.... all my life, though some have changed. Some forever, not for better - some are gone and some remain. (Lennon/McCartney)
Nana’s Onset beach house:
Nana McClellan had a summer house in Onset. We would drive through Middleboro on Rt28, past the farm with the “Dalmatian Cows”. Into Wareham’s Onset section, we would cross the bridge over the East River and very soon turn right onto a narrow side street (it must have been Admiral Way or possibly Onset Bay Lane). There was a story that there used to be a large hotel at the end – right on the beach – that had burned down years before. Nana’s 2-story cottage was on the right side and about two or three houses before the beach. We would go around to the left side of the house and enter through the rear – never used the front door and don’t know why. Anyway, we spent little time in the house – instead heading to the beach and looking for shells. Looking left there was the marina with all sorts of boats, but usually we went to the right to the point of sand at the mouth of the river. Occasionally we wandered as far up as the bridge. This beach was not on the open ocean and had shells like no other beach we knew (i.e. Brant Rock, Humarock or Duxbury) and was therefore always an adventure. After Nana passed away, the cottage went to Aunt Edie and Uncle Bud. We visited at least once more while they owned it, and then it left the family ownership.
http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&hl=en&q=admiral+way,+onset+MA&sll=37.0625,-95.677068&sspn=33.435463,57.919922&layer=&num=10&iwloc=addr&iwstate1=saveplace
Auntie Gin’s house:
Auntie Gin (my fathers half-sister) & Uncle (Fred ?) owned the house in Whitman on the corner of Auburn Street & School Street. In our view, the house was fancy – with a bar in the section connecting the main house to the garage. At the top of the stairs was like a balcony going all around the opening. Outside, the yard was long and narrow and mostly to the right of the house (similar to our Carver home & yard). Towards the far end was a large Weeping Willow tree we would climb, and a decorative wishing well under it. This also had a circular drive, but didn’t go around the house. I recall sitting in the car waiting seemingly forever to leave and Dad telling us “We’re just waiting for Windy (referring to Nenna) to stop talking so we can go home”. We kids thought that Dad calling Mom “Windy” was just about the funniest thing we had heard.
Dad lived above Auntie Gin’s garage for a while after the divorce.
http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&hl=en&q=admiral+way,+onset+MA&sll=37.0625,-95.677068&sspn=33.435463,57.919922&layer=&num=10&iwloc=addr&iwstate1=saveplace
Aunt Gerry’s House:
Dad’s other half-sister Gerry lived in a rundown & overgrown house on Bedford Street in Whitman. We only went there once or twice as I recall. It was torn down to make way for the current Burger King. Aunt Gerry was generally considered to be kind of crazy. We kids barely knew her.
Uncle Macs Pembroke trailer home:
I have a very young memory of visiting Uncle Mac and Aunt Shirley and cousins Mo & Jo when they lived in Pembroke. Their road (possibly un-paved) turned off of Wampatuck Street at an angle, and their trailer home (white & brown?) was on the right side – surrounded by tall pine trees. We played tag in the yard, and Wes, Laurie, Maureen and Joanne got to walk to the end of the road to Oldham Pond. I apparently wasn’t old enough to go. I’m sure I had been inside the trailer, but have only a vague uncertain recollection of it.
Mary Blauss relatives in Whitman? Joneses maybe? Bates maybe?
I have a very young memory of attending a party with some unremembered relatives at a house in Whitman? I vaguely recall the interior, but clearly remember they had a circular driveway that went off the street on one side of the house, circled all the way around behind and came back out to the street on the other side.
Cranberry Company acquaintances?
The Taylors (I believe my parents knew from working at Ocean Spray) invited us to visit their summer place in Myles Standish Forest. The dirt road leading to there we called the rollercoaster road as it went up and down over very large hills. From the top of each hill you could see ahead to the next number of approaching hills. The terrain consisted of lots of scrub pine and sand, and I can only suppose the house was on one of the many ponds. A dirt driveway led off of the dirt road and curved up to the front of the house. A wooden sign with the inscription "The Taylor's" was nailed to a tree at the head of the driveway. Wooden steps led up to a wooden deck –this house I have no idea what the inside looked like.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Monday, April 23, 2007
Easter & Halloween Candy
Because we loved candy as much as any typical kids, we loved Easter & Halloween because candy was the main reason for those two holidays. The amount of candy we each received at Easter was very generous and equal, while Halloween candy varied as to how many doors each child knocked at and if the giver was more generous towards a smaller child or a better costume or whatever unit of measure.
