviation I would have become either a Marine Biologist or a pilot. It was not meant to be. I settled for being a Civil/Environmental Engineer.

AIR RAID WARDENS

During WW II we had air raid drills. The sirens would sound off and we were required to stay in our homes. All the homes had to have “black out curtains” and during the drill no light was allowed in the house. The street was patrolled by Air Raid Wardens, basically the fellow that served you at the counter in the morning, was now patrolling the streets. It was his job to make sure everyone obeyed the rules of total darkness. In those days our street lamps were lit by gas so he used a long pole to extinguish the light until the all clear signal was given. Our Air Raid Warden took his job seriously. I once peaked out by lifting the “black out” curtain and wouldn’t you know it he caught me. He must have had cat eyes. He scolded me and I immediately retreated to my bedroom for fear that the Germans had now zeroed in on my street.

HOARDERS

During WW II the US Government encouraged everyone to purchase “War Bonds”. At the Bigelow Elementary School I attended we did our part by purchasing “War Stamps” We would bring a quarter each week, purchase a stamp and place the moistened stamp in a book. When the book was filled we converted it into a War Bond.

My wife contends that I have never thrown anything away and that I should be featured on the TV show called Hoarders. Now that is not true, but close to it. A few years back I was rummaging through a box in the cellar when I came upon a few items that brought me instantly back to my youth. There was my South Boston Savings Bank Passbook with the initial recorded deposit of 5 dollars, a book partially filled with War Stamps and a small pamphlet of myself and my 3^rd grade classmates at the Gavin School. Maybe my wife is right, I do keep things longer than necessary. Here is my class picture.

SOUTH BOSTON SAVINGS BANK

When I was around 8 my father announced that he was going to give me an allowance of 25 cents a week. I was allowed to spend it anyway I wished. Since I was a movie nut I chose to blow it all on the Saturday matinee. It cost 10cents to get in and that left 15 cents for a soft drink, popcorn and a candy bar. I know …I know…that dates me but that’s what it cost in the 1940’s. But for other money I received for my birthday and errands I ran, my father encouraged me to start saving. He gave me a large jar and I would deposit my money there. Now every night I would count it out. My mother laughed because it reminded her of an Ebeneezer Scrooge character that lived in her home town in Albania. His name was Dhimitri Bino and that is what she called me when I was counting.
 When the jar was full my father decided that I should open an account at the South Boston Savings Bank. So he walked me to West Broadway and I remember passing through Greek like columns to the inside counter. There I gave my money to the bank clerk and he came back with a small brown book he called a passbook. Inside was inscribed my name  with the amount of the deposit, five dollars. With the South Boston Savings bank Passbook in hand I felt I had passed into adulthood.

SAINT PATRICK' DAY PARADE

As a young boy I looked forward to March 17^th because that was the day the Parade came through the streets of South Boston. We knew it as the Saint Patrick’s Day Parade but later in school we were told the real reason for the celebration was the Evacuation of the British from Boston after several years of occupation. It really didn’t matter. What was important was there was a Parade and occurred right here in Southie. In the morning you could go to the local school and get a free Hoodsie ice cream. Then you had to know where to go to hear the bands play. In those days the route was different than today. It started at Andrew Square and ended at Broadway Station. So for us we had to go down from West Fifth St. closer to the Cemetery on Dorchester St. There the bands were sure to play. My favorite then as now were the “Bag Pipes” The precision marching and the idyllic music that reached my ears was like a song from heaven. The parade lasted longer than today and I never left until it was over. Years later when I was in the Army Reserves I had the privilege of marching in it myself

KELLY'S LANDING

The building in the foreground is the original Kelly’s landing before it burned down and replaced. As teenagers we would go there to get the best tasting fried clams ever. You could get a pint and it wouldn’t break the bank. Put a little vinegar on the top then go sit on the nearby benches to watch the boats come and go. Trying to get the attention of the girls walking by was really our primary goal. Maybe if I offered them some of my clams I would have been more successful.

