Thanks to the Internet, this issue of Southport Village Voices is coming to you (wherever you are) from the Big Island of Hawaii, where Billie and I are enjoying our annual visit to our family.  

Here in non-touristy Hilo, living in a local neighborhood, it's not uncommon to hear people speaking Hawaiian. We recognize common words and phrases and have become accustomed to Hawaiian names for streets and localities and geographic features; sometimes we even pronounce them correctly. The Japanese, Chinese, Tagalog and Portuguese languages are in everyday use here, as well, and whole sections of the public library are devoted to books in Japanese and Chinese.

Earlier this year, we vacationed in Barcelona, where a helpless smile, two years of high school Spanish--and the kindness of our hosts--got us by in a city whose official language is Catalan. And before that we were in Scotland, where it is rumored that people speak the same language

we do.

All of this got me to thinking about the Biblical story of the Tower of Babel where the Lord worried that humans were getting too big for their britches: "The Lord said, 'If as one people speaking the same language they have begun to [build this tower], then nothing they plan to do will be impossible for them. Come, let us go down and confuse their language so they will not understand each other.'" 

The turbulent history of humanity demonstrates that this divinely imposed confusion succeeded as intended. Babble replaced Babel; one people became tribes scattered across the face of the earth. The Bible doesn't say so but maybe that's when a variety of skin colors was introduced, too.

Now I'm wondering if the apparent global preference for English as the lingua terra combined with the omnipresent Web might someday require another heavenly intervention. Lest we become uppity again.

Meanwhile...

Hau'oli Lanui

Carole Bloom & her constant companion: Tiger Woods Photo: Ernest Ruber

Carole Bloom was born in Boston to a mother who was secretary to the president of the musicians union in the city. All performers had to register with the union before they could work in town, and that is how she met and married Carole's father, a professional percussionist. They eloped. As a three-year-old, Carole became ill with streptococcal peritonitis, a rare and deadly disease. She "died" during surgery but was revived and lay in a coma for six months. Her parents would take her to the shore in Winthrop to soak in the seawater and heal.

"My father didn't start out as a religious man but Judaism came into his life when I became ill. He took an oath that if I survived, he would pray every morning and night, and he did. Ironically, he died during a Passover Seder when he arose at the traditional time to open the door and invite the prophet Elijah to come in."

Because of her parents' jobs, and later her own involvement with the restaurant business, Carole met many musicians and actors. "In the early years it went over my head because I was too young to understand who they were. Once, Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall came to Boston and performed with Mitch Miller in a fundraiser for Harry S. Truman, and my father did the percussion. As a percussionist, he could fill in as needed with the traveling bands that came to town. He played jazz, standards and even classical with the Boston Symphony Orchestra. He helped young musicians get jobs because he knew so many bandleaders. He got Eddie Duchin, the pianist, his first job with the symphony. I met Danny Kaye, Perry Como and the Andrews Sisters and have a large collection of memorabilia."  

Carole and her late husband Fred launched a highly successful career in the restaurant business in their 20s with three Joe & Nemo hot dog stands.

Carole met Fred Bloom when he "rescued" her and her little Boston Terrier from an aggressive dog. "We talked, and he happened to be a licensed airplane pilot, so our first date was an airplane flight!" As a young married couple (she was 22 and he was 27), they launched themselves on a career in the restaurant business. "Fred and I started with three Joe and Nemo hot dog stands in the Boston area. They were well known and very popular. Then we acquired the Magnolia Hotel, an old mansion built by the Heinz family in Magnolia, on the North Shore. My son Marty was three when we moved in and my daughter Laurel was born there. My parents and grandmother lived with us, too. We had performers and dancing. It was exciting but a fire damaged it badly. We tried to fix it up but it was never the same and after 15 years we gave it up."

The next stop for the Blooms was Brockton, where they opened The Drumstick--a restaurant featuring chicken. They also had a place called Hogan's Heroes in Cambridge. "We did ads with celebrities and catered theater functions, once for Al Pacino at the Charles Street Playhouse. Then we moved into the sports world with our good friend Bob Wolfe, a sports attorney who brought his clients to our restaurants: Bobby Orr, Louis Tiant and John Havlichek, among others."

In the mid-1970s, while Fred and Carole were riding around Cape Cod, she noticed an empty restaurant in West Yarmouth. They leased it and then bought it and it became Fred's Turkey House, "an idea we borrowed from the famous Turkey House in Meredith, New Hampshire. We sold complete dinners for $5.95," she says. Fred made the rounds of the local hotels to promote the restaurant and Carole did her part by buying a turkey costume for someone to wear.

