Pizza Pies

Research tells me the first American pizzas were known as “tomato pies.” Tomato pies are built the opposite of the “Pizza Pie,” first the cheese, then the toppings, then the sauce.

It wasn't until the 1950s that Americans started to notice pizza. Celebrities of Italian origin such as Jerry Colona, Frank Sinatra, Jimmy Durante, and baseball star Joe DiMaggio all devoured pizza. It is also said that the line from the song by famous singer Dean Martin, “When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that’s amore,” set America singing and eating pizzas! [1953].

I cannot remember having a pizza during World War II or before. My parents would try many places for a Saturday night pizza. The closest pizzas were the Bridgwaye Inn and the Humarock Lodge, but neither were satisfactory.

Next tries were a place in Fieldston, then Brant Rock, with no luck.

A Greek restaurant in Scituate, nope. Not that these pizzas were bad -- they just were not pleased with some part of the pizza.

Maybe 1947 or 8, my uncle Herb, Dad’s twin, got a nighttime job at the Rockland Bar and Grille in Rockland. Herb alerted my parents to the great pizzas. One Saturday night we drove to Rockland to try one. I think in those days there were only cheese pizzas. It was great!

Whenever my folks wanted a pizza, off to Rockland we went. I can remember after I got my driving license (May 1951), I would be sent to Rockland for a takeout pizza.

In 1949 or 50, a new building was constructed at 20 Sea Street, in Humarock (really Seaview). A family from Quincy, that operated a pizzeria in Quincy, opened Miramare Pizza as a summer business.

There was Sal, the cook; his sister Celeste was the waitress and cook; and the matriarch mother, Naomi, ran the cash register. They would let me stash my bike behind the building when I went to Humarock. This was during the rebuilding of the new Sea Street bridge, during the summer of ' 51 (completed in 1952).

After stashing my bike, I would take my chances crossing the bridge over the catwalks provided for the work crew. They were planks maybe 10” wide and stretched randomly across the spans of the old part -- and some of the new parts of the construction too. We kids from both sides would, at night, go to Humarock or cross back to get to the pizzerias, or to “Stead's.”

Pizzerias, yes. At one time, another pizzeria opened in the Davis bakery across from Miramare's. They may have been Greek pizzas.

Miramare's pizza place had plenty of parking, but the joint across the street did not -- so people would park in Miramare's lot and walk across the street to the Greek place.

Well Naomi would have no part of that. She would yell out the front door to get the hell out of her lot! If they did not respond, Naomi would stomp right up the stairs into the joint and make them move their car or she would call the cops. She would make quite a scene!

Some of my friends liked the Greek pizzas. One time I joined them but didn't purchase any food, only a soda. Well Naomi saw me coming out of the joint and did she give me hell.

I explained I didn't buy anything but a soda. It didn't matter. If you’re going in there, don't come in here!”

Later that night, I went into Miamare's for a pizza with a friend. I got the cold shoulder from the old matriarch.

One cheese pizza: 75 cents. Two drinks: 20 cents. A 15 cent tip. Total: $1.10, split 55 cents each. That was the summer of 1952.

The pizza joint across the street didn't last long -- maybe two summers.

Miramare's stayed into the 60s. It closed soon after Sal died.

Now Papa Gino’s gets our $10-$12! We don't have a Papa's here in “Down East” Maine, so my wife and I put together a pretty good 'roni and 'shroom pizza every Sunday night.

I don't remember 5 cents.
But I do remember a 10 cent  slice.

Ray Freden
Sea View resident 60 years, Marshfield, 70

The Pine Street Dump

As long as I can remember, Sunday mornings were the dump run. Dad would get the trash barrel up onto the front bumper of his old Chevy, tie it down, then off to the Pine Street dump.

This was exciting to me. First, unload the trash. Then find as many of gallon jugs and wine bottles as I could. We would stand at the edge of the trash and Dad would throw a jug up into the air and I would throw a wine bottle at it. With luck, I would make contact and crash the jug to bits! Oh yes, there were many misses. I often wonder how dangerous this could have been.

Next, there was looking for treasures to take home. Sometimes I would find a usable toy car or truck, a table and chair for use in my tent, which was set up in our back yard. Dad's great finds were old lamps that he would fix up to use in our house. The dump attendant was usually not there on Sundays, so “pickin” was uninterrupted.

