Every time you think that American culture has reached absolute nadir, you look deep into the abyss only to discover…more abyss. A New York company has come up with a plan to stick a celebrity in a box in Bryant Park then invite visitors to take a peek to see who’s inside (but not before signing a non-disclosure release). Our nation’s celebrity fixation being what it is, there’s no doubt that the “starbox” will be a big hit. Before long, B-list celebs will be lining up in droves to be Duct-taped into cardboard boxes all over Manhattan, the way they used to scramble for gigs on “Tales from the Crypt,” “The Love Boat” and “Fantasy Island.” Speculation is rampant on who might be the first boxed celebrity, but the bigger question might be: Can all of New York really keep a secret?
While pondering the notion that America at its lowest common denominator has always been a cross between freak show and peep show, the staff at Half Shell has found a subversive silver lining in the starbox gambit. We like to call it “Rhode Islander in a Box.” It’s a complete rip-off of the New York idea (payback for messing with our chowder) but it does allow for comic possibilities.
Rhode Islander in a Box, or RIB, could be transported by Segway to all corners of Little Rhody, depending on the occasion. We could unveil Rhode Islander in a Box at WaterFire Providence, for example, somewhere between the stone gargoyles and the Del’s Lemonade cart. Rhode Islander in a Box could be rented out for Gaspee Days, the Black Ships Festival or the St. Patrick’s Day Parade in Newport. It could have its own float at the Bristol Fourth of July Parade or its own Providence Art Window. At all of these locations, for a nominal fee to cover shipping and handling, viewers could actually gawk at the Rhode Islander in a Box for a predetermined length of time, an activity that on the surface is completely pointless, but on further examination, is even more so.
The key question, of course, is: Which Rhode Islanders would you like to see in a box? Keep in mind that these need to be living, breathing Rhode Islanders. (Note to self: The box will need air holes.) We’re not looking for Rhode Islanders who, may they rest in peace, have already been boxed. Roger Williams himself, tree root though he may be, does not belong in a box. We want contemporary, box-worthy Rhode Islanders: Like, say, Joe Mollicone. James Woods. Richard Hatch. Arlene Violet. Maybe a Cardi Brother. Maybe a Farrelly Brother. Maybe the alto saxophone player from Roomful of Blues.
And if we ever get around to a “Pop Goes the Weasel” version, how about: Buddy in a Box?
Monday, July 26, 2010
Monday, July 19, 2010
Village People
Recently I kayaked over to Annawamscutt, where now just a beach and a cluster of cottages are left to identify what was once a village. I saw osprey, a night heron, three red-tailed hawks and the usual gulls, geese and cormorants along the way; but no signs of industry, only nature and leisure. My launching point was my home port of Allin’s Cove in what was once known as the village of West Barrington, a former fishing ground for the Wampanoag long before it assumed its rather dull English name. The old post office no longer exists, the lace factory is now elderly housing. Only the corner barbershop, the marina and boatyard remain to signify the once thriving, working-class community of Bay Springs. Long a summer getaway for hordes of Pawtucket residents, the character of my neighborhood is changing. The spectrum ranges through teachers, restaurant owners, exiled New Yorkers, internationals, single moms, retirees, sailors, salvagers, handy men, artists, musicians and accountants, with a few lifers and Pawtucket natives still in the mix. Now both Annawamscutt and West Barrington are fringe neighborhoods in the East Bay town of Barrington linked by a coastline and a bike path. Such is the way of a village.
Rhode Island was once a jumble of villages – fragments of farm and cove, mill and woods that still resonate today if only as part of a certain independent crankiness statewide. Some have retained their names, if not their cultural distinctiveness. Others have disappeared. Many, I suspect, I have visited without even realizing it, for I could not tell you where to find them on any map.
They include Arctic in West Warwick, Arkwright, Quidnick and Summit in Coventry, Barberville and Locustville in Hopkinton, Coggeshall in Warren, Conimicut, Cowesett and Hoxsie in Warwick, Dyerville and Wanskuck in Providence, Forestdale in North Smithfield, Gazzaville, Mapleville, Mohegan, Saxonville, Tarklin and Whipple in Burrillville, Greystone in North Providence, Harmony in Glocester, Hummocks in Portsmouth, Liberty in Exeter, Lime Rock in Lincoln, Omega in East Providence, Stillwater in Smithfield, Vernon in Foster and White Rock in Westerly.
