Thompson's Clam Bar

OK, I'm posting a little nostalgia today, a glance a few decades back to the 60s and later, remembering a place on Cape Cod I knew well. And it all came about because of a chore I finally took on this morning.

Today I spent a few hours cleaning and straightening my den/office, a task I had put off for far too long. For some unexplained reason it had become so cluttered that trying to enter or walk around in this rather small room was actually dangerous. And at my age no trip and fall would be welcome. So, I cleaned it all up...well, mostly. 

Part of the task involved removing several storage boxes filled with papers, photos, letters, and piles of other stuff and carting them off to the living room where I hope to go through them while listening to music or watching meaningless shows on TV.  I doubt if Diane is real happy with five boxes stacked up in the living room, but she agreed to my plan so long as I carry it out, as we used to say in the Navy, expeditiously.

Among the first items I came across was a 1981 menu from a restaurant called Thompson's Clam Bar. For 25 years Diane and I lived just a block away from Thompson's, a famous eatery located in Harwich Port, Massachusetts on Cape Cod. Actually, Thompson's closed in 1996, so I suppose we lived nearby for only about 18 years. Diane and I sold our home in the fall of 2003 and eventually moved to sunny Florida in February 2004. 

The Clam Bar was open for only 10 to 12 weeks each summer but seemed always to be filled with locals and tourists. Because it was on the water, just inside the harbor entrance, boats could tie up to the restaurant, permitting the sailors to order meals and be served right on their boats. I actually did this a couple of times back in the 60s thanks to several friends who owned boats and let me crew for them. (Just an aside...it's much better to have boat-owning friends than to actually own a boat into which you must pour large amounts of cash every year. The friends are always looking for others to crew for them -- all the benefits, none of the costs.)

The below photo, definitely vintage and probably from the 60s, shows a few boats tied up at the Clam Bar.

As you can see, it was not a small restaurant. Here's a photo showing a typical crowd enjoying Thompson's excellent seafood:

Most of the servers were college kids, spending their summer on Cape Cod and making a few bucks to help with tuition and room and board. As I recall, Thompson's had facilities to house these young folks so they could actually afford to spend a summer on the Cape. When I turned 19 my folks moved from Larchmont, New York to Chatham, a town only about four or five miles from Thompson's. During my Naval Academy summers -- we usually had only about a month's leave -- I actually dated a few of the young ladies who worked at the Clam Bar. I also had access to a car, which was a definite plus. They were a fun group, always ready to party hearty.

I've included all four pages of the Clam Bar's menu. The cover page is an aerial photograph of Wychmere Harbor, showing the Clam Bar (marked with a white circle). I also circled our home (blue circle) where we brought up our four children. 

As you can see by the menu, in 1981 Thompson's opened for the season on June 17. It closed for the season that year on my birthday, September 13. Living so close to Thomason's was a joy. Diane and I would often walk down to the Clam Bar just to sample a few littleneck clams and maybe sip a glass of white wine. Occasionally, we'd even splurge and enjoy a complete meal. 

As you can also see in the photograph, Wychmere Harbor was almost a perfect circle. In fact, back in the late 19th and early 20th century it was not a harbor but a racetrack where the locals would compete racing their horses. Years later, the outer harbor was dredged giving us the beautiful body of water we have today. A brief history of the harbor and the Thompson Brothers' involvement is provided on the back of the menu, below. Click on the photo to view a readable page.

I think the menu itself -- two pages from 43 years ago (1981) -- might interest those who yearn for less costly meals. Just keep in mind, it might have cost less for a good meal in 1981, but for most folks, their income was also much lower. And I think I can truthfully say that I nver had a bad meal at Thompson's Clam Bar. Here's the menu:

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Thompson’s Clam Bar was one of those places that I'll always remember and always miss. Here's a photo of Wychmere Harbor I took a few years ago, after the Clam Bar closed. The Clam Bar is the long building in the background, now part of a private club.

As a final touch, here's a link to their advertising jingle. Everyone who lived on Cape Cod knew it, and our two girls would sing it often enough.

