Town of Long Island, Maine [3/29/2013]

As a requirement for my Casco Bay Islands course, I visited the Town of Long Island, Maine. I was accompanied by two group members, and together we rode the ferry over, visited the school, the post office, and the conservation area before returning to Portland.

After getting off the boat, we hopped in a green Ford Windstar, with a "school bus" sign adorning its roof. The bus driver introduced himself as Chet, and joyfully gave us a brief synopsis of island history, pointing out all of the World War II buildings as we made our way to the school. The school consisted of two classrooms: K-2 and 3-5. There were two main teachers, an ed tech, a librarian, and several volunteers in addition to technology that connected all of the island students. The school appeared brand new and was absolutely beautiful. The students were cheery and enthusiastic about island life, reiterating time and time again how much they cherished their freedom.

Long Island was originally settled by members of the Abenaki tribes of Maine. The island was primarily used as a summer settlement due to the richness of marine food stores and farmable land. In 1706, John Russell of Boston was the first European settler to purchase the island (Vertical File). For the next twenty-six years the island changed ownership and became undesirable colonial property due to the frequency and dangers of the Indian wars. However, in 1732 Captain Ezekiel Cushing exchanged land in Portland and accumulated Long Island for his own family dwelling (Vertical File). His family is considered the first permanent settlers of Long Island and depended largely on their farming skills for survival. The Cushing surname is still prevalent in Casco Bay today.

The nineteenth century witnessed a population boom on the island and as noted in 1930: "in fact Long Island has since its earliest history bred and raised a hardy race of sailors and fishermen" (Vertical File). During the later half of the nineteenth century and turn of the twentieth century, railroads and automobiles hastened life on the mainland but also allowed Americans to road trip to nearby vacation destinations. Due to the onslaught of technology on the mainland, island life became more appealing for rusticators— Governor Cleaves sought refuge on Long Island off and on from 1870-1921 (Vertical File). The rusticators’ influence is evidenced as early as 1927 the first Catholic “summer” Church was built on Long Island as a destination for summer residents (Vertical File).

Technology on the island also improved as fishing equipment and commercial and recreational vessels transformed. Fishing became Long Island’s claim to fame, though farming was still practiced by individual families for their own subsistence. Furthermore, WWII brought technological innovation to Long Island, with a naval base and the recreational accouterments. Additionally, WWII exposed islanders to a large non-island population. The remnants of WWII, both the physical and the sentimental, are still relevant to today’s island culture.

The later half of the twentieth century was largely responsible for Long Island’s transformation from a ward of the City of Portland to an independent town. In 1953, the island built their first school that served students K-6^th grade. While the school faced closure in 1981, it has since survived and recently undergone $850,000 in renovations to include a computer lab, library, and theater (Vertical File). In 1979, the old naval fuel depot was investigated by the Maine Department of Environmental Protection and in the last decade was turned into a conservation area that attracts rusticators and playful island children, alike (Vertical File). Since becoming a town in 1993, Long Island has not only refurbished their school and built a conservation area; they have also purchased a new fire truck, school bus, and a historical society to preserve their rich legacy.

Long Island serves as a microcosm for idealized Maine character: their work ethic, appreciation of simplicity, ability to rule autonomously, and socialization habits similar to those portrayed in Jewett's novel, The Country of The Pointed Firs. 

Sources:

Vertical File at Maine Historical Society

http://school.long-island.lib.me.us

Blueberry Rakers Exhibit [4/23/2013]

On a class field trip, I toured the Maine Blueberry Rakers exhibit at the Portland Museum of Art. As I made my way to the fourth floor, I spent time looking at the Maine Marines-- which were absolutely incredible. From the Wyeth family to current local artists, they captured the essence of Maine marine cultures. I was so impressed by the diverse perceptions of the Maine coast: from the working waterfront to the rusticator's paradise, in buoyant color or jaded tones, with severe outline to hazy flow. As I moved up toward the fourth floor, I encountered fewer and fewer people and by the time I reached the fourth floor, I stood alone amongst an intimidating crew of blueberry rakers.

The black and white photos lined the walls in perfect precision. I did a quick sweep through, noticing the variety of blueberry rakers: migrant workers, Maine families, elderly men, and young children. Yet there seemed to be a pervasive culture that united them. As I studied the portraits, I saw lots of tattoos, piercings, cigarettes, booze, tough looking dogs, old cars, stern faces, and tired bodies but I also saw dancing, card games, children playing in the dirt, and smiling faces. I was caught completely off guard by the Blueberry Raker culture.  

Robert McClosky's Blueberries for Sal had left me with the impression that blueberries were obviously harvested by cutesy, somewhat well-to do, Maine farm families whose life's lot was contented. Photographer David Brooks Stess helped cure my McClosky disillusionment.