One of the advantages of working in South County at the Independent has been the opportunity to visit the vestiges of old mill towns and beach communities in villages such as Quonochontaug in Charlestown, Ashaway and Moscow in Hopkinton, Galilee and Jerusalem in Narragansett, Misquamicut, Watch Hill and Weekapaug in Westerly, Wood River Junction and Wyoming in Richmond, Rocky Brook, Perryville and Usquepaugh in South Kingstown, Frenchtown in East Greenwich, Hamilton and Slocum in North Kingstown. Work has taken me to the village of Pontiac in Warwick, identified by the Pontiac Mills, which are still condos-in-waiting. I’ve been to Fruit Hill in North Providence to get to Rhode Island College and Knightsville in Cranston to get to the Community College of Rhode Island. I marathoned through Apponaug, a village in Warwick, back in the day when the Ocean State Marathon began in the village of Narragansett Pier. I’ve taken leisurely drives to Sakonnet at the very tip of Little Compton and performed theater at a library and grabbed a bite to eat respectively and respectfully in the villages of Hope and Chopmist in Scituate.
In all, Rhode Island is home to as many as 250 villages, although more than a few are mostly defunct and a number of them survive only as ghost towns. Some have interesting pedigrees. Consider the following places in Westerly: The village of Avondale was originally called Lotteryville because its inhabitants at one time had won a state lottery to build homes there. The village of Misquamicut was once called Pleasant View supposedly because a prominent Victorian-era woman paused there on horseback and remarked on the “pleasant view.” The community of Napatree was wiped off the map by the Hurricane of ’38.
As I sign off on this post from a computer located in Wakefield village – or the village of “Historic Wakefield” to you travelers out there on Route 1 who might miss it through all the sprawl – I end with the week’s ceremonial question: What is your favorite Rhode Island village?
Rhode Island was once a jumble of villages – fragments of farm and cove, mill and woods that still resonate today if only as part of a certain independent crankiness statewide. Some have retained their names, if not their cultural distinctiveness. Others have disappeared. Many, I suspect, I have visited without even realizing it, for I could not tell you where to find them on any map.
They include Arctic in West Warwick, Arkwright, Quidnick and Summit in Coventry, Barberville and Locustville in Hopkinton, Coggeshall in Warren, Conimicut, Cowesett and Hoxsie in Warwick, Dyerville and Wanskuck in Providence, Forestdale in North Smithfield, Gazzaville, Mapleville, Mohegan, Saxonville, Tarklin and Whipple in Burrillville, Greystone in North Providence, Harmony in Glocester, Hummocks in Portsmouth, Liberty in Exeter, Lime Rock in Lincoln, Omega in East Providence, Stillwater in Smithfield, Vernon in Foster and White Rock in Westerly.
One of the advantages of working in South County at the Independent has been the opportunity to visit the vestiges of old mill towns and beach communities in villages such as Quonochontaug in Charlestown, Ashaway and Moscow in Hopkinton, Galilee and Jerusalem in Narragansett, Misquamicut, Watch Hill and Weekapaug in Westerly, Wood River Junction and Wyoming in Richmond, Rocky Brook, Perryville and Usquepaugh in South Kingstown, Frenchtown in East Greenwich, Hamilton and Slocum in North Kingstown. Work has taken me to the village of Pontiac in Warwick, identified by the Pontiac Mills, which are still condos-in-waiting. I’ve been to Fruit Hill in North Providence to get to Rhode Island College and Knightsville in Cranston to get to the Community College of Rhode Island. I marathoned through Apponaug, a village in Warwick, back in the day when the Ocean State Marathon began in the village of Narragansett Pier. I’ve taken leisurely drives to Sakonnet at the very tip of Little Compton and performed theater at a library and grabbed a bite to eat respectively and respectfully in the villages of Hope and Chopmist in Scituate.
In all, Rhode Island is home to as many as 250 villages, although more than a few are mostly defunct and a number of them survive only as ghost towns. Some have interesting pedigrees. Consider the following places in Westerly: The village of Avondale was originally called Lotteryville because its inhabitants at one time had won a state lottery to build homes there. The village of Misquamicut was once called Pleasant View supposedly because a prominent Victorian-era woman paused there on horseback and remarked on the “pleasant view.” The community of Napatree was wiped off the map by the Hurricane of ’38.