One day, we arrived and unloaded. There was a desk upended, the drawers were out, and alongside, all empty. Dad uprighted the desk; a small drawer was still in it, the knob was gone and the drawer was stuck. I got a screwdriver from Dad's toolbox and pried it open. Oh-my-word, it was full of watches and chains, rings, tie clips, cuff links and other gold stuff. Out came a watch, and as I was winding it to see if it worked, in came the dump attendant. He jumped out of his truck and shooed us out of there!

I slipped the Waltham watch into my pocket and we left. When we arrived home, Dad inspected the watch. It was running. What a find! Dad took it to a jeweler in Boston near his work. He had it cleaned and timed. The jeweler said it was a nice watch but very common and not worth a whole lot -- that was in the 40s. Dad wore that watch to work for many years. I have no idea where it ever went. I often wondered what that drawer full of gold was worth!

Sometime after 1946, and under new ownership, the Seaview Garage's attic was being cleaned out to create an apartment for the new owners. That attic was used for storage of auto parts from the 1920s. First the Maxwell auto car, then Ford model Ts, then the A’s. In 1932, the Ford B, the first Ford V-8s. Over 30 years of auto parts stored in that attic, all new and some parts still with paper wrapping.

One day after school, I arrived at the garage. Jimmy, a garage employee, had a dump truck under the trap door from the attic, and he was pushing parts into the truck. He was cleaning out the attic and taking the parts to the Pine Street Dump. Load after load! I so wanted all those parts dumped into my yard. My Dad would have no part of that.

I think how I could have become an antique auto parts supplier. I did salvage four Maxwell hubcaps, (new old stock). I somehow have lost them. Today, they would bring any price you asked!
All of those collectable auto parts, buried in the Pine Street dump. Maybe someone should excavate the dump to salvage those parts.

My dump “pickin” continued through the 60s. After getting married in 1962, much of the furniture in our first home came from the dump. I repaired and refinished it, and it served us well. Most of it was returned later.

Strangers

If you have read my last blog, you know what an expert I was at knowing who was coming up and down Summer Street in their cars. There was one sound that I dreaded: the bell.

Sometime in the summer before World War II, I could faintly hear a bell up Summer Street past the Seaview Garage. I would run out to the edge of the street and see, just coming over the hill, a horse and wagon. Its bell would ding-ding-ding as the horse stepped along.

The Gypsies were coming! I would hightail it out to the Station Street side of our house and hide in the corner outside the porch. As I heard the bell pass by on Summer Street, I would peek past the corner of the house and watch them pass the Bonneys’ and then out of site. I would be a wreck!

My Dad thought they came to town for the Marshfield Fair, to sell wares, read palms, cards and other Gypsy tricks. My Mom told me the gypsies stole children!

My Dad said that they came every year at fair time, and they camped down at the Round's farm. That was the dirt road beside 91 Summer Street. I was told to stay in the yard, and to make sure Mom knew where I was. I did and did!

After supper, at dusk, I could hear chanting and singing faintly off toward the farm. When the wind was just right, I could smell a fire burning. As the next few years went by, the gypsies came and went. One year -- I must have been 12 or 13 -- I was now old enough to be a Boy Scout and had a compass. It was with me most of my time not in school, as taking it to school was forbidden, as there were some bullies that would take it.

One afternoon I was sitting on the stone wall beside our house, trying to learn all of the directions and degrees for a merit badge, and then I heard the bell coming. I jumped up to look up Summer Street and sure enough, the Gypsies were coming. I was much older now, not a child anymore. I knew I could hide behind the big maple tree beside the house. I was about as big around as a pencil and the big tree would hide me. I would be able to see them up close as they passed.

As they approached, I had to slide around so as not to be seen, It worked -- they went past, I could see the lady on the right side of the seat, the bright trim on the canvas cover, some tools attached to the wagon. I could even smell the horse.
As I came out on the south side of the tree and watched, the lady's arm dropped down and she waved her finger. OH S---! She saw me! What to do?

I told my parents, and my Dad said not to worry. “They have been coming for years and no one has had any problems with them.”

I don't remember when they stopped coming, nor did I ever find their campsite. My friend, the late Phil Randall, told me they camped not too far from the spring and not too far from his shop.
I recently spoke with a former Seaview resident, 90 year old Helen. She too remembers the Gypsies. Where they came from, or who they were, remains a mystery to me.