David Brooks Stess is a New Jersey native who spent the majority of his childhood in Florida. He is a photographer and seasonal worker and relies on the blueberry, apple, and Christmas tree industries in order to survive. Stess has dedicated the last twenty years to photographing blueberry rakers in an attempt to "capture the grittiness of life on the margins of society, as well as human experience tied to a very specific landscape" (Exhibit's Brochure). His non-native origins offer him the unique perspective to reveal a way of life whose reality is often neglected or idealized by Maine's blueberry pride. However, Stess may have more blueberry pride than any disillusioned Mainer. As Richard Russo, a Pulitzer prize recipient, writes "You sense how proud he is of his skill, his physical dexterity, proud to do the same hard work on the barrens as the folks who must" (Exhibit's Brochure). Stess is largely preserving a way of life. His photographs are a celebration of the Blueberry Rakers world while simultaneously critiquing the society that surrounds them. He could not be more proud of the physical nature or agricultural expertise the rakers have, however he is critical of the world's condescending view of agricultural workers.

Both at the museum and in the written reviews of his exhibit, his photographs have been described as "unsentimental." I have struggled with this notion, largely because as one digests these images it is an experience far from unsentimental. Russo may provide insight to such a haunting description as he claims that Stess' photos read like "a Thomas Hardy novel, where the borders between character and object and landscape blur" (Brochure). This is the only way I have come to understand Stess' work as unsentimental-- the cohesiveness of character, object, and landscape wash out any one emotionally derivative focus and instead offer the entire piece as an undeniable force. So while Stess' photo's may not wreak of sentiment, they elicit emotional reactions from viewers.

Despite Stess' Jersey roots, he has perfected one of Maine's most Maine attribute: griping (in its most positive connotation) about a, soon to be and forever inevitable, lost way of life. Physical labor is so critical to Maine's work ethic, that such a loss, would raise the question "what is it to be a Mainer?" Could you picture a state full of people working from home, behind their computers? Stess' portrayal of the blueberry rakers perfectly preserves the notion and importance of physical labor.

Sources:
Portland Museum of Art
http://themarlowebookshelf.blogspot.com/2010/09/blueberries-for-sal.html (photo credits)

USS Portland Memorial [4/30/2013]

The view of Casco Bay from the Eastern Prom is one of my favorite parts of living on the East End. However, I have often complained about "the awkward cell phone tower" in Fort Allen Park that obstructs the horizon line (accompanied with the massive condominium complex). Well, come to find out, the "awkward cell phone tower" has another, more official, title: the USS Portland Memorial. And what appears to be a cell tower is actually the top of the mast, the bridge sheet, and the bell "from one of the most decorated ships in WWII," as the sign read. 

I sat inside the monument which was a re-creation of the USS Portland's deck. The metal hull blocked the wind beautifully and the concrete slab warmed my chilled legs. Aside from the mast, a granite and bronze memorial decorated the ship's deck. It listed the battles the USS Portland fought in: Coral Sea, Midway, Guadalcanal, Kiska, Tarawa, Makin, Marshalls, Palau, Hollandia, Leyte Landings, Surigao Strait, Manila Bay, Okinawa, and ultimately the USS Portland "accepted Japanese surrender at Truk on September 2, 1945 (Bronze Plaque). Along the inside of the metal hull, a great big white sign was posted that detailed the history of the USS Portland in addition to the memorial's history. As I walked along the outside of the memorial, a lovely little pup named Charlie greeted me. And his owner (whose name I sadly forget) and I talked about the secret gems of Portland history-- including the USS Portland Memorial which neither of us had ever explored despite being Portland lifers (and he had put in about fifty more years than I have).

The USS Portland was built out of Quincy, MA in 1929 but named after the beloved City of Portland.  She was commissioned in 1932 by the daughter of the chairman of Portland's city council: twelve year old Mary Brooks. Thanks to prohibition (and her young age) Brooks "'christened' the ship with a bottle of sparkling water" (USS Portland Memorial). Prior to the war, the USS Portland was first to respond to the AKRON disaster that saw the loss of 73 seamen. She also took Franklin D. Roosevelt on an elaborate fishing trip from San Diego to the Panama Canal. The USS Portland was referred to fondly as "Sweet Pea" by her crew and spent the rest of her peacetime training in the Pacific. She was two days out from Pearl Harbor when the Japanese attacked. Following the attacks, she participated in WWII from 1942-1945. During the war, the ship experienced torpedo attacks, extensive gunfire, and trying weather. She endured 16 battle scars before succumbing to a hurricane during "Operation Magic Carpet" (a mission designed to bring American troops home from Europe) in December of 1945. Despite the loss of several crew members and a severely disfigured hull, she limped back to New York City and was officially declared unseaworthy on July 12, 1946.