As I sign off on this post from a computer located in Wakefield village – or the village of “Historic Wakefield” to you travelers out there on Route 1 who might miss it through all the sprawl – I end with the week’s ceremonial question: What is your favorite Rhode Island village?
Monday, July 12, 2010
Oyster Night
Mondays are $1 oyster nights at DeWolf Tavern in Bristol, where I often find myself at the bar washing down the week’s varieties with an ale. DeWolf is not the only place to oyster it up in Little Rhody, but with many of the tasty pearl-makers going for almost $3 a shell these days, the buck-a-bivalve bargain is hard to beat. Most weeks the place has a selection from Canada, Massachusetts, Connecticut and the home state, offering a chance to compare tasting notes. I’ll be there again tonight, Tabasco and black pepper at the ready, if necessary.
Oysters are available year-round, but there’s something about summer that brings out the oyster fiend in folks, as raw bars and regular bars fill up with oval platters of half-shells on ice. You can taste your way around Rhode Island, traveling by tongue to sample Moonstones, Matunucks, Salt Ponds, Sakonnets, Rome Points, Watch Hills, Poppasquashes, Winnapaugs, Ninigrets and Wild Goose among the nearly three-dozen Rhody-born-and-bred varieties.
Savoring an oyster is as much a geographic as culinary experience. As author Rowan Jacobsen said in his guide to oyster eating, “A Geography of Oysters,” all oysters have a quality of “somewhereness.” Their sense of place is inherent in the flavors that emerge beyond their salinity. In other words, they taste like where they come from.
An excerpt from Jacobsen’s book featured the following note about Moonstones:
While sampling oysters at McCormick & Schmick’s in Providence a couple of years ago, a friend and I tried a Rhode Island-grown oyster. Her description – “Tastes like swimming in the bay in summertime” – was perfect. Since I’ve been making notes on the subject, I’ve had oysters that tasted buttery, fruity, extra salty, or hinting of citrus, wine, even petrol. One good thing: I’ve never met an oyster that tasted like chicken.
In Louisiana, Creole recipes feature a lot of oyster dishes that are fried or baked, which seems like a waste of an oyster, although the dishes themselves are delicious, so maybe a few can be sacrificed in the pursuit of gastronomic bliss. The sad news for folks on the Gulf Coast is that their oysters are drowning in oil. One beloved New Orleans restaurant, called Charlie’s Seafood, was forced to change its menu to survive, and according to a recent Miami Herald article, the chef isn’t exactly happy about it.
“Charlie’s is a place that celebrates Louisiana seafood and here I am frying calamari from Rhode Island,” says [Frank] Brigsten, an award-winning chef who also owns his eponymously named contemporary Creole cuisine restaurant uptown. “I feel like somehow I am betraying my customers by not giving them oysters. I feel like I am wearing someone else’s clothes.”
As great as Rhody seafood is – and between the fish and the shellfish, we enjoy some of the best in the world – it’s hard not to feel devastated for those who live along our Southern coast. Just as Rhode Islanders wouldn’t be Rhode Islanders without our intimate relationship to Narragansett Bay – a place that serves alternatively as playground, buffet and spiritual companion – coastal residents of Louisiana and Texas feel the same way about the Gulf. So tonight, with every Rhode Island oyster that slides down my gullet, I’ll thank the bay and pray to the oyster gods to keep them coming. And, if any greedy, incompetent corporate types start poking around our sea beds, release the giant clams…
What flavors might you expect to taste in a Rhode Island-grown oyster?
Oysters are available year-round, but there’s something about summer that brings out the oyster fiend in folks, as raw bars and regular bars fill up with oval platters of half-shells on ice. You can taste your way around Rhode Island, traveling by tongue to sample Moonstones, Matunucks, Salt Ponds, Sakonnets, Rome Points, Watch Hills, Poppasquashes, Winnapaugs, Ninigrets and Wild Goose among the nearly three-dozen Rhody-born-and-bred varieties.
Savoring an oyster is as much a geographic as culinary experience. As author Rowan Jacobsen said in his guide to oyster eating, “A Geography of Oysters,” all oysters have a quality of “somewhereness.” Their sense of place is inherent in the flavors that emerge beyond their salinity. In other words, they taste like where they come from.
