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I took this photo of the Paul Revere monument just a few weeks after the bombing. You can't see the candles that were lit at the base, but it was touching nonetheless. One of my favorite spots in my favorite city.
Showing posts with label Boston. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Boston. Show all posts
Friday, May 2, 2014
Monday, November 4, 2013
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Wise words from an old redcoat
Wander the green grasses of Boston Common as I did on a warm April day, and you might come across him, pacing this way and that in front of the Tremont Street Visitor’s Center. You’ll immediately know who I’m talking about, because even in this ancient city, where history seeps through every cobblestone, he’ll be the only one wearing the blood red uniform of a British redcoat.
His name is Michael Szkolka. He’s a professor of history at Quincy College who came to Boston four decades ago for school and never left. He has a master’s in history from the University of Massachusetts, does some Revolutionary War reenacting on the side, has never acted or gotten on stage, and is a poor guitar player.
But something happens when the short, stocky 61-year-old (who both looks and sounds remarkably like Liam Neeson) wraps that uniform around his shoulders — it’s as if the old Common, once used as the site of public hangings and the base camp of the British Army, reawakens, and he is the only one that sees it.
And twice a day, most days, it’s his job to make us see it too, as he leads groups around part of the city’s "Freedom Trail," a 2.5-mile walking path that brings visitors to the city’s most historic colonial sites.
Two months ago, my girlfriend and I had the good fortune of stumbling upon his tour. Well, we thought it good fortune. Others … well, let’s just say that if you’re looking for coddling (and really, who wants that while on vacation?) he is not the man to see. Not about history, at least. Or politics. Or religion. Or … you get the point.
"A lot of these tour guides are actors," he says gazing at a loud bonnet-wearing young woman who stands on a bench gesturing wildly while going through her script. "I am not an actor," he says with cold disdain.
A young boy waves out the window of his tour bus. He doesn’t wave back. He portrays a redcoat, he says, because the uniform is attractive, and if he’s going to reenact, he won’t wear shabbier clothes than he does in real life. And if you’re looking for a conventional tour, his opening line will shatter your illusions.
"History is not here to make you feel good," he tells the small group, a tight smile on his lips. "It’s here to make you feel guilty."
And that line is why he is so damned good at what he does — because for Szkolka, it’s not about comforting the line of tourists trailing behind him with the old bedtime tales of American history that they were raised on. It’s about the truth.
He tells us bluntly that America didn’t win because we fought like Indians while the British lined up in neat rows. We won because of our resilience, and because by the end of the war, other nations were bankrolling our fight and Britain was more or less fighting a world war on several continents.
Also, Paul Revere didn’t ride through quiet city Boston screaming "the British are coming" on that fabled night in April 1775, he says, because all colonists back then considered themselves British. (Revere really said "The regulars are coming.") Plus, shouting warnings on what was actually a very secret mission would be very ill-advised.
One by one, the dogmatic stories about the group of musket-toting farmers who gutshot an empire die sudden deaths. Sometimes this offends his audience, but for Szkolka, that’s the price of admission to an alternate view that he says is based on evidence and source material, not wishful thinking.
"When the British talk about the American Revolution, they speak objectively about it: ‘We should have done this better, that better.’ When Americans talk about the revolution, it’s ‘The world’s begun anew,’" he later said. "I don’t know that I disagree with that, but I don’t believe it with the intensity that a lot of other people do."
And, as his words claw apart time and jar open a window to the past lives of the Massachusetts State House, the Granary Burial Ground, and the Old South Meeting House, he is also subtly (okay, maybe not so subtly) holding the mirror up to us as well and showing that, what with America’s recent foreign wars, trampling of civil liberties, and propensity for acting like the bully on the block, we aren’t much different from those old redcoats.
His uniform, in fact, might just symbolize America in the 21st century as much as it does Britain in the 18th.
"I think we’re much more like them than we like to admit," he said.
But that’s not to say that he’s anti-American, or just another college professor who has read too much Howard Zinn. On the contrary, he considers his refusal to accept history as it is spoon-fed to the masses almost his duty as an American.
"I think it’s patriotic to not blindly accept things, but to seek out the truth on these issues," he said. "Let’s examine this, let’s take a look at the facts instead of the platitudes and the clichés of our early education."
And, as he casts aside this platitude and that, he wins over his audience, who he said tend to be "overwhelmingly accepting" of his ideas.
It’s not just left-wingers who like him, either — many on the right side of the political spectrum appreciate his passion for history as much as the liberals appreciate his dispelling of American myth.
At the end of his tour, Szkolka delivers his final soliloquy outside the legendary Faneuil Hall, known to many as the "Cradle of Liberty."
It’s here, in front of an imposing statue of the fiery Samuel Adams, who once gave many a rousing speech inside the building’s brick-and-mortar walls, that Szkolka delivers his own call to arms and beseeches listeners to put down their iPhones, turn off "American Idol," and make an effort to participate in the form of government their forebears created through blood.
