If an anthropologist were to walk the streets of Newburyport what would she conclude from her observations of what lay about and walked about and moved about, what would she have to say about this fair city?
For that matter what could a person of ordinary intelligence (e.g., me) conclude about the people and culture of this town we call home?
All that follows is factual, especially the distressed seagull affair. (Now you know something is truly factual when it is especially factual.)
Fairly new to Newburyport, I have often walked the streets looking up down, left, and right and here is my tale to tell.
Go for a walk. Tell me if you agree. (You cannot do this by car, no matter how slowly you drive and how great your powers of observation. And after each of your several and varied sojourns, stop in at a local bistro for a meet, greet, and eat.)
True, many of the sidewalks are in need of repair or replacement. You can see evidence all over town of tree roots and frost heaves forming hills and valleys in brick sidewalks and cracking concrete like tectonic plates giving way. (There is often a certain beauty to such when you consider that true beauty always has some strangeness in the proportion.) And some pavements are just succumbing to age. You’ll see major portions of brick and concrete sidewalks patched with blacktop. It’s ugly and negligent. It says the city doesn’t care or have the money or both. So it’s good to know that Mayor Holaday has allocated funds for sidewalk improvement with the support of many city council candidates during their recent campaigns.
Despite the imperfections there is vibrant life. Now I, not having the most discriminating of palates, have heartily dined and drunk at most every establishment in town, at tables of fine china and paper plates, fine crystal and plastic forks, and can honestly say that one must never identify quality of service and fare with high ambience and price. I have hobnobbed with the lucky ones and those down on their luck. It is those and all those people in-between who can made for good company and conversation.
I was walking past One Washington Street this past September when I was startled by what I was sure was an injured seagull crying overhead. Then another and another, unbridled scream followed by yet another. I looked up anxiously. No flock of sick or injured seagulls in sight. Suddenly the source clamor became more obvious: a herd of happy kids loosed from Immaculate Conception Elementary School for afternoon recess.
They turned the corner of the school into the playground, one then two then four, seven, ten, then countless bundles of energy kicking kickballs, hula hooping, and “you’re-itting” one another with uninhibited whoops of joy. The joy not of things but of a freedom adults no longer know. I wondered why we – or at least I – grow so jaded with the passing years. When and why does the seemingly unending joy of living become the fleeting joy of acquiring? Kids! Happiness is a muddy puddle to splash in. It is the one time in life when soggy shoes are a comfort.
I wistfully took note.
Now you will pass strangers in your travels and some will look down to avoid eye contact. You can spot them five blocks away. Give them a sincere smile and firm hello and watch them smile in pleasant surprise as they return you’re sidewalk hospitality. Some will beat you to it and some will just grunt and refuse to acknowledge you. Nevertheless, you’ve just may have done more to promote world peace than the United Nations ever has.
You can tell where the smokers live and work for there is a pile of butts outside carpeting the sidewalk. It’s funny. People who wouldn’t toss an empty cigarette pack in the gutter, will desecrate the streets and gutters with the debris of their addiction.
Which brings me to the unlucky litterer.
Scattered here and there you will find the weathered remains of lottery scratch tickets. One can imagine the unlucky chap standing there scratching away with his last quarter: loser-toss, loser-toss, loser-toss, till the last loser is revealed. Then the luckless loser walks on cursing his fate, sadly unaware that fate is product not of luck but effort. Who finds it surprising that a scratch ticket addict is also a litterer? I wish them the worst of luck. I can tolerate many things, but litter is not one of them.
Newburyport’s sidewalks are mainly of two types: brick and concrete.
Among the former you will find bricks inscribed with NEBCO (New England Brick Company) and Barrington. And embedded in the latter you will find bronze plaques embossed with Cashman Construction and the Works Project Administration (WPA).
New England has a long history of brick-making going back over 350 years and NEBCO played a major role, its main yards being in East Kingston and Fremont, NH and Barrington, RI (which explains the “Barrington” bricks). I will not go into the details of this industry, but do some research and you will find bricks much less dull than you imagine. They’ve been around for centuries and there are indeed people who study and collect them. I came across a brick embossed with a star and the numeral 8 (perhaps an upper case B) whose origin is still a mystery. My interest was peaked. If the reader can shed any light, please do.
Now we come to the beautiful Cashman Coal and Construction bronze plaques bearing the relief of a draft horse. These signature bronze plaques still can be found on city sidewalks. On Broad and Carter Streets I have seen them and I hear the corner of Pleasant and Market Streets bears one, too.
Research shows that one Michael Cashman owned and operated Cashman Brothers Coal and Construction at the corner of Federal and Water Streets and was Mayor of Newburyport in the 1920’s. He donated waterfront land for recreation and thus we have Cashman Park. Cashman Brothers also replaced the old dirt sidewalks in area cities and towns with cement walkways. They did not compete with the WPA. In fact, come the thirties and kerosene and oil and the Great Depression, Cashman went out of business.
So it was in 1935 FDR established the Works Projects Administration to generate jobs for the unemployed during the Depression. The WPA built the high school World War Memorial Stadium in 1938.
It also laid some of the city’s sidewalks for you will find WPA bronze plaques embedded therein. Those young men did a helluva job as their work is a testament to a time and attitude annealed in the furnace of the Depression.
The sidewalks are in better condition after 80 years than many more recent examples. I know it is easy to say that they don’t make things like they used to, that the work ethic is dead in America, and so forth. Easy to say and easy to believe, but probably not true. Though we probably have had it far too easy for far too long, I still believe if you push an American, he or she will usually shove back.
Finally, there is a Clow Brothers (Oskalossa, IA) fire hydrant in town that has a unique tapered barrel and pyramidal bonnet. It is odd looking but distinctive and it is surely a work of art.
The next time you see a fire hydrant take a closer look. As I’ve learned on my walks exploring Newburyport, if you’ve seen one fire hydrant, you haven’t seen them all.