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, and a general store here and there.

Feinberg’s Clothing Store on Ocean St.

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.

Smitty’s Bread truck. c. ’40’s

         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.

The Welch Co. Front St. Scituate.          A 1893 George Welch ad.

 

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.

When in season,  baby chickens. Yes, chickens, — the baby chicks would be in a long high box on the counter with light bulbs 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  slaughtered   for the holidays. Many times we got more roosters than hens, so therefore, we just had 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 sealed 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.

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 then tearing that round loaf of rye open, and eating it dry-raw.

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

Hatch’s 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.

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 boat building 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.                                                                                                                                                                                                                      The gunning stand  on the river side.

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.

The store, cottages, boat building barn & machine shop on the Ocean side.     These two paintings are as I remember the Hatch’s.            W. Ray Freden.

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.

                                             The last ship built at Hatch’s.

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 Hatch’s, I so remember that day. And never set foot in that building again!

Ariel  of Hatch’s taken in 1940.

                                                   Hatch’s as seen from offshore.

                                                Hatch’s as seen from the river.

Excerpts from ———

On the right was my grandmothers house, to the right of her house, the old store, garage, boat shop and machine shop. The ridge camp was right on the ocean and every few years rocks were bulldozed up to protect it. You could sit on the roof in lawn chairs and enjoy the view. My grandmother rented it out to some people who had a house on Nantucket that did just that.There were some cottages to the left of her house that had been collapsible they still had hooks and eyes and used to be taken down in the fall and chained down so they wouldn’t wash away if the ocean came over the ridge and covered with marsh hay during the shooting season. A couple of these cottages had long term renters that were there every summer and took care of the houses as if they owned them.

I was born in 1946 and by the time I was old enough to notice it was pretty run down. I was only actually in that building once or twice. People were robbing the place blind, especially stealing the mounted birds etc. Because they were preserved using arsenic there was concern that someone could be harmed. There was a moose head from a hunting trip to Canada during prohibition, booze was smuggled home as mincemeat of course real mincemeat has booze in it and this had more than its share. My dad donated the moose head to a moose lodge and off it went in the back of his 1947 Studebaker truck, antlers hanging over the sides. For those who aren’t familiar with the Studebaker truck ,they weren’t very big. I saw one a few years ago and was shocked at how small it actually was.

To the right of grandmothers house was the old store a small building up on 4 blocks. This was the only building that made it through the 78 blizzard pretty much unscathed. There were three long buildings ,long side parallel with Central Ave., the garage, boat shop and machine shop. Behind that was the ridge camp. Grandmothers backyard was surrounded by a low cement wall there was the oil house on the right. To the left up near to the house a cistern, just behind that a brick structure about the size of a grill,it had a galvanized liner and this is where they used to cook lobsters back in the day. When the lobsters went in they ran a flag up the flagpole to let people know that there would be fresh cooked lobsters for sale. To the left of the house was the long camp, next to that 1 or 2 small cottages 1 was Delaneys and behind that up on the ridge was Johnson’s. I’m going to play with your photo and see if I can see it better.

I think they were taken after the 1938 hurricane. The house on the right in the top photo was the main house where my grandmother lived, the buildings in the other picture were to the left of the main house.The building in the top left of the second photo was demolished at some point, all the others I remember.

 

This clipping isn’t in the best shape and the year is missing.I looked on a perpetual calendar and Feb. 24 fell on a Saturday in 1923, 1934. I feel that it was 1934 because my dad made the half model and Leon took it before my dad was finished with it.My dad was 22 in 1934. I have the half model.

The stories, I have plenty of those as my father was a great storyteller. The agents knew they were running booze out of Hatch’s but only ever found a small bottle of blackberry brandy in the safe. During a raid my dad ,carrying a burlap sack of bottles, ducked into the outhouse, hung the bag below the seat on a nail, pulled down his pants and sat. The agent opened the door, said excuse me sir and left.

 

 

 

Learning to Drive on Central Ave. in Humarock

It must have been 1940. I was coming up to 6 years old. On Saturdays, late afternoon, Dad would drive his old Chevy to Steads store to get a bottle of Ballantine Ale and a cigar. I would beg him to drive to Fourth Cliff. We would drive over the hump in the old wooden bridge, pass Dick Smith’s garage, and make a left on Central Ave. Stopping near the Humarock Lodge, I would climb into his lap so I could steer and shift.

Dick Smiths Garage & Residence, Corner of  Marshfield Ave. & Central Ave., Humarock. c.mid 30s.

                                                      Humarock Lodge. c. mid 1930’s.

Dad taught me how to shift the 3-on-the-floor. Dad would operate the clutch and gas; I would steer & shift.

“Okay, into first,” he would say. Away we went.

“Okay, into second.” We went faster!

“Okay, into third’.” We were flying! Maybe 30 miles an hour past Hatches boat yard.

We turned at the base of Fourth Cliff and returned to the Lodge. I would take my place in the passenger side, then urge my Dad to go fast over the hump in the bridge — which he did. All the wheels flew into the air! Or at least that’s what I thought. No, we didn’t tell Mom ’til years later.

During the war years, there were fewer trips to the Cliff because of travel restrictions. Dad worked for the Boston Record American Newspaper and had a news reporter pass, so we were let through the barricade, and no, he wasn’t a reporter. Dad did not allow me to drive in Humarock during those times.

After the war, I could drive without sitting in Dad’s lap, so off to Humarock for a drive out to the Cliff, or south Humarock to Carl Moreheart’s parking lot next to Rexhame Beach.

 

W. Ray Freden, Marshfield/Seaview 70 Years.