"Nobody would wear it," she says, "so I put it on and danced around in front of the restaurant. (Unfortunately, no picture is available.) People lined up to come in and pretty soon everyone wanted to wear it; we had college kids wearing it in the summer. We used it for seven years until someone complained that it was a 'moving sign.' The town agreed and made us stop. About then, we also opened Bloom's Prime Rib House down the street on Route 28, with popovers and the works."  

The interior of the Starbucks restaurant near the airport in Hyannis. Carole took pride in decorating all of the Bloom family restaurants personally.

Then things really began to roll. One day in Hyannis, Carol spotted an empty restaurant on Route 132. "I said to Fred and Marty, 'We have to get that building,' and we did." They named it Starbucks after Captain Starbuck of Nantucket, but because it was near the airport they used an air flight theme rather than a nautical motif to decorate. They also purchased Denny's, which was next door, and reopened it as Champion's, (now Pizzeria Uno) and developed a chain of Vinnie Testa's (an invented name) restaurants. "Vinnie's was a family oriented Italian restaurant and we had 11 of them around the area, even one in Philly. We did huge portions; everyone got a whole head of roasted garlic in olive oil to begin with. We owned them for about 15 years."

Lately, together with her family, Carole acquired The Rosebud Diner in a historical landmark building in Summerville, Massachusetts, which she rents to a "wonderful chef." Her son Marty has his own restaurants: the Mission Oak Grill in an old converted church in Newburyport and the Red Brick Bistro on the water in Swampscott.

"So, what does it take to make a successful restaurant?" I ask. "The customer is always right," Carole says. "Make them feel at home, give good value, pour a good drink. A good place takes on a life of it's own. Décor matters; I am proud to have decorated all of our restaurants. The ambiance reflects the attitude of its owners and staff. Treat your staff well and they'll treat the customers well. A good chef is important, but a great chef is not essential. And, of course, location. Strong visual exposure and an attractive building are very important."

Fred and Carole were boaters for 30 years and sailed the Intercoastal Waterway to North Miami and then on to the Bahamas. They lived on the boat, which Carole often steered. They traveled extensively in the US and abroad until Fred died in 1999. At Southport, Carole plays bridge and other card games and participates in a book club. She loves movies and recently saw Gravity, which impressed her with the immensity of the universe and our tiny place in it.

They stop by my house in the afternoon and sit in dining room chairs near me.

They are women in their 60's and 70's and they all have small dogs. We chat about things that interest them: health problems, dogs, family members, neighbors, vacation plans, etc. After about 30 minutes their dogs become restless and my visitors leave. My dog usually has been sitting next to my wheelchair, protecting me from the ferocities of beagles, bishons, cockapoos, and similar breeds. Their visits are important to me.  

Bonita (center) and Friends, clockwise from the top, Betty Kayes and Clancy, Sheila Dern and Buddy. Paula Wilfert and Bella, Maureen Rounds and Jude, Kathy Sullivan and Bijou Collage: Odin Tidemand

I met all of these women because of my dog Bonita. I maintain that the combination of a wheelchair, a rescue dog, and a pitiful looking physique is a real chick magnet. And it is, at least in my active adult 55+ community, where I am the token inactive adult, a description the sales office personnel do not find amusing. But my mind is still active and I can navigate the miles of sidewalks on the large flat campus and make it back to my house, in spite of the uniformity of house color and style.

My front door is usually open, weather permitting, and my friends come and go as they please. I help my canine connected friends with computer problems, look up long lost ancestors, exchange recipes and introduce them to my visiting friends and family. My dog brought them to me and she keeps them coming back.

When I take my dog for a walk, rolling along in my wheelchair, I proudly display my poop bag. It is a badge of honor in a community that likes to make sure everyone is following the rules. How we acquired our dogs is another source of pride. Being seniors, we are proud to share with everyone how we rescued them from children who no longer had the time to take care of them or how we scoured the dog pounds until the right one spoke to us. The more pitiful their origins and the more heroic our rescue, the better. We are Senior Super Heroes taking care of the discarded, neglected and abused of the canine world.

We also share how these pitiful pups with their large pleading eyes and wagging tales, rescued us from loneliness, grief, pain, and boredom. We are maybe the pitiful ones in our dog's eyes. Or maybe not. I like to think that the dog-senior relationship is a win-win situation. We are their heroes and they are our heroes.  

Now here is the truly sad part of my story. My dog died. Will my friends still come by? Or was it my rescue dog that they came to see? Has the chick magnet been demagnetized? Only time will tell. Maybe I will wear a dog costume. Maybe I will just listen to my friends and pat their dogs. I may even carry a fake bag of poop when I go for a roll in my wheelchair, just for old times' sake.  