I personally believe that this discourse, which he so eloquently delivers after eviscerating a few last farcical tales, should be read by all Americans. Here is but a piece, provided by him:
"It is our job as citizens of free nations to vote in the elections, participate in government, and read our history," he said. "It is our purpose to read our history, as it will tell us about our past (well, decidedly that). But also, it gives insights into our present, as well as helps us shape the future — whatever that might be … it is also the best way to honor our 1770s ancestors who won independence from Britain — this was no small task. More importantly, we must endeavor to preserve democracy for our children ... and our grandchildren. And if we accomplish this task, we have done our job as a generation. And at the least the study of history and its application to our lives will make us better citizens from any country from which we may herald. I believe that. Deeply, in fact."
I happen to agree.
Email: janoski@northjersey.com
http://www.northjersey.com/news/215022331_Wise_words_from_an_old_redcoat.html?page=all
 |
| The only picture of Szkolka we got... |
His name is Michael Szkolka. He’s a professor of history at Quincy College who came to Boston four decades ago for school and never left. He has a master’s in history from the University of Massachusetts, does some Revolutionary War reenacting on the side, has never acted or gotten on stage, and is a poor guitar player.
But something happens when the short, stocky 61-year-old (who both looks and sounds remarkably like Liam Neeson) wraps that uniform around his shoulders — it’s as if the old Common, once used as the site of public hangings and the base camp of the British Army, reawakens, and he is the only one that sees it.
And twice a day, most days, it’s his job to make us see it too, as he leads groups around part of the city’s "Freedom Trail," a 2.5-mile walking path that brings visitors to the city’s most historic colonial sites.
Two months ago, my girlfriend and I had the good fortune of stumbling upon his tour. Well, we thought it good fortune. Others … well, let’s just say that if you’re looking for coddling (and really, who wants that while on vacation?) he is not the man to see. Not about history, at least. Or politics. Or religion. Or … you get the point.
"A lot of these tour guides are actors," he says gazing at a loud bonnet-wearing young woman who stands on a bench gesturing wildly while going through her script. "I am not an actor," he says with cold disdain.
A young boy waves out the window of his tour bus. He doesn’t wave back. He portrays a redcoat, he says, because the uniform is attractive, and if he’s going to reenact, he won’t wear shabbier clothes than he does in real life. And if you’re looking for a conventional tour, his opening line will shatter your illusions.
"History is not here to make you feel good," he tells the small group, a tight smile on his lips. "It’s here to make you feel guilty."
And that line is why he is so damned good at what he does — because for Szkolka, it’s not about comforting the line of tourists trailing behind him with the old bedtime tales of American history that they were raised on. It’s about the truth.
He tells us bluntly that America didn’t win because we fought like Indians while the British lined up in neat rows. We won because of our resilience, and because by the end of the war, other nations were bankrolling our fight and Britain was more or less fighting a world war on several continents.
Also, Paul Revere didn’t ride through quiet city Boston screaming "the British are coming" on that fabled night in April 1775, he says, because all colonists back then considered themselves British. (Revere really said "The regulars are coming.") Plus, shouting warnings on what was actually a very secret mission would be very ill-advised.
One by one, the dogmatic stories about the group of musket-toting farmers who gutshot an empire die sudden deaths. Sometimes this offends his audience, but for Szkolka, that’s the price of admission to an alternate view that he says is based on evidence and source material, not wishful thinking.
"When the British talk about the American Revolution, they speak objectively about it: ‘We should have done this better, that better.’ When Americans talk about the revolution, it’s ‘The world’s begun anew,’" he later said. "I don’t know that I disagree with that, but I don’t believe it with the intensity that a lot of other people do."
And, as his words claw apart time and jar open a window to the past lives of the Massachusetts State House, the Granary Burial Ground, and the Old South Meeting House, he is also subtly (okay, maybe not so subtly) holding the mirror up to us as well and showing that, what with America’s recent foreign wars, trampling of civil liberties, and propensity for acting like the bully on the block, we aren’t much different from those old redcoats.
His uniform, in fact, might just symbolize America in the 21st century as much as it does Britain in the 18th.
"I think we’re much more like them than we like to admit," he said.
But that’s not to say that he’s anti-American, or just another college professor who has read too much Howard Zinn. On the contrary, he considers his refusal to accept history as it is spoon-fed to the masses almost his duty as an American.
"I think it’s patriotic to not blindly accept things, but to seek out the truth on these issues," he said. "Let’s examine this, let’s take a look at the facts instead of the platitudes and the clichés of our early education."
And, as he casts aside this platitude and that, he wins over his audience, who he said tend to be "overwhelmingly accepting" of his ideas.
It’s not just left-wingers who like him, either — many on the right side of the political spectrum appreciate his passion for history as much as the liberals appreciate his dispelling of American myth.
