SOUTHPORT PROFILE: Lee Matthys 

      an interview with Dick Fellerberg
  

Lee Matthys and Chris Klein were married in 1949. "I married him," she says with a smile, "because he was a Boy Scout and a great swimmer. "

Lee Matthys was born in 1920 in Stamford, Connecticut; his father was a carpenter and builder and his mother was a homemaker. He and his younger brother got into the "usual childhood mischief," he said, but the accidents he experienced were hardly the usual ones. Around the age of eight, a car hit him as he crossed the street. "I forgot to dodge," he explained. On a subsequent occasion, he slid down a snow bank into the path of another car. These incidents were not as serious as they might have been since it was the era of the Model T Ford; neither boy nor auto were going very fast.

Another unusual incident took place at the site of a house his father was building. A ringtail lemur owned by the project architect attacked Lee. This resulted in a deep two-inch gash on his right arm and required ten stitches to close up. So he added a primate on boy incident to the auto on boy accidents. A few years later, Lee joined the Boy Scouts and at 17 became an Eagle Scout--the highest rank available and a feat very few scouts achieve. 

Lee acquired his first camera, a Kodak box camera, when he was about ten. It was the start of his life-long involvement with photography. He went to a Tim McCoy Wild West show shortly thereafter and took a picture of the star, the first of many celebrities he photographed in the course of his working life.

Following graduation from high school, Lee worked in a ball bearing factory where several teachers, working summers, encouraged him to go to college. He decided to follow their advice and, since there was no family money available, took on a second job as a waiter and saved enough to attend the University of New Hampshire. With the entry of the United States into World War II and the draft a certainty, Lee completed his freshman year at UNH and then left school to take a job at Remington Arms as a tool designer, a skill he had picked up at the ball bearing factory.

Lee acquired his first camera at age 10 and went on to photograph many famous people in his long career as a photogapher.

Lee was drafted into the Army in 1942 and sent to Fort Bragg for basic training. Promoted to corporal, he became an instructor training other new recruits. In 1943 he was assigned to the 66th Panther Division and later headed for England with the division. They shipped out on the HMV Britannica, an 800-passenger cruise ship that had been converted to carry 3,000 troops across the Atlantic. The 13-day crossing "was very rough," he said; troops weren't allowed on deck and spent the entire journey in the "bowels of the ship."

After a month in an English village near Southampton, his division shipped out on Christmas Eve for France, Lee aboard an LST. The troupe ship in the convoy was torpedoed and sank with over 800 soldiers trapped in the ship. There were bodies floating everywhere. On landing, Lee went aboard a large docked ship for Christmas dinner but it was difficult to eat in the aftermath of that catastrophe. Lee told me there wasn't a dry eye on the ship when the band played "I'll be home for Christmas." His division fought its way across France and wound up in Austria, at the little town of Obendorf for Christmas 1945; "A far cry from my previous Christmas," he said. The town welcomed the GIs and made them part of their holiday celebrations.

Lee left the service in 1946 and later enrolled at Boston University as a sophomore with a major in communications, but photography consumed much of his time when he became a university photographer. In this assignment he met and became friends with the famous "Golden Greek," Harry Agganis, a baseball and football star, playing both offense and defense on the BU football team. Lee told me he admired Agganis tremendously and followed his too-brief career as first baseman for the Red Sox.

Lee Matthys and Chris Klein were married in 1949. "I married him," she said with a smile, "because he was a Boy Scout and a great swimmer. He enjoyed camping, hiking and other outdoor activities, and so did I." Scheduled to begin work at GE, Lee got an opportunity to travel sooner than expected when he learned that his starting date would be in early September. The intervening six weeks gave the young couple an opportunity to travel around the country, camping in state and federal parks, covering 17,000 miles. Asked what area of the country they liked most, Lee told me it was Alaska, a state they visited some time later.

Lee and Chris enjoyed outdoor activities, once logging 17,000 miles as they explored the U.S. on an extended camping trip.

Chris graduated from Simmons College and began her business career while Lee was still at BU. "I found my voice at Simmons College," she said, an expression used to promote the college but that was on the mark for her personally. She accepted a position in retail management at Jordan Marsh, and subsequently worked for Bauer & Black and Kendall Mills before a growing family required her full time attention.

