RichardHowe.com – Voices from Lowell & Beyond

Seen & Heard: Vol. 16

Museum Visit: Massachusetts Historical Society – Last Friday I had an early appointment in Boston so when that was finished, I went to the Massachusetts Historical Society at 1154 Boylston Street which is not far from the Prudential Center. I’ve long been aware of the organization but had never visited its headquarters. My purpose for going now was to see an exhibit called “1776: Declaring Independence” which was excellent. The highlight was various copies of the Declaration of Independence including hand-written versions created by the hands of John Adams and Thomas Jefferson for their own use, and an early version of the Declaration – Jefferson’s first draft – which proposed the abolition of slavery. The committee overseeing the draft wanted nothing to do with that and forced it to be removed from the final version. My favorite artifact on display was a small brass cannon which had been used by US troops at the Battle of New Orleans during the War of 1812. The cannon had found its way after the war to the Manchester-By-The-Sea home of William Saltonstall. Originally displayed in the Saltonstall living room, the family began dragging it outside and used it to fire wooden croquet balls into the Atlantic Ocean. When Mass Historic eventually came into possession of it, several of the balls were stuck inside the gun. The sign next to this artifact quotes one of the Saltonstalls as saying, “Every historical society should have a cannon” which is a noble sentiment. The Massachusetts Historical Society is at 1154 Boylston Street in Boston and is open at various times – check its website for those – for viewing of the exhibit. Entry is free although you have to get buzzed in by the receptionist.  

Book Review: Battle Green Vietnam: The 1971 March on Concord, Lexington, and Boston by Elise Lemire (2021). This is a fascinating account of a protest action over Memorial Day weekend in 1971 by local chapters of Vietnam Veterans Against the War (VVAW). Lemire, a Professor of Literature at Purchase College, State University of New York (SUNY) with family ties to Lowell, interviewed many of the people involved including veterans, local residents, and public officials. This yields a compelling story for anyone interested in the Vietnam War but also for people involved in local government or in participating in collective protests. Memorial Day in 1971 was the first to occur after Congress passed Monday Holiday legislation. Taking advantage of the three day weekend, the VVAW framed themselves as the progeny of the American colonists who fought the British in 1775. The three-day action began at North Bridge in Concord on Friday where the veterans stayed overnight. On Saturday, they marched in patrol formation to Lexington’s Battle Green intending to stay the night there. While the National Park Service had given wink-and-nod permission at North Bridge – “you can’t camp there but if you stay all night, we’re not going to bother you” – Lexington Green was under the jurisdiction of the Lexington Board of Selectmen and they drew a line in the sand against an overnight stay. Understanding that non-violent confrontation would yield more attention to their cause than strict compliance with the rules, the veterans remained on the Green all night, or at least until two busloads of police arrived and arrested several hundred veterans and their supporters. The police chief, in his interview with the author, stressed that he ordered his officers not to resort to violence in conducting the arrests. This was consistent with the attitude of the veterans who saw the arrests as a positive development. All prisoners were transported to the town DPW garage where they were held for the rest of the night. Then, in a special Sunday session at the Concord District Court, the judge dismissed for all defendants the misdemeanor disorderly conduct charges and imposed a $5 fine for trespassing. The hundreds of supporters outside the court took up a collection and paid the fines. Supporters then car-pooled the veterans to Charlestown where they marched to the Bunker Hill Monument to spend Sunday night. They were not surprised that the more liberal and affluent suburbanites of Concord and Lexington had supported their cause, but were concerned that working class Charlestown which had contributed many young men to the Vietnam War would have a different response. However, the response there was quite positive which may have reflected eroding support for the war. After spending a peaceful night at Bunker Hill, the veterans marched to Boston Common for some closing ceremonies. 

