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Those Who Marched Before Us

Those Who Marched Before Us

By Rich Grady, April 2026

Whatever of true life there was in thee

Leaps in our age’s veins;

Wield still thy bent and wrinkled empery,

And shake thine idle chains;

To thee thy dross is clinging,

For us thy martyrs die, thy prophets see,

Thy poets still are singing

(Excerpt from “To the Past” by James Russell Lowell, 1843)

The Minutemen were hardened by steely resolve and patriotic fervor on their march from Acton to Concord in the early morning hours of April 19, 1775. They were solemn in their double file columns, and quiet except for the sound of their boots and the rhythmic beat of the snare drum and the shrill notes of the fife cutting through the stillness of the surrounding farmland and bordering stonewalls. They might have heard a galloping horse as a messenger approached with updates on the British advance. They were well-trained and committed to the cause of an emerging new nation, and they knew that British Army regulars stood in their path. These ordinary men – farmers and stonemasons, gunsmiths and blacksmiths, husbands and brothers – were on an extraordinary path.

I belong to the Boxborough District Minutemen Company, and we exist to keep the memory of the original Minutemen alive.  A big part of that in today’s world is volunteer work in the community to help where needed, but it also involves marching in parades and participating in commemorative events, and raising money for scholarships. Patriots’ Day weekend is a big deal for us, and this year I gave a lot of thought to what we were doing, and why.  In typical Socratic fashion, I came up with more questions than answers, particularly about the thoughts and motivations of the original Minutemen.

During the weekend, I tried to imagine what thoughts were going through Luther Blanchard’s head on the morning of April 19, 1775. Perhaps his concentration on hitting the right notes kept him focused and in the moment. Luther was the fifer in Captain Isaac Davis’s Acton Minutemen Company – the first unit to confront the British Army regulars at the North Bridge – and he was the first man wounded at the North Bridge. He survived his wound initially, and fought in the Battle of Bunker Hill on June 17, 1775, and was listed on the rolls of the enlisted men for the Continental Army in August of that year. Historians generally think that his wound became aggravated and eventually contributed to his death in September 1775 in Cambridge where General George Washington had his army headquarters. That is what his brother Calvin believed and told other family members – he was also serving in the Continental Army at the time, and had also fought in the Battle of Concord and the Battle of Bunker Hill. From all indications, they were raised with a strong sense of duty and liberty. Getting wounded or killed were possibilities that they were well aware of, but they were both committed to the cause.

Their father, Simon, was killed in 1759 at the Battle of the Plains of Abraham, Quebec, during the French-Indian War. Luther (b. 1756) was 3 years old, and his brother Calvin (b. 1754) was 5 years old, when their father died. They were likely told of his courage and valor in battle and that he was a man of honor. The family farm was in a rural section of Littleton that is now part of Boxborough, which was not incorporated as a district until 1783, and as a town in 1835.  Luther is on Boxborough’s town seal, and also on our Minutemen Company’s flag. We honor his memory with a town festival in June every year, called Fifer’s Day (June 20th this year).

Leading up to the Battle of Concord, both Luther and Calvin were apprenticed to Deacon Jonathan Hosmer of Acton to become stonemasons – they were strong young men.  A monument marks where they answered the alarm and left for Captain Davis’s house on the morning of April 19, 1775. It is located on Prospect Street in Acton, where Hosmer’s farm used to be.  Deacon Hosmer’s son, Abner, was a friend of the Blanchards, and he was killed at the North Bridge along with Isaac Davis. The annual reenactment of this historic day starts at 5:30 AM with a short march along Hayward Road in Acton to the homestead of Isaac Davis, Captain of the Acton Minutemen in 1775. Like Luther, I marched with the Acton Minutemen, but I am not a fifer. At the homestead, we were met by townspeople, including descendants of Isaac Davis.  Many of these people marched along behind us as we continued onward with the 7 mile march to Concord after a brief ceremony at the homestead, which included a musket volley.

According to historic records, there were 37 Minutemen marching with Captain Davis on the morning of April 19, 1775.  Many of them had fought in the French-Indian War, so they had experience in warfare and had seen bloodshed. Some likely knew Simon Blanchard, and gave Luther and Calvin encouragement. Undoubtedly, they all had a heightened sense of alertness to their situation – they had all trained for this moment, for this day. A certain sense of pride probably coursed through their veins, knowing that they were first responders that others were relying on. And yet, no doubt there were fears of bad outcomes, whether for themselves or their brothers in arms. In all likelihood, a rider on horseback had reached them during their march with news of the deaths of fellow Patriots in Lexington from a battle with British Army regulars.

As for the modern day Minutemen, I can’t speak for all of them about how they felt about this day. In my case, I felt a solemn sense of purpose and humility as I retraced the footsteps of Isaac Davis, Luther Blanchard, and the others. When we got to what is now known as the Old North Bridge and fired a musket volley, I thought of the Redcoats retreating to Boston as the original Minutemen tended to the dead and wounded before giving chase. These Minutemen stood for liberty and government by the people – they opposed the tyranny of King George III – and they stood up to British Army regulars. They fought in a long bloody war – a revolution – to accomplish their dream of a new nation, and many didn’t make it to the war’s end, including Isaac Davis and Luther Blanchard. They were ordinary people who launched us on an extraordinary journey as a nation – a journey that needs to get back on course.

A Walking Tour of Lowell’s Acre, Then and Now

A Walking Tour of Lowell’s Acre, Then and Now

By Leo Racicot

     The Lowell Acre neighborhood streets I walked as a boy are much changed as I walk them now. True, the look of the landscape is pretty much the same –when I stand in my yard or go out the front gate, walk across Fletcher Street, I still see the cathedral-like spire of Saint Patrick’s, my parish church and have a clear view of Saint Patrick’s School which, in those days, was hidden in the shadow of The Morrill School (torn down many years ago). Over to my right is The Marine Club, with its front yard stone statue of a World War I doughboy. In the 1990s, it became Lowell Firefighters’ Club with its hard-to-miss mural depiction of firemen battling a raging blaze. The doughboy remains at its entrance which is nice, I think. That hasn’t changed. Catty-corner from the club was Pappas Funeral home. Pappas was owned and operated by the Zaroulis family, by Eunice Zaroulis and her mother, Gloria. A prominent Greek family, the Zaroulis’ catered mostly to a Greek clientele (when I was a kid, many Acre residents were Greek immigrants and I was blessed to have/know a great many Greek kids and their families as friends). Having a funeral home a couple of houses away from ours, seeing the funerals, the attendees, the pall bearers, the hearses, the limos on such a regular basis, exposed me to the matter of death and dying, and informed my views, I’m sure, about these matters from a very young age. Eunice was always stylishly coiffed, stylishly dressed so that I associated death with a certain glamour. I remember thinking, “It (death) can’t be all bad.”   Pappas’ was