Tag Archives: memoir

North Fairhaven Girl

North Fairhaven Girl: What’s in the Ocean

Bar-dum, bar-dum, bar-dum, bar-dum

Living in an ocean-front town, I spent much of my childhood summers at the beach. Every Saturday and Sunday, we hauled enough food and beach stuff that it took us a couple of trips to carry everything from the parking lot at West Island to its sandy shore. My mother made enough food, including clam fritters, so we could stay the entire afternoon.

Then there were the many hours my parents dug for clams and quahogs in the sandy beds during low tide. We kids found a way to entertain ourselves until they got their quota. Or we picked periwinkles from the rocks at West Island to eat later at home using safety pins to remove the cooked critters.

Spending that much time close to the ocean, I was well aware — long before the movie “Jaws” — that creatures lived in its waters. Certainly, I had seen prehistoric-looking horseshoe crabs, a giant sea turtle, jelly fish, and large fish like tuna. Sharks? No. They were out there, hopefully way out there although sometimes they come closer. I was safe because I never swam that far in waters over my head. No shark was going to grab me with its jaws like that woman in the movie poster above.

And, naturally, I had read Herman Melville’s “Mobi-Dick” and watched the movie version. Gregory Peck, who played Captain Ahab, made an appearance in New Bedford when it premiered.

Then there is “Jaws,” now celebrating its 50th anniversary. I so enjoyed the comradery of the three main characters, police chief Martin Brody, marine biologist Matt Hooper and the crusty fisherman Quint, as they hunt for the great white shark that is having its way with people in the waters off fictional Amity Island.

The movie is based on Peter Benchley’s novel and directed by Steven Spielberg. Who can forget John William’s two-note theme song, “bar-dum, bar-dum, bar-dum, bar-dum,” that told you something bad was about to happen. Then there is that memorable line I’ve used a few times, “You’re going to need a bigger boat.”

I am going to move onto adulthood, and the summers we vacationed in Fairhaven. Our family was living in the sticks of Western Massachusetts, and I longed to be immersed in salty air and waters. My aunt and cousins generously allowed us to stay at their cottage on Wilbur’s Point.

One summer, Hank and I decided to take the ferry to Martha’s Vineyard, a place I hadn’t visited since I was a kid on a family field trip. Back then, you had to take the ferry from Falmouth. But now, it went out of New Bedford. My mother, Algerina Medeiros joined us. Three of our kids came along.

When we arrived on the island, my mother was interested in going on a van tour. I was game, well, we were tourists, and so was my son, Nate, which surprised me since he was in high school. That’s him in the photo. Hank and the other kids were going to walk around. Nate really wanted to come with his mother and grandmother on a tour? 

But I soon found out why. Nate wanted to see where “Jaws” had been filmed. 

(There were, of course, other interesting landmarks like the cemetery where John Belushi is buried and Chappaquiddick, the scene of a notorious accident.)

But as we rode around, the person at the mic pointed out where various scenes were shot since most of the movie was filmed on Martha’s Vineyard. That began in May 1974. Here is a memorable fact I recall: the scene in which people are in the ocean and come screaming across the beach was filmed when the weather and water were damn cold, so there was a good inspiration for their screaming. “Bar-dum, bar-dum….”

I have watched “Jaws” a few times and plan to do it again. I bet Nate will, too.

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Hilltown Postcards

Hilltown Postcards: A Generous Gift

t’s been a while since I wrote a Hilltown Postcard, stories inspired by the many years we lived in Worthington Mass. Here is one about a surprise bequest.

A person I knew who worked in the Hampshire County Registry of Deeds called to say I should check out a will recently filed in Probate Court. According to the source, Marvis “Peg” Rolland, a Worthington resident, had left a great deal of money to the town and hilltown groups.

That was in 1989 when I was the hilltown reporter for the Daily Hampshire Gazette. I so enjoyed the beat, covering stories, big and small, for rural towns. Think populations around a thousand, give or take a couple of hundred. For that, I counted on my network of reliable sources like this person, who I will not name. Breaking news with a front page story was absolutely one of the best parts of that job.