JAPAN VISIT

Twenty six years ago this month I headed up a delegation of engineers that visited Japan. Our purpose was to learn as much as we could about a technology they had perfected in the treatment of their wastewater. Land in Japan is scarce so they were forced to figure a way to make maximum use of what was available. We had a similar situation on Deer Island and we were in our planning and design phase. I had to make arrangements through the State Department as we could not enter Japan without proper credentials. Once we got there we were treated royally. The Japanese Government assigned a young man fluent in English to stay with us throughout our 10 day stay. As a child growing up during WWII my impression of the Japanese was of a race bent on torturing and killing Americans. What I experienced was totally different. In our conferences they couldn’t do enough to meet our requests for information. More important they treated us with utmost regard. The Japanese were also very courteous to one another. Without fail they bowed to each other upon meeting. These were certainly not the “Japs” I had been taught to hate. I wondered how did this race of warmongerers turn things around. I left Japan with a totally different perspective than the one I was accustomed to hearing about during the war.

LIFE MAGAZINE

In the 1940’s when I was at the Boys Club someone told me that Life magazine had written an article about South Boston. It was there on the table so I picked it up anticipating what it contained. Now I was about 8 and of a very impressionable age. What I read shocked me. The piece had several negative connotations about the Town I lived in. Words like slum, poor, unsafe, run down were scattered throughout the article. Could this be the same Town. I knew we didn’t have many material things (my father never owned a car) but never in my wildest imagination did I ever consider my family poor. Unsafe? I never felt safer in my life. When some unfortunate incident occurred affecting someone on our street the neighborhood would join forces to help the family get back on its feet. Run down? None of our homes were mansions but there wasn’t a home I visited that I felt wasn’t spotless. The woman took huge pride in keeping  their  homes wonderfully clean. My family provided love in abundance. If you scrapped your knee and your mother wasn’t close at hand another neighborhood mother was there to console you. How dare Life depict us that way. I wish I was older so I could write to Life and cancel my subscription. But hey, I was only eight.

 

CHINESE LAUNDRY

It would be great if we lived our lives blemish free. I wish that I could say I did. I am going to tell you a story of which I am terribly ashamed. It happened when I was very young and still bothers me today. Across the street from my Elementary School (the Bigelow ) on E St. there was a Chinese Laundry nestled among a number of other stores. When school let out us boys were always conjuring ways to be mischievous. Someone thought why not harass the Chinaman. So we lined up in a row and ran by with our fingers motioning up and down on our teeth screaming  ”Chinky…Chinky…Chinky”. We would do this until he came out brandishing his fist. This lasted for several weeks until we tired of it. Years later a colleague of mine at EPA asked where I was born. I told him South Boston. Oh he said my father owned a store there on E street. He hated Southie because the kids there taunted him with racist remarks. They would leave school and holler ”Chinky…Chinky….Chinky”. Now this was a close associate. Should I tell him and if I did would he break off our friendship. What a dilemma. I wrestled with it awhile but finally confessed my misdeed. He forgave me because he understood it happened during my youth. He may have forgiven me but I never forgave myself. What goes around comes around

DEER ISLAND

I spent most of my Professional career as an Environmental Engineer working out of the Environmental Protection Agency offices in Boston. In the 1980’s I was assigned  EPA’s chief engineer overseeing the planning, design and construction of the MWRA’s waste treatment plant at Deer Island. It was obvious from the start we had insufficient land on Deer Island to handle the wastewater from the 43 communities (North and South) that would eventually be tied into the system. I was aware that Tokyo, Japan had a similar problem and solved it by using a relatively new technology –stacked clarifiers. So I went to my boss and tried to convince him to send me and a team of  engineers from the Commonwealth and the private sector to Tokyo. At first he said no, then realized that it made sense so off we went.
 The Japanese government assigned us an engineer that graduated from Cornell who spoke fluent English. I asked him to teach me a few words of Japanese. He said he would start me out with a simple word. He said tomorrow when you meet the delegation from Tokyo simply bow in respect and say the word “Ohio”, which in Japanese is a form of greeting. So the next day as head engineer of the delegation I stepped forward, bowed respectfully and said “Iowa”. Even today as I bump into my colleagues that accompanied me to Tokyo, I am greeted with a simple word “Iowa.” By the way we eventually adopted the Japanese technology and we have stacked clarifiers on Deer Island.