Or maybe I will just be myself.

Go ahead, close your eyes. Escape.

You've tried before

but you know you can't.

I'm the rusted crank-out window

to your past,

draped in yellow plastic hippie beads,

your skinny girl butt clad in hot pants.

You remember now, don't you? 

I'm the whispers in the night.

Call me dream,

call me what you want.

I'm here to take you back

to when you were queen,

self-crowned and all.

You were hot stuff

with your forever young 'tude,

sassy and invulnerable.

But the years rained down

and pummeled you,

softening and reshaping your edges.

Roman shades replaced the hippie beads

and hot pants gave way to

Not Your Daughters Jeans.

So we know each other, right? 

I'm that sigh in your heart,

the voice that says,

don't lose yourself.

Forever be that saucy gritty girl.

The Cathaginians established Barcino, the city that would one day become Barcelona, on the shores of the Mediterranean Sea in the third century BCE. The Romans took over in 206 BCE and stayed on for 600 years. The city has been around for well over two millennia but it wasn't until 1992, when the XXV Olympic Games were held there, that I became aware of the city as a place I'd like to visit.  I finally got around to it last fall. 

Residents and tourists explore the shops, restaurants and plazas that line the Ramblas, Barcelona's best known pedestrian boulevard.

In preparation  for the Olympics, Barcelona launched an ambitious plan of urban renewal, spending billions of pesetas to transform its seafront and building new seaport, airport and sports facilities, modern highways and visitor accommodations. Those expenditures paid off. Barcelona is now one of the most visited cities in Europe, after Paris, London and Rome, and has become the economic engine of Spain. 

Billie's and my primary travel adventure last September was an extended stay in Scotland, but when we discovered that Barcelona was just a short, inexpensive plane ride from Edinburgh, we decided to stop there on our way home.  We planned to stay in Barcelona for six days, so we rented an apartment through VRBO.com (Vacation Rental By Owner), which typically provides more space and comfort for the same or less cost than a hotel room.

Regomir Street, our neighborhood for six days, supplied most of our necessities within a few steps and gave us easy access to many of the things we wanted to see and do in Barcelona.

 VRBO offered scores of apartments in every price range, in every quarter of Barcelona. We wanted to use public transportation, or our feet, to get us quickly to the places we planned to visit, so we needed to stay in the heart of the city. Two areas appealed to us: the Ramblas Quarter, a mile-long, tree-shaded pedestrian boulevard extending from city center to the seafront, or the Gotic (Gothic) Quarter, the oldest part of Barcelona, honeycombed with narrow streets and filled with tiny, madre y padre shops and restaurants.

The Ramblas is lovely but it teems with residents and tourists well into the early hours of the morning. We're hard-working tourists; we need our sleep. So we opted for an apartment on a quiet street in the Gotic section, specifying air conditioning and double-paned windows. Our medieval, 12'-wide, canyon-like "street" was lined with five-story buildings, many of them with modern apartments like ours tucked behind their antique facades. From our narrow balcony, we could have conversed comfortably with our neighbors across the way--if our Spanish or Catalan had been good enough. At street level, 'hole-in-the-wall' restaurants, bakeries, grocery stores, shops and museums were just a few steps in either direction. Living on Regomir Street, we could fantasize that we were residents instead of tourists.  

La Sagrada Familia--unlike any other church you are ever likely to visit.

After settling into our apartment, our first order of business was a short walk to Barcelona's main transportation hub to purchase a city-tour bus ticket good for two days. This hop-on-hop-off service provided an initial two-hour overview of the central city and made stops at a dozen or so of the main visitor attractions. Many of the things we wanted to see were within a 15 to 20 minute walk of our apartment; we put those on hold while we used the time-limited tour bus as a comfortable and efficient way to reach more distant destinations.

Perhaps our primary reason for wanting to visit Barcelona was to see the work of the architect Antoni Gaudí, especially his La Sagrada Familia Basilica. This enormous church, begun in 1882 as a standard Gothic revival structure, took on a radically different art nouveau aspect after Gaudí took over and has continued to evolve since his death in 1926. When it is completed (estimated to be 2026 or 2028), its main tower will be nearly 1000' tall. The exterior, already visible from everywhere in the city, is astonishing, but it was the soaring theatrical interior, filled with color and details evoking natural forms, that overwhelmed and inspired us. "Awesome" doesn't do it justice; suffice to say that it's worth flying across the Atlantic to experience it. There are many other Gaudí creations in Barcelona and we toured an apartment building (Casa Battló) and a park (Parc Guell) before we ODed on Gaudí.   