Obituary: “Norman Bussel, 102, Who Helped Explain Veterans’ Trauma, Dies” by Clay Risen in The New York Times – In April 1944, Bussel was a 19-year old crew member on a B-17 heavy bomber based in England. On his third mission over Germany, his plane was shot down by antiaircraft fire and he became a POW. He was held in atrocious conditions but survived the war, but afterwards carried with him nightmares, claustrophobia and survivor guilt which led him to alcoholism. After many painful years, he began communicating with other former POWs and realized their experiences were alike. This led him to write about his experience and become an advocate of others, with his efforts contributing to the recognition of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder as a serious condition. Back to 1944, while Bussel made it out of the B-17, not everyone did. One crew member who perished in the crash was 24 year old Vasilios Mpourles who lived at 70 West Fifth Street in Lowell with his widowed father and three brothers. His father was born in Greece and worked in a cotton mill while Vasilios drove a milk truck before joining the service. He is buried in Lorraine American Cemetery in France. 

Newspaper Article: “At 94, a Champion with 935 Victories Seeks No Validation” by Jason Quick in The Athletic – This story, about former NBA coach Dick Motta, is not an obituary. Instead, it was prompted by the failure of the NBA to select Motta for its Hall of Fame this year. This leaves Motta as the coach with the most career victories to not be in the Hall. I don’t recall hearing Motta’s name or thinking of him for 30 years, but seeing this story triggered some good memories about my youthful enjoyment of the National Basketball Association in the 1970s. Motta’s first pro coaching job was in 1968 with the Chicago Bulls. He won the NBA championship with the Washington Bullets in 1978, then finished up with several other teams before retiring in 1997 with the Denver Nuggets. Now, Motta lives in Idaho (he’s a native of Utah) and is the primary caregiver of his wife of 70 years who has dementia. He told the reporter he is not bitter about the Hall snub, but his comments suggest otherwise. The article was most poignant when Motta recalled that all five starters from the 1978 championship team are deceased as is the star of Motta’s first team, which won a high school championship. I began the article to revive memories of Celtic glory days with John Havlicek, Dave Cowens, Jo Jo White, and others, but finished it with a reminder of how quickly life passes.

Newspaper Nooks and Crannies

Newspaper Nooks and Crannies – (PIP #103)

By Louise Peloquin

To add and to end with the March 24^th topic, a few more phrases from L’Etoile’s nooks and crannies. (1)

• A grandiose coquette is the woman who states that she is not so. (January 23, 1926)
• The mind searches; the heart finds. ( January 9, 1926)
• There would be more January poets if there were more romantic words to rhyme with “slush.” (January 2, 1926)
• From time to time, our old souls need to live with the memories of childhood. (January 8, 1926)
• No disgust, no discouragement, if you fail, recommence. – Marcus Aurelius (March 1, 1926)
• Examine your promise well. Is it just? Can you honor it? A promise must not be retracted. – Chinese proverb (March 1, 1926)
• You moan about your misfortunes. If you considered what others suffer, you would complain quietly. – Chilion (March 1, 1926)
• One’s entire life is made up of the past since everything dies and falls into it. It is the marvelous survival of that which, despite us, has fled. – J. Mortal (March 1, 1926)
• The real way to know nothing is to learn everything simultaneouly. – Georges Sand (January 4, 1926)

To end with a smile, a last newspaper space-filler.

•  “How old do you think I am?”
• “Twenty at the very most.”
• “Oh my, how sweet you are!”
• “Aren’t I? When a woman asks me her age I always respond half of what I think.” (March 2, 1926)

(2)

****

1. Spaces for Wise Phrases – PIP #101: https://richardhowe.com/2026/03/24/spaces-for-wise-phrases/
2. Translations by Louise Peloquin.

Some thoughs on the Marathon Bombing (2013 repost)

With today being the annual running of the Boston Marathon, my thoughts drifted back to that event in 2013 when terrorism injected itself into the iconic sporting event. Most are familiar with what happened, but this post, which I wrote on April 22, 2013, provides many details and a feel of what it was like at the time, to me at least . . . 

