by Bill Russo
“What’s an egg rock?”
“Oh Mom, it’s very special! An egg rock is an unusual stone. It is not just shaped like an egg – it is an egg. It’s said that sometimes there is a gem inside. When the rock is cracked, out may tumble a diamond or a giant ruby. You never know what’s going to be inside. I know that this is a good luck omen. Let’s walk home by way of Commercial Street. Maybe we can go in the toy store and just look.”
“But Maria I feel so bad. You know we cannot buy you the bike. Your Dad and I – we tried, but we just….”
“Don’t worry about that Mama. I think everything is going to work out fine.”
Warm sunshine had melted the snow and the sidewalks were bristling with people taking advantage of the fine weather. Many shops were closed for the season but several restaurants and galleries were open. The toy store had set up a sidewalk display highlighted by a shiny new blue Schwinn ladies bicycle - the very bike that Maria desired.
Last minute shoppers queued around piles of wooden soldiers, board games, hockey sticks, baseball gloves, Lincoln Logs and huge piles of the year’s most popular item – cuddly, stuffed ‘Teddy Bears’ named after Teddy Roosevelt who had recently left office as perhaps the most popular president in the history of the entire 46 states of the U.S.A.
Maria noticed that John Barclay was among the crowd looking with excitement at a stuffed bear that was almost as big as a full grown man. She knew that Barclay was interested in anything that was new and expensive.
Johnny Dimpell, was showing Barclay how the arms of the bear moved up and down, and that it had realistic eyes, and even wore a red bandana around its neck.
It was common knowledge that the millionaire had a young grand daughter who he doted on. Dimpell knew that he had a potential sale of fifty or even a hundred dollars - maybe more.
Maria recalled the talk with her dad about karma. Along with a twinge in her head and a slight headache, an idea came to her. She began chatting excitedly, more than loud enough for Barclay to hear.
“Mama I really cannot trade an egg rock for a bicycle. What if the egg rock has a gem inside worth a hundred bicycles? No Mama, I simply cannot do it no matter how much I admire the very honest and astute Mr. Dimpell and his store.”
“What are you talking about Maria?”
“Play along Mom. You’ll see,” she laughed.
Maria kept up the patter and her mom joined in. Finally both Mr. Dimpell and Barclay were curious enough to wander over to them.
“What’s this about an egg rock Maria?”
“Oh hello Mr. Dimpell”, said Maria’s mom, “she found an egg rock that washed ashore on Herring Cove beach. Can you believe it?”
“What is an egg rock?” wondered the rich man.
“Hi there Mr. Barclay, I didn’t know you were here,” Maria fibbed. “You probably know more about egg rocks than I do. I am sure you have at least one in your collection. As you are aware, an egg rock is really more egg than rock. The outer shell can be broken. I have heard it said that inside, sometimes a great treasure gem can be found. You know, just like discovering a pearl in an oyster.”
“I’ve never heard of an egg rock,” said Barclay. “What about it Dimpell? Is there such a thing?”
“Well yes Mr. Barclay. I have even seen them for sale, though I have never had any in my store.”
“Maria is thinking of cashing it in so that she can buy the blue bicycle,” said the mother.
“No Mom. I told you that I want the bicycle, but I don’t want to give up the egg rock. I think that it’s good luck. If I keep it, I’ll get much more than just a new bicycle.”
“I might be interested in getting an egg rock for my granddaughter for Christmas,” stated the rich man. “Dimpell, how much will you charge me for one?”
“Mr. Barclay I don’t carry them. I don’t have any. In the summer I am sure you can get all you want over at the…….”
“Dammit Dimpell! I can’t wait until summer. I need an egg rock now! Christmas is only two days away. My granddaughter has to have an egg rock under her tree! I must have one at any cost.”
“My dear Mrs. Da Silva,” Barclay lugubriously addressed Maria’s mom, “please persuade your daughter to sell me her egg rock. I will give her the money for the bike and an extra hundred dollars besides.”
