|The view from my friend's dorm room|
It's Memorial Day today in the States (hope you're having a great day if you're celebrating it) and I've realized in thinking about Memorial Days and Victoria Days of yore that it was exactly 30 years ago this past week that I took my only trip to Boston to visit a friend who was finishing up at Harvard by the name of John Rose. 30 years ago today I was sitting in a repertory theatre in Cambridge, Massachusetts watching the Bogie and Bacall classic, To Have and Have Not for the first time. My girlfriend, Jeanette, and I had just bought a brand-new Civic - my first car - and I had turned 21 only a week earlier. John was writing his finals around that time but he assured us we could crash in his dorm and it wouldn't get in his way (because he is a super-genius). New car, legal drinking age, free lodging: sign me up!
|I loved this facade being kept alive|
|Charles River in more modern times|
|Fenway Park, with Pesky's Pole prominently featured|
My friends and I had a terrific time in Boston while John was studying or writing finals. We visited Faneuil Hall, we saw Logan airport which juts out into the waters of Massachusetts Bay, we spent some time at Beacon Hill. Boston is quite a beautiful city, or at least it was in 1982 to be sure. We also saw Chariots of Fire at a theatre downtown; I remember both how wonderful that movie is and how huge the theatre seats were: about 1.5 times the size of the ones I was used to in Toronto. That memory really stands out.
And then on the Thursday, the day before it would be overrun with people for the rest of the summer as Memorial Day weekend began, we visited Cape Cod. We drove nearly all the way up to Provincetown, driving a little past Truro and then heading west to Cape Cod Bay. It was a gorgeous day and we spent a couple of hours hanging out on the completely deserted beaches, all of the summer homes which looked down on us still being boarded up for the winter just past. My pictures of that trip, of that day especially, are beginning to fade now, but here are the four of us on the beach, playing a little paddleball with the "Hebrew Paddles" John had brought along and strolling some of the miles of sand.
My dad used to make the trip to "The Cape" several times a year, driving down from Montreal in his MGB. He would have been about the same age as we were in those pictures. Looking at them is conflicting: on the one hand, I can't believe we were ever that young; on the other, I still feel like that 21-year-old inside. But this remains my only visit to Boston; I'd love to get back there some day.