We were out for a late night walk. I happened to look up at one of the downtown bank buildings that is occupied by a branch of one of this country’s biggest banks. “Look at that!” I said to Carol.
Five stories above the street, the internally-lit sign on the bank building said, “Ban America.”
We both marveled at it.
“You almost wonder if it was intentional,” said Carol. “It’s just too perfect.”
2: 57 p.m. I’m sitting here in the tenth annual Frederick Douglass Readathon, the annual event sponsored by the New Bedford Historical Society during which the entire text of The Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave is read aloud by people from the community. We just heard Barney Frank, our congressman, read; and Scott Lang, the mayor of New Bedford; and right now Carl Cruz is reading — Carl is a local historian who knows more about the history of people of color in New Bedford than anyone else that I’m aware of. Now Carl has finished, and a boy, about nine years old and wearing a pink shirt and a red tie, is reading a passage from Frederick Douglass’s childhood memories.
Right now there are about sixty or seventy people here. As you’d expect, the people who come to this are of a variety of skin colors — black and white and brown. This is a distinct contrast to the Moby-Dick readathon which takes place in New Bedford in January, and which draws a predominantly white audience. I like the fact that there are quite a few young people here — mostly children and pre-teens, but a few teenagers as well.
But the best part of this year’s Frederick Douglass Readathon for me is that it is being held here in First Unitarian. I got to welcome people here on behalf of the congregation, which was fun. And it’s great fun to have one of my favorite pieces of American non-fiction read aloud here.
4:40 p.m. The Readathon has gotten almost to the end of Chapter IX. I’ve read my section of the Narrative, the first third of Chapter VIII. The afternoon is darkening into evening, and we’re down to about thirty people now; which is too bad, because this is where the book gets most interesting; and we’ve had a good run of very good readers.
5:46 p.m. Frederick Douglass has just failed in his first escape attempt; and now has been discovered. It is a dramatic moment, and the person reading this passage is doing it just right: not reading dramatically, but in a deliberate and straightforward manner.
6:13 p.m. “…on the third day of September, 1838, I left my chains, and succeeded in reaching New York without the slightest interruption of any kind….”
Part one: 1825 to 1875
During the 1820s and 1830s, at least a few itinerant Universalist preachers visited New Bedford. By tradition, Rev. Hosea Ballou, the greatest of the early Universalist theologians and preachers, came to speak in New Bedford c. 1825. In 1831, one William Morse preached a sermon on Universalism in New Bedford titled “On Revival of Religion. A Sermon delivered in New Bedford, April 17, 1831,” which was printed by Benjamin T. Congdon. In 1836, one Abraham Norwood preached Universalism in New Bedford and Fairhaven, with mixed success.
The first settled Universalist preacher was Rev. John Murray Spear, who preached abolitionism along with his Universalism. While he was minister, from 1836 to 1841, the Universalists built a church building on School Street (since demolished, the site is now the parking lot for Pilgrim UCC Church); they also were one of the few Massachusetts churches of any denomination to unequivocally declare their support for abolition. Nathan Johnson, a prominent African American citizen of New Bedford and conductor on the Underground Railroad, became a member of the Universalist Church. Frederick Douglass is known to have visited the church, but only to argue against the doctrine of universal salvation; Spear met Douglass during this visit, and the two men wound up sharing the lecture platform for the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society many times in later years.
In 1841, Spear was hounded out of New Bedford for helping a fugitive slave evade her master. Spears’ biographer John Beuscher writes: “A slave, Lucy Faggins, traveled with the family that owned her to visit New Bedford, which was home to a sizable community of free Negroes. Spear was instrumental in arranging the legal process through which Faggins was able to opt for freedom. For depriving the southern family of their household ‘servant’ Spear was vilified in public as a ‘nigger stealer,’ threatened with legal action, and forced to resign his New Bedford pulpit.”
Following Spear’s sudden departure, Rev. Levi L. Sadler (1806?-1857) served as a supply minister during 1841. Sadler had previously preached in the recently-settled states of Ohio (1833, 1837) and Michigan (1835). Continue reading
A couple of days ago, Carol and I were walking down along the waterfront. Carol headed off towards the south side of State Pier. “Let’s go up here,” I said pointing to the north side of the pier, where the Martha’s Vineyard ferry docks. “I haven’t seen any seals yet this winter. Maybe we can see seals from up there.”