TOUCH FOOTBALL

The kids on my street (West Fifth St.) loved to play sports. One of the games we played often was touch football. Since there wasn’t sufficient room on our street we would traipse up Old Harbor St. to Telegraph Hill where acres were available. The two oldest boys would alternately choose sides by picking us from a lineup. Since I was the youngest and the shortest I was never actually picked. As the last one standing I would join one team or the other by default. The football was never thrown my way for fear of an easy interception. One game the score was tied and it was getting late so that there was only play left. In the huddle the quarterback had a plan. The receivers were to go wide right and left and I was to go straight ahead to the goal line. He knew that no one ever covered me so that I would be wide open. Now I should tell you that the quarterback was the Tom Brady of his day. He threw spirals hard, fast and true. So off to the line we went. Everything went according to plan. I stood at the goal line and spotted the football spiraling at me at what seemed  100 miles per hour.” Please God…please don’t let me drop it…they will never throw the football my way again if I do” It hit me in my stomach and it hurt. I didn’t care. I held on to it and we won. A memory from Telegraph Hill in the shadow of the Dorchester Height’s Monument that I still cherish today.

KENNEDY BUTTER AND EGGS

When we needed food my mother would shop the local stores on Dorchester St. near our home on West Fifth St. But when we needed dairy products she sent me to the store on West Broadway known as Kennedy’s Butter and Eggs. During WWII dairy products were not available in abundance. So when I went my mother sent me with 3 things- money, a note for the counterman for the items she needed and a ration book. The book had stamps that rationed a certain number of eggs, cheese and butter products that could be purchased each month. I would patiently wait for the order to be filled, my change and for the return of the ration book. None of our neighbors felt it was a major sacrifice because we knew  that all of these scarce items were being sent overseas to feed our servicemen. There was a feeling of patriotism knowing we were doing our part for the war effort

 

SOAP OPERAS

To get to Boston Latin High School I had to take a bus to Broadway Sta., the subway Red Line to Park Street then a Green Line Trolley. It was a chore just getting to school on time. During those trips I noticed another Southie native boarding the bus and getting off at Latin. Although not in the same class room he also was just starting at the school. I later found out we were only born 3 days apart. Sometime around our second year he announced he was transferring to Boston English. Since English was right across the street from Latin at that time, we still commuted together. I lost track of him after high school until one day reading the Boston globe there was a featured article about him. Apparently he ha d gone to Hollywood to appear in several movies (minor parts), then return to New York for long turn major roles in the TV “Soaps”. Maybe you saw Joe Gallison as Dr. Neil Curtis in the Days of Our Lives or Tom Edwards in One Life to Live. Another Southie Lad made good.

CHRISTMAS

Like all youngsters as a young boy I was full of anticipation of Christmas. My mother would take me downtown Boston to view the displays in the Filene’s and Jordan Marsh windows. The two stores tried to outdo each other. I pressed my nose to the glass and studied each of the figures on display .What pure joy. I would have stayed there for hours except my mother had another destination for me. That destination was the top floor of Jordan Marsh. There they had laid out a small village of figures which we all know now as the “Enchanted Village.”Wow! Each turn brought into view a different set of characters. My favorite was the post office clerk stamping the mail. After finishing the village you got to sit on Santa’s lap for a picture. Then his elf would give you a toy which today we would consider a throwaway. But then it was a gift directly from Santa. Who could ask for anything more. That was 75 years ago.The sights and sounds of Downtown Boston are vivid to me today as if it occurred yesterday. What a wonderful and joyful feeling. MERRY CHRISTMAS everyone.