An excerpt from Jacobsen’s book featured the following note about Moonstones:
MOONSTONE
Point Judith Pond, Rhode Island
Some of the most savory oysters in the world come from a geographical arc running from the eastern end of Long Island, along the ragged Rhode Island coast, to Block Island, Cuttyhunk and Martha’s Vineyard: the line marking the terminal moraine of the most recent glacier. Along that arc, mineral-rich waters produce salty oysters with unparalleled stone and iron flavors, of which Moonstone is the reigning king.
While sampling oysters at McCormick & Schmick’s in Providence a couple of years ago, a friend and I tried a Rhode Island-grown oyster. Her description – “Tastes like swimming in the bay in summertime” – was perfect. Since I’ve been making notes on the subject, I’ve had oysters that tasted buttery, fruity, extra salty, or hinting of citrus, wine, even petrol. One good thing: I’ve never met an oyster that tasted like chicken.
In Louisiana, Creole recipes feature a lot of oyster dishes that are fried or baked, which seems like a waste of an oyster, although the dishes themselves are delicious, so maybe a few can be sacrificed in the pursuit of gastronomic bliss. The sad news for folks on the Gulf Coast is that their oysters are drowning in oil. One beloved New Orleans restaurant, called Charlie’s Seafood, was forced to change its menu to survive, and according to a recent Miami Herald article, the chef isn’t exactly happy about it.
“Charlie’s is a place that celebrates Louisiana seafood and here I am frying calamari from Rhode Island,” says [Frank] Brigsten, an award-winning chef who also owns his eponymously named contemporary Creole cuisine restaurant uptown. “I feel like somehow I am betraying my customers by not giving them oysters. I feel like I am wearing someone else’s clothes.”
As great as Rhody seafood is – and between the fish and the shellfish, we enjoy some of the best in the world – it’s hard not to feel devastated for those who live along our Southern coast. Just as Rhode Islanders wouldn’t be Rhode Islanders without our intimate relationship to Narragansett Bay – a place that serves alternatively as playground, buffet and spiritual companion – coastal residents of Louisiana and Texas feel the same way about the Gulf. So tonight, with every Rhode Island oyster that slides down my gullet, I’ll thank the bay and pray to the oyster gods to keep them coming. And, if any greedy, incompetent corporate types start poking around our sea beds, release the giant clams…
What flavors might you expect to taste in a Rhode Island-grown oyster?
Friday, July 2, 2010
Wiener World
The catchphrase “Only in Rhode Island” has a mostly negative connotation, generally referring to the population’s collective, unblinking acceptance of statewide cronyism, corruption, scandal and crime. But there are other times – we like to call them “Oiri” moments (think Yiddish reggae) – when it is the only way to describe the cultural oddities that abound here.
A case in point: While stuck in traffic on I-95 during last week’s squalls, I yo-yoed back and forth with a white car next to me that had two bumper stickers plastered on it. Since bumper stickers and vanity plates provide the only real reading opportunities during gridlock, I took the time to notice the odd juxtaposition. One was an Obama ’98 campaign sticker. Opposite Obama was a sticker that read:
OLYNEYVILLE
N.Y. SYSTEM
R.I.’s Best Hot Wieners
It’s a fair bet that no Obama supporters driving around the Other 49 would so proudly rank their political pride on equal terms with wiener love, but this is Rhode Island, where presidents rarely visit and wieners (sometimes spelled “weiners”) live in the pantheon of local culinary delights.
Side note: The next morning at the office I found a press release in my inbox headlined: “RHODE ISLAND DISH NAMED ONE OF THE 50 FATTIEST FOODS ACROSS THE NATION: HEALTH MAG REPORTS.”
And there, ranked with South Carolina turducken, South Dakota frybread, Texas corn dogs, Philly cheesesteaks, North Carolina livermush, Mississippi mud pie and Montana’s Rocky Mountain oysters is Rhode Island’s own N.Y. System Wieners. Here’s the profile:
What Health magazine doesn’t say, of course, is that “gaggers” aren’t the only “heart attack on the plate” enjoyed regularly by Rhode Islanders. From hot-oven grinders to doughboys, coffee milk to clam cakes, spinach pie to strip pizza, stuffies to zeppoles and sausage-stuffed breads and meals using chourico (a Portuguese sausage) or Soupys (an Italian sausage), Rhode Island has enough distinctive foods to keep Health magazine in the expose business forever.