For some reason, we made a contest out of (surprisingly NOT of who received the most – because that was based more on luck than skill) who could make their candy last the longest. The ULTIMATE measure of greatness was if you could stretch your consumption so that come Halloween you still had Easter candy left, and by Easter you still had Halloween candy left.
Of course the trouble with this contest was that most candy was not very edible after a period of time. Those yellow marshmallow chicks get stale and very unappetizing in short order. Chocolates also had to be consumed before too long, so you saved the jelly beans or other more durables the longest. But alas even jelly beans become very un-jelly-like after many months. Cavities are one thing, broken teeth is quite another – and the deliberate avoidance of glutony to avoid the former problem could lead to the latter if not very careful.
This was not the most intellegent competition we ever conceived, but we did carry it out with great pride and determination.
For some reason, we made a contest out of (surprisingly NOT of who received the most – because that was based more on luck than skill) who could make their candy last the longest. The ULTIMATE measure of greatness was if you could stretch your consumption so that come Halloween you still had Easter candy left, and by Easter you still had Halloween candy left.
Of course the trouble with this contest was that most candy was not very edible after a period of time. Those yellow marshmallow chicks get stale and very unappetizing in short order. Chocolates also had to be consumed before too long, so you saved the jelly beans or other more durables the longest. But alas even jelly beans become very un-jelly-like after many months. Cavities are one thing, broken teeth is quite another – and the deliberate avoidance of glutony to avoid the former problem could lead to the latter if not very careful.
This was not the most intellegent competition we ever conceived, but we did carry it out with great pride and determination.
Friday, April 20, 2007
Este's Candy Kitchen
During the 1960’s, Brant Rock center had a movie theater/bowling alley and Este’s Candy Kitchen. We got to see a few movies there during our island days (I forget which activity was upstairs and which was downstairs, but you could watch the movie and hear the pins getting knocked down at the same time), but my favorite excursions from the island and into town were those that included a stop at Este’s. Nenna liked to get their Salt Water Taffy which came in many different flavors and I believe they made themselves. My favorite treat was their homemade fudge which came in sticks about 1” x 1” x 4” and wrapped in white paper – twisted shut at each end. I would wait impatiently while Nenna chatted with the store clerk/lady – hoping that she would let me get my precious fudge stick. If I was particularly lucky, I had my own quarter to buy it for myself. Like all of Brant Rock, it was an old wood building – wooden steps, bare wooden floors, wood & glass display cases – and full of mystique for a young school boy.
Este’s Candy Kitchen burned down in 1971 and was never rebuilt. The movie house/bowling alley followed suit in 1973 after being vacant for a number of years.
Este’s Candy Kitchen burned down in 1971 and was never rebuilt. The movie house/bowling alley followed suit in 1973 after being vacant for a number of years.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
EXPO67 - Man & his World
During the summer of 1967 we took the “Big Family Vacation” by going to Montreal to visit the Worlds Fair / Exposition. I had little idea what to expect, other than a long, crowded car ride. We made our home base in a campground outside of the city which was handy to a shuttle bus stop. I recall sitting in our car parked near the tent and pretending I was driving – turning the wheel (what little it would turn), making motor noises and pumping the brake pedal. At twelve years old I didn’t realize that stepping on the brake pedal caused the tail lights to go on – until I heard a man call out to my parents that the car lights were on. They discovered me playing inside and banished me from imaginary driving. Riding the bus was more adventure than the scariest of carnival rides. The drivers speeded through curved tunnels, nearly scraping the cement walls inside. We were quite certain that we would not survive getting to the Fair grounds – and if we did, everything afterwards would be anti-climatic. 
Well we did, and it was. There were lots of futuristically designed “Pavilions” and buildings, lots of people, and it was HOT. My favorite was the display from Burma – very old fashioned, “King and I” looking.
The worst one was an ugly housing project called Habitat67 that looked like some little kid had done a bad job of stacking odd sized brown blocks. I believe the projects out near the Kennedy Library were vaguely modeled after this display (they too are ugly).
Well we did, and it was. There were lots of futuristically designed “Pavilions” and buildings, lots of people, and it was HOT. My favorite was the display from Burma – very old fashioned, “King and I” looking.
The worst one was an ugly housing project called Habitat67 that looked like some little kid had done a bad job of stacking odd sized brown blocks. I believe the projects out near the Kennedy Library were vaguely modeled after this display (they too are ugly).
(check this link http://expo67.ncf.ca/expo_habitat_p1.html )
The USA building was a huge geodesic dome which housed displays inside. The tram cars / monorail ran through it (and all around the park). We rode through and part of it was dark (we may have gone during the evening) and somebody ahead of us kept setting off firecrackers.