BOSTON LATIN

While I lived in Southie I never met a person of the Jewish faith. My entire neighborhood consisted of Christians. Although there were Jews in Southie I never was acquainted with them.  I had a wonderful teacher named Ms. Stumpf at the Elementary School I attended (the Bigelow School). She saw potential in me that I was not aware of. She convinced me to take the exam for the Boston Latin School, the premier school in the Boston system. I passed and was accepted. This was the first time I left my neighborhood for any reason and I was frightened. The teachers were strict of the no nonsense variety. I managed the first couple of weeks but wondered if I had made a terrible mistake. One day I arrived and there were only 4 of us in class.  Had school been cancelled and I missed the notice?  No it was the High Jewish Holiday  Rosh Hashanah. It was only then I realized I was in the minority. I did Graduate but many of my fellow students did not. It really was a tough school.

SOUNDS OF THE STREET

t is funny as you get older you have trouble remembering what happened yesterday but events that occurred 75 years ago during your youth remain vivid in your mind. I grew up in a wonderful neighborhood on West Fifth St. near the corner of Dorchester St. I remember distinctly the sound of the old electric trolleys (the ones with center doors) clanging their way toward Andrew Station or the other way to City Point.

Often the sounds of the Rag man on his horse drawn wagon yelling…”Rags ,rags… bring me your rags.”His horse was so old I often wondered how he had the strength to pull his load up our street. The affection the horse had for his owner and the owner for his horse was a sight to be seen.

The Ice man who drove his truck looking for signs in the window for people needing ice for their “ice boxes”. Not many of our neighbors could afford that new fangled appliance known as a refrigerator. It was not uncommon for the ice man to chop out 50 pounds from his ice block, heft in on his shoulders over a rubberized apron then walk up three flights to deliver his goods. While he was gone we kids would eat the shavings off the back of his truck. How sanitary was that.

The knife and scissor truck that offered to put a sharp edge on your tableware. I still see the sparks flying off the back of his truck while the women on the street got a chance to get caught up in each others’ lives.

The truck I remember most was the one that brought freshly cooked crabs to the street .I think they cost a nickel. I remember devouring them on the last step of our stairs. My mouth is watering thinking of them now.

What I would give to hear those sounds today.

POW

If I wasn’t at the Boy’s Club then you could find me at Carson Beach. Across the way there was always a group of men tending to what was known as “Victory Gardens” The men were quite jovial, kidding with each other and speaking a language unfamiliar to me. The other thing that was confusing was that they were all dressed alike. A drab grey-blue uniform with a huge “P” stenciled on their backs. As a kid I couldn’t figure what that was all about so I asked. “Oh they are from Fort McKay at Columbia Point. They are Prisoners of  War”. As far as I could see they weren’t supervised. Apparently they were so happy to be out of the war(WWII) there was no worry that they would escape.

CORNER STORE

At the bottom of our street at the intersection of F and West Fifth St. there was a small corner store that was not much bigger than an oversized closet. In the corner of the store stood a wood stave barrel filled with the most sour pickles imaginable. It was a self serve barrel so you gave the proprietor your nickle then fished out your pickle. Biting into the pickle made you look like Walter Pidgeon the actor. My mouth waters even now thinking about it. Putting your hand in the barrel would certainly violate any health standard today. But as I think about it the brine solution the pickles were floating in was so strong that no bacteria could possibly survive.

BIGELOW SCHOOL

When I started elementary school I was stopped on the street by a boy much older than I. He asked where I was going. I told him to the Bigelow School. He said no one travelled on his street without the permission of the Nee clan who lived there. I never got their permission so for 4 years I had to take a circuitous route.