This week’s question: What is your favorite “Only in Rhode Island” moment?
[Blogger’s note: Posting early this week because of the Monday holiday. Enjoy the fireworks.]
A case in point: While stuck in traffic on I-95 during last week’s squalls, I yo-yoed back and forth with a white car next to me that had two bumper stickers plastered on it. Since bumper stickers and vanity plates provide the only real reading opportunities during gridlock, I took the time to notice the odd juxtaposition. One was an Obama ’98 campaign sticker. Opposite Obama was a sticker that read:
OLYNEYVILLE
N.Y. SYSTEM
R.I.’s Best Hot Wieners
It’s a fair bet that no Obama supporters driving around the Other 49 would so proudly rank their political pride on equal terms with wiener love, but this is Rhode Island, where presidents rarely visit and wieners (sometimes spelled “weiners”) live in the pantheon of local culinary delights.
Side note: The next morning at the office I found a press release in my inbox headlined: “RHODE ISLAND DISH NAMED ONE OF THE 50 FATTIEST FOODS ACROSS THE NATION: HEALTH MAG REPORTS.”
And there, ranked with South Carolina turducken, South Dakota frybread, Texas corn dogs, Philly cheesesteaks, North Carolina livermush, Mississippi mud pie and Montana’s Rocky Mountain oysters is Rhode Island’s own N.Y. System Wieners. Here’s the profile:
Rhode Island
In the late 1930s, when father-son team Anthony and Nicholas Stevens moved to Rhode Island from Greece, by way of Brooklyn, they opened a small restaurant in the Olneyville neighborhood of Providence. The popular fare – New York System Hot Wieners – is still a regional favorite, and is imitated by vendors and eateries throughout the state.
Ingredients: A beef hot dog drenched in yellow mustard, onions, celery salt and ground-beef sauce.
Fat content: With 13 grams of fat for the hot dog and 15 grams of fat in a serving of ground beef, you’ll max out your daily recommended limit of fat; the ground-beef sauce is usually made with ultra-fatty shortening.
What Health magazine doesn’t say, of course, is that “gaggers” aren’t the only “heart attack on the plate” enjoyed regularly by Rhode Islanders. From hot-oven grinders to doughboys, coffee milk to clam cakes, spinach pie to strip pizza, stuffies to zeppoles and sausage-stuffed breads and meals using chourico (a Portuguese sausage) or Soupys (an Italian sausage), Rhode Island has enough distinctive foods to keep Health magazine in the expose business forever.
This week’s question: What is your favorite “Only in Rhode Island” moment?
[Blogger’s note: Posting early this week because of the Monday holiday. Enjoy the fireworks.]
Monday, June 28, 2010
Smith Hill vs. Jerimoth Hill
Politics and poetry don’t often mix. There are a few old salts that may still remember a white-haired Robert Frost reading the inaugural poem for John F. Kennedy on a bitterly cold day in Washington, D.C., setting the stage for the Kennedy “Camelot” myth. On the other end of the spectrum, during the George W. Bush administration, poets were invited then quickly uninvited to a poetry gala at the White House when it turned out that some of them were going to recite peace poems (or anti-war propaganda, depending on which side of the aisle you stand on).
Now, here in Little Rhody, a mini-controversy is brewing over the proposal of a state poem. Last May, Sen. Leo Blais, a Coventry Republican, filed Senate Bill No. 2175 with three of his colleagues to establish “Jerimoth Hill,” by Rhode Island poet laureate emeritus Tom Chandler, as the official poem of Rhode Island. The poem describes the highest point in Rhode Island as being unrecognizable “except by this bullet-riddled sign by the road that curves through these scraggled third growth woods that was once a grove of giant pines that were cut down for masts that were used to build ships to sail away to the rest of the world from the docks of Providence Harbor…”
“Jerimoth Hill” is a wonderfully rhythmic and wry poem that, in the Rhode Island style, finds humor and resonance in the local identity and sense of place – in this case an 812-foot bump in Foster that for years was protected from curious onlookers and hikers by a shotgun-wielding homeowner. The prologue is one phrase (“812 feet, the highest point in Rhode Island”). The poem is one sentence broken into 26 single-spaced lines that builds like a story-song (complete with refrains). It serves as a reflective celebration and respectful illumination of one aspect of the state’s quirky culture. Most importantly, there’s nothing boosterish about it, which is probably one of the reasons I like it so much.
