When I saw this little gem from the pages of the Attleboro Sun of Aug., 24, 1927, (written by a mysterious scribe identified only as "Clyde") I wanted to share it with you both from its human interest perspective as well as a nostalgic return to the local activities and names of 87 years in our past.
Admittedly I found this report especially entertaining since it happened in my future stomping grounds, and I would come to know nearly all the boys named when they were older men as well as their children, grandchildren and their families. The site of these tree houses was an easy underhand rock toss from my front door on Emory.
Surely long-time city residents will recognize not just the names, but friends who wore them - it would seem the boys of 1927 were following not only Mr. Ruth's daily decimation of baseball's home run record, but busied themselves with the same interests as we did, the East Side neighborhood boys of 1957.
The headline on that distant late summer day read:
Boys Build Houses in Morey Street Trees
People passing along Morey Street near the junction of Park Street during the past two or three days have had their attention called to some rather curious building operations that have been taking place in the woods just to the south of the street line.
I went down to look it over this week and I found that some of the boys living in that section had evidently been imitating the habits of some natives of the Brazilian wilds. Perched up about 20 feet in the air in a couple of trees were two houses. Of course they were not very elaborate affairs as architecture is concerned. They were just such houses as any small boy would like to build. Considerable ingenuity has been displayed in firmly attaching them to the limbs of the trees, but there they are, surrounded by limbs and leaves and "far from the madding crowd."
Small boards and large boards and sheets of roofing paper have been used in the construction. When boards were not available, the boys cut small tree limbs. Each of the two edifices is supplied with a roof which on a day of sunshine might protect from the heat, but it is very doubtful if it would have been very dry in either place this morning. One of the buildings is supplied with a chair and table, but the other one is still minus any furnishings.
The two trees utilized are about 100 feet apart and the limbs have been cut so as to provide steps for the active youngsters that are privileged to seek seclusion from their mates, to enjoy the cool breezes and discuss the probabilities of any wild animals attacking them, provided they should happen to fall asleep with no one on guard.
One can imagine the wild Indian tales that are discussed in those aeries. Perhaps among those boys are one or two who in some future year will venture far into the trackless wilds of faraway distant places, and the inspiration for such a venture will come from those boyhood days when they built their playhouse in the topmost branches of a tree.
Thomas Cooper, Philip Artinian (a family the late Bill Hannan wrote about frequently) and Leo LeClaire are the owners of one of the houses and Alfred Love, Johnny Newman and Martin MacPherson are the architects of the other.
As the late Walter Cronkite would have said, "And that's the way it was at the junction of Morey and Park street on this 24th day of August, 1927."
I always enjoy the visits that Dave Hardt and I make each weekend to Uncle Richie's produce stand, opposite Angle Tree Rod and Gun Club on Kelley Boulevard. Richie holds down the fort these days, but the gracious Fran Hare and son John are invariably a treat and a pleasure to talk with, and their produce is always top of the line and priced as low as one can find. Besides the ice, snow, bitter cold and the price of fuel oil, another one of Old Man Winter's dirty tricks is causing the shutdown of Uncle Richie's stand for yet another year, but we offer you both sincere thanks and great appreciation for your kindnesses and pleasant manners. Say, after all this, can I still pass along our hopes for a great winter?
Resounding congratulations, continuing best wishes and a very happy 73rd birthday to the Attleboro branch of one of Taunton's more notable clans. A tip of the old Irish scally cap to Mr. Paul O'Boy on 50 years of stellar accomplishments as Feehan's vice-principal, AD, head coach, teacher and Christian role model for literally tens of thousands of young men and women in that time.
Best of wishes to my sister Edna and our friends Jean Yeo, Guy Doble, Yen Correia (even though many years ago, he nearly burned me alive in the back of a van in Gilbert-Perry Square by firing up a doobie next to the new camping stove he wanted to show me) Billy Morris, Killer Kane, Bill Gurn and last, but certainly not least, my precious wife Patti, all of whom are battling through various afflictions.
Hey there, Paul Brennan, did you finally make the move to a different galaxy? Get in touch with an old friend, learned one.
As always, please show the kindness to all you meet that you, yourself would like to receive. It's a very ancient lesson, but it still works remarkably well. Peace.
