Small State, Big Gourds

Unlike, say, Texans, New Englanders aren’t big on bragging. In fact, here in Rhody, we aren’t really big on anything. Cultivating a belief in the appreciation of beauty on a small scale is part of the local habitude. But when the season of Falloween rolls around, with its cornucopia of apple-picking, foliage-viewing, haunt and harvest rituals, Rhode Island brings out the big gourds.

Giant pumpkin grower Ron Wallace of Greene grew the world’s first one-ton pumpkin, a gourd dubbed “The Freak II,” which tipped the scales at 2009 pounds at the Topsfield Fair in Massachusetts. The new world-record holder for giant pumpkins, “The Freak II” wrested the “pumpking” crown back for Rhode Island, topping a record held for two years by a Wisconsin man (1,810.5 pounds), which itself was broken by a New Hampshire grower (1,843 pounds) in September at a state fair in Deerfield.

Wallace seems to enjoy smashing pumpkin records. Last week at the Frerichs Farm pumpkin weigh-off in Warren, his entry, “The Pleasure Dome,” came in at 1,872 pounds. Although not a new world record, it was the heaviest pumpkin ever weighed in Rhode Island, and the second-heaviest weighed worldwide.

A member of the Southern New England Giant Pumpkin Growers Association, Wallace uses Epsom salts, Borax and a variety of fertilizers to grow his monsters. Weather conditions during the growing season contributed to this year’s fertile crop. Temperatures in the low 80s during the day with nighttime temperatures hovering around 70 are ideal for producing gourds the size of a Buick.

What else is biggest about the Biggest Little State in the Union?

Rooster Boosters

Antonia Farzan, a colleague here at the bricks-and-mortar home of Half Shell in Newport, showed me a piece of Rhode Islandiana last week. She inherited a small enamel label pin of a Rhode Island Red rooster superimposed over an anchor from her grandfather. The souvenir dates back to sometime in the middle of the 20th century, when a group of Providence businessmen got together to think of ways to promote the state. Part of the campaign involved wearing the pins with the pride. There was also a jingle:

Be a Rooster Booster/Now’s the time to crow!/Be a Rooster Booster/And help Rhode Island grow!

The pins are collector’s items today, but they also point to a time when the rooster had more cache than it does now in the state. As recently as the 1980s, people were more aware of Rooster Boosters in our midst. The second item on a Google search of the phrase includes a reprint of a St. Petersburg Times column from 1983 announcing a dinner of the R.I. Rooster Booster Club at a Florida Holiday Inn.

For about a century, the Rhode Island Red was the state's second-most visible symbol, after the anchor. The breed was established in the mid-1800s in Adamsville when farmer William Tripp crossed his Cochin hens with a Red Malay or Chittagong rooster he bought from a sailor in New Bedford. A neighbor bred his hens with the “Tripp fowl” and turned his flock into what he called the “Biggest Poultry Farm on Earth.” The bird’s fame spread quickly near and far, and its immediate success in the international poultry market made it a source of pride for Rhode Islanders.

This was around the time when Rhode Island led America into the Industrial Revolution. The state, which became world-famous for engineering and manufacturing achievements, started to romanticize about its pastoral, agrarian past. Once a place of farmers and fishermen, Rhode Island turned rapidly into a state of mills, factories, mechanical triumphs and immigrant workers. Somehow in the psyche of the average Rhode Islander, a rooster had more personality than a steam engine. So it became the state icon. (Although to be fair we should note that Providence once had a professional football team named Steam Roller and a professional basketball team called Steamrollers. It also had the minor-league hockey Reds, with their rooster logo, which lasted for 51 years.)

Rhody’s agrarian symbols weren’t limited to poultry. The University of Rhode Island mascot, the Rhody Ram, is a direct link to the state’s longtime heritage as an innovator in the design and manufacture of textiles. But sometime in the early 1970s, the state began to wean itself from its agricultural roots and went all in on the ocean. Part of it may have been a growing consciousness surrounding the pollution of Narragansett Bay and the notable efforts of the Save The Bay, one of the most significant environmental charity success stories in the country. The state also changed its license plate signature from “Discover” Rhode Island to adopt “The Ocean State” nickname. An American Soccer League championship team dubbed the Rhode Island Oceaneers played in East Providence. And suddenly, it seemed, everyone started talking about quahogs.