We must have spent a couple of days there, and then headed for home. On our way we drove through Pinkham Notch and had planned to drive up Mt. Washington. Unfortunately, it was going to cost more than my father had anticipated (unlike the drive-in theaters, the auto rode charges per person – not per car load) – and it was recommended that he unload all of the luggage off the roof racks before going up. Needless to say we changed our plan and didn’t drive the auto road.
(one week later, the brakes went on the car – leaving Nenna to contemplate the scenario of losing them as we came down the Mt. Washington Auto Road hairpin turns)
The USA building was a huge geodesic dome which housed displays inside. The tram cars / monorail ran through it (and all around the park). We rode through and part of it was dark (we may have gone during the evening) and somebody ahead of us kept setting off firecrackers.
We must have spent a couple of days there, and then headed for home. On our way we drove through Pinkham Notch and had planned to drive up Mt. Washington. Unfortunately, it was going to cost more than my father had anticipated (unlike the drive-in theaters, the auto rode charges per person – not per car load) – and it was recommended that he unload all of the luggage off the roof racks before going up. Needless to say we changed our plan and didn’t drive the auto road.
(one week later, the brakes went on the car – leaving Nenna to contemplate the scenario of losing them as we came down the Mt. Washington Auto Road hairpin turns)
more photos at
Monday, April 2, 2007
Kick-The-Can (the "Cranberry Cove Edition")
Kick-The-Can at Cranberry Cove was playing in a whole different league. The difference was like going from Whiffleball to Babe Ruth League, Flag football to Tackle, Bicycling to Motocross. The playing field was larger and more challenging, the players were bigger, stronger and more intense, and smart strategy was imperative – for both the hiders and the seekers.
The “playing field” is predominantly open, sandy, and well lit – with the hiding places around the perimeter. A run to kick the can could be as much as 50 yards exposed and visible through difficult running conditions. Hiding places could be in the trees, in the bathrooms in the cement block building, on the flat roof of the building, in the drainage ditch, in the water, under the docks, or way down the entrance road. Early or late enough in the season - the docks would be stacked and stored by the Kiwanee fence, adding more hiding spots. Hiders could be mobile and move to occupy a spot previously checked and deemed vacant by the seeker, simply by taking advantage of sight-lines when the seeker entered a blind zone. Strategic noises could be made by hiders trying to lure the seeker far enough away so that a different hider could make a break to kick the can. It became a team sport (in as much as NASCAR is a “team” sport), especially when a little kid was “IT” which meant TWO little kids were it together in an effort for fairness. We would even go so far as to set up booby-traps – a bucket of water balanced inside on top of the bathroom door.
The final challenge was to not let the police catch us. Nobody was supposed to be at The Cove after hours, and the police would randomly check – or get calls from neighbors who could easily hear the shouting and noise echoing across the lake. To get into The Cove, the police had to drive down the cement Camp Kiwanee road (which borders the entire length of Grampa Mac’s land), unlock the chain across the entrance to The Cove (out of sight and around the bend) and drive in from the south. Gramp’s land is now West, Kiwanee is East and water is North – escape routes are limited. Cousin Billy – who practiced hard at wishing himself to being half Indian – had an uncanny knack for hearing an approaching cruiser, or could hear the unlocking of the paddlelock 100 yards away through the woods. In mid-game, Billy would yell “Cheeze it, the Fuzz” – and by the time the officer got back behind the wheel and cruised lights-off down to the beach we had become Ninja’s practicing the art of invisibility. Well, not always.
One night Officer MacNamara caught us red handed. Most of us were in our hiding places, but poor Eric at maybe 10 years old and “IT” froze in fear – the proverbial deer in the headlights of the cruiser. As the officer climbed out of the car, the solitary child standing unattended at 10:00pm in a vacant recreation facility timidly said “Hi Mr. MacNamara”. Being good siblings (and knowing that Mr. MacNamara was friends of my parents) Wes came out from hiding and to little Eric’s rescue, then eventually the rest of the immediate family came forth (the Tobin’s remained in hiding, and laughed at us for the longest time after), got scolded and sent back to our tents.