Gov. Donald L. Carcieri, however, wasn’t sold. Still, give him points for creativity, since he expressed his veto in sonnet form:
Donald L. Carcieri
Governor
June 22, 2010
TO THE HONORABLE, THE PRESIDENT OF THE SENATE:
In accordance with the provisions of Section 14, Article IX of the Constitution of the State of Rhode Island and Section 43-1-4 of the Rhode Island General Laws, I transmit, with my disapproval, 2010 S 2175, “Relating to State Affairs and Government – State Emblems.”
State Emblems Bill Sonnet
Per Constitution and Rhode Island Law
Bill 2010 S 2175
I must disapprove since it holds a flaw.
It would by law a State Poem create.
A worthy poet had written those lines
Off’ring thoughts about a Rhode Island hill.
This famous bard would certainly decline
Since other poets were unheard from still.
For no contest was held or survey done
To find out what other poems might show.
Open process lets inspiration run
So I ask your support of this veto.
Art is not art if the state must decree.
Verses are best when we let poems be.
OK, so the sonnet veto is no improvement on the vetoed poem itself, but the idea that Rhody’s state poem should be a collective choice has merit – although one does worry that we’ll end up with some version of the unofficial University of Rhode Island fight song:
I’m Rhode Island born and Rhode Island bred
And when I die I’ll be Rhode Island dead
So go-go Rhode Island
Rho-Rho-Rhode Island
Go Rhode Island, URI!
Leading to this week’s question: What should be the designated poem of Rhode Island?
Now, here in Little Rhody, a mini-controversy is brewing over the proposal of a state poem. Last May, Sen. Leo Blais, a Coventry Republican, filed Senate Bill No. 2175 with three of his colleagues to establish “Jerimoth Hill,” by Rhode Island poet laureate emeritus Tom Chandler, as the official poem of Rhode Island. The poem describes the highest point in Rhode Island as being unrecognizable “except by this bullet-riddled sign by the road that curves through these scraggled third growth woods that was once a grove of giant pines that were cut down for masts that were used to build ships to sail away to the rest of the world from the docks of Providence Harbor…”
“Jerimoth Hill” is a wonderfully rhythmic and wry poem that, in the Rhode Island style, finds humor and resonance in the local identity and sense of place – in this case an 812-foot bump in Foster that for years was protected from curious onlookers and hikers by a shotgun-wielding homeowner. The prologue is one phrase (“812 feet, the highest point in Rhode Island”). The poem is one sentence broken into 26 single-spaced lines that builds like a story-song (complete with refrains). It serves as a reflective celebration and respectful illumination of one aspect of the state’s quirky culture. Most importantly, there’s nothing boosterish about it, which is probably one of the reasons I like it so much.
Gov. Donald L. Carcieri, however, wasn’t sold. Still, give him points for creativity, since he expressed his veto in sonnet form:
Donald L. Carcieri
Governor
June 22, 2010
TO THE HONORABLE, THE PRESIDENT OF THE SENATE:
In accordance with the provisions of Section 14, Article IX of the Constitution of the State of Rhode Island and Section 43-1-4 of the Rhode Island General Laws, I transmit, with my disapproval, 2010 S 2175, “Relating to State Affairs and Government – State Emblems.”
State Emblems Bill Sonnet
Per Constitution and Rhode Island Law
Bill 2010 S 2175
I must disapprove since it holds a flaw.
It would by law a State Poem create.
A worthy poet had written those lines
Off’ring thoughts about a Rhode Island hill.
This famous bard would certainly decline
Since other poets were unheard from still.
For no contest was held or survey done
To find out what other poems might show.
Open process lets inspiration run
So I ask your support of this veto.
Art is not art if the state must decree.
Verses are best when we let poems be.
OK, so the sonnet veto is no improvement on the vetoed poem itself, but the idea that Rhody’s state poem should be a collective choice has merit – although one does worry that we’ll end up with some version of the unofficial University of Rhode Island fight song:
I’m Rhode Island born and Rhode Island bred
And when I die I’ll be Rhode Island dead
So go-go Rhode Island
Rho-Rho-Rhode Island
Go Rhode Island, URI!