Thompson's Clam Bar jingle - YouTube

Don't you just love it!

Home Again

Late last week Dear Diane and I returned home from an almost month-long trip to visit children and grandchildren. The trip was precipitated by two events: one grandson's Confirmation in Massachusetts, and another's First Communion in California. Unfortunately, both events were scheduled for the same day, and the need for grand-parental attendance at each demanded some creative scheduling. We drove from Florida to Massachusetts, spent some time with one son and his family in New Bedford, then visited with one daughter and her family in Hyannis. After several days Diane flew to San Jose, California for the First Communion, while I remained on Cape Cod for the Confirmation. She then returned so we could spend a weekend with our other son and his family on Nantucket Island. Miraculously, we actually managed to spend some time with each of our children, their spouses, and our grandchildren. I suppose that makes it a successful trip.

Adding to the success was the opportunity to swap houses with another deacon and his wife. Deacon Joe, who was ordained about 30 seconds before me back on May 24, 1997, and his wife, Ann, wanted to spend a few weeks in The Villages and we wanted to do the same on Cape Cod. He and Ann have a lovely, old Cape Cod home in South Chatham, just about three miles from where Dear Diane and I lived for 25 years. It's also just a short drive to our elder daughter's home in Hyannis, which she shares with her husband and five of our grandchildren. And so the exchange was made.

I think we got the better deal. Despite the weather -- 40s, 50s, and too much rain -- every morning Maddie (our little Bichon Frise) and I would get up early and take a long walk down to the beach. I think she enjoyed the change of pace from our usual strolls around The Villages. I know I did. After our walk I'd feed the dog, then sit by the bay window, pray Morning Prayer, and sip my coffee while enjoying the songs and flights of the local bird population. What a wonderful way to begin the day.

Taking a few weeks off from a busy retirement in sunny Florida was exactly what I needed. Our temporary home turned out to be the perfect refuge from worldly cares and the pressures of multiple ministries. The only downside was Dear Diane's absence which put Maddie and me into a five-day funk. And to top it off, Dear Diane had to suffer the consequences of my cost-saving  travel arrangements which resulted in plane changes going and coming. She's a real trooper, though, and despite some tight connections, made it to San Jose and back to Providence on time, along with her baggage. I had blessed her and her luggage during check-in and had full confidence that all would go well. God is good!

One evening during her absence, and more tired than usual, I turned on the TV and stumbled onto the NFL draft. I did something I had never done before: I actually watched it. It was the first night of the draft, which included round one and part of round two. Why I watched this I cannot say. I'm not a big fan of professional sports. The huge amounts of money involved only create a breeding ground for corruption and distorted values, just one more effect of original sin. I also believe our professional athletes, like most of today's celebrities, are generally poor role models for young people. Yeah, I know...I've turned into a curmudgeon.

Anyway, watching the draft was mesmerizing. Just observing these future professional athletes -- their over-the-top clothing and jewelry, their attitudes and comments -- was both fascinating and more than a little depressing. Many of these young men, barely out of childhood, seemed completely wrapped up in themselves, convinced that they actually deserve the millions that will be thrown at them in the weeks to come. Sadly, if experience is any guide, despite the millions, many will be flat broke ten years from now.

As one young man said, "Football is my life!" I suspect he is not alone in believing this, even though many NFL draftees will never play in a regular season game. And among those who actually make the team and sign a rookie contract, most will play for only two or three years. And then what? Did they really get an education that will allow them to succeed in a world that places little value on their athletic prowess once they're off the field? They certainly possess some level of physical courage, but did they develop the moral courage needed to live good, productive lives? One can only hope they will come to an understanding of what is truly important in life, and do so sooner rather than later.

The trip up and down the East Coast also provided an opportunity to spend a few days with dear old friends in Virginia, the Lees, and in South Carolina, the Hathaways. Now that I think about it, our trip was characterized by what can only be called mooching. We exchanged houses with friends, visited other friends en route, and didn't spend a single night in a hotel. Ah well...at least all our friends know that they are welcome to do the same when they come to Florida to escape the cold and snows of winter.