On another night we were in the middle of arguing who was going to be “IT” for the next round when the cruiser with two officers surprised us. Of course we ran. Being smart kids we took off to the terrain we knew best, and headed straight towards our tents – about 200 yards through Grampa’s pine forest. Evidently we thought that if we could get there quick enough, we could fake being asleep - or maybe they wouldn’t actually chase us. But chase they did. We knew where every root and stump and gully was – we could do this with our eyes shut (actually I think we occasionally did, just for the challenge). One cop chasing Laurie, tripped in the dirt road – slamming to the ground and losing his flashlight. The other in hot pursuit of Cousin Skip didn’t notice him duck under the volleyball net strung between two trees and got clothes-lined. It was like slapstick comedy – except the officers weren’t being amused. We were stupid enough to lead them straight to our secret hideouts (aka - large family sized tents). They were foolish enough to follow (must have been untrained rookies). Grampa Mac was a well known townie and former member of the police force, and now-Chief MacNamara already knew who and where we were – and our parents – and our grandparents. The officers ended up with bruised appendages and egos I imagine. We certainly got bruised egos and banned from playing Kick-The-Can “The Cove Edition” for the rest of the summer (not too bad considering it was technically a banned sport to begin with).
The “playing field” is predominantly open, sandy, and well lit – with the hiding places around the perimeter. A run to kick the can could be as much as 50 yards exposed and visible through difficult running conditions. Hiding places could be in the trees, in the bathrooms in the cement block building, on the flat roof of the building, in the drainage ditch, in the water, under the docks, or way down the entrance road. Early or late enough in the season - the docks would be stacked and stored by the Kiwanee fence, adding more hiding spots. Hiders could be mobile and move to occupy a spot previously checked and deemed vacant by the seeker, simply by taking advantage of sight-lines when the seeker entered a blind zone. Strategic noises could be made by hiders trying to lure the seeker far enough away so that a different hider could make a break to kick the can. It became a team sport (in as much as NASCAR is a “team” sport), especially when a little kid was “IT” which meant TWO little kids were it together in an effort for fairness. We would even go so far as to set up booby-traps – a bucket of water balanced inside on top of the bathroom door.
The final challenge was to not let the police catch us. Nobody was supposed to be at The Cove after hours, and the police would randomly check – or get calls from neighbors who could easily hear the shouting and noise echoing across the lake. To get into The Cove, the police had to drive down the cement Camp Kiwanee road (which borders the entire length of Grampa Mac’s land), unlock the chain across the entrance to The Cove (out of sight and around the bend) and drive in from the south. Gramp’s land is now West, Kiwanee is East and water is North – escape routes are limited. Cousin Billy – who practiced hard at wishing himself to being half Indian – had an uncanny knack for hearing an approaching cruiser, or could hear the unlocking of the paddlelock 100 yards away through the woods. In mid-game, Billy would yell “Cheeze it, the Fuzz” – and by the time the officer got back behind the wheel and cruised lights-off down to the beach we had become Ninja’s practicing the art of invisibility. Well, not always.
One night Officer MacNamara caught us red handed. Most of us were in our hiding places, but poor Eric at maybe 10 years old and “IT” froze in fear – the proverbial deer in the headlights of the cruiser. As the officer climbed out of the car, the solitary child standing unattended at 10:00pm in a vacant recreation facility timidly said “Hi Mr. MacNamara”. Being good siblings (and knowing that Mr. MacNamara was friends of my parents) Wes came out from hiding and to little Eric’s rescue, then eventually the rest of the immediate family came forth (the Tobin’s remained in hiding, and laughed at us for the longest time after), got scolded and sent back to our tents.
On another night we were in the middle of arguing who was going to be “IT” for the next round when the cruiser with two officers surprised us. Of course we ran. Being smart kids we took off to the terrain we knew best, and headed straight towards our tents – about 200 yards through Grampa’s pine forest. Evidently we thought that if we could get there quick enough, we could fake being asleep - or maybe they wouldn’t actually chase us. But chase they did. We knew where every root and stump and gully was – we could do this with our eyes shut (actually I think we occasionally did, just for the challenge). One cop chasing Laurie, tripped in the dirt road – slamming to the ground and losing his flashlight. The other in hot pursuit of Cousin Skip didn’t notice him duck under the volleyball net strung between two trees and got clothes-lined. It was like slapstick comedy – except the officers weren’t being amused. We were stupid enough to lead them straight to our secret hideouts (aka - large family sized tents). They were foolish enough to follow (must have been untrained rookies). Grampa Mac was a well known townie and former member of the police force, and now-Chief MacNamara already knew who and where we were – and our parents – and our grandparents. The officers ended up with bruised appendages and egos I imagine. We certainly got bruised egos and banned from playing Kick-The-Can “The Cove Edition” for the rest of the summer (not too bad considering it was technically a banned sport to begin with).
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