MyLivingLegacy

This is me in 1973!

Nantucket is an island 30 miles off the coast of Massachusetts. In Native-American it means "far away land" and it certainly seemed that way to me.

I was born in Nantucket in the summer of 1942, on the 4^th of July. As a matter of fact I was seven years old before I realized that the parades and fireworks were not just to celebrate my birthday but the birthday of a nation.

The island is a picturesque resort by summer and in those days a bleak and desolate place by winter. Much has changed since I grew up there But like all things much has stayed the same.

Tourism was the summer industry and scalloping was the winter industry. Coming from a poor family spring and fall were the times when we were busy opening and closing summer homes for the wealthy summer visitors.

So at a very early age I was made aware that there were people of great wealth, who could afford to have huge homes that they only lived in 3 months of the year and, that these same people traveled with an entourage, arriving on the island with maids, nannies, cooks and numerous vehicles. I could not, at that age, however, comprehend what caused these people to have such wealth and for my family to be without similar means.

We were an extended family, as were most of the Cape Verdean families on the island. There were lots of uncles and aunts and grandparents. Everyone worked and often more than one job but we were all living in one house, more than one to a bedroom. There were some old cars in the family but most of us walked. The island is only 12 miles long and 3 miles wide, so it wasn't a big problem not to have a car.

From as early as I can remember, I always had a job during the summer, either cutting grass, house cleaning or caddying at the golf course. At the age of 16 I got my first legal job washing dishes at the Downy Flake Donut Shop. My take-home pay was $33.52 for a 40-hour week.

When I wasn't working I would ride my bike down town or to the wharf and watch the boats. Many of my friends would dive for coins at the wharf but I couldn't swim, so I would guard their clothes while they were in the water. I don't know if you have ever seen kids diving for coins. The idea was to catch the "day-trippers" on the return ferry about 20 minutes before departure. The kids would get into the water and yell to the tourists "toss a coin (I'll) dive down and get it." Most of the tourists would throw quarters and sometimes nickels and the kids would retrieve them as they zigzagged to the bottom, return to the surface, show the coin to the tourist and store it in their mouths. Occasionally some cheapskate would throw in a penny, which the divers would ignore. This would go on until the boat whistle blew indicating that the engines were about to start.

On the island, in the summer, the trappings of wealth surrounded me. There were huge homes, enormous yachts, luxury cars of all makes and models, private clubs and exclusive shops. I can recall spending lots of time drinking in my surroundings. I would fantasize about being in a fancy boat or car that I saw and I would wonder, what in the world do these people do that has allowed them to have so much? It was not only the adults. I saw their children on the tennis courts, driving fancy cars and speedboats. But it was like we were on different planets. But don’t get me wrong I had a great time growing up on Nantucket, many summers of great adventures. Because when the workday was over poor folks knew how to have fun and there were lots of inexpensive ways to do that on the Island.

Winters were another story. Once Labor Day came the island turned into a skeleton of its summer-self. The stores were boarded up, the people were gone and the winter meant opening scallops in a cold drafty shanty on the wharf. When you open scallops you are paid piecework, so the faster you can fill up the pint container, used to measure your output, the more you made. Each boat was allowed only so many bushels per day per person, so once the scallops were thrown on the bench, for opening, that was all there would be for the day and the person who was the fastest opener made the most money. This was my introduction to the concept of competition and scarce resources, in the workplace. I got quite good at it but I was far from being the best. The best openers had their own special knives and when they got going it was a sight to behold as shells, guts and scallops flew through the air in what appeared to be a choreographed performance.

It was not long before I realized that I could neither compete nor survive if I was to make my life as a manual laborer. My hands were too soft and my threshold for pain too low to endure the hard life. I needed a way out. I could not have been more than 10 years old when I began my search. I knew what I did not want to do but I had no idea what I could do.

...excerpt from my memoir, I'm on the Computer. Link found under the My Works tab.