In 1959, Maine native and prominent business man, Arthur Forestall, rescued the USS Portland from demolition and suggested that its worthy remnants be placed in Fort Allen Park for public display. Fifty years after Forestall's original construction, the memorial was beginning to deteriorate. Former US Marine, Bill Whitten, raised funds to restore the monument to the splendor displayed today.

"On November 11, 2008, 75 years after the ship was commissioned, she was rededicated by Mary Elizabeth Brooks Doughty, but this time with real champagne" (USS Portland Memorial).

The USS Portland Memorial is not only a critical reminder of US military history, but also a representation of Maine's contributions to national efforts. Despite our isolated geography (and arguably , our isolated ideology) it is a nice reminder of our country's solidarity. Additionally, the USS Portland Memorial serves as an excellent example of Maine's pride in historical preservation. Though it is often a joke that Mainers live in the past, Arthur Forestall and Bill Whitten are admirable citizens for their efforts to preserve such important local, national, and international history, here, in the City of Portland

Sources: USSPortland.org 

The Cleeve and Tucker Memorial

As I was walking back to my apartment from a Monument Square site visit, the mini Washington Monument caught my eye. It had been yet another monument that sunk into the background of my life, though I often stopped my runs there to stretch, aided by the support of the short rod iron fence. The monument had four names across the base: Portland, Falmouth, Casco, and Machigonne. The Congress St. side of the monument read: In honor of George Cleeves, founder of Portland, 1633.

Fort Allen Park [4/30/2013]

It was an absolutely beautiful April afternoon, and I was making my way through Fort Allen Park, discovering memorial after memorial just feet from my front door. Many people littered the park-- but none of them payed much attention to the cannons, decorated benches, maps, and memorials. There was a group of teenagers tanning-- which made for an awkward situation when I was photographing the park. I finally confessed that I was not a creep, but rather a local history student (unfortunately, I don't think that helped my case any). There was the usual gathering of middle aged men looking longingly to the sea on their lunch break, as if recalling fond memories or taking a moment to figure out their lives. I remember my dad driving us down to Fort Allen park to watch the sailboats. I would be quick to point out the first white triangle I saw in a sea of blue, expecting to have fulfilled my boat watching duties, but much to my dismay my dad would stare out at the bay for an eternity longer than a seven year old could stand. However, today I did not mind watching the sailboats. And to perfect the boat watching atmosphere, there was a young woman with headphones in, who boisterously sang along to her own tunes. 

I started at the top of the park and worked my way down the hill. The first historically significant items I came across were two unmarked cannons that stood guarded behind a grassy embankment on the top of the hill. (It gave me a very strange sense of security to think if Portland was ever attacked via the bay, I could hop behind a cannon and defend the city). As I made my way down the hill, I found the most perfect reading bench. The bench read: Eternal Vigilance is the price of liberty, one country and one flag, in memory of the grand army of the republic, dedicated September 9, 1929 by the Daughters of Union Veterans of the Civil War 1861-1865. So at this point, I was under the impression that Fort Allen Park is yet another celebration of the Civil War. However as I continued down the hill, I found another monument tucked away in a blissful looking garden (that I would have missed altogether if I had not directed a look of disdain toward the condominiums that obstruct the Prom's view of Casco Bay).

The memorial commemorated the lives lost in the September 11th terrorist attacks. It read: "If but one life be saved and one soul be comforted, all gave some, some gave all, and some still give. In honor and memory of all those who lost their lives in the rescue efforts of September 11, 2001. In a bronze plaque laid in the brick work are names of seven Maine men and women who gave their lives to the rescue efforts of 9/11: James M. Roux, Robert Norton, Jacqueline Norton, Robert Jalbert, Stephen G. Ward, Commander Robert A. Schlegel, and Carol Glyzik. I had finally found one monument my parents didn't exhaust in my childhood, but it was especially spooky because of its presence in the not so distant past. When I think of 9/11, I largely associate it with New York, and this monument encouraged my to broaden my understanding of the devastating impacts of the terrorist attacks-- their pervasive and far reaching consequences. I often think of Maine as a lone, isolate, safe state (to which there is certainly truth), but this memorial is proof that national events affect Maine peoples, and Maine peoples affect national events.

Recovering from a rather melancholy viewing of the 9/11 memorial, I encountered another canon and the bottom of the hill. But this cannon was decorated with a bronze plaque, unlike the ones at the entrance of the park. The plaque read: "gun recovered from the USS Maine, sunk in the harbor of Havana, Cuba, February 15, 1898." Finally! My horrible, non-historian-conducive-memory recalled a lesson from a high school history class. I smiled as I remembered learning about yellow journalism and how the USS Maine's untimely demise was not the fault of any foreign entity, but arguably a staged precursor to a desired war. It's amazing how much more exciting historical monuments are when you've learned about their context. 

