The Beach - New Bedford

I think that the beaches were voluntarily segregated in New Bedford b/c we had one section that we always went to and I still do.  It was between two low but long buildings and across from a beautiful park - I would say to the west well before you go around the curve which takes you to Fort Polk & also the beach on the east side.  Across from our beach - further North - but only steps away -- was a little stand that sold sodas and French fries which we would douse with vinegar.  I think they were sold in a cone shaped paper cup.  No matter if you had already eaten at home, or if there was fried chicken in your mother's basket, we still wanted what that man cooked.  Something about fried, and vinegar and salt and salt air.  We loved vanilla sodas.  Some people would go under one of the buildings and lay down there as it was cooler.  My aunt Tanya always did that - and when she died we put some of her ashes at the shoreline near the building.  We kids would swim out to the raft and then turn our backs so we would not see our parents calling us back to shore.  Eventually someone would swim out and say "your dad said you'd better get back in or else".  Seaweed would wrap around our legs and inhibit our swimming.  I was never a strong swimmer so I would only swim with my younger sister.
One ritual was that the guys would wait for someone who was nicely dressed - perhaps on a lunch break - to park their car and then stand on the sidewalk looking down on the beachgoers.  Someone would go behind the person and grab them and then (joined by other beachgoers in swimsuits) they would carry the unwilling, and heretofore unsuspecting, person down to the shoreline and throw him in.  Watch, money and all.  The boys would also throw the girls in but we would say "I have .... (medical issue) "  and they would stop.  Words do, indeed, have power.  I have been to this beach recently and it seems so eerily quiet and empty.  Many fond memories though. Many.
The beach and its rocks were a great picture taking place.  My dad broke his leg running on the rocks. My grandmother called the "healer" to fix him.  The healer rubbed his leg with chicken fat and then rubbed and rubbed - and then snapped the leg back into place.  

 

 

Minna Spencer Santos, Jackie Santos, below Nita Santos Haynes, Sue Ramos, Bill Haynes

 

 

 

 

 

Jackie Lawrence, Pat H, Karen R, Manny De Bose, Carol Haynes, Darlene H,

and in back Brenda A, Dawn, and Denise.