Cars and Drivers

Before World War II, there was not much traffic on Summer Street. I learned at a young age to recognize the sound of a neighbors’ car before it came into sight.

There were two neighbors with 1930s Model A Fords that had a very distinctive sound. Harry Rogers from the “Hills” had a Model A Ford that he used to deliver spring water (Canoe Tree Springs) to neighbors, as well to “Steads” and Clarks’ store. Ralph Hatch's '36 Ford had a rattle somewhere underneath -- it drove me crazy! Why doesn't he fix it? Mrs. Stiles’ '37 Plymouth would emit a huge cloud of smoke when she accelerated it! In the early 50s, she would stop at the Seaview Garage once a week for a dollar’s worth of gas, and every other day for a quart of oil! She left with a cloud of smoke behind.

Many drivers coming down Summer Street would shift to neutral at Seaview Ave. and coast past the Seaview Garage, then clear down to Keene's Pond. My Dad would coast down Summer Street from the Lampson Estate to about the Hitchcocks’ house, (663 Summer Street). I have always wondered how much gas was saved.

From Memorial Day and into the summer, it would be a challenge to identify who was coming down the street, because of the arrival of the summer folks. Many bigger and newer models -- Packards, Caddies, Buicks and an Auburn. These, made my game difficult.

The most noisy were Gino Rugani's Sterling trucks. They were huge, 1930s green and red painted monsters with a chain drive. There were 3 or 4 of them. One was used to haul his bulldozer or shovel on a low bed trailer. All of them sounded different and the drivers drove them differently.

These were first kept across from the Rugani home on Dog Lane at Pleasant Street. I would hear them climb the hill on Summer Street; from Pleasant Street to Seaview Ave, their chains would grind, then as the truck coasted passed my house, the chains would make a slapping sound with no load on them.

I could tell when Louie, Gino's son, was driving -- his shifting was different than Buddy's, their truck driver and mechanic.

I could hear these trucks on Church Street on their way home in the late afternoon, slowing at Church, Elm and Summer Street -- there was no stop sign in those days -- then start up Summer Street at Randall's under the strain of the long grade uphill.

Occasionally, Louie would take me on a short trip in the dump truck. It was so noisy inside you would have to holler to be heard! Louie was the foreman of the operation, which was the biggest in Marshfield. Louie drove a Ford 100 green pickup, and wore a baseball cap with a Heinz pickle pin attached to the front. Louie loved that pin.

One afternoon about five, I was pushing my bike up the hill on Summer Street from Pleasant Street. About halfway up, Louie came over the hill towards me, in his '47 Ford pickup. I waved to him. Just as he passed, he backfired that Ford at me! It scared the bejesus out of me! I thought I was shot! I shook all the way home!

That was the first time that happened, but not the last. I expected it to happen again, anytime he passed me. I learned that trick well. Later in life I used that trick many times. My favorite spot was going past Sonny Oxner's garage on Ferry Street, letting out a blast when Sonny's doors were open. Sonny cursed me many times.

Ho Jos

 Our shopping trips always seemed to take us past a Howard Johnson's. In the 40s, I don't remember calling Howard Johnson's "HoJo's.”

Pembroke, MA. Route 14 and the then-Route 3.

On our trips to Brockton, we would leave Seaview, finding our way to Water Street in Pembroke, turn left on what was then Route 3, then right on Route 14. A Howard Johnson's was on that corner, next to the Gilbert West Box Mill. There were long windows in front and on the south side. I remember sitting inside on the south side and how bright and warm it was.

Whitman, MA. Bedford Street and Warren Ave. The 2x4 Ho Jo's.

 As we wound our way through Whitman, there was a Howard Johnson's snack bar, an eat-outside only. It was a 2x4, as my Dad called it. Many years later I found out what a 2x4 building was!

Over the railroad tracks in the Montello section of Brockton, another HJ’s. I remember having our lunch there. We always had the same thing . . . that I will reveal later.

Late in the afternoon, after shopping, we headed home on Route 123. When we did not take Neal Gate Street to 3A, I knew that Dad had a plan. He would go to the lights in Greenbush, turn right, and then take another right into the nicest Howard Johnson’s I can remember seeing: a beautiful building, manicured grounds, and a paved parking lot.

There was always room to park. The front of the building was full of windows that ran from the ceiling to the floor. Above the orange roof, on a cupola, was my favorite weathervane, ''Simple Simon and The Pieman,'' with a dog. How I wished we could have one on our garage.