The roof of the Barcelona Cathedral is a wonderland of spires, bells, statues and gargoyles.

Barcelona also has, of course, a majestic Gothic cathedral, begun in 1298 and completed 150 years later, which incorporates a section of the massive Roman city walls. Along with towering columns, a steeple-studded roof and 22 chapels encrusted with gold, it houses a gaggle of 13 white geese. The birds live a pampered life in the cloister as a memorial to the church's patron Saint Eulalia, who was 13 years old when she was martyred.  

Another stunning example of Catalan Gothic is Santa Maria del Mar, built between 1329 and 1383, (practically overnight as these things go), when the city was at the peak of its maritime and mercantile power. The interior of this church is a vast, virtually empty space, the result of a fire that destroyed most everything in 1936, during the Spanish Civil War. The impact of this immense space is to hush people as they enter--very unlike the bustling interiors of the Barcelona Cathedral and La  Sagrada Familia, filled as they are with picture-taking throngs.

Barcelona is a great city for simply walking around and allowing neighborhoods to reveal their secrets. Just across from our front door, we found a bakery where we bought fresh rolls and coffee daily and then walked to a nearby square to enjoy our breakfast and people-watch. Another bakery and two small restaurants were within 25' of our apartment; a bookstore, grocery and a museum displaying Roman foundations just a few steps farther on. In less than five minutes we could reach the plaza that once was the Roman forum and has since been the center of Barcelona's civic life, featuring city hall on one side and the palace housing Catalonia's regional government on the other. Getting lost in the maze of tiny streets in the Gotic Quarter was an enjoyable  predicament, with something new and interesting around every corner. Cruising the grand boulevards, the Ramblas and the innumerable plazas and squares could keep you entertained for a very long time.  

Barcelona abounds in plazas and squares--large and small--where you can sit and watch the world go by. Placa Reial, above, is one of the grandest plazas in town.

A couple musical performances were among the highlights of our stay in Barcelona. In Mashpee, we expect evening events to begin at 7:30 or 8:00 pm, but this being Spain, things didn't get rolling until 9:00 pm. The first concert took place in an intimate candle-lit chapel off the cloister of an ancient church and was attended by about 40 people. A handsome and articulate Spanish couple played guitars and talked about their music (he in Spanish and she in English). It was among the most charming musical evenings we've ever experienced.

The second concert took place in the Palau (palace) de la Música Catalana, an architectural fantasy that is the heart of the city's musical life and one of the very few such structures to be designated as a World Heritage Site. Earlier that day, we had toured the building and were blown away by the riot of decorative work--mosaics, statuary, stained glass, tile and ironwork. Since the concert hall walls are made of clear glass set with colorful garlands, the hall is never dark; the website describes it accurately as a "magical music box." The audience for this concert consisted of 2000 wildly enthusiastic flamenco fans, including two visitors from quiet Cape Cod.

The architect of the Palau de la Musica Catalana left no surface undecorated.

We have many reasons to go back to Barcelona some day. We tried to visit the Picasso Museum but our timing was off; hundreds of other people wanted to be there at the same time and the admission line stretched on forever. We wanted to visit the city's famous opera house but it was closed. The sprawling National Museum of Catalonian Art  was too huge to tackle at the end of long day. We wanted to spend more time at La Boqueria, the city's incredible food market--a work of art in itself--and to hang out in the ubiquitous plazas or by the seafront. But six wonderful days did not allow for all that; they were just barely enough to get a taste of this marvelous city.         

Legislation passed by the Massachusetts Legislature in 1788-89 placed Mashpee under the strict guardianship of three white overseers. And the Act of 1788 specifically instructed the Guardians to distribute "such sums as can be conveniently spared" from the fisheries, renting of lands and the sale of wood "for the support and continuance of religious instruction among [the Wampanoags], and the schooling of their children." Unfortunately, it never seemed to be "convenient" to spare money for schooling.

Petition after petition requesting help to establish schools were sent by the Wampanoags to the Legislature in Boston. Most were ignored until 1830 when relations between native peoples and white settlers nationwide became the subject of impassioned oratory and newspaper articles in major cities.  

In 1831, the Massachusetts Legislature voted to spend $400 to build two schools in the "District of Marshpee," one in the north and another in the south sections of the approximately 15,000 acres set aside in the 1680s to the "South Sea Indians." More Wampanoags lived in the north than in the south, so a larger school was built approximately where Mashpee Town Hall stands today. South Mashpee's smaller school was constructed on the southwest corner of present day Red Brook and Great Oak roads.

