The Secret History of Boston

[Anna Mae Bollocks]

That whole North Shore is layer upon layer of weirdness. Very cool seeing this!

[Eater of Clowns]

You're really tying the odd bits of history together beautifully.

Thanks!  I'm learning quite a bit about the city, myself.  I'm actually researching this shit!

It's great.  Even that little bit I researched at your suggestion increased my knowledge of the area.  I'm having trouble with the next piece because after its founding, my area was of such historical insignificance that it didn't rate much recording for another hundred or two years.

[LMNO]

That's an easy fix. Make something up, tie it into surrounding history.

You can always fall back on the Native genocide, curses, "found" documents, etc.

[LMNO]

After the revolution, Boston did quite well for itself.  As a trading port, it was very successful, and when manufacturing began to bloom around 1820 or so, things really took off.  Slavery had been abolished in 1783which allowed African Americans the freedom to move about and establish their own trades and thrive, although social mobility was, understandably, still quite limited.

And speaking of social mobility, by the 1840s, what became known as the "Boston Brahmin" had more or less fully developed.  An unofficial aristocracy, the Brahmins consisted of a handful of families, grossly wealthy, privately educated, married amongst their own, and cultivated a distinct accent (think Audrey Hepburn at her most regal).  They were reputed to be philanthropists, community leaders, and supporters of the arts.  They also decried the crass commercialism of the day, although this must be looked at with a closer eye, considering their vast collective wealth.

They began building large houses outside of the city proper, mansions built in tastefully arrogant locations.  One such location was surrounding Jamaica Pond.  After several houses had been built within view of the waters, a de facto gated community had arisen – not physically gated, but the Brahmin presence, as well as their private security, ensured that none of the rabble ventured near (not that they did, much.  There were still tales told to children who lived in the area about spooks and devils that lived in the lake, and save for the very foolish or brave, the pond did not see many visitors).

The seasonal soirees at these mansions (often on or around the solstice and equinox) were much-discussed, primarily because they were closed to the public, taking place in ballrooms located deep within the mansion walls.  Speculation over what went on at these parties ranged from next season's fashion trends to politics and economics.  The only things that were really known were that celebrations ran well past midnight, and that they always ended with the guests promenading down to the pond, where, after a few brief and unheard words, they dispersed.

Another interesting fact to know was that, even though the population soared from 10,000 to 136,000 by 1850, the rates of childhood mortality were staggering.  Much of it was obviously from cramped spaces and poor hygiene, but the rates of violent death or "misadventure" were unusually high, as compared to other regional areas.  The timeframes are also peculiar, as a high number of the children's bodies were found in April, July, October, and January... all of which are in the months following a solstice or equinox.

[P3nT4gR4m]

Just. Fucking. Masterful! 

[The Good Reverend Roger]

I'm enjoying the hell out of this.  I'm having to physically restrain myself from riffing, because I don't want to fuck up the vibe.

[LMNO]

I still have about a hundred years to go, but you can bet I'm going to reveal the TRUTH about Scollay Square.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

I still have about a hundred years to go, but you can bet I'm going to reveal the TRUTH about Scollay Square.

Hell yes.

[Eater of Clowns]

New Bedford, Part II

Old Dartmouth was the name of the little town that came from the dubious land purchase around the Acushnet River.  It encompassed what is now today Dartmouth, Westport, Acushnet, New Bedford, and Fairhaven.  A number of Quaker meeting halls, many of which still stand today, were established by the colonists.  One such hall, existing presently as a dilapidated stone shell by the public works plant in Fairhaven, holds the dubious distinction of not being recognized by their local Quaker fellows.

The Alagonsett Meeting House had its cornerstone laid in 1675 by Josiah Bossenfeld.  His family and neighbors reported his peculiar drive to build in the odd location followed a deadly encounter with a native Wampanoag.

Late one night Bossenfeld awoke in a sweat and stupor.  Unable to calm or communicate with him, his wife and son watched him walk out into the darkness.  As he came nearer to to a small inlet on his land, he spied the Wampanoag, called Alagonsett, standing vigil.  None of Bossenfeld's shakey testimoney could shed light on why he slew the other man, but the following day he dug a fine big stone from his land and laid it on the very same spot.  Neglecting his work for weeks, Josiah built, stone by stone, what became Alagonsett Meeting House.

King Phillip's War took Josiah when Dartmouth was attacked on July 8th of that same year.  It was his son Jacob who, years later, initiated the gatherings at his father's hall.  Despite its condemnation from members of the nearby Smith Neck, Allens Neck, and Apponegansett Meeting Houses, a number of area residents heeded Jacob's call.  Alagonsett, for unknown reasons, stood notorious even among the Quakers' accepting practitioners.