Simple Simon met a pieman going to the fair;
Said Simple Simon to the pieman "Let me taste your ware"
Said the pieman to Simple Simon "Show me first your penny"
Said Simple Simon to the pieman "Sir, I have not any!"

Simple Simon went a-fishing for to catch a whale;
All the water he had got was in his mother's pail.
Simple Simon went to look if plums grew on a thistle;
He pricked his fingers very much which made poor Simon whistle.
He went for water in a sieve but soon it all fell through;
And now poor Simple Simon bids you all "Adieu"

I seem to remember a ''Simple Simon'' weathervane whirly gig. The pieman's tray would move, Simon's finger or arm moved, and the dog's tail wagged up and down. I'm not sure if this was on the Greenbush HJs. I also remember a Lamplighter weathervane on a HJs somewhere.

Most of the time I would sit on one of the red stools at the soda fountain and order a frankfurt, now known as a hot dog -- plus an orangeade. My Mom and Dad would sit in a booth; they always ordered fried clams, french fries, and tea or coffee.

The frankfurts were sliced across on two sides, and fried on two sides. The bun was also fried on both sides (now called grilled). This was put in a cardboard container with “Simple Simon and The Pieman,” with his dog printed on both sides. Two straws came in a cardboard container for the soda.

I would always beg a few french fries, then look over the Howard Johnson toy trucks on the shelf that were for sale and way beyond my parents’ budget. I would save the paper placemats from the table. During the war, the mats had a fighter plane, a tank and a war ship printed on them. Also there was a mat with the 28 flavors of ice cream with a bumble bee flying with a spoon. I often wonder what ever happened to all that stuff?

When I was lucky, I could have a ten cent ice cream. Most of the time it would be a chocolate one, sometimes coffee. All of that would cost my Dad about $1.70.

We would visit other Howard Johnson’s in Scituate, Hingham, Wollaston Beach & Wollaston. There are only three Howard Johnson restaurants left.

Scituate MA. Hatherly Road, on the way to Minot.

Good bye to Howard Johnson’s, HJs & HoJo's.

Apple Cider Time

In the fall, when apples were a-plenty, my Dad and I would gather all kinds from around the neighborhood. We used bushel baskets to gather up the apples. I would fill ‘em, and Dad would carry them to the old Chevy and stack them where the back seat had been removed.

Back home, stems and leaves were removed, rotten ones discarded, then washed down. Now, out came the apple press and crusher. We washed it down with water and bleach. It was set up in the garage and fastened down. A blue and white enamel pot was fitted with a topping of cheesecloth and slid under the press. The baskets were set atop each other beside the press.

Dad would crank the handle, I would stand on a wooden box and toss in the apples. Ground-up apples spewed out into a slatted barrel-like cage that contained the mash. When the cage was full, it would be topped with a wooden head. A screw was turned to press the mash. After a few turns, out of the tray would come a clear golden juice.

Then, back off the screw, clean out the cage and do it again and again until the apples were gone. I would have a drinking glass close by, to hold under the stream until full. Oh, how good that was.

Next step was to bottle this golden juice. Dad had a dipper that he dipped in the pot, then he poured the juice into a cheesecloth-covered funnel that was stuck into glass gallon jugs that we had scavenged from the dump. These jugs had been washed, scalded, and bleached days before -- that was my job. Mom would bring scalded corks out to us, steaming, and in they would go. That would take all of a Saturday.

Sunday morning, Dad would haul a six-foot table from the cellar and drag it to the side of Summer Street. The table was made from an old Singer sewing machine base and a shed door. Then out came a green ice cream chair with a splintery wood seat. This was my stand!

We filled the table with gallons and half gallons of fresh apple juice. A sign went up, “Fresh Apple Juice.” A gallon was 50 cents, plus a five cent jug deposit. Half gallon was 35 cents plus deposit.

One day I sold ten gallons. Wow, $5! I got 10% -- 50 cents. That would buy 10 candy bars or 10 Cokes or even a movie trip!

There was a customer that refused to pay the deposit and didn't return the jugs they had promised to. They never got another jug of juice either.

How sweet it was -- for about 3 or 4 days. It got tangy in about week or so. It was a good thing for corks. We would often find them popped out onto the porch floor as the juice fermented.