At GE Lee became a traveling reporter. He met and became friends with another GE employee--Ronald Reagan, then host of the General Electric Theater. "He was a really nice guy," Lee said, "who never imagined that he would become President." Lee was responsible for GE's industrial advertising in a Midwestern territory at the time and arranged speaking opportunities for Reagan and escorted him, which provided many photo opportunities.

In a subsequent job as an advertising manager in the Midwest, Lee won a management award; then later the same year he found himself laid off in an organizational restructuring. Returning to New England, he took a job in Hartford, Connecticut but soon came back to Massachusetts as advertising manager for Bellofram. "They were great people," he said, and his years there were possibly the best in his business career.

In 1960, Lee found his way to the Republican Party National Convention as a photographer. He showed me the photographs he took of Richard Nixon, Barry Goldwater and other notable figures at the convention. His working space there was very cramped, he said. When he changed position he often stepped on the shoes of the man standing next to him. Later, he learned that he was treading on the toes of the Governor of Ohio.

Fishing was a major interest in Lee's spare time.

Photography was just one of many talents Lee developed during his long life. He was an expert fisherman and showed me a picture of a two-foot game fish to prove it, and a skilled woodworker and a painter. His home is filled with his photographs and artwork and includes some furniture he made. When Lee retired in 1986 and he and Chris moved to Brewster, Lee built their home, acting as the general contractor and carpenter.

Over the years Chris and Lee became the parents of three daughters, Lynn, Donna and Beth. Five grandchildren have since come along, one of whom was lost in a seaplane accident at the age of 15. Recently, a great grandson was born. After their move to Southport in 2003, Chris became involved with Brown Bag lunches; Lee has been an enthusiastic bocce player and writes about his career and their lives together. They are now content to relax and enjoy frequent visits to and from their children.

In many ways, Lee typifies the young men of his generation, the so-called Greatest Generation. They grew up in the Great Depression and served in World War II, then came home eager to get an education and establish careers, to marry and raise families and to enjoy a good, productive life. Optimistic, determined, and achieving are terms that best describe Lee-and Chris. To reflect that they are "typical" of their generation is to offer the highest possible praise. 

In the spring of 1979 my late husband, Austin, and I embarked on a trip that would include both Spain's Costa del Sol and Morocco. Our travel companions were my stepdaughter Martha, a Peace Corps volunteer in Mauritania, and her friend Linda, a Peace Corps volunteer in neighboring Senegal. While in Spain the two young women relished the wonderful food, hot showers, sleeping in a bed and sightseeing. After a week of R & R, Martha and Linda were energized and ready to travel with us to Morocco for a week, after which each of them would return to her Peace Corps location and Austin and I would return to the United States.

Before leaving Boston I had talked with one of my dental students at Tufts who had traveled extensively in Morocco. He assured me that we would enjoy our stay and recommended that we go to the city of Fez. He also cautioned me: "Moroccan men love blonde women. They will probably approach your husband and suggest that he trade you for two camels and a goat." 

My reaction to this warning was "Yeah, right!"

The Medina (old city) of Fez is enclosed by ancient defensive walls interspersed by massive gates like the above.

And so it was that on a warm spring day we found ourselves on a ferry crossing the Strait of Gibraltar. Once we reached the shore of Morocco, we set out in our rental car for the city of Fez. As we approached this ancient city, the girls insisted that they would find us an inexpensive hotel by consulting a guidebook titled Morocco on Ten Dollars a Day. Austin and I assumed an attitude of "Let's wait and see what they come up with."

Just inside the city limits a man wearing a white robe and red fez stepped into the roadway and signaled for us to stop. Speaking English, he claimed he was an official City Guide and would help us find a hotel. The girls told him we had already chosen accommodations and urged Austin to drive on to the Medina, or Old City, following the directions in the guidebook.

When we arrived at our destination Austinand I had serious misgivings. It looked anything but inviting. Nonetheless, Austin and Linda went to check out the accommodations. Sitting alone in the car, Martha and I attracted the attention of a group of local women. Dressed in long robes and with faces covered except for their eyes, they peered in every window of the car and were jabbering excitedly, obviously discussing us. They were as curious about us as we were about them.