Maria and her mother stepped away from the two men to discuss the situation. After much earnest ‘pleading’ by mother to daughter, Maria agreed to the sale.
“I will sell you this rock Mr. Barclay. But I cannot guarantee that this particular egg rock will have a rare gem inside. I recommend never breaking it open. Keep its contents a mystery. Do we have a deal?”
The excited millionaire happily agreed and peeled off the cash from a roll as thick as an apple. Maria paid for the blue bicycle and gave her mom the extra hundred dollars saying, “Merry Christmas Mama.”
The Da Silvas had their best Christmas ever thanks to the windfall.
Mr. Barclay was a hero to his granddaughter as he presented her with the only egg rock obtainable that season on all of Cape Cod.
The week after Christmas found Francisco Da Silva once again looking for winter work on Commercial Street. Something had changed. Everywhere he went he was looked upon with honor, and people were queuing up to give jobs to the parent of such a fine girl as Maria Da Silva.
“Maria has always been a great student and a wonderful daughter. Why suddenly is everyone celebrating her?” he asked the toy store owner, Mr. Dimpell.
“Don’t you know Cisco? Ask Maria, she will tell you.”
At dinner that evening he did question his daughter and had a great laugh when she explained everything. Maria gave her father a clipping from last summer’s newspaper ad from the Provincetown Hardware store and told him to bring it to Mr. Barclay. She also gave him a message to deliver.
Cisco walked to the parking lot of the John Barclay Medical center and waited for the great man to step from his Alco limousine.
“Mr. Barclay. Hold up a minute I have something for you from my daughter Maria.”
“Oh hello Da Silva. What have you got for me?”
Cisco handed Barclay the advertisement from the hardware store. It read:
"Egg Rocks: Now at Provincetown Hardware
$5.99 for one cubic foot of egg rocks
Perfect for landscaping. Round and Smooth"
Barclay read the advertisement and looked up at Cisco with a scowl growing on his surprised face. Before he could say anything, Cisco added…..
“She told me to give you a message…..
Caveat Emptor – Let the Buyer Beware!”
Chapter Sixteen:
The Rod and Cod
Without feeling very hopeful, John Deer started his lonely walk to the Rod and Cod, a neighborhood inn that had been the favorite gathering place of the town’s fishermen for many years.
Its lack of fancy tables, very plain front bar, simple back-bar, and the good natured innkeeper that ran the establishment, made the uncomplicated, hard working men of the sea feel at home. They’d fill the place night after night re-living their most dangerous fishing trips, the worst storms ever to hit the Cape, and occasionally telling stories of fair maidens met in distant ports.
Buttoning his long black coat against the weather that was rapidly turning colder, John Deer quickly trekked the mile long walk to the downtown district. It was busier than ever due to the railroad’s recent decision to run trains to and from the city almost every hour of the day.
Solidly determined to find out about his past, he strode right up to the bar and took the only available seat, an end one, next to the door that led to the bathrooms.
His appearance in the Rod and Cod did not go unnoticed, but it also did not cause much of a stir. Dressed all in black as he was, his clothing was similar to half a dozen fishermen in the place. His well trimmed beard was like that of many of the local sailors.
“Hello sir,” said Jim Hannon who not only was the owne
r of the bar, but also a Deputy Sheriff of Barnstable County, which gave him authority in all fifteen of the Cape Cod towns. “What can I get for you?”
“I see from that badge you have pinned to your apron that you not only serve the drinks, but also uphold the law. So I’ll have some Information first Sheriff, and then if you don’t arrest me, I’d appreciate a cold beer,” replied John Deer.
“Well why would I want to be arresting a potential customer? You haven’t robbed one of my competitors have you, and then come to spend their money here?” he joked.
“No, I haven’t held anybody up.”
“Well that’s good,” laughed Jim Hannon, still playing the jovial host, “cause if you had, I’d probably let you spend all of their money on drinks for the house before I arrested you!”
That brought a laugh from a dozen of the fishermen, who now crowded around the stranger on the off chance that maybe he actually was going to front a round of drinks for the house.