Of course, I drove straight to Probate Court. This is what I found out.

Peg Rolland, who had died Aug. 13 at age 71, did indeed leave a huge amount of money — $1.7 million — to the town, hilltown organizations and people close to her.

She designated $627,500 and the brick ranch home aka Brickhaven at Four Corners would go to the town. Of that sum, $100,000 was for planting maple trees along town roads; $25,000 for North Cemetery; $100,000 for the Worthington Historical Society; $100,000 for the Fire Department; and $100,000 for the Council on Aging.

Residents had to formally accept the conditions of the will at a Special Town Meeting, which they did. The Art and Peg Rolland Highway Fund was eventually created to buy equipment and machinery. A scholarship in their name was established for Worthington students.

Another $575,000 would go to hilltown groups, including the Worthington Health Association, Worthington Congregational Church and Huntington Lions Club.

Peg also left $515,00 to relatives and friends.

She and her husband, Arthur, who died a few months before her, did not have children. That’s a photo to the right of Peg and Arthur from the Worthington Historical Society’s Archives.

I didn’t know Peg, but those who did told me she lived a fugal and quiet life. She never spoke about her business affairs or the intentions in the will she had drawn up five years earlier.

For many years, she worked for Snyder’s Express, the transportation company owned by her father Henry Snyder. Henry was a genuine hilltown character, serving as a Worthington selectman for over 35 years and a shrewd business man. I’ve heard the stories. He certainly would make a great Hilltown Postcard.

Peg was also the office manager for Albert Farms, owned by Ben Albert, another mover and shaker in Worthington. Check out this Substack about his farm: A Potato Farm Goes Barren

She also served the town as tax collector for 20 years and was a member of local groups.

Of course, after the news broke, people had a lot to say about Peg’s generosity. Julia Sharon, who was on the Board of Selectmen when the news broke, said she fielded many phone calls about it, including from people as far away as the Midwest. Locally, some townspeople wondered if it meant they wouldn’t have to pay property taxes or the money could be used to fix up Route 143 in town. Sorry, no.

NOTE: The Hilltowns not only inspired me as a reporter and columnist, but as a novelist. Most of my books are set in the fictional hilltowns of Western Massachusetts. Here’s a link.

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North Fairhaven Girl

North Fairhaven Girl: Oom-pa-pa

I will take a little break from pitching my books and share a memory from my childhood. A musician playing the other night at my son’s brewery announced the band’s next song would be a polka. It turned out to be an Irish polka, not quite the same I remember hearing as a girl. But it prompted a sweet memory — dancing the polka with my father.

People in my hometown of Fairhaven will remember the late Antone “Hawk” Medeiros, who was so active in adult and youth sports the town named its recreation center for him. He was deeply involved at St. Mary’s Church at the bottom of our street — carrying the statue of Our Lady of Angels during the annual feast’s parade and passing the collection basket at the early morning Mass.

Dad was a showman who enjoyed making people laugh with his performances at the church’s annual shows and appearing in costumes at town events.

He was also a great dancer.

When I was a girl, our family attended so many weddings and events where a band would be playing crowd-pleasing music that got people onto the dancefloor. There were events held in the Polish club off Alden Road.

When he wasn’t gabbing with people he knew, Dad would be on the dancefloor with my mother. My sisters and I had our chances. If it was a waltz, we stood on the top of his shoes as he swooped us around the floor. But the best dances were the polkas. Holding my father’s hand, together we would do the polka’s lively three quick steps and a hop to the song’s oom-pa-pa, oom-pa-pa as we circled the room.

I recall the Pennsylvania Polka and the Too Fat Polka, which had those memorable lines: “Oh, I don’t want her, you can have her. She’s too fat for me.”