With the past week’s tragic and dramatic events now a part of history, life in Lowell can start edging back to normal. The primary for the special election for the U.S. Senate is a week away (Tuesday, April 30) and conflict at the city council meeting will grab center stage for some. During the crisis, I found it hard to write blog posts: things unrelated to the bombing seemed trivial and things about the bombing were coming in overwhelming waves from other sources. Best to stay silent. Before moving on, however, I wanted to post some observations from the week past, more for archival purposes than anything else.

News of the Boston Marathon bombing arrived at 3 pm last Monday, Patriot’s Day. More than a decade after 9/11, my first reaction when told there had been an explosion at the Marathon wasn’t “terrorist attack” although that reality set in quickly enough. The death toll was quickly set at 3 and the injured at 50. My expectation was that the former number would creep upwards but it did not (from bomb injuries, at least). But the number of wounded did rise with the final figure around 170. Given the packed surroundings, it is amazing more were not killed by the two explosions, but that is attributable to the construction of the bombs (at ground level, they propelled shrapnel outward not upward, causing massive injuries to legs but few to vital organs) and the instant availability of top quality medical care at the nearby marathon runners’ tent.

As is often the case, connections to Lowell were soon established. The photo of a gravely injured Lowell High student being treated by two bystanders dominated the Tuesday front pages of both the Boston Globe and the New York Times. A surprising number of the injured were from Greater Lowell or had close ties to this area, and there was Ed Davis, a calm, authoritative voice throughout the crisis as Boston’s police commissioner.

Wednesday was spent reading of the victims, of those who responded to them first, and speculation about who had done it. One website had pre-explosion crowd photos with every isolated male with a backpack annotated as the possible terrorist. (As someone who routinely carries a backpack, I found this crowd sourcing exercise a bit creepy and while possibly of some assistance, also a source of potential harm to the reputations of many innocent bystanders).

Thursday was the interfaith memorial service featuring President Obama. As is so often the case (in my view) his public remarks struck the right note of comfort to the injured, defiance to the perpetrators, and inspiration to everyone else. After the service the President visited victims hospitalized at Mass General.

Throughout the day on Thursday, the media spread the word that the FBI had photos of the bombers and would be releasing them to the public soon. That happened in the late afternoon: it was a video loop of two men striding relaxed but purposely down the sidewalk in column, the first with a black baseball cap and a black backpack squarely strapped to both shoulders (Suspect #1), the second with a white ballcap worn backwards, with a grayish colored pack slung casually over his right shoulder. Still photos were grainy but good enough to be recognized. I went to bed at about 10:30 p.m. with no further news.

Waking up early on Friday (4:30 a.m.), I immediately glanced at my phone for overnight news. Two emails from my son Andrew who now lives near Harvard Square in Cambridge immediately grabbed my attention. The first was at 11:41 p.m.: “There was just a shooting near MIT. Some injuries. No threat here.” The second at 2:06 a.m.: “I’m sure you’ll see all the details when you wake up. Eventful night. They’re not done sweeping the area of Watertown, but it’s a lot less chaotic than it was. I think I’ll be going to bed soon.” The first thing that popped up on my computer was Facebook. I locked onto Andrew’s feed: “There was a shooting around MIT. Then there was a car hijacked in Central. Pursued by police. I heard sirens then turned the police radio on. I heard explosion and gunshots in the distance from my room…they’re now saying grenades and automatic gunfire in Watertown. Second officer down.”

News came rapidly after that from the TV and the computer. The Marathon bombers had been identified as two brothers from Cambridge. One of them was now dead, the other on the run. The news Friday morning was that they had ambushed and killed an MIT police officer, robbed a 7-11 (an erroneous report), hijacked a car and been stopped by police in Watertown where a massive firefight ensued. An MBTA police officer had been badly wounded in the gunfight, one of the terrorists (Suspect 1) had been killed, and Suspect 2 had escaped.