The South Mashpee School as it looked in the 1800s

The state provided $100 annually for the schools in the 1840s. Expenses in excess of that amount were paid from local income generated by the fisheries, the sale of wood and the leasing of meadows to white people. The south school was in session for three months in the winter at a cost of $91.81 and three months in the summer at a cost of $36.00. In addition, $10.57 was paid for books.

The winter session cost more because a male teacher was required to maintain strict discipline among the older, sometimes belligerent boys who attended school then. They were occupied with fishing and farming work in the summer. Although we have no record of such a thing happening in Mashpee, there were instances in some schools of older boys ganging up on the teacher and ejecting him physically from the school. Buying oil for lamps and wood for the stove also increased the cost of the winter session. Conversely, a less well paid female teacher was hired for summer sessions, when young children and girls attended school.

Some teachers were not well suited to the range of tasks required to teach multiple grades in a one-room school. As noted in the May 21, 1878 Barnstable Patriot: "School Committee having some unfortunate happenings with summer teachers--Miss Gray of Monument agreed to teach the school in South Mashpee but became homesick and left within a week. Some teachers are too aristocratic for such calling."  

In the 1850s more annual funds were requested in order to keep schools in session for ten months a year. The Legislature voted an additional $75, of which two-fifths was to be spent in the South District for paying the teacher's salary, which amounted to $7 per week, and payments to residents for "boarding the teacher."

In 1854 the South District enrolled 18 students, with an average daily attendance of 13. An 1859 census recorded 403 residents and an average 80% attendance rate in the schools. It also noted that, "a great portion of the children are obliged to leave the schools as soon as they get to an age which makes their services valuable in obtaining the means of support for themselves and their families." During the 1890s, attendance in the South District diminished and students were transported to the North District for several summer sessions. A contact for transporting the children was put out to bid and was won by Erving Degrasse with a bid of 94 cents per day.

 the South Mashpee One Room School since 1900.

Southport vs Great Island 8 Ball Challenge 

The competitors in the first Southport vs Great Island 8 Ball Challenge, played at Great Island on November 16 and at Southport on November 23. The tournament was initiated by Peter Leblanc (standing on the far right). Everyone had a great time despite Southport's loss to Great Island: 18 to 14. Photo: Paul Butters

Six veterans were given special honors for their military service.  World War II veterans shown above (l to r): Farrell Galloway, Coast Guard; Walter Stone, Army; Dotie Stone, Navy Wave; Tony Petruzzi, Army Air Corps; Eliot Sklar, Navy; and Viet Nam veteran Bob Hutchinson (deceased), Marines.  All photos: Paul Butters

  

The Southport Singers provided patriotic musical accompaniment.

The Veterans Memorial Committee organized the ceremony. Left to right: Jim McCormick,  Al Benjamin, Peter Leblanc, Steve Roth, Dan Riley, Wally Rucki (and Neil Harris, not shown)

Lydia Biersteker grew up in Somerville, Massachusetts. She met her husband Dale on the beach at Falmouth Heights in 1969, while he was stationed at Fort Devens. After Dale retired in 2005 from his executive position with the USPS, they moved to Vero Beach, Florida but decided that they preferred New England. They moved to Southport in 2011. Dale plays golf, and Lydia likes gardening, walking, 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, who live with their son in Newburyport. 

     

David Kapp, with his wife Billie, moved from Connecticut to Southport in 2009. David retired from a career as a university library administrator, after working in the libraries at Brandeis, Harvard and the University of Connecticut. He was a building consultant for the planning of a number of major university libraries and was, for many years, the editor of Connecticut Libraries. Billie enjoyed a career as an educator and social sciences consultant. The Kapps are frequent visitors to Hawaii where their son, daughter, grandson and other family members live.  

Frank Lord, a native of Newton, Massachusetts, earned his BA degree at Brown University and his MEd at Boston University. His experience in the US Navy counseling troubled young sailors led to a 38-year career as a school guidance counselor, primarily in Wellesley and Duxbury. Following retirement, he and his wife Betsy helped to build over 250 homes with Habitat for Humanity. After moving to Southport, Frank's interest in education and local history motivated him to spearhead the relocation of Mashpee's One Room Schoolhouse, for which he received the 2009 Mashpee Chamber of Commerce Distinguished Service Award-as "The Schoolmaster." He serves on the Mashpee Historical Commission; the Community Preservation Act Committee; the Board of Trustees, Tales of Cape Cod; and is President, Mashpee One Room Schoolhouse Preservation Council, Inc.     

 SPECIAL THANKS TO

Carole Bloom for her interview,

to Paul Butters, Frank Lord, Ernest Ruber  

& Odin Tidemand for pictures,