Dad would fill a small wood cask with apple juice and leave it in the cellar for about a year, we then had apple cider vinegar. I am now using a vinegar I made in 1975.

Roadside Stands

There were many roadside stands throughout Marshfield, and Seaview had its share. Most were vegetable or strawberry stands.

Before World War II, there was a stand on Summer Street across from the north end of Station Street. It was owned by Ollie & Anna Nourse. In the spring, many kinds of flowers were for sale, followed by early cherries and peaches. Then vegetables of all kinds. All grown on their property. You also could get a dozen eggs.

If that stand existed today, you would be taking your life in your hands stopping there! There was no off-street parking on their side, however you could park in a small space on the north end of the Seaview Garage and walk across Summer Street.

Further up Summer Street, about as far as Seaview extended, was Bob & Agnes Dow's stand. This was mostly a vegetable stand. Agnes did make some baked goods.

The most unforgettable stand was Agnes & Bill Bonney's, at the south end of Station Street at Summer Street. It was a 2x4 structure with lift-up front and sides. From the earliest flower to the latest, bunches would adorn the shelves as well as around the stand. Most were 15 cents; glads were 25 cents. The Bonneys had the most beautiful arrangements.

Glads were one of Mrs. Bonney's favorites.

 However flowers were not the big draw. It was Mrs. Bonney's baking. She filled the shelves with pies, cakes, cookies, and other sorts of pastries. Cakes were her best seller, specially decorated for any occasion. Mrs. Bonney would put a little extra decoration on a cake for her favorite customers -- the ones known to leave a tip.

On a Friday or Saturday afternoon during the summer, there was hardly a spot to park. Locals were arriving home after work, and summer people for the weekend. They would want her wonderful goods, rather than bake or cook. Mrs. Bonney's cooking was probably better than theirs anyway. On a Saturday, the pastries were gone by 1 p.m. Late Saturday afternoon, a line would form at the side porch door awaiting the baked beans, frankfurts and brown bread, along with any pastry left. Mrs. Bonney would have a new batch of goods for Sunday morning.

Notice the cuts in the frankfurt, the old fashion way.

 Summer Street was once the main route to Humarock from the Boston area, however those that came in from Route 3 would also find Bonney's wonderful goods.

We would never visit with Mrs. Bonney during her busy summer months, but an off-season visit was a treat. Brownies and a glass of milk were always on my priority list. Most families in the neighborhood were as poor as church mice, but were always generous with a cup of tea or coffee, and a home cooked treat.

Prohibition & Rum Running in Humarock

River look-outs, making sure the coast is clear.

If you have read my past story of the SC 41 Submarine Chaser that ended up on the Hanover Flat (and was used as a summer retreat), as well as the one on Leon Hatches Boat Yard, you now could be ready for “rum running” in Humarock.

For nearly 14 years, 1919 to 1933, our country was dry! It really wasn't, but selling alcohol was illegal. It didn't take long for the “swamp Yankees” to turn to “rum running.”

Illegal contraband liquor was a profitable enterprise for the water people. Boat motors were quickly converted over to more powerful and faster ones, and the insides of vessels were gutted for more space. A schoolmate, Alfred A., told me that his stepfather’s lobster boat was a “rum runner.” It had a big motor in it, and was quite narrow for a lobster boat.

Safe unloading areas were located. Bays, harbors, rivers, creeks, and other landing spots were found. Humarock was one of these safe places -- or at least more safe than other harbors. Federal funding was weak and the revenuers had to spread themselves thin.

This was an ideal drop off spot, just off the South River.

The North River mouth was the water highway out to the mother ships that were waiting three miles out to unload their contraband into smaller boats and dories. A very reliable source told me that most of the dories came from Hatch's Boat Yard and gunning stand. Others came from the North River. Most of the dories were powered by two rowers.

On a good night, a row out to the “Mother Ship” and back, took most of the darkened hours, depending on the weather. On occasion, unfavorable weather would delay the boatmen’s return. Daylight would give them away, so they would row up into a remote creek, cover their dory with marsh grass, and hunker down for the day with nothing to eat or drink! Or nothing to eat! Up to 20 cases could be safely stacked in the dories, however greed and poor judgment sent many boats floundering and losing their contraband. Some of this contraband would find its way to shore, where scavengers would find liquid gold!