By 6:30 a.m., Governor Patrick had shut down the entire MBTA and the communities of Watertown, Cambridge, Newton, and several others were all locked down which meant people were to remain at home and business were not to open while a massive manhunt was conducted. Within minutes, the lockdown was extended to the entire city of Boston. Here in Lowell, the work day continued uneventfully, but all eyes and ears were trained on whatever “breaking news” source was available. An Amtrak train in Norwalk, Connecticut had been evacuated and a bomb squad in Buffalo was searching a car with Massachusetts plates. But nothing really came of it.

Twelve hours later, exhausted and disheartened elected officials and police announced at a press conference that the suspect continued to elude them but that the lockdown was lifted and the MBTA was back in business. With that announcement, the local TV news morphed into Diane Sawyer and the national news, something I hadn’t watched in months. She broke for a commercial at 6:50 p.m. but when the commercial ended, the local news anchors on channel 5 were back on screen, telling of breaking news in Watertown. Suspect #2 had been located hiding in a boat stored in a yard just outside the day’s search perimeter. Gunfire broke out and then faded. Wave after wave of police of all types arrived. At 9:00 p.m., they announced that Suspect #2 had been captured, alive but badly wounded.

Since then and continuing has been a mix of stories about the terrorists and their motivations and actions and other stories about the victims, their funerals and their recoveries. For most of us, returning to work today will be a chance to share accounts of consuming the news of Friday night and sharing nuggets of information picked up over the weekend. I suspect that those involved in K-12 education who are just returning from a week of vacation will have a different experience. With the news profiles of the younger terrorist all reporting that he was a fine student, an excellent athlete, a good friend and many other superlatives, those who work with and educate young people must be struggling with the question of what makes someone who by all appearances was a “good kid” morph into a murdering terrorist and how can that transition be identified, diverted and derailed?

European art: a man’s obsession and crime by Marjorie Arons-Barron

The entry below is being cross posted from Marjorie Arons-Barron’s own blog.

The Art Thief: a True Story of Love, Crime and a Dangerous Obsession by Michael Finkel, published in 2023, is a well researched and documented account of one of the most unusual art thieves of all time. For years, his heists stymied collectors and investigators in Europe, especially in France, Switzerland and Germany. And he did his crimes for the love of art!

Stéphane Bréitwieser was born in 1971 in the Alsace-Lorraine region of France, bordering on Germany and Switzerland. He was fluent in French and German, and was functional in the mixed (Alsatian) dialect and English. His parents were affluent; their resplendent home had a significant art collection, which Stéphane took pleasure in even as a boy.

When his parents divorced, his father took with him all of the home’s paintings, antique objects and collectibles, leaving an emotional hole in his psyche. Stéphane lived with his doting mother, Mireille Stengel, but spent much time with his grandfather, Joseph Stengel, who took him walking through old Roman ruins in the Rhine Valley. Thus began a lifelong obsession with collecting small artifacts. As an oddball teenager, Stéphane’s interests were archaeology, medieval pottery, old architecture and Hellenic history. He was, as Finkel puts it, “born in the wrong century.”

Deprived by his father of so many of the material objects that resonated with him emotionally, adolescent Stéphane took up shoplifting, from clothes, to books, to whatever caught his fancy.  Psychologists made clear he was trying to fill the void left by his father.  Punishment – forced apologies, paying compensation, even a court-ordered stay at a behavioral therapy clinic – never curbed Stéphane’s insatiable drive for acquiring and collecting things.

He took small jobs, often menial, and spent the rest of his time in and out of museums, studying art and history. For a month he got a job as a security guard at the Mulhouse History Museum, where he learned about the procedures for security – or lack thereof.  He quickly became bored with the regularity of a job.

By the time he turned 20, he had acquired something else of beauty, a girlfriend. His new love, Anne-Catherine Kleinklaus, was not bothered by his shoplifting, and even seems to have shared his exhilaration for it.  She moved into his room on the top floor of his mother’s house and soon became his accomplice. In 1991, he stole a priceless hammered metal belt buckle from 500 AD and, in 1994,  a flintlock pistol from the early 18^th century.  His father had flintlocks, but this one was nicer.  Stealing it, he said, “was the ultimate ‘fuck you’ to my dad.”