Carol turned, and started walking in that direction. She has already seen seals several times this winter.
It sounded questionable even as I said it. “Or we don’t have to go up there. I mean, we almost never see any seals up there.”
But Carol, being a good sport, was already heading up to where the ferry was docked. We got to the end of the pier, and looked out towards Fairhaven between the ferry on one side and the fishing boats on the other side. “Look,” I said, “It’s a seal!”
“Where?” said Carol. “Oh, I see it!”
The seal played on the surface of the water for a minute or so, and then slipped under the water and disappeared. We kept walking. It was a gray, raw, gloomy day. Inside, I was happily repeating to myself: I saw a seal! I saw a seal!
I’ve always liked the song “The Mary Ellen Carter” by Stan Rogers, but I didn’t realize until today that Rogers wrote this song as a sort of gospel hymn for atheists. According to a posting by Charlie Baum on the Mudcat folk music Web site, this is why Rogers wrote the song:
I saw Stan Rogers give a concert at the Sounding Board in West Hartford, Connecticut, [writes Baum], and I still remember his introduction to “Mary Ellen Carter.” When he was young, he saw the Grand Ole Opry (or some such show) and remembers at the end of the show, Tennessee Ernie Ford looking up and staring into the blinding spotlights and singing with earnestness and large voice, a gospel hymn of great inspiration, of triumphing over all odds with the help of the Almighty. He decided then and there that he wanted to write a hymn of great inspiration, except without god in it.
Now I know there are plenty of you out there who still have a traditional God to lean on, but please don’t criticize this song because it doesn’t have God in it. You folks already have lots of good songs, but those of us who don’t lean on your God can have our own good songs. Anyway, you might like this song too, because it’s a song that literally saved someone’s life. When the ship “Marine Electric” went down in the Atlantic on the stormy night of February 13, 1983, her chief mate, Robert Cusick, kept himself alive by singing “The Mary Ellen Carter.” Here’s how he tells the story on a documentary film:
I was on a ship that,– we were carrying coal from Norfolk Virginia to a place near Fall River, Massachusetts [Somerset], and we got caught in a very bad storm. It was an old ship, and we didn’t have very much warning — about two o’clock in the morning we saw the ship was starting to get into trouble and go down by the head. And we called the Coast Guard and they were on their way out as quick as they could. And the ship cracked up and rolled over at four fifteen a.m.
The water was very cold, it was thirty-nine degrees. I had heard enough stories about a vortex and whirlpools sucking people down when a ship sunk, so I started trying to swim away as fast as I could. So it was prob’ly the best part of an hour that I’d been doing this, that I ran across a swamped life boat, and I managed to get into it. As the night wore on, and the seas kept smashing down on top of me, and I fin’lly got the feeling that I just couldn’t make it any more. And I was just about ready to give up, when all of a sudden the words came into my mind, “Rise again, rise again. No matter what you’ve lost, be it a home, a love, a friend, like the Mary Ellen Carter, rise again.”
And I just kept saying that over, and the water cleared away, and I’d shout it out, and sing it out. Then another sea would come down on top of me. And I firmly believe that if it wasn’t for that happening to me, I just was in a position where I couldn’t have come through. And that song made the difference, and me living through that night. There isn’t any question in my mind whatsoever about it.
You can watch Cusick tell the story on YouTube, in his comforting southeastern New England accent. After Cusick tells his story, there’s concert footage of Rogers singing the song.
So what’s the song you’d sing if you were in Cusick’s position? What song would carry you through such adversity?
All of a sudden, it’s snowing heavily, and blowing like sixty. 11:21 a.m.
On State Pier, heavy snow. 1:05 p.m.
Snowing heavily. 4-6 inches already. It looks very Christmas-y. 4:15 p.m.
It stopped snowing half an hour ago. Carol went skiing on the city sidewalks. I put a carrot nose on someone else’s snowman. 8:30 p.m.
Now we’re getting ocean-effect snow: big, fat, fluffy flakes lazily falling, covering the sidewalks with crystalline white. 6:35 p.m.
Snow mixed with sleet, making ankle-deep slush on the sidewalks and streets. 1:36 p.m.
The snow has turned to rain. Yuck. What a mess. 1:44 p.m.
Out for a walk. Slop, slush, half-frozen puddles, cars splashing us. It’s good to be outdoors. 4:12 p.m.