Austin and Linda returned shortly and explained that this was not the hotel for us. The accommodations, if one could call them that, were decidedly substandard. Among other things, the rooms had Turkish toilets, i.e., a hole in the dirt floor. We eventually found a hotel in the modern part of the city with the assistance of the same official City Guide in the robe and fez who again flagged us down as we headed away from the Medina. "I knew you would be back," he said with a satisfied look on his face.

There are thousands of narrow streets in old Fez, creating a maze in which the visitor can easily get lost without a guide.

The following morning as we left our hotel we were approached by a young boy named Hassan, who offered to provide a tour of the Medina. After haggling, Martha and Hassan agreed on a price and we set out. The Medina was completely surrounded by a high wall and we entered through an elaborately decorated gate. Inside were narrow, winding passages that seem to have been laid out by a herd of goats. Stalls offered goods of all kinds: foods, leather goods, rugs, clothing and tools. Hassan took us to the "blanket factory of my father" and the "leather factory of my uncle" and other stops with so-called relatives. At each "factory," actually a small shop, we reclined on rugs and drank sweet mint tea while the "uncle" or "father" pressured us to purchase his goods.

The next day we decided to return to the Medina without a guide. We were confident that we could manage on our own since Martha could speak Arabic. We enjoyed stopping at various stalls to inspect items and to barter for pottery, baskets and leather goods. We immersed ourselves in the colors and sounds and aromas of the Medina as we strolled confidently along.

Suddenly I was grabbed from behind and pulled into a passage so narrow that two persons could not stand side by side within its walls. I panicked as I recalled the dental student's prediction about the two camels and the goat. Oh, why had I had the misfortune to be a blonde? 

Donkeys are the main mode of transport in the Medina; mules are also abundant, making it difficult to pass by in the narrow streets.

Once I was able to catch my breath I turned to look behind me. There stood a figure clad in a dark robe and veil. It was most likely a woman, but it could have been a man in disguise. What was to become of me? Would I be dragged off to someplace where Austin would never find me? Would I be sold and turned into a sex slave?

I turned back toward the passage from which I had been snatched just in time to catch a glimpse of a heavily laden donkey running by. The beast was carrying such a large load on its body that there was barely enough room for it to pass between the walls of the narrow alley.  At that instant I realized that I had not been abducted. In fact, the woman had pulled me out of harm's way since there was not enough space for the donkey to pass without injuring me. I would most certainly have been trampled if I had remained in that alley. Once the panic ceased I tried to convey my gratitude by making gestures toward my rescuer. I think she understood me.

I stepped back into the main alley and panicked. I was not able to find Austin or Martha or Linda. After a few minutes of searching, which seemed like an eternity, I spotted them up ahead. Blessed relief spread over me. Two camels and a goat, Hah!  

POETRY

 Wired for Madness

    by Lydia Biersteker

Baa..ling! My microwave calls to me.

Bing..bing..bing... My refrigerator door was left open.

Chirp.. chirp.. chirp... My cell phone needs charging.

Biddaling... My dryer is out of balance. 

How did I exist before technology decided

that I needed to be forewarned

of the goings on of my kitchen appliances

and my communication devices?

On occasion, I'm awakened by an errant chirp.

Smoke detector?? Alarm system?? 

I was holding the line at texting

but I recently succumbed.

I now can 'talk 2 u' in teen-speak

on a nonexistent keyboard from my phone of all things.

Remember when phones were heavy and black and corded?

Remember when the family shared the privilege of

aimless chatting possibly with a party line? 

Life was simpler then.

These days I travel with my Garmin, my Sprint phone,

my laptop, and various chargers and cords for all these devices.

I'm forever available to anyone who is searching me out.

I can't hide. 

Ozzie and Harriet had it right!

So did June and Ward.

Newspapers were folded and read

and the only sound of chimes was your doorbell.

Ding Dong

Ozzie's here in his fuzzy sweater. 

Father who knew best wouldn't know jack in today's world.

