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!

Islands of Hypocrisy

Before moving to Florida, Diane and I spent 25 years in a wonderful old home in Harwich Port on Cape Cod. A large 11-room home — what we liked to call “11 one-room houses hammered together over almost 200 years” — it was perfect for us and our four children. In truth, though, it evolved into a 25-year fixer-upper, probably why I got such a good deal when I bought it. But despite its shortcomings, it fulfilled all three of the real estate industry’s key priorities: location, location, and location. We were blessed to live close to the water so our children could take a two-minute walk to a beautiful, sandy beach on Nantucket Sound. Our quaint village’s downtown was also a short walk from our home, and the local library was just around the corner. Although it was a nice place to live, we could not afford to stay there in retirement, and so we made our way to Florida.

Across the water, almost due south of our former home, is Nantucket Island, made famous by Herman Melville’s brilliant 1851 novel, Moby Dick. Today, however, Nantucket is perhaps better known as the home of our younger son, Brendan, an electrician who helps the elites keep their lights on and power their Internet connections with their brokers. Nantucket is also the home — okay, one of the homes — of many so-called celebrities. For example, John Kerry, our nation’s climate czar, has a rather large home on Nantucket which he visits seasonally in his private jet. I can’t say for sure, but considering how much time he spends jetting around the world to ensure the peasants freeze in the winter and suffer heatstroke in the summer, I assume he must own the world’s only electric airplane. After all, if he owned a real jet that consumed thousands of gallons of jet fuel and polluted our upper atmosphere…well, that would be sheer hypocrisy. But as it turns out, Kerry is no stranger to hypocrisy, a trait he demonstrated  years before when he “served” on swift boats in Vietnam, shopped for medals, and then publicly denigrated has fellow veterans. If you want the truth about Kerry’s Vietnam service, read John O’Neill’s book, Unfit for Command. O’Neill, a true hero and my Naval Academy classmate, lifts the veil behind which Kerry tried to hide that truth. Today, though, Czar Kerry is a beloved Nantucket resident, a kind of town character who loves to ask the tourists such questions as, “Do you know who I am?” as he exercises head-of-the-line privileges at the local coffee shop. Always generates lots of laughs.

But enough about Nantucket. There’s another island across Nantucket Sound, this one southwest of our former home, and it’s called Martha’s Vineyard, or simply “The Vineyard” by those in the know. It too is the summer home of many of our nation’s wealthiest elites, and in this it surely eclipses Nantucket. If you’ve never visited the island, and think it might be nice to vacation there next summer, I suggest you first download the Zillow app, search for Martha’s Vineyard, and check out the home values in Edgartown or Chilmark. Then take a moment to check the summer rates for hotels and B&Bs. You’ll quickly discover that Martha’s Vineyard really isn’t for folks like you and me. The homes are both amazing and amazingly expensive, with very few valued under $1 million and many worth far more. The island is also home to those hard-working folks who must keep all those expensive homes running and beautiful. Other men and women provide the societal infrastructure that allows the wealthy to enjoy their summers. Because it’s not easy to find affordable housing, many workers commute on the ferry from mainland Cape Cod or live with others in temporary quarters provided by employers. Yes, indeed, Martha’s Vineyard is really for the wealthy elites.

Although it pretends to be an earthly paradise for the select, Martha’s Vineyard lacks one thing: undocumented migrants, those we once called illegal aliens. This is true of most wealthy communities, regardless of location. Of course, island businesses import plenty of foreign nationals every summer to staff hotels, restaurants, and landscaping firms, but they’re all sent home on Labor Day. Good heavens! If they stay any longer, they might just decide to settle in permanently. 

The difference between places like Martha’s Vineyard and the communities spread out along our southern border is striking. In the latter you will encounter thousands of migrants. Indeed, thousands cross the border every day and inundate these border communities which are far from wealthy. Many, probably most, citizens of these border cities and towns have Latin American roots and are not pleased with the local consequences of this border crisis. Interestingly, the Democrats now wonder why so many of these folks are deserting their party. 

Although the immigration policies of the federal government are the direct cause of our unsecured, open border, that same government has done little to solve its self-generated problems. Deadly drugs like fentanyl, that originate in Communist China and are processed by Mexican drug cartels, pour across the border daily and kill thousands of young Americans. The cartels also engage in widespread and highly profitable human trafficking resulting in the unspeakable degradation of so many woman and children. Closing the border would certainly help, but the Biden administration wants an open border, since it assumes these illegal immigrants will give thanks by voting for Democrats in future elections. Since many migrants come here to escape the despotic socialist governments of their native countries, I suspect they will be far more likely to vote for candidates who represent freedom rather than tyranny. The very fact that they’ve risked everything, even their lives, to get here shows they’re not stupid. And only stupid people vote against their own best interests.

Let me share a recent experience. I bought a new clothes dryer the other day and the two installers were immigrants from Venezuela. These two bright, hard-working young men told me they came here to escape the socialism that has all but destroyed their native land.  Both arrived only a couple of years ago. Both are husbands and new fathers and hope their children will grow up in freedom. I heard the same last week from a young repairman who came here from Cuba only last year. How they will vote is no mystery.

But the elites don’t understand this. To display their virtue, wealthy liberals, safely tucked away in their gated compounds and island retreats, like to describe their communities as sanctuaries open to all migrants, so long as none actually show up on their doorstep. (The Martha’s Vineyard welcome sign below is a popular yard sign on the island.)

This NIMBY attitude was clearly manifested this week when Florida’s Governor Ron DeSantis flew 50 Venezuelan migrants to Martha’s Vineyard. Unlike President Biden, who has flown tens of thousands of migrants to destinations all over the country and has consistently done so under the cover of darkness, DeSantis and the other Republican border state governors hide nothing and fly or bus migrants openly. The reaction from liberals? DeSantis must be a Nazi and Biden is obviously a saint. Oh, yes, the city of El Paso, Texas, run by Democrat politicians, is also busing migrants to New York, but about this we hear nothing but silence from the northern Democrats. Go figure! 

Remarkably, Martha’s Vineyard’s civic leaders stated they simply don’t have the resources to care for these 50 migrants. This from one of the wealthiest communities in the country, an island with thousands of empty hotel rooms now that the tourist season is over. So, what did they do? The next day the governor of Massachusetts ordered the National Guard to remove these 50 migrants and transport them to a military base on Cape Cod. Problem solved! The pesky brown folks from Venezuela are now off the island and the elites can relax knowing their beloved Vineyard will not be contaminated by actual migrants. They seemingly prefer the virtual migrants who reside on their yard signs. Racism and hypocrisy remain alive and well. 

Just to emphasize this, NBC's media outlet posted the following tweet about the Florida governor's actions:

"Florida Gov. DeSantis sending asylum-seekers to Martha's Vineyard is like 'me taking my trash out and just driving to different areas where I live and just throwing my trash there," a founding member of a foundation that helps refugees says."

Oh, yes, those trashy migrants certainly don't belong on Martha's Vineyard. As you might expect, the backlash was significant, and NBC deleted the tweet. 

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.