Polka originated in the Czech Republic before it spread through Europe. At the time, Fairhaven, especially the northern end where my family lived, was filled with the families of those who emigrated to the U.S. from another country. The neighborhood was a melting pot of mostly Portuguese, Polish, and French Canadian people. My grandparents, who lived near us, came from the Azore Islands.

Traditions people had in the “old country” were often still celebrated. And one of those was dancing the polka. (Oh, yes, there is the chicken dance although I never participated in that one.)

One of my favorites? The Beer Barrel Polka. Here’s how a stanza goes:

Roll out the barrel, we’ll have a barrel of fun
Roll out the barrel, we’ve got the blues on the run
Zing boom barrel, ring out a song of good cheer
Now’s the time to roll the barrel, for the gang’s all here.

Ah, yes, oomp-pa-pa, oom-pa-pa.

ABOUT THE PHOTO ABOVE: One of the few pieces of schoolwork I still have from when my last name was Medeiros.

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North Fairhaven Girl

North Fairhaven Girl: Remember Mom

Today, April 2, my mother Algerina Medeiros would have been 101. She left us Aug. 26, 2023. I wrote this piece for her 99th birthday. I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately, wishing I could call her on Sunday just to chat. She’d be sitting in her comfy chair in the living room, likely with the TV on and the cat on her lap. Mom would likely have been playing Sudoku or completing a crossword puzzle in the newspaper before she picked up the phone after the first ring.

Those calls ended when Mom went to live in a convalescent home. So those calls were replaced with visits when I could make the long ride “home” from where I now live.

Anyway, I found this piece I wrote when she turned 99, and I will share it with you today. My mother and father were so well known in their town, especially in North Fairhaven, where they lived and were so involved.

On April 2, my mother, Algerina is 99 years old. That’s a very long life filled with creativity and a curiosity about the world around her. Let me tell you about her.

Her parents emigrated from the Portuguese island of Madeira. They met in New Bedford, Mass., worked in the textile mills, and bought a house and land in a nearby town, where they kept a large vegetable garden and goats. A great deal was expected of my mother and her younger sister, Ernestina. Although a good student, my mother was forced to drop out of high school to work in one of those mills. Her sister had to take care of the house.

As a young adult, Mom continued to live at home, thinking she was going to be an old maid, a term we don’t use today. She was 24 when she met my father Antone on a blind date. They were married six weeks later. It was a very long and happy marriage that ended when our father passed at in 2015 a few months short of his 93rd birthday. Mom always says their years of marriage were the best of her life.

They had three other children besides me: my sisters, Christine and Kij; my brother, Tony. There are lots of grandchildren, and even great-grandchildren.

My father was active in their town of Fairhaven, Massachusetts, especially with sports, whether playing or coaching it. My mother would be there watching and keeping score. Both were heavily involved in St. Mary’s annual shows, and my mother put her sewing talents to great use creating costumes for them both. (Her costume-making guaranteed me a starring role in my school plays. The prom gowns she sewed, including the one with the glass beads on the bodice, are in a trunk still.)

It’s unfortunate my mother had to leave school because she loved learning. She wanted to be a nurse, and seeing how she cared for our father in his last years, she would have been a caring one. She was a big reader. When we were kids, she took us to the Millicent Library twice a week for an armload of books she read in bed.

Mom took adult education classes in such subjects as millinery — I wore feathered hats with veils to church — jewelry making, cake decorating, painting, you name it.

She and Dad enjoyed traveling, especially to Hawaii, Las Vegas, Madeira, and the Azores.

I have fond memories of the long days we spent at the beach on the weekends. Mom would make clam fritters. (She and Dad dug for clams and quahogs in season.)

She loved eating lobster.

Until she had to give up her license a few years ago, Mom drove to three places to eat and shop — Wendy’s, Walmart and Market Basket, taking only right-hand turns. She had a bit of a heavy foot. Hank joked she drove like she was in the getaway car of a bank robbery.