Rhody billed itself as Quahog Country, harvesting a quarter of the nation’s annual catch. Quahog festivals popped up here and there in places like North Kingstown and Warren, and quahogs began getting more of a mention in Rhode Island menus. The quahog became the official state shellfish, and even though the Rhody Red remained the state’s official bird, the fact that the Rhode Island Reds hockey team eventually disbanded didn’t help the rooster in its rivalry with the hard clam. If you add the prevalence of steamers, oysters, mussels and scallops to the local mania for all things oceanic, Rooster Boosters never stood much of a chance. Today, bivalve mollusks rule, and the state taste tends to the salty and briny. In fact, many Rhode Islanders nowadays, when they hear the word chicken, think of the name for one-pound lobsters.

None of that should discredit the triumphant role of the Rhode Island Red in helping to form the state identity. Still, it might be time to put on a clam pin and change the booster jingle to something like:

I’m a happy clam/At the beach or in the fog/Rhode Island’s where I am/Home of the wild quahog.

(Life lesson No. 8,472: Never try to jingle before your second cup of coffee.)

What is your favorite Rhode Island souvenir?

The 'Yo, Dude' of its Day

If you look up the phrase “What Cheer” on Google, the first and third items that pop up are links to information about the What Cheer? Brigade, the multi-piece, multi-style street music brass band from Providence. Second is a reference to a website strategy, design and application development company based in Omaha, Neb. Fourth is a Wikipedia entry on What Cheer, Iowa, a city in Keokuk County strangely named after the Providence motto. (The city’s signature event is the What Cheer Flea Market, billed as the largest flea market in the Midwest.) Other “What Cheer” references that make the first Google page include What Cheer Driving, a chauffer company based in Cranston, and What Cheer Antiques, a Providence store.

That’s a lot of What Cheering for a relatively archaic English greeting, but it looks as if the catchphrase might come back into vogue. On Saturday, Oct. 13, the R.I. Historical Society will host the first “What Cheer Day” promoting aspects of Ocean State history at all four of its sites.

Ever since the Narragansetts are said to have hailed Roger Williams with “What cheer, netop?” (a 17th-century version of “What’s going on, friend?”), the phrase “What Cheer” has been quintessentially Rhode Island: you can find it on street signs and storefronts, and it’s even the motto of the city of Providence.

Some of the ways local historians will be What Cheering: By attending roundtables on the RIHS 2012 theme “Rhode Island at War” at the Aldrich House; by learning about Rhode Island’s Civil War hospital at Portsmouth Grove at the RIHS Library; by knitting a pair of Civil War-era mittens in a “knit-a-long” while simultaneously shifting eras and wars in interaction with Revolutionary War re-enactors drilling and cooking in uniform on the lawn of the John Brown House Museum; or by attending a gala at the Museum of Work & Culture to celebrate the region’s industrial legacy during an evening titled “Made in Woonsocket.”

But back to Iowa. Here’s the Wikipedia entry on how the city got its name:

When the future What Cheer was founded in 1865, it was named Petersburg for Peter Britton, the settlement’s founder. This name was rejected by the Post Office, forcing a change of name. Joseph Andrews, a major and veteran of the American Civil War suggested the name What Cheer, and the town was officially renamed on December 1, 1879.
Sources differ as to why the name What Cheer was chosen. The phrase what cheer with you is an ancient English greeting dating back at least to the 15th century. One theory of the name is that a Scottish miner exclaimed What cheer! on discovering a coal seam near town. A more elaborate theory suggests that Joseph Andrews chose the name because of one of the founding myths of his native town of Providence, Rhode Island. According to the story, when Roger Williams arrived at the site that would become Providence in 1636, he was greeted by Narragansett Native Americans with “What Cheer, Netop.” Netop was the Narragansett word for friend, and the Narragansetts had picked up the what cheer greeting from English settlers. It is possible that the connection between What Cheer, Iowa and What Cheer, the shibboleth of Rhode Island, was merely coincidental – the entries for these subjects are adjacent but not connected in the 1908 edition of the Encyclopedia Americana.

Begging the question, then why aren’t there any Iowa towns named Word or Wassup?

How will you celebrate the first “What Cheer” Day in Rhode Island?

Crossed Signals

A friend of mine who works in Warren tells this story: He was driving through town when he saw a policeman on the side of the road. The cop waved. Dave waved back. Within a couple of minutes he saw a cruiser flashing its lights behind him. The policeman he had just passed got out and read him the riot act. “This means stop,” he said, raising his palm in the air. “No, it doesn’t,” Dave said, raising his own hand. “This (pushing his hand forcefully forward in front of him) means stop. This (lifting his hand in the air next to his shoulder) means hello.”