Leading to this week’s question: What should be the designated poem of Rhode Island?
Monday, June 21, 2010
Rocky Redux
Today is the summer solstice, making it the longest day of the year. But even though there are plenty of picnics and barbecues, beach days and baseball games, fireworks and ferry rides ahead, I can’t get past the down note: Beginning tomorrow, we start losing the light.
To counter this nagging sensation, many Rhode Islanders move through summer in a mad dash, checking off quintessential experiences. Trips to Fenway and McCoy. A scenic drive to Tiverton Four Corners for an ice cream cone at Gray’s. Picking up chowder and clam cakes at George’s or Champlin’s and sitting on the jetties in Galilee watching the boats come and go. Breakfast at Jim’s Dock in Jerusalem. Pub-crawling and people-watching in Newport. Taking a picnic basket and a kite (or bocce balls) to Colt State Park in Bristol. A day of body boarding and Del’s at your favorite beach. Riding the ferry to Block Island and cycling around the Block before capping the day with drinks on the deck of The National Hotel.
The list is endless, but it’s missing something these days and this month the Warwick Art Museum reminds us what that is - Rocky Point Amusement Park. The once (and future?) land of summer leisure in Rhode Island is the subject of the museum’s latest exhibition, “Long Live Rocky Point: A Collection of Art and Artifacts,” a nostalgic thrill ride through the memories and mementos of a beloved park.
I had a chance to see the exhibition last Thursday (the trip turned into this week’s column, for those who like to follow my paper trail). In typically Rhode Island fashion, the collection is wonderfully weird and eclectic. There’s art by The Mad Peck. Dracula’s coffin top and the Darth Vader car from The House of Horrors. Stories spanning 150 years of Rocky Point goings-on that read straight out of the Weekly World News. Even a strangely familiar, “Animal Farm”-esque metal sign makes an appearance: “Management reserves the right on all decisions.” In a room crowded with TV and radio reporters and random Rhode Islanders, it was as if every photograph, comic book, token, tag, ribbon, Bingo card, postcard, ticket stub, newspaper ad, prop, sign, poster and piece of scrapbook ephemera served as a memory prompt and a conversation starter.
The day Leonard Nimoy showed up to read poetry and tried to sing. The day a woman taking a driver’s lesson just outside the park sent cars sprawling everywhere because a sea gull had flown in her window. The day the Viking statue inside the House of Horrors malfunctioned and scalped the hair off a child’s head.
Museum organizers said, only half-jokingly, that more people have already come to the Warwick Art Museum to see the Rocky Point show than visited during the previous 34 years’ worth of exhibitions combined.
The question is, with no Rocky Point around anymore, what has become the quintessential Rhode Island summer experience?
To counter this nagging sensation, many Rhode Islanders move through summer in a mad dash, checking off quintessential experiences. Trips to Fenway and McCoy. A scenic drive to Tiverton Four Corners for an ice cream cone at Gray’s. Picking up chowder and clam cakes at George’s or Champlin’s and sitting on the jetties in Galilee watching the boats come and go. Breakfast at Jim’s Dock in Jerusalem. Pub-crawling and people-watching in Newport. Taking a picnic basket and a kite (or bocce balls) to Colt State Park in Bristol. A day of body boarding and Del’s at your favorite beach. Riding the ferry to Block Island and cycling around the Block before capping the day with drinks on the deck of The National Hotel.
The list is endless, but it’s missing something these days and this month the Warwick Art Museum reminds us what that is - Rocky Point Amusement Park. The once (and future?) land of summer leisure in Rhode Island is the subject of the museum’s latest exhibition, “Long Live Rocky Point: A Collection of Art and Artifacts,” a nostalgic thrill ride through the memories and mementos of a beloved park.
I had a chance to see the exhibition last Thursday (the trip turned into this week’s column, for those who like to follow my paper trail). In typically Rhode Island fashion, the collection is wonderfully weird and eclectic. There’s art by The Mad Peck. Dracula’s coffin top and the Darth Vader car from The House of Horrors. Stories spanning 150 years of Rocky Point goings-on that read straight out of the Weekly World News. Even a strangely familiar, “Animal Farm”-esque metal sign makes an appearance: “Management reserves the right on all decisions.” In a room crowded with TV and radio reporters and random Rhode Islanders, it was as if every photograph, comic book, token, tag, ribbon, Bingo card, postcard, ticket stub, newspaper ad, prop, sign, poster and piece of scrapbook ephemera served as a memory prompt and a conversation starter.