LOCAL HISTORY 

On November 6, 1620, after an exhausting 65 days at sea, Captain Jones was sailing the Mayflower south along the outer Cape toward their intended destination at the mouth of the Hudson River.  Pushed by a northeast wind the ship almost floundered in the shallows of the dangerous Pollack Rip, a ridge of shifting sand extending from Monomoy to the northern tip of Nantucket.  When the wind turned south, Jones made the historic decision to no longer attempt to reach the Hudson River. He turned and sailed north around Cape Cod to the safety of Provincetown Harbor (then known as Great Harbor).  

The Mayflower's captain intended to deliver his passengers to the mouth of the Hudson River, but weather conditions forced him to go to Plan B. As a result the ship made landfall in Provincetown. Some of those on board were not too happy about this, but the men worked out their differences in a document called the "Mayflower Compact."

In Provincetown the settlers who were not Pilgrims ("Strangers") threatened to no longer follow the directions of the Pilgrims ("Saints"), since they had landed in New England instead of at the mouth of the Hudson River. At the end of a day of heated negotiations the male passengers hammered out and signed the document that came to be known as the "Mayflower Compact."

During the following month they sailed along the shore in a 32' long workboat called a shallop, exploring for the elements needed to establish a permanent settlement: a sheltered harbor with a fresh water river bordered by fertile soil. It was soon obvious that Provincetown provided only the harbor. In December, after helping themselves to caches of Indian corn and several skirmishes with the natives, the Pilgrims sailed the storm battered shallop into Plymouth Harbor.

Samuel de Champlain had already explored the New England coast in 1605 and had mapped Port St. Louis (renamed Plymouth Harbor by the Pilgrims). His map showed numerous Indian dwellings (wetus) along the shore, with their cornfields and forests. From 1616 to 1619 an epidemic of diseases introduced by Europeans killed thousands of Indians from Maine to Rhode Island. It wiped out the entire native population of Patuxet (Plymouth), leaving an abandoned village and cleared fertile fields. As noted by Governor Bradford, the Pilgrims had at last "found divers cornfields and little running brooks, a place fit for situation." 

The shallop quickly returned to Provincetown to bring the good news and guide the Mayflower into Plymouth Harbor. Because the harbor is shallow the Mayflower had to anchor a half-mile off shore, complicating the transfer of materials and people during stormy winter weather. Is it likely that they stepped on that famous rock as they brought their belongings ashore? It makes a good story.

New In The Neighborhood

Elizabeth "Liz" Cooper

Elizabeth "Liz" Cooper was born and raised in Frankfurt, the eldest of five daughters in her family. The family survived the intense bombing and destruction of the city during World War II, but after losing their home and belongings in 1943 they moved to Bavaria, where relatives helped them to rebuild their lives. Schools were overcrowded with refugees but, at age 16, Liz was fortunate to be hired as an apprentice in a bank.

Four years later, Liz married and then gave birth to her first daughter, Anita. The outlook for a good future in war torn Germany was grim and so the small family decided to immigrate to the United States in 1949, settling in Erie, Pennsylvania. There, caring families helped them to find a small apartment--and jobs, which they kept for 30 years-her husband with Hammermill Paper and Liz with the First National Bank of Erie.

In 2010, after changes in Liz's personal life, her daughter Debbie, who lives in Osterville, urged her to move from Erie to Southport. Daughter Anita resides in Naples, Florida but spends her summers in Osterville, so now she sees her family quite often. A third daughter, Jackie, lives in Denver, and her son Jonathan is based in Washington DC.

Liz is very happy to have found a home in Southport, which she describes as a "place of beauty, peace, harmony and friendship," and plans to settle in for the duration.

Dale & Lydia Biersteker

Dale and Lydia Biersteker met in 1969 on the beach at Falmouth Heights. Dale had just returned from Viet Nam and was stationed at Fort Devens. Lydia grew up in Somerville, Massachusetts with four brothers, and Dale, also one of five children, grew up in Columbus, Ohio.

 

They are the parents of a son who resides in Newburyport and are grandparents to two grandsons. Lydia likes to joke that the girl fairies never smiled down on her. She's spent her life in a male oriented environment. 