Gesture, like words, can be a tricky way to communicate. Even within the same culture, motioning can be misunderstood. It’s even worse when you leave the country. In Britain and elsewhere, what we think of as a peace sign means victory when the palm faces outward and is equivalent to giving the middle finger when the palm faces inward. Giving the OK sign in Greece, Turkey and several other countries is not OK; it is taken as a rude insult. Thumb’s up in Iran is equivalent to the ubiquitous middle finger here. (Reason No. 1,843 why it’s probably not a great idea to hitchhike in Iran.) Beckoning someone to “come here” with a single finger is frowned upon in the Philippines, where the gesture can be used only to call dogs. Any offender caught summoning a human that way could be arrested and possibly have the finger broken as punishment. Even the “hook ’em horns” sign showing the forefinger and little finger raised with the other fingers down - the signature gesture of the University of Texas Longhorns occasionally used by the general public as a silent “party on” statement - has alternate meanings. It’s been used for years as a form of greeting among Satanists and in many Mediterranean countries the “hook ’em” is an insult essentially calling men a “cuckold,” meaning “your wife is cheating on you.” (Now more commonly flashed at referees during soccer matches.)

Just a brief aside: As I was practicing the Longhorn greeting while researching this blog, I realized it could be adapted to provide a signature gesture for the University of Rhode Island Rams. Curl all of the fingers into a clench (with an open palm, not a fist), then raise the forefinger and little finger at the knuckles to make curled rams horns. “Rack ’em Rams!” Watch for it. Soon it will be sweeping the country.

Leading to this week’s question: What is the definitive Rhode Island gesture?

Please think beyond the middle finger. Some possibilities:

The shrug.
The hand slap to forehead followed by a shake of the head.
One hand on the steering wheel, the other raising a cup of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee to blot out the sun and make the blind side even more dangerous.
The “I’m watching you” point to your eyes, to their eyes and back to your eyes again.
Air kisses. Air quotes. Air guitar. Air “check please.” Air “scratch” indicating an immediate need to purchase a lottery ticket.
The “my bad” hand pat over the heart after you’ve done something stupid on the road while not making eye contact with the angry driver passing you.
The raising a pint in greeting to someone across the bar whose name you either can’t remember or who you just don’t want to talk to.

The Half Shell Legacy

Since I went missing in mid-June, I tried to get Jeremy Renner to guest blog Half Shell during its forthcoming limited engagement. He said something about “over Matt Damon’s not-dead-but-no-more-sequels body” and so I’m back, for as long as my temporary gig at the helm of the arts pages at Independent Newspapers lasts. The details of my return are more arcane than a Ludlum plot, but all that should matter to Rhodyholics is that Ocean State minutia will once again return to its rightful place at the top of the obscurity heap in the endless abyss of the cybersphere.

As sequels go, “Return of Blog on the Half Shell” will aim to be more “Godfather II” than “Jaws II.” (Or “Just when I thought I was out…they pull me back in” vs. “You’re going to need a bigger blogging platform.”) If I keep doing this – coming and going from the same job – readers can expect to encounter “Blog on the Half Shell Strikes Again,” “Revenge of Blog on the Half Shell” and “Blog on the Half Shell Meets Abbott and Costello” in the future. Mondays worked before, so we’ll stick to that schedule in our eternal quest to get Bob Geldof and The Boomtown Rats to amend the lyrics to their most famous song and spread a little grief to Tuesdays.

Rhody Universe: Three Brighton Memories
Andre the Giant Gets Plastered
Within days of my summertime move to the English Channel, I wandered down to a public bench on Marine Road in Brighton. A familiar face stared back from a sticker. It was Shepard Fairey’s born-in-Providence “Andre the Giant Has a Posse” mug. First appearing on Providence streets in the late 1980s, Andre’s “Posse” and “Obey” stickers remain a global phenomenon wherever alternative cultures congregate. Based on my own travel adventures, Andre may not have overtaken the peace sign yet, but he’s opened up a decent lead on yellow smiley face.

‘Moonrise’ Delight
It was somewhat surreal to watch the mostly-made-in-Rhody “Moonrise Kingdom” among an audience full of appreciative Brits at the Duke of York’s Picturehouse in Preston Circus, Brighton. Wes Anderson’s fantasy valentine to the magic of first love was a critical and popular success in the UK. Its arched style, archetypal narrative and stilted, comic dialogue didn’t thrill everyone, but the consensus among English moviegoers is that the film ranks with Anderson’s most charming and hopeful. A Rhode Island scene from “Moonrise” even made the front page of The Guardian last week to illustrate an article on the summer’s best movies. For a native New Englander, seeing locations in Rhode Island (and Massachusetts and New Hampshire) rendered with the Anderson touch made me wish I’d grown up as a Khaki Scout in South County.