Together, they moved from one small museum to another in that part of Europe, graduating from small objects to stealing paintings, especially 16^th and 17^th century Renaissance and Baroque artists. With Anne-Catherine as his look-out, Bréitwieser would use a Swiss Army knife and other small tools to separate paintings from their frames, hiding them inside his raincoat as they strolled past security guards and out to their car. Some thefts took place in daylight, even when museums were crowded. He would go on to become what Finkel describes as the world’s most prolific art thief. He had lifted more than 200 pieces, worth, according to Finkel, an estimated $2 billion. ARTnews Magazine puts the value at $1 billion, and faults Finkel for building up a mythology around Bréitwieser.

What differentiated him from other art thieves was that he did his crimes for pure psychological gratification. Surrounding himself with objects of beauty gave him inner joy.  His intent , at least initially, was not to sell them for money but to cherish them. The act of stealing them gave him a high. He kept them in the attic of his mother’s house, where his mother respected the young couple’s privacy.  (For years, she would claim not to have known of his crimes.)

He long escaped detection because he never tried to fence these priceless possessions. He was brought to court in 1997 when he and Anne-Catherine were recognized by a Swiss gallery owner. Because the police took him for a first-time offender, he got away with a suspended sentence. He was arrested again in 2001. By this time, his now fully aware mother destroyed many of the works in his collection to cover up evidence of her son’s crimes. She burned many valuable paintings and tossed remnants of collectibles in the nearby Rhone-Rhine Canal, where they came to public attention when pieces floated to the surface. She got three years for receiving stolen goods but served half the time. Anne-Catherine got 18 months but served six months.

For Stéphane, it was rinse and repeat. More arrests followed more thefts. Two years in prison in Switzerland were followed by a sentence of three years imprisonment in France, of which he served 26 months. In 2006, he wrote an autobiography entitled “Confessions of an Art Thief,” but it was not a financial success.

Eventually, closely monitored by arts police in several countries, he devolved to surviving on monthly welfare payments reduced by token amounts subtracted for court-imposed fines. In defiance of his self-identification as a sophisticated art connoisseur “with unusual acquisition methods,” he then started to fence some of his newly stolen pieces. He had become just another art thief, on trial yet again in 2023.

Author Finkel spent a decade gathering pieces of the story, pursuing Bréitwieser for an interview from 2012 to 2017, when he finally was able to meet with him for a total of 40 hours. Finkel also used court records and secondary interviews but was refused interviews by Stéphane’s mother and girlfriend.

His book provides several high points in the history of art theft, including the 1911 theft of the Mona Lisa (eventually returned to the Louvre), the dozens of heists executed by Massachusetts’ own Myles Connor in the 60’s and 70’s, and the Gardner heist in 1990. Breitweiser, himself, observed that “the story of art is the story of stealing.” More than one museum director might acknowledge the same.

Finkel covers everything from the economics of the stolen art market to some speculation about the neuroscience of impulse-control disorders that created Bréitwieser’s unstoppable criminal behavior.  (He even stole a brochure from a gift shop while in Finkel’s presence.)  He’s apparently still under house arrest, with only government assistance to live on.

Despite criticism that Finkel relied too heavily on Bréitwieser’s views, “The Art Thief” is a richly detailed piece of non-fiction, a true-crime psychological thriller of sorts, and a well-executed piece of writing. It came enthusiastically recommended to me. I read it because I like procedurals and enjoy learning about different aspects of the underside of the art world. I confess, however, that I am far less empathetic about Bréitwieser’s compulsion than I am repulsed by his truly despicable personality. It’s a good read about a profoundly unlovely major character, but not a useful distraction from today’s real-life grifts and scandals.