Now that I'd made it down the hill and through the majority of Fort Allen Park (the 1890's bandstand was occupied by tanning teenagers as mentioned previously, and the USS Portland Memorial is another post) I decided that it was a military park, aimed at celebrating the contributions of Mainers throughout centuries of militaristic encounters: Revolutionary War, Civil War, Spanish American War, and the September 11th terrorist attacks. Upon further research, I learned that Fort Allen Park is a 4.5 acre area and was originally built as a fort in 1775. It was named after Commander William Henry Allen who was in the US Navy from 1784-1813. And in my favorite sentence ever written on a memorial's description "No shots were ever fired in anger from Fort Allen" but perhaps in joy, fright, or apathy? 

The Friends of the Eastern Promenade are currently working to restore the park with "historic landscape elements while balancing current needs such as ADA accessibility."

Sources:

http://easternpromenade.org/project-priorities/fort-allen-park-restoration-2/

The Maine Lobsterman [1/15/2013]

       

[proof]: Portland's Lobsterman Sculpture

When I started my site visits on a rather warm January afternoon, I wanted to learn about the monuments that hid [ever so prominently] in Portland's backdrop. The Maine Lobsterman was the first sculpture that entered my mind. I have fading childhood memories of my dad making me read the bronze plaques while we walked through the Old Port-- and every time we passed the lobsterman, he would pause and gaze (for what seemed like far too long). As I approached the Lobsterman sculpture, there was not a soul in the surrounding area, nor really anything for that matter. The park was spotless with the exception of a few scattered patches of snow and a banana peel so appropriately laid to rest like a lobster.

A lobster shaped banana peel

Despite the sunshine, ample outdoor seating spaces, and its location in the hub of downtown, the Lobsterman sculpture was oddly undisturbed-- it was one of the first times I had seen the area so empty. When I approached the Lobsterman ten years later, and without my father, I spent a significant amount of time staring at the bronze face of a hardworking lobsterman before reading the plaque "The Maine Lobsterman/ By Victor Kahill/ for the World's Fair AD 1939/placed in this public square/ by the Portland City Council AD 1977." At first I appreciated the simple, vague description of such an iconic Maine sculpture, but after realizing that there were more words that described how the statue ended up outside the Nickelodeon then how it represents Maine character (which perhaps can go unsaid?) I ended up with mixed feelings.

The Maine Lobsterman sculpture, outside of the Nickelodeon, is one of three Maine Lobsterman sculptures in the world. The others reside on Bailey's Island and in Augusta-- until its 1979 move to Maine Ave. in Washington DC.  Today's Lobsterman sculptures are only reconstructions of the original. The state of Maine sought out Victor Kahill, a Lebanese immigrant, to capture the spirit of Maine via sculpture. He crafted the original lobsterman sculpture for the 1939 World's fair in New York. His project ran out of funding, and he had to abandon the idea of casting his sculpture in bronze. Ultimately, he constructed the Maine Lobsterman using plaster, which he then painted bronze. After its limelight at the World's Fair and then further display in the city of Portland, the plaster started to deteriorate and it was stored in a warehouse for the duration. In 1973, funds the Maine legislation appropriated $30,000 for three bronze castings of Kahill's lobsterman. 

But who was Kahill's lobsterman? Elroy Johnson was a Harpswell fisherman, who was known as a boisterous spokesperson for the fishing community. He frequented meetings in Augusta, and was hired as a Maritime consultant under Governor Edward Muskie’s lead. Although “Johnson was not elected by his peers to pose for the sculpture” Muskie affirms “that had there been an election held among the fishermen of Maine in 1939, he would have been chosen” (Bangor Daily News). While it seems as though Maine fishermen unanimously supported Johnson, there was not such unified support for Kahill’s interpretation of Johnson in his sculpture. Maine fisherman disagreed with Kahill’s choice of dress, arguing that Johnson should have been captured wearing a  sou’wester. In addition, they thought that Johnson should have been standing, instead of kneeling, while he pegged the lobster. And finally, they were disappointed that Johnson’s dog, Bruin, was not part of the sculpture. Perhaps less for their genuine affection for Bruin, and moreso their desire to represent Maine lobsterman in a more accurate light—which obviously includes showing off one’s boat dog. Most interestingly, the state of Maine seemed to regret excluding Bruin, and upon the unveiling of the statue, issued the dog a bona fide lobster license. Welcome to politics in Maine.  

Sources:

http://www.workingwaterfront.com/articles/Maine-Lobsterman-Memorial-to-Remain-on-Washington-DC-Waterfront/14801