 

They've been away from Massachusetts since 1997 when Dale's job as an executive with the U. S. Postal Service took them to Chicago for five years and then to D.C. for the last three years of his career. They retired to Vero Beach in 2005 but after six years decided it wasn't for them. They moved to Southport in July and are delighted to be back on the Cape, "the best of all worlds" and where their history together began. And while they are natives of Massachusetts, the whole south shore is new to them and they're eager to explore it. 

 

Dale likes to play golf. He is a member at Sandwich Hollows and also enjoys playing at Southport. Lydia likes gardening, walking for exercise, writing poetry, and short prose, exploring genealogy, and lunching with friends. Together, they enjoy dining, exploring wineries and brew pubs, walking the trails of Cape Cod, traveling and playing with their grandkids.

________________________________________________________________________

 

We're pleased to welcome Lydia to the Southport Village Voices Team; one of her poems appears elsewhere in this issue. She also wrote the following piece, reflecting on the experience of starting over in a new place.

 

The Memory Box by Lydia Biersteker 

He tells me I'm trying to erase his history, which isn't true of course, but we just moved from a large house in Florida to a townhouse in Southport. Do we really need to decorate another guest bath in postal memorabilia?

 

When he retired in 2005, he brought home a boxful of his office adornments. What exactly does a spouse do with this stuff? Well, I'll tell you what I did. Some of it went under a bed, some in the attic and believe it or not, a few of the nicer framed postage stamp prints found themselves on our guest bath walls. For a while, that is, until we started having grandkids, and the walls took on a more familial décor: photos of places we've been and things we've done with the kids.

 

But now we're starting anew. Though the box is smaller after various yard sales over the years, it's still with us containing, individual achievement awards, photos of old post offices, and even a photo of me looking svelte and 30-somethingish, which he kept on his desk for most of his career.

 

So maybe the dusty memory box does tell a story worth hearing. It's the story of a man, where he's been, what he's done and the woman he loved while he was doing it.    

GUILTY PLEASURES 

Meat! Give Me Meat!

         by The Southport Phantom 

It had been at least a week since I had enjoyed a juicy, thick piece of meat. My wife keeps telling me that chicken, fish and vegetables are better for me. She's probably right. Every nutritionist, in every article, lays down the facts about eating too much red meat. But with a mostly Irish heritage, I am used to a meat and potatoes diet. And after 73 years I don't expect to change.

It was early on a recent Saturday afternoon when I suggested that we go for a ride and stop for something to eat. The chance to let somebody else do the cooking appealed to her, so we headed out. My idea of a ride is to investigate new areas of the Cape that I haven't seen before. I like to find new roads to get me where I want to go and to discover new ponds and lakes that I haven't fished. My wife's idea is to have a destination, even if we've been there before. Well, you already know how many new areas of the Cape I was able to discover on this ride.

We pulled up at one of my favorite spots to get a thick, juicy piece of meat and her reaction was, "You aren't stopping here to eat are you? I thought we would go to (any one of many restaurants mentioned)." When I reminded her that we had another birthday party that night and we would be eating there as well, she said, "OK, but let's not make this one of our frequent stops."

We went into the restaurant and found a table. That wasn't easy; for Saturday afternoon, it was surprisingly busy. The selection was almost overwhelming and it took some time to for us to decide what to eat. With some coaching and direction, I convinced her to try the same thing that I was ordering. Our meal was served very quickly, even with the great number of people in the restaurant. I have never been able to complain about the speed of service at any one of their restaurant locations. They must train their people well.

My selection. A large Angus one-third pounder served on a sesame roll with a secret dressing, with a large fries and a drink. Oh so good! And the drink and fries were free with the Angus burger. The Happy Meal is great, too.

I sat there for a minute just admiring the size of the serving. And of course, I always order fries and a drink with my meat, which annoys my wife. "French fries on top of that large piece of meat? And you'll probably be looking to have some of my fries too," she said. "Only if you won't be finishing them," I said.

Boy, did I enjoy that meat and potatoes meal, topped off with some of my wife's fries!

By this time, the number of screaming kids was starting to get to me and my craving for meat had been satisfied, but gentleman that I am, I offered to buy her dessert. Her answer, "No thanks, let's get going. We'll have dessert at the party." And so we did.         

Southport People