The day Leonard Nimoy showed up to read poetry and tried to sing. The day a woman taking a driver’s lesson just outside the park sent cars sprawling everywhere because a sea gull had flown in her window. The day the Viking statue inside the House of Horrors malfunctioned and scalped the hair off a child’s head.
Museum organizers said, only half-jokingly, that more people have already come to the Warwick Art Museum to see the Rocky Point show than visited during the previous 34 years’ worth of exhibitions combined.
The question is, with no Rocky Point around anymore, what has become the quintessential Rhode Island summer experience?
Monday, June 14, 2010
Rhody, Believe It or Not
Drivers entering Barrington along the Wampanoag Trail enjoy a New England-as-pictured-in-Yankee magazine kind of view, showing off watery Rhode Island in a long reach of river aiming toward an archetypal white steeple and a big white booster board fronting the high school athletic fields. That scene of river, road and The White Church –it’s officially the First Congregational Church but everyone in the East Bay knows it as The White Church – has a Hollywood movie set quality to it, which may be why we grew up believing the suburban legend that it was used in the opening scene of the nighttime soap opera “Peyton Place.” (Not so much, it turns out.)
We also believed the stories that the art deco-style Fleet Building (now the Bank of America Building) in Providence was the edifice that became The Daily Planet in the “Superman” TV serial. (It wasn’t, even though to this day in Rhode Island people call it “the Superman Building.”)
An old urban legend that circulated at the Rhode Island School of Design warned students not to fall into the canal, since such a plunge would dissolve your skin.
There are a number of local island legends about pirate treasure. Capt. William Kidd reportedly had gold and other valuables stashed away variously on Patience Island, Hog Island and Block Island. Thomas Tew may have left treasure somewhere in Newport. Another pirate, Charles Harris, bragged about hiding a chest full of jewels and coins under the Newport Cliffs. And supposedly there is some booty still to be found at Beavertail, if the tides and good fortune favor you.
Those of us of a certain vintage also may remember jumping out of the Olympic swimming pool at Rocky Point Amusement Park when Electric Boy dove in. The story was that the poor guy had been electrocuted while trying to climb a fence in the park and had his arms amputated as a result. But he happened to be a champion swimmer and diver, so despite his injuries he kept coming back to the park to dive off the high board in the saltwater pool, doing tricks and swimming laps. Because of his horrific accident, many kids believed that he was highly conductive and that they risked electrocution if they swam in the pool when he was in it. In this case at least, the man was real but his zapping power was a myth.
What Rhode Island urban legends do you know?
We also believed the stories that the art deco-style Fleet Building (now the Bank of America Building) in Providence was the edifice that became The Daily Planet in the “Superman” TV serial. (It wasn’t, even though to this day in Rhode Island people call it “the Superman Building.”)
An old urban legend that circulated at the Rhode Island School of Design warned students not to fall into the canal, since such a plunge would dissolve your skin.
There are a number of local island legends about pirate treasure. Capt. William Kidd reportedly had gold and other valuables stashed away variously on Patience Island, Hog Island and Block Island. Thomas Tew may have left treasure somewhere in Newport. Another pirate, Charles Harris, bragged about hiding a chest full of jewels and coins under the Newport Cliffs. And supposedly there is some booty still to be found at Beavertail, if the tides and good fortune favor you.
Those of us of a certain vintage also may remember jumping out of the Olympic swimming pool at Rocky Point Amusement Park when Electric Boy dove in. The story was that the poor guy had been electrocuted while trying to climb a fence in the park and had his arms amputated as a result. But he happened to be a champion swimmer and diver, so despite his injuries he kept coming back to the park to dive off the high board in the saltwater pool, doing tricks and swimming laps. Because of his horrific accident, many kids believed that he was highly conductive and that they risked electrocution if they swam in the pool when he was in it. In this case at least, the man was real but his zapping power was a myth.
What Rhode Island urban legends do you know?
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