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HEAD HOUSE PIER

 My father loved to walk. He never owned a car so he had no choice. His idea of recreation (other than the L St. Bath House) was to hike for several miles. Luckily for me as a toddler he took me along pushing my stroller. Our destination was either Carson Beach or City Point Beach. Often we would make it to the Head House then stroll out to the Sugar Bowl on the covered pier. The pier had seating along the entire length. All that ended when the 1938 Hurricane tore the pier apart. Although a part of the pier that wasn't damage was available for walking. I recall sitting on the edge when I got a little older. The last time I walked around the horn (I am 85 now) I missed the seating that used to be available.

The hurricane aftermath meant my Father no longer could take me out to the Sugar Bowl. That didn't phase him a bit. He just made Castle Island his new destination. I was saddened when I was a little older when they closed the Island to visitors because of WWII. I remember the joy we felt when they reopened it after the War. I have a fond memory of my Father and those walks. For you young fathers if you really want to bond with your children take them for a walk.

HEAD HOUSE

Richard Kotelly

Head house in Southie before it was destroyed by fire in 1942

DOWNTOWN BOSTON

Richard Kotelly

When we went to Boston to shop for clothes for the
new school year at Filene's Basement my mother insisted we wear our best Sunday to Church outfits. No decent person would go downtown looking like bums. Now people wear oufits like they are at the beach

SOUTH STATION

Richard Kotelly

My mother and I left South Station during WWII to visit her sister in Faifield Conn near Bridgeport.
It took us 6 hours. We were constantly shuttled off the main track to let troop trains pass. They had the higher priority.

BLINSTRUBS FIRE

Blinstrubs before and after the fire. Blinstrubs did not have an adequate fire safety system. They relied solely on a single guard to look after the property He was asleep when the fire started. They were not insured and didn't have the funds nor the will to rebuild.

BLINSTRUBS

After Blinstrubs burned, Stanley Blinstrub opened a small cafeteria style restaurant near the site of his old Night Club. Several doors away was the Odenweller Plumbing and Supply business. Frank Odenweller was my downstairs neighbor. Although there were many years between us we became very close. When Frank was at his West Broadway business during lunch he would eat at the cafeteria. He and Stanley were very good friends. Several times I met Frank and that is where we went for lunch. Stanley would join us and I got a great deal of enjoyment listening to him reminisce about the Acts the Night Club booked over the years. It was Frank that got my brother his bartender job at Blinstrubs. When I would sneak in my brother had the waitresses seat me in the "inner Circle" where I saw the acts close up

NEIGHBORHOOD

I grew up on West Fifth St. during World War II. It was a great close knit neighborhood with kids my age and older .We always had a group willing to play stick ball or can hockey or every other imaginable sport kids can make up. Many of the windows on the Street had small flags hung with Blue Stars on them signifying a son was engaged in the war effort. Sometimes those stars were replaced with Gold ones and the neighborhood mourned with the family for the lost of their seviceman.... My neighbor who lived opposite felt compelled to step out on her top stairwell and announce the progress of the war, a kind of Town Crier. "Troops have invaded Normandy", Iwo Jima has been taken", "FDR is dead", The Germans have “surrendered", and finally “Japan has surrendered” the “War is over". There was no need to read the papers. All my news came from across the street.

MOVIES

On Saturdays the kids on my street (West Fifth St.) would gather together and head either to the Strand Theater on East Broadway or the Broadway Theater on West Broadway. There would always be 2 movies mostly Westerns, a cartoon, RKO News ( about the progress of the war) , a short by Pete Smith and the Action Series where every week the hero faced certain death(he miraculously survived the following week). The part I remember is that it was audience participation. We cheered, stomped our feet and yelled at the top of our lungs whenever the Cowboys killed the Indians. Not politically correct these days. We also booed when the hero kissed the girl (we were only 8 after all). When we got up to leave our feet would be stuck to the floor from all of the soft drinks deposited there