“I need to know something. Look at me closely. I had a head injury and I’ve lost my memory. I may have been here seven years ago. I have a dim recollection of being in this fishing village before I got hurt.”
Jim Hannon leaned forward and looked long and hard at the bearded man, all dressed in black with a wide brimmed hat on his head.
“Take the hat off, and let me see your face without it. That’s it. Turn your head and look at Marty Crosby, that fisherman to your right. Okay, turn to the other side now.”
“What do you think Marty? I think I do know him, do you remember him too?”
“Course I do Jim Hannon. Wasn’t I with you the very night it happened?”
“You men know me!” gasped John Deer, frightened and excited at the same time.
“We could hardly forget you mister,” said the Deputy Sheriff. “It was in this very room, seven years ago that you killed a man!”
Chapter Seventeen:
The Christmas Vacation
At the Huntington School for Girls Christmas Assembly on Friday, December 16, 1910, awards were presented to outstanding students for first term achievements. The event was capped by a luncheon in the third floor cafeteria. The festive meal was a celebration of the upcoming Christmas break. The school would be shut down until Monday January 9, 1911.
In the teachers’ dining room, Emily and her top assistant Martha Dawson, who was also her best friend, were devouring their Lobster Newburg while picking at a green salad on the side. They were discussing their plans for the long holiday.
“Teddy and I are going to Conway, New Hampshire for two weeks. We’re going to ski, eat a lot of good food, gain five or ten pounds, have some wine and….”
“Don’t tell me. He’s going to round third base!” Emily interrupted. “I knew you were getting along well, but I never suspected…”
“We’re each going to have our own room at the resort. So, let’s just say that he’s on third base, but home plate is going to have to wait. I don’t think the wait will be long Em. I’m pretty sure he’s asked me on this trip to propose. Actually I’m positive of it, because his Mom and I are very close and she said that he made a purchase at Desjardin’s Jewelers that I am going to love.”
“I’m thrilled for you Martha. You two make a wonderful couple. You’re going to be very happy and probably have seven kids and a big house and I am sooooo jealous.”
“What about John, Emily? Is there any news?”
“He’s in Provincetown trying to find out if anyone there knows him and can shed some light on what happened to him. I didn’t have any plans for the holiday, but I’ve just now made up my mind. I’m going to go to him. I’ll be in Provincetown for Christmas, and somehow I’ll help him to find out who he is. Perhaps by New Year’s Day, I’ll have someone to play ‘baseball’ with too. I don’t mind telling you Martha - John could easily round the bases with me anytime he wants to!”
“Emily, that’s just shocking!” laughed her friend.
The next morning found Miss Emily Rapport in the office of the Bay State Shipping Company on Boylston Street where she booked one way passage on the huge steamer, “The Dorothy Bradford”. She was scheduled to leave Boston Harbor at at noon and would be at the MacMillan Pier in Provincetown by four. She paid the fare of three dollars and went back to her apartment on Washington Street to finish packing.
The Dorothy Bradford ferried thousands of people from Boston to Provincetown during its daily runs from 1900 into the 1920s.
Chapter Eighteen:
Astounding News of the Lost Brother
Every morning after breakfast all the Russo brothers except for Meo, who was on his fishing boat, walked to their shop at the other end of Rantoul Street to plan the day’s work. Since receiving the windfall of $50,000 from Sandwich and $20,000 more from the Italian government, the brothers had hired a dozen new employees - pipefitters as well as construction workers.
Following Carmine’s lead, the family did less actual work and spent most of the day inside the shop planning existing jobs, or sometimes out in the field prospecting for new business. Their company was prospering beyond belief but despite their affluence they had abandoned all thoughts of early retirement.
They also chose to keep their home on Rantoul Street instead of building fancy new houses in the rich sections of town like Beverly Farms where Teddy Roosevelt’s pal, Senator Henry Cabot Lodge lived. Townspeople said that the Lodge family was so ‘snooty’ they only talked to the Cabots and the Cabots only talked to God. It’s a sure bet they wouldn’t want any E-I-E-I-Os moving into their plush section!