My mother enjoyed gambling and winning, whether it was Bingo put on by one of the local churches or playing the slots at the casino. She had a head for Sudoku, a puzzle that mystifies me. A loyal newspaper reader, she still has a subscription to the New Bedford Standard Times.

My mom’s not the meddling kind of mother. She let her children find out things for themselves. I am certain there are times she was mystified by the decisions I made and the directions I took, but she kept that to herself.

Mom is also the inspiration for the mother, Maria in my Isabel Long Mystery Series. I give that character a lot of my mother’s interests and personality. She’s nosy and helpful solving crimes. My mother liked that.

On Friday, my son Zack and I paid a pre-birthday visit to Mom. She now needs special care and help, certainly understandable given her age and health. She was happy to see us, as we were happy to spend time with her. When we both sang “Happy Birthday,” she joined us. She still has her sense of humor. When she heard somebody say “Hey!” she responded with “Hay is for horses!”

There’s so much more I could write about my mother, but this post gives you an idea.

Happy 99th birthday, Algerina. Thank you for being my mother.

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North Fairhaven Girl, Uncategorized

North Fairhaven Girl: 3

In a recent post, I wrote about my experiences at Oxford School, especially with my fourth-grade teacher who gave me so many opportunities to write. Thanks, Mrs. Darwin. Then in fifth grade I was able to take my writing to another level in a class taught by Donald H. Graves, or Mr. Graves as we kids called him.

That year, a few students from each of our town’s elementary schools were selected to attend an enrichment program held Wednesday afternoons at the Rogers School. We had two classes: advanced science and creative writing. I bet you can guess which class inspired me. And I give Mr. Graves’ approach to creative writing full credit for that.

Mr. Graves used prompts to teach us fifth-graders about similes, metaphors, and other figures of speech. His approach was a deeper way for me to express myself in writing. He compiled what my classmates and I wrote in a mimeographed pamphlet.

Here is a piece I wrote called The Tornado. It’s a little over the top, but keep in mind, I was 10. I recall Mr. Graves called my parents to talk with them about it. I have held onto the typed and handwritten versions all these years. 

The winds of torment strike the grey sky with evil destructive movements. Its path tears the world apart with its wind. The sun struggles to set the sky afire with its golden sunshine, but is shoved aside to hide with the clouds. Trees sweep the winds hoping for mercy. The sea of grass bows at the sight of this evil destruction. Fields of corn are whipped and left to die for they would not bow and worship him. Mountain tops are bitten off piece by pieces until it too will follow with the others and bow to worship, but the proud mountains stand tall as ever in trying to hold back the winds. The winds of evil torment goes on to finish his evil scheme.

I so looked forward to Wednesday afternoons when a parent drove us to Rogers School and then brought us back at the end of the day. This program was also an opportunity for me to meet students from other parts of our town who would later be my classmates at junior high and high school.

Frankly, I had to wait until I was in college to get anything similar to what Mr. Graves taught me. I found it limiting to write what the teachers expected of me in English classes.

According to his obituary I found online, Donald H. Graves, who died in 2010 at age 80, lived a life filled with interests and accomplishments. (That’s the photo used in the obit.) He served in the Coast Guard, and then taught at East Fairhaven Elementary School before he became its principal. Later, he went into the ministry and was a professor at the University of New Hampshire. In 1976 he founded the Writing Process Laboratory at UNH where he remained until he retired in 1992. His research with elementary children at Atkinson Academy inspired his first book: Writing: Teachers & Children at Work. He wrote 25 more. Many of Mr. Graves books are available on Amazon.

When I started writing novels as an adult, I reached out to Mr. Graves after I found him online, sending a note to thank him. He responded and sent me a few of the books he wrote.

This passage came from his obit: “Don was internationally known for his work in children’s writing. His deep conviction that children wanted to write pervaded his teachings and radically changed expectations for what young children could accomplish if they were treated as writers.”

Yes, that’s what happened to me. And I tried to do the same whenever I had an opportunity to teach writing. Thank you, Mr. Graves.

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