Lookouts were needed to warn the boatmen of any danger that may come about. Lookout posts were stationed from the Sea Street Bridge to Fourth Cliff.

The lookout on the bridge was a well known local that had a non-drinking reputation, and liked to fish. His gear was a tin bucket, bait, a sharp knife, a hand line, a flashlight and cigarettes. Time on was 9 or 10 pm; off was daylight, rain or not. If the boats were out, you were on. Over would go the line, baited or not. Sometimes this lookout was joined by a friend -- his line would go over with a bottle of hooch tied on the end. This was to be retrieved periodically.

The hooch was unloaded at various locations. The cases were picked up by Chevy 6-cylinder panel trucks. Chevys were quieter than the Ford Model A’s. Canvas snap-on signs were attached to each side with a local milk company logo.

I was told, by the same reliable source, that only once, during this guard’s time on the bridge, did he have to call off a landing.

One night, just before midnight, a big black Packard with four men inside, strangers, stopped on the bridge and asked where so-and-so's cottage was. The fisherman gave them directions, and off they went. The fisherman/guard flashed a signal to the lookout on the point down river, and the signal was passed on to the cliff.

That night’s truck was turned around and left. No one else ever reported seeing the car or the men. No one saw them leave; no one reported using so-and-so’s cottage. However, this was a subject not discussed, and questions were unthinkable.

My late friend Phil, a Seaview native, told me the following. It seems that Charlie, Phil's father, took a walk to Pine Island. While coming back, just off the walkway, he saw a newly tracked path in the marsh grass. Off he went to investigate. He found something that was covered over with marsh grass. A case of 11 bottles of hooch!

Even though Charlie was a teetotaler, he was not going to leave this find. He covered it back up and waited until dark. Charlie made his way back through the cedar grove to the edge of the marsh, found the case of hooch, then made it home without being seen, he hoped! He stashed the case in the cellar, where his wife would not find it, as she was death against alcohol.

Within a few days, word reached Charlie, that Wally, a heavy drinker, was on a killing rage. It seems that someone stole his property from The Island. He was telling everyone in Seaview that if he found out who stole his property, he was going to kill them!

You see, the property was never Wally's. He probably found it stashed in one of the creeks by a boatman. Charlie never uttered a word. Some of Charlie's friends enjoyed a holiday gift!

 Chevrolet panel truck, much like the trucks used to deliver
illegal liquor to the speakeasies.

Ray Freden, Seaview resident, 60 years.

A Seaview Kid Goes Shopping

In the 40s, Marshfield did not offer much but basic shopping. The A&P, First National, Wherrity's drug store and soda fountain, Feinberg's clothing store, a general store here and there.

There were traveling vendors -- Hathaway's Bakery Bread, a black and white Chevy panel truck, Smitty was the breadman. There were drawers that would roll out to get the donuts and pastries. The White Brothers milk truck would stop at our house. Herby delivered the milk bottles with the bulb in the top where the cream would settle, a cardboard disc pressed into the top. There was a meat vendor and a fish vendor but I can't remember them by name.

A short drive to Scituate gave my folks much more to choose from. A much larger A&P, an Italian delicatessen. My Mom would buy a wedge of parmesan cheese that would be shredded on our pasta dinner. A 5&10 that I couldn't get enough of. Welch's Hardware Store, where my Dad always had to get something. My Dad & I would get our hair cut at Larry's Barber Shop. We would stop at the Quincy Gas Station at the beginning of Front Street to get a dollar’s worth of gas -- I think gas was under 15 cents a gallon -- that would take the old Chevy and Dad to the Greenbush Train Station all week.

Other shopping trips would be to Rockland, Brockton or Quincy. The Rockland trips were to the Thom McAn shoe store and to Woolworth’s 5&10 cent store, to buy baby chickens. Yes, chickens -- the baby chicks would be in a long high box on the counter with lightbulbs hanging down to keep the chicks warm. Dad would have to lift me up to pick out the most lively ones. I remember some were dyed pink. There was no way to tell which were hens or roosters. Dad always wanted 6 to 8 hens and 4 roosters. The roosters were for the holidays. Many times we got more roosters than hens, so therefore, more holidays.

Brockton was a favorite city for my folks to shop. Both parents were born and brought up there. Sears and Roebuck was the first stop. To park in the rear, you would drive through an opening between two buildings with a large structure above, a rather unusual entrance that intrigued me. This store always had plenty of bikes for me to drool over.