Torch Song
After watching the Olympic torch being jogged through Brighton, my sister and I and the family dog, Harry, enjoyed a picnic brunch on the Pavilion grounds. A drunken man staggered over, reached down to pet Harry, missed, and sprawled to the ground next to our blanket.
“Where’r you from,” he mumbled.
“The States,” I said.
“Which one,” he asked.
“Rhode Island,” I said.
The man stared at me, as if trying to will an act of concentration into his furrowed brow. Eventually, he gave up.
“That means absolutely nothing to me,” he said. Then he threw up.

This week’s question: What was your strangest Rhode Island encounter outside of the Ocean State?

Half Shell, Will Travel

Some of you know this already, but for those who don’t get the paper, I’m leaving the office life to embark on a new adventure, beginning with a two-month excursion to England and surrounds. On Sunday I fly to London. As part of the condition of non-employment, I will be giving up this blog.

So the question is how to end it. Perhaps in a computer crash, where the characters of Half Shell dodge smoke monsters and polar bears before appearing in a flash sideways in some parallel purgatory Rhodyverse. Or maybe it ends in a blogging duel with a one-armed typist. Or I wake up in bed with Suzanne Pleshette and realize it was all a strange dream.

But then last week Olivia Culpo, a 20-year-old cellist from Cranston, became the first Miss Rhode Island to win the Miss USA pageant and will represent the United States of America in competing for the title of Miss Universe. As we know from our “Seinfeld” history, Rhode Island never wins these things, but the poised Miss Culpo, who deftly handled the toughest question of the night – “Would you feel it would be fair that a transgender woman wins the Miss USA title over a natural-born woman?” – gave hope to every Ocean State gal who looks great in a bikini and an evening gown.

It seemed like the right note on which to sign off.

As of today, Half Shell is officially on permanent hiatus. I’m a never-say-never guy, so in my admittedly warped world there is always a chance it could return in some guise. I won’t stop collecting size of Rhode Island references or obsessing over the oddities and quirks of Ocean State culture. So we’ll see what happens down the road.

But for now I’d just like to thank you all for reading. During the typical Monday slog, Half Shell has been the most enjoyable part of the day and I’ve been amazed at how many of you I’ve encountered randomly at places such as Kenyon’s Grist Mill or the Red Fez, who don’t actually get our paper but check in on the blog. Your comments (both on screen and off) are much appreciated.

As I’ve told some of you before, Rhode Island is my anchor, but every now and then I need to haul up and sail. For those who are interested, I will be starting a travel blog in England. Give me a week or so then Google my name (and "travel blog") and it should direct you to the new site. Naturally it will be a different kind of animal, but I will still be on the lookout for Rhode Islandisms wherever I can find them. Because you can take the boy out of Rhode Island, but you can’t take the Rhode Island out of the boy.

Fade to black.

English Signglish

Here at Half Shell we’re always on the lookout for other blogging Rhode Islanders, bringing their own voices to the Rhodyverse. Sometimes we stumble onto them while trolling for blog fodder. Other times they find us. A couple of weeks ago Rhody author Marna Krajeski e-mailed a head’s up about her blog, The Hanging Indent – a highly entertaining compendium of literary “misuses, malapropisms and interesting expressions,” often found on store and street signs locally and nationally.

The site is an amusing treasure trove for lovers of words and the English language. Photographs taken by Krajeski or sent to her from family and friends around the country document odd juxtapositions, poorly considered word choices and glaring typos on public signs. We learn, for example, that Hope Court in Wakefield is a dead end. A sign at McDonald’s reads: “WE ARE CURRENTLY OUT OF BOY TOYS. SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE.” A chimney sweep in North Kingstown advertises business on a truck, exhibiting a literary flair: “Lord of the Flues.”

Some of Half Shell’s global wanderings have resulted in similar findings. London, with its familiar signposted admonitions to “MIND THE GAP” and warnings about upcoming speed bumps (“HUMPS 50 METRES”), is particularly rich in “Signglish.” Once, as we were traveling on the Tube, among throngs jammed together like ripe sardines in a tin can, one poor passenger was pressed against a door with the words “NO PASSING THROUGH” overhead, only the P was scratched out. Another sign, at a walled London school, read: “THESE WALLS PAINTED WITH ANTI-CLIMB PAINT.” Yet another, at a traffic light in Stoke Newington, warned pedestrians not to cross a busy road before the light had turned with a huge sign over the street that read: “WAIT FOR THE GREEN MAN,” a reference to the glowing stick figure that appears at the intersection for 30 seconds or so, signaling it’s safe to cross.

What is the most oddly worded sign in Rhode Island?