SLEDDING

·         Snow reminds me of the excitement I felt as a young boy when school was called off. That meant we could go sledding all day. West Fifth St. where I lived was ideal for sledding. All of us kids would gather at the top of the hill near Dorchester St. and take turns hurtling down the street.
 For some unknown reason the plows never came and ruined it for us. Nobody could afford a car anyway so that wasn't a problem. The first snowfall we got off I took my Flexible Flyer and waited my turn. Now those of us that were daring took a running start with our sleds held close to our chests then hit the ground running on the fly.
So I ran as fast as I could, hit the ground but my sled didn't cooperate. It stayed in place and I went down the hill ass over tea kettle. The steel runners had rusted since I had used it the previous year. The whole street roared with laughter and I had to live with that for the rest of the season. That was my first lesson in Physics---Friction

 

GUSTIN GANG

My father told me a story once that is still etched in my brain. Long before Whitey ruled Southie there was the Gustin Gang run by the Wallace brothers. Their heyday was the Prohibition era of the 1920's. My father worked the night shift at Joe's Spa which during weekdays closed at midnight. Once at closing time the Gustin Gang came in and demanded dinner. My father explained that the kitchen was closed and he was about to head home. One of the Wallace brothers pulled out his revolver and placed it on the counter. My father arrived 2 hours late that night. That is Steve Wallace in the mug shot. I worked the same shift with my father years later but never encountered anything like that.

 

CARNEY HOSPITAL

·         Very few families on the street that I lived (West Fifth St.) had a family doctor. What we did have was the Carney Hospital on Old Harbor St. run by the Daughters of Charity of St Vincent de Paul. If you broke a bone or needed stitches to close a wound the emergency room was minutes away. If you had the flu or a runny nose then the morning clinic was available. However before you saw the doctor you had to pass the muster of Mother Superior who ran a one person Triage. As a young boy I never feared anyone more than the Nun with the winged white hat. Only years later when a First Sergeant barked at me during basic training at Fort Dix, NJ did I experience a similar fear. Had the Mother Superior been involved in WWII I am sure it would have ended 2 years earlier.

CARDINAL CUSHING

Cardinal Richard James Cushing was born in South Boston and grew up near “M” St. Park. He was a close friend of the Kennedy family and presided over the marriage of then Senator John Kennedy and Jacqueline Bouvier and sadly presided at the burial of President Kennedy. As Archbishop of Boston he was the most revered catholic in the city. When he walked the streets of South Boston he always attracted a crowd. It was as if the Pope himself was present. I even got to kiss his ring once. When he started to raise funds for a larger and more improved Carney Hospital the residents of Southie gave generously because they knew the value of a good hospital in the neighborhood. When he moved the hospital to Dorchester he lost some of his luster and although still revered was somewhat tarnished.

HELEN RUTH

·         I spent a lot of time at the Boys Club. When I was there I often heard the boys say that Babe Ruth's wife was buried in the cemetery across the street. Later when reading about the Babe an author confirmed the story. Had he done some serious research he would have learned she was actually buried in the Old Cavalry Cemetery in Boston. Babe Ruth was in attendance at her burial.

DOROTHY RUTH

·         Some of you have asked about Babe Ruth's daughter Dorothy. Others about the rumors that Babe Ruth killed his Wife Helen. I understand the hatred the Woodruff family had for Babe Ruth. After all he had abandoned his wife and daughter to live with his girl friend in New York, the woman he married only 3 months after burying Helen. Babe Ruth was a known womanizer, drinker and of little or no moral character. But he was not a murderer. Helen died in a fire of smoke inhalation and burns. The Fire Marshal found no evidence of arson and 2 separate Medical Examiners found no evidence of foul play. Think about it. At the time of her death in 1929 Babe Ruth was probably the most well known celebrity of the time. To believe he could get to Helen's apartment in Watertown unnoticed makes no sense. There was no gas can or traces of flammable fluid found. What was found were frayed electrical wires which the Fire Marshal believed caused the fire? Dorothy lived with her father, his new Wife Claire and her daughter. Dorothy married twice and had several children. Pictures are of her. She died in 1989 at 67.