After my folks finished shopping, there was always a stop at the Swedish Bakery on the corner. I will never forget the smell of the freshly baked goods. My Mom would have to buy two loaves of Swedish rye, one for the ride home and one for home. Also a package of knackebrod, a Swedish crisp bread. It came in a paper package glued up on the bottom, so we always opened it from the bottom. Out came a thin, round, greyish brown, cracker-like bread with a hole in the center. It could be broken into pieces easily. I have not seen this round version for years. Now it’s Wasabrod -- Wasa crisp bread -- now cut rectangular. How dull. My Dad said the hole in the middle was to hang it on a pole in the old bakeries. You could buy as many pieces as you wished and the baker would wrap it with brown paper off a large roll, then he would tie it with string. The last Swedish bakery I remember was in Hanover. I do miss that smell and tearing that round loaf of rye open, and eating it dry-raw.

by Ray Freden
Marshfield resident 70 years, Seaview resident 60 years.

Hatches Boat Yard

As a kid from Seaview, I have always been fascinated by Humarock. From as early as I can remember, about 1939, until 1954 when I broke away from my year-around visits, finding other places of interest. However I always have to take a drive up to the Cliff when I'm in the area.

One fall day my Dad piled me into the old Chevy and off to Hatches Boat yard -- I can't remember why. We arrived and Dad parked in front of the shed-like building. We got out and went up a few stairs, through a side door and into the front room. There was a large desk and chair, and some stuff hanging on the wall.

The men and Leon Hatch were in the back room -- but let me describe the building and area.

The area is on the west side of Central Ave, Humarock -- across from Seaview Ave. and the north end of Shore Drive.

The largest building ran with its gables east and west, with large sliding doors on the east side -- they seemed boarded tight, with no ramp or entrance.

The entrance door was on the left side, with maybe 3 steps.

There was a smaller, shed-like building, attached on the left (south side), with two doors. If any boatbuilding was going on, it was in there. There was room to park in front of these doors.

The foundation on the north and west was made of field stones, of which some are still visible today.

Dories were stacked on one another on the south side. On the north side there were tracks that ran from near the street to below the low water line. A cradle with wheels sat on the tracks, and a winch was at the head of the tracks.

There were dories pulled up on the north beach, maybe ten of them. Leon rented out boats to fishermen and hunters.

The building was shingled and silver grey and in poor condition outside. There were two brick chimneys, one in the shed-like building, and one in the west room of the main building.

My Dad and I walked through the front room, knocked, and went into the back room. Oh wow! Four men were sitting around a table, playing cards; a bottle of whiskey sat in the middle. You could hardly see across the room, the cigar and pipe smoke was so thick. The back (west) window was open, so I headed that way.

My Dad was talking to Leon. The others greeted my Dad with a, “Hi Bill.” My Dad worked for Charlie Clark (Clarks Store) from 1927 to 1934, as a clerk and real estate agent, so he was no stranger to the Humarock people.

As I peered out the window, the river was full of ducks and geese! They were acting strange, not moving about as I had seen in Keene's Pond. I asked the man closest to the window about them. He said they were decoys.

“What’s a decoy?” I asked.

He explained they were made of wood, and the ducks thought they were real.

It was coming together now -- guns leaning against the walls, gun shells on the shelf. I was fascinated, I was excited, I wanted to see the ducks come in and land beside the wood ones. No one in our family hunted, so I knew nothing about guns and hunting.

I paid no attention to what my Dad and Leon were talking about. I just kept looking out that window at those decoys. As I turned from the window, I accidentally kicked a gun that was leaning close to the window. It went crashing to the floor. Well all hell broke loose. One man hollered at my Dad to get that G--D--- kid out of here!

Well, I was on the way on my own! Through the door to the front room, out the door, and down the steps into the old Chevy, down on the floor bawling my head off!

Dad was close behind and into the Chevy. Off we left to home. Dad assured me it was an accident and not to worry any longer.

A stop at “Steads,” a bottle of Ballantine Ale and a cigar for Dad, and a candy bar for me. All was well.

The many times that I have passed Hatches, I so remember that day. I never set foot in that building again!

I was recently approached by the current owner of the Hatches Boat Yard property, to see if I knew of any pictures of the building. I do not. However I sketched the building as I remember it.

If anyone has a photo of “Hatches,” he would love a copy.