The rain stopped, cold wind
blew in; now wet snow and slush
get frozen solid.
11:16 p.m. Dec. 21st
Here’s a photo taken from one of the windows of our apartment about five minutes ago. You’re looking at the lights on the trees outside the Whaling Museum. (You can also just make out the figure of Carol walking down William Street.) We have about six inches of snow so far — but now the snow seems to be tapering off, and mist and fog are mixed in with the snow.
Carol and I were driving along Route 6 back from the supermarket in Fairhaven. The swing bridge was closing to traffic just as we got to the Dunkin Donuts on Pope’s Island, so we stopped and sipped some decaf until the traffic started moving again.
Carol backed her car out of the parking place, and was just about to put it in gear when we heard a faint voice: “Wait! Wait!” A young woman was running towards us from a green pickup truck parked in front of Dunkin’s — I say she was running, but it looked like she had on high heels under her jeans, so she didn’t move very fast. Carol rolled down the driver’s side window.
“Hi, we were in Dunkin’s and they declined my credit card when we tried to buy coffee,” said the girl breathlessly. She had a low throaty voice, as if she smoked a lot. “And we’re out of gas, and…”
Carol stopped her, speaking in a matter-of-fact tone: “You don’t understand. We live in New Bedford and we get scammed all the time for money.”
“Oh, but I live in Fairhaven,” the girl said.
“Yeah, but that’s not the point,” said Carol. “We hear this kind of thing all the time here.”
“Oh,” said the girl. “I’m new to Fairhaven. I just moved in with my boyfriend,” she went on, “it’s my dad’s business credit card, and I don’t know why it got declined. We’re puttering along on fumes, and we have to get back to Fairhaven.”
“You’re not going to be able to buy gas here anyway,” Carol pointed out. “All the gas stations near here are closed now. The nearest gas stations are going to be back in Fairhaven.”
That stopped the girl for a moment. I bent down so I could see her face and said, “Do you have a Triple-A card? because they’ll come out with a gallon of gas for you.”
She looked at me and smiled crookedly. “No, I wanted to get one, but my boyfriend didn’t want one.”
“You’re not going to be able to buy gas here anyway,” Carol said again.
“I guess we could call my boyfriend’s mother,” the girl said.
“Good luck,” said Carol, rolling up her window.
We drove away. “It sounded like a scam, but I wonder,” she said.
We passed Fish Island Gas Station, which was closed and dark. “It sounded like a scam to me,” I said. “I’ll bet she saw us walking to the car, assumed I was driving, and thought she’d show a little cleavage and convince me to give her some money.” Which was a pretty cynical thing to say.
“She had on a lot of make-up,” said Carol, thinking out loud. “but her hair was a little stringy as if she hadn’t washed it today. Her looks were good enough that she didn’t need all the make-up.” We passed the exit to Route 18, and went up the S-curve into downtown New Bedford. “All the details she gave us made me think maybe it wasn’t a scam.”
“Maybe, but the con artists who come to the church always give lots of details,” I said. “Besides, even if she wasn’t trying to scam us, that’s not something serious enough to ask for money from strangers. They can call someone they know. They have to take some responsibility for their life.”
“But someday something could happen that’s serious enough that you do need to ask for help,” Carol said.
“That’s true,” I said. “Anyway, we treated her with respect.” There’s a good chance the girl was honest, but it sounded too much like the scams we hear day after day — Could you give me ten dollars for a bus ticket to Boston? We’re driving to ——— and ran out of gas, could you give us twenty dollars to buy gas to get out of New Bedford? — and then the same exact people come back a month later with the same exact story all over again.
The traffic light at the intersection of Route 6 and Pleasant Street was green for once, and we sailed through it and turned onto North Sixth, then left on William Street. By the time we passed City Hall, we were talking about something else.
Yesterday, it felt like winter. The temperature was down in the teens, there was a biting wind, snow on the ground, early sunset.
Today, it no longer feels like winter. The temperature got up over fifty, fitful breezes barely ruffled the water of the harbor, the snow disappeared. The only thing to keep me from thinking that it was springtime was the early sunset.
This appears to be the new pattern for winter here — wild variations in weather, springlike days mixed in with bitter winter days. Global climate change is an ongoing process, so we will have to see how this new pattern will evolve and change.