Rantoul Street was, and is to this very day, the place in Beverly where new arrivals land. Many of them try to get away as fast as they can, but not the Russo people. They felt comfortable and at home in the long boulevard that begins at Beverly harbor and runs for a mile and a half until merging into Cabot Street at the Railroad tracks, across from the high school.
Each day at noon, without fail, the brothers left their building and walked six doors down, to the Rose Restaurant, at the edge of the harbor. The food at the small café was second to none in the city of Beverly – though the staff numbered just four.
The tiny six-stool bar was tended by their cousin Gino. His wife Arietta did the cooking. Another cousin, Maria-elena, had waitress duty. Vincenzo, still another cousin, washed dishes, swept floors, and bounced the occasional rowdy from the premises.
The Rose was owned by Gino’s father Mario, who in retirement became known as ‘The King of the Primitives’ because of his remarkable paintings of scenes he remembered from his youth in Sicily. His pieces were rudimentary and childlike in many respects. But the art world was in love with his work. His bold use of color and vivid detail despite the unsophisticated lines, made his paintings much desired in the art enclaves of Boston, Cambridge, Cape Cod, and the Berkshires.
After he retired and handed over the lunch room to Gino, the old man became unhappy and found that time weighed heavily on him. His other son Bassillio, a college trained artist, gave him some paints, canvas and brushes and suggested that he paint whatever he could remember about Malfa, the tiny island of his birth just off the coast of the big island, Sicily.
“I’m-a not-a too good-a, at this-a painting thing Bassillio,” he said as he showed his son his first finished piece. It was a rendering of his own father’s tomato field.
To an untrained eye, the painting might have seemed to be the work of a five year old.
“Papa,” that is amazing work!” declared an excited Bassillio. “I went to art school for four years and I’ve been making a living as an artist for ten years, and I could never do anything as fine as that.”
Bassillio showed his dad’s work to other artists on the North Shore and they agreed that it was extraordinary. In a year’s time, Gino’s paintings were hanging in galleries in seven states and were bringing the highest prices of anything sold in the venues.
Several of his best works
were hung in various locations throughout the lunch portion of the Rose, as well as in the adjoining bar with its six stools and four high-back booths.
The main feature of the lunchroom was the horseshoe shaped lunch counter. There were eight stools in each section. The area was open on the fourth side, allowing easy access from the kitchen for Maria-elena to serve the meals.
The daily blue plate special cost 20 cents. Every day the food was good, but it was spectacular on Fridays when Arietta’s special was fried clams and French fries. Wednesday was pasta day and it was almost as good. Thursday was ‘boiled dinner’ day and even the neighborhood’s dyed in the wool ‘paisans’ devoured the beef brisket, potatoes, carrots, and cabbage piled up on the plate as high as a football.
There was never an empty seat at the Rose. As soon as somebody finished their meal and left, another person who had been waiting outside, would be ushered inside to the still warm stool. There was always a line of a dozen or more people on the sidewalk. Sometimes the queue would be policed by an actual policeman - usually it was another cousin, Luigi Russo, the Rantoul Street beat cop, who made sure the line was orderly and moved well.
As you can probably imagine, patrons at the lunchroom were encouraged to eat their meal as rapidly as possible within reason, and then move out, to make way for the next customer. Such leisure activities as chatting or reading newspapers were discouraged during the busy times of breakfast and lunch.
To break this unwritten rule, was to invite a visit from Vincenzo. If a customer happened to have a newspaper spread out on the counter and ‘Big Vinny’ spotted it, he would remove his white apron and hang it on a hook by the sink. He’d walk slowly to the offending customer and simply pick up the newspaper, often without saying a word. The now nervous patron, would quickly finish his meal and leave.
This very thing happened on that day in mid December when the four Russo brothers led by Carmine, leader of the family after Papa, crowded into a booth that Cousin Gino had reserved for them.
It being even busier than usual for a Friday, Vincenzo told Maria-elena that he’d take the brothers’ orders since he was caught up with his dish washing.