At the end of his tour, Szkolka delivers his final soliloquy outside the legendary Faneuil Hall, known to many as the "Cradle of Liberty."
It’s here, in front of an imposing statue of the fiery Samuel Adams, who once gave many a rousing speech inside the building’s brick-and-mortar walls, that Szkolka delivers his own call to arms and beseeches listeners to put down their iPhones, turn off "American Idol," and make an effort to participate in the form of government their forebears created through blood.
I personally believe that this discourse, which he so eloquently delivers after eviscerating a few last farcical tales, should be read by all Americans. Here is but a piece, provided by him:
"It is our job as citizens of free nations to vote in the elections, participate in government, and read our history," he said. "It is our purpose to read our history, as it will tell us about our past (well, decidedly that). But also, it gives insights into our present, as well as helps us shape the future — whatever that might be … it is also the best way to honor our 1770s ancestors who won independence from Britain — this was no small task. More importantly, we must endeavor to preserve democracy for our children ... and our grandchildren. And if we accomplish this task, we have done our job as a generation. And at the least the study of history and its application to our lives will make us better citizens from any country from which we may herald. I believe that. Deeply, in fact."
I happen to agree.
Email: janoski@northjersey.com
http://www.northjersey.com/news/215022331_Wise_words_from_an_old_redcoat.html?page=all
Monday, May 20, 2013
Staying "Boston Strong" in trauma's wake
"Sing with me, if it's just for today, maybe tomorrow the good Lord will take you away," - Aerosmith
It is well after midnight that I come upon the scene: a smoking white car with a crushed front end, turned around in the middle of my lane less than a hundred yards away. Its flannel shirt-clad driver, a kid of maybe 20, is standing with one foot out the open driver's side door, talking on a cell phone. No lights, no cops. I pull over.
"You OK, man?" I yell.
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| The statue of Paul Revere in the North End |
"Yea, I'm alright," comes the shaky reply. "Hit a deer."
He points across the pavement and I cringe as I see the shattered but still-alive mass of fur desperately trying to pull itself with its working legs out of the lane and into the safety of the high grass. My stomach turns as, after a little more useless dialogue, I drive away into the night, wishing I could do something - anything - to put that deer out of its misery.
Three weeks later, my girlfriend and I are in the back of a Boston taxicab on the way back to our hotel after a night of wandering between the tightly-wound brick buildings of the historic North End, where Paul Revere's monument and the Old North Church stand sentinel over the cobblestone paths and colonial ghosts that meander along the harbor edge.
"Dream On" plays on the radio (no lie) as we pass the new Boston Garden, where a packed house is watching the Celtics play the Knicks. I'm telling our portly, scally-cap wearing cabbie about the Shore's slow recovery after Hurricane Sandy.
"It still looks like a bomb hit down there," I say absentmindedly. I've forgotten where I am.
He gives a gruff laugh.
"Hey, gotta' watch yourself with that kinda' talk around here," he says.
I give a confused look, but then it registers and for some reason I'm instantly thinking back to that kid and his smoking car back in New Jersey and how these stupid, horrifying moments shake our lives in the single tick of a second hand.
That we could freeze those moments - the ones just before "it" happens - and do something that averts the crisis, like they do in the movies!
If that kid had taken a different way home, or that deer had been scared back into the trees, both their worlds would have been saved. Instead, one stood in shock, the other dying.
Were things much different on Boylston Street barely two weeks before? Throngs of people, innocent fathers, mothers, sons, cheering as loved ones cross the finish line of what, for many, is a once-in-a-lifetime event in one of America's oldest, proudest cities.
Then, in the time it takes to exhale, shattered bodies litter the ground as limbless spectators and dead bodies transform the streetscape from quiet city Boston to the French village at the end of "Saving Private Ryan."
One split second, one fraction of a fraction of a fraction of our lives, and what was peaceful and safe has become a tangled mass of confusion, panic, and immeasurable pain.
I never thought when I began writing this column three years ago that I would have to try so often to make sense of the senseless, to bring logic to the clearly insane. This is too much though, and I lack the heart and faith necessary to explain how the death of an 8-year-old who once made a poster that said, "No more hurting people, peace" could possibly have a worthwhile purpose.
So I will not try, except to say that this world is brutal, and tragedy will strike, fearsome and unannounced, like a coiled snake when its log is overturned, no matter how unconscionable. I can't fix it. And I hate writing about it.
Instead, I will simply quote the final lines of the opening monologue of "Gone Baby Gone," the movie made by another Boston boy about a missing child, because it offers the only advice that makes any sense at this point.
"This city can be hard," it says. "When I was young I asked my priest how you could get to heaven and still protect yourself from all the evil in the world. He told me what God said to his children: 'You are sheep among wolves. Be wise as serpents, yet innocent as doves.'"
Stay strong Boston.
Email: janoski@northjersey.com
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