We had a wonderful time, but as Dorothy said, "There's no place like home."

Cape Cod Memories

Diane and I lived on Cape Cod for 25 years, and raised our four children there before retiring to Florida in 2004. Even before I moved to the Cape, it had long been familiar to me. Indeed, some of my earliest memories include family visits to the Cape when I was just a little guy. Eventually, in the early sixties, my parents decided to settle on Cape Cod in the lovely town of Chatham. I visited them often during my college days and later with Diane and our growing family. And so it was always a special place for me and somewhere I hoped one day to live. When the opportunity arose in 1978, Diane and I decided to make the move from Southern California.

During those 25 years on Cape Cod we lived in the village of Harwich Port, in a big, old, rambling house situated about 100 yards from both Nantucket Sound and Wychmere Harbor. The oldest section of the house was built in the early 19th century, with other rooms added over the years. I often jokingly described our home as "11 one-room houses hammered together" -- actually a fitting description. Despite its age and the frequent problems with which such an old house presented us, it was a wonderful place to live and bring up our children. But once they were grown and on their own, we decided it was time to downsize and head south where we'd never again have to endure another New England winter. 

When I was younger, I enjoyed all four seasons, especially winter, but with age the cold weather began to take its toll on both my body and my psyche. And the thought of shoveling snow just didn't mesh with my retirement plans. Of course our decision to retire to Florida was at least partly influenced by Diane's Florida roots. She is a fifth generation Floridian who willingly and amazingly agreed to live in the cold north until her husband saw the error of his ways. I suppose it was only fair that I should follow her south as she had followed me north.

Our decision to move south at retirement was, however, driven as much by the Cape's high cost of living as by the lure of warm weather. When as a child I first visited Cape Cod back in 1950, it was a very different place, a string of rural, seaside villages much more like the idyllic spot described in the vintage Patti Page song. 

Since those early days the population has grown, the larger towns have become urbanized, and the old conservative Cape Codders have died off, replaced by transplants (like me) seeking the good life. The physical and political landscape of Cape Cod has changed and many of the small towns have sacrificed their charm. But even with the inevitable changes, Cape Cod continued to offer the good life to those who could afford it. Sadly, as the cost of housing and tax rates rose to ever increasing highs, many people found living on Cape Cod to be prohibitively expensive. It certainly affected our decision.

I suppose we were also influenced by the gradual disappearance of so much that for us typified Cape Cod. For example, when we first moved to Harwich Port, Diane and I would often walk to the neighboring Thompson's Clam Bar, and enjoy a cold drink and a plate of littleneck clams, perhaps the tastiest little critters God ever placed in the sea. The Thompson brothers' establishment was a true Cape institution, and anyone who visited the Cape back in those days likely enjoyed a meal at the Clam Bar in Harwich Port, probably because they had heard its ad on local radio and been captivated by the catchy little jingle that every Cape Codder knew by heart. You can listen to the jingle below. Alas, Thompson's Clam Bar no longer exists, but their jingle can still be heard on YouTube.

And now, here we are, visiting Harwich once again, staying in the home of our dear friends, looking out the window at the rain and wind and wishing it were about 30 degrees warmer. Wait a minute...it is 30 degrees warmer, in Florida.

The Coming of Earl

Here I am, sitting at the kitchen table in the home of my daughter and son-in-law, waiting for a more accurate weather forecast. According to a forecast I heard early this morning, hurricane Earl just might hammer a couple of capes: Cape Hatteras and Cape Cod. Unfortunately, we are currently located in Hyannis, right in the middle of Cape Cod. And to add a touch of excitement to our situation, our daughter is expecting her fifth child with a due date, quite fittingly, of next Monday, Labor Day. Because we must all remain here, near both doctor and hospital, we will not be able to evacuate even if we wanted to.