Shortly thereafter, what was no more than a loose affiliation of farm oriented townships around the Acushnet River became an increasingly populated area beginning its journey to historical significance.  The time prior to the incorporation of Westport, Fairhaven, Acushnet, and New Bedford was marked with increased hostilities between neighbors and estrangement between the villages.  Still, it would be nearly a century of the quiet mistrust, the rumors of curses and hobbled men, before New Bedford would emerge unto its own.

[P3nT4gR4m]

I'm with Roger - I don't have anything to add to this thread other than mittens but EOC is bringing it!

[LMNO]

I like the ominous, yet mostly innocuous, tone of EOCs.  As they say, "I like where this thread is going."

[LMNO]

The late 19th and early 20th century saw a large influx of immigrants to Boston from the Caribbean islands, as well as an increase in the production of molasses, which was (besides being used as a popular sweetener) distilled to make alcohol for munitions; and of course, its tastier counterpart, rum.  In fact, one of the origin stories for Jamaica Plain is that it refers to that town's preference for rum ("Jamaica") neat, without any mixer ("Plain").  It was used partially as a description, and partly as an epithet, as the new immigrants gravitated towards that area, and was split off from Roxbury in 1851.

Smaller houses began appearing around the pond, much to the Brahmin's distain, and there was a brief period of "white flight" from the area which resulted, by 1873, in the area being almost completely populated by people from the islands (with the exception of working-class Irish, but hey, they were everywhere).

Of course, people bring their cultures with them, and by the early 1900's a casual observer would begin to see small additions to the local churches.  Mirrors became more prevalent, as did offerings left at the feet of Mary and/or Jesus.  Evening Mass became very popular, often lasting late into the night, with congregants singing, dancing, and praying in their original language accompanied by music and drumming.  Of course, soon enough followed rumors of more "questionable" activities taking place after hours.  Whispers of devil worship and sacrifices filled the local pubs in neighboring towns.

Things came to a head on Christmas night in 1918.  The police "happened" to encounter a Midnight Mass on Pond Street, and made a gruesome discovery:

"Inside, the Police found thirty to forty Negros engaged in lewd and ungodly acts while half-score drummers hammered out a primitive rhythm.  Spatters of blood drenched the base of the Virgin Mary's statue, with a slain goat lay at her feet."
– Boston Post, December 27, 1918

The police arrested those inside, and barred the doors of the church.  The civic outrage upon hearing the tales (which by that point had grown into wild tales, even going so far as child sacrifice) grew by the week; and finally, on January 14, 1919, a night where temperatures dropped to at least two degrees Fahrenheit, a mass of angry citizens stormed the county jail, dragged out the prisoners, and hung them, right on the street.  So incensed were the mob, they lynched the prisoners regardless of whether they were part of the church group arrested.  Despite occurring not twenty yards from the police station, no arrests were made that evening.

The following day, temperatures grew exceedingly warm, rising at least forty-eight degrees in just a few hours.  It was a Wednesday, and life proceeded normally in and around Boston.  At around 12:35 PM, a loud rumbling sound could be heard in the vicinity of the Puritan Distilling facility in the North End.  Witnesses later reported the booming sounds resembled nothing if not laughter, and some reported seeing a man with a cane and broad-brimmed straw hat in Keany Square, next to the 2,300,000 gallon tank of molasses seconds before the accident, but these reports cannot be confirmed.

What is undeniable is that the tank ruptured and fell, sending an immense wave of molasses between 8 and 15 feet high, moving at 35 mph, through the square and down Commercial Street.  With a force of roughly two tons per square foot, the wave destroyed buildings, toppled cars, and even bent the girders on the elevated railway on Atlantic Avenue.  The monstrous force of the flood claimed not only property, but lives, as well.  Swept away, crushed, and suffocated in the sticky, sweet juggernaut were twenty-one residents of Boston, ranging in age from ten years of age to seventy-six.  It took four days before search for victims was called off; many dead were so glazed over in molasses, they were hard to recognize.

Though not publicly reported, archived records show that the number of lynched congregants also numbered twenty-one.

In Haitian Vodou, Papa Legba is the intermediary between the loa and humanity. He stands at a spiritual crossroads and usually appears as an old man on a crutch or with a cane, wearing a broad brimmed hat and smoking a pipe.  He is said to be the bringer of vengeance, and can be appeased with offerings of rum and cane sugar.

More to come

[P3nT4gR4m]

Just. Fucking. Masterful! 

I got nothing else!

[Pergamos]

The molasses flood as divine retribution is a beautiful touch.

[Eater of Clowns]

Yes, this thread!  I'm glad you haven't abandoned it.  I haven't either, I think I have at least two more pieces I can add about New Bedford.