What to do? I suppose we can do what all New Englanders do when a storm threatens: go to the store and buy bread and milk. Other than these traditional emergency preparations, we'll probably just sit here and wait for the new baby (as yet unnamed) and Earl, hoping that the former arrives before the latter. When I mentioned the possibility that my daughter and her husband consider the name "Earl", my suggestion was not well received. Go figure!

And so we wait and pray for a healthy baby and a hurricane that goes out to sea, far out to sea.

Pray for us and for fair winds...

Too busy to write

I've been procrastinating, and have consequently paid the price. We returned from our extended trip up north last weekend and I found myself facing immovable deadlines on two very incomplete projects.

The most pressing is a course I'm scheduled to teach for the diocesan religious education office this weekend at a nearby parish. The course is one of many that make up a diocesan certification program for catechists and Catholic school teachers. Over the past five years I've taught a number of these courses, but this is the first time for this particular course. And so I've been immersed in preparation to the tune of 10 hours/day for the past four days...except for a pleasant six-hour break today working at the soup kitchen. Ain't retirement grand? Actually, it is.

The course addresses Catechesis and Social Ministry, and I've just now completed the last of 108 PowerPoint slides that I hope will lead my students and me through 10-hours of classroom time together. It's a worthy subject and there's certainly an abundance of material to draw from. I'll let you know how it turned out later.

The other deadline also relates to course preparation. But this time the course is aimed at our own parishioners. I suspended our Bible Study for the summer since so many of our parishioners are "snow birds" and I hate to continue the program when so many would be unable to take part. So I decided to offer a "summer school" course on Church History for the brave folks who stay here in Florida during the steamy days of June, July and August. It will start two weeks from now and run for ten weekly one-hour sessions. Let's see...if I cover 2,000 years of history in 10 hours, I'll have to cover 200 years during each session. Arrrghh! I think we might have to gloss over a few events. Either that or I'll have to talk really fast.

New subject. Have you ever been surprised to discover that someone you respect had died perhaps months or even years before and for some reason you didn't know it? It happens to me all the time. And it always bothers me. I actually feel guilty. I should have known and can't understand how I missed it. This happened to me yesterday.

I was glancing through several of the magazines and journals that had piled up during our absence, when I came across an obituary for Father Stanley L. Jaki, OSB, who died almost two months ago on April 7. Father Jaki, one of my heroes, was a prolific author, a theologian and physicist, and a wonderful Benedictine priest. I encountered his writings far too late in life when I picked up a copy of his Genesis 1 Through the Ages a few years ago. This book, along with seven or eight other of his books I have read since, have all challenged and enlightened me. I highly recommend them. You can obtain his books directly from Real View Books and, of course, from Amazon and other online booksellers.

Other than the above, nothing is really new. The politicians continue to lie, cheat and steal and drive our soon-to-be-poor nation into oblivion. Oh, and speaking of oblivion and politicians and gullible voters, did you catch the opinion piece in, of all places, Pravda? If you're over 40 you should remember Pravda, the former official newspaper of the Soviet Union. The old joke back then related to Pravda, which means "truth", and the Soviet news agency, Izvestia, which means "news". Russians used to say, "There's no truth in Pravda and no news in Izvestia."

My, how things have changed! Today Pravda is an independent news source and their online version carried an interesting piece by someone named, Stanislav Mishin, in which he says unkind things about our political leaders and calls the American people, "sheeple". (Click here to read it. It's two pages so don't forget to read page 2.) I suppose we'll soon find out how accurate a prophet he is.

And don't forget to mark your calendars for June 19, the beginning of the Year for Priests called for by Pope Benedict XVI. Make an effort this year to pray for priestly vocations and that the Holy Spirit will support priests in their saving work.

Man and Gull at Chatham Light on Cape Cod (May 2009)

Oh, and you might enjoy this photo (above) I took in Chatham, Massachusetts on Cape Cod early one morning a week or so ago. The man was enjoying his before work cup of coffee and taking in the view near the Chatham Light when the gull landed a few feet away. I happened to have the camera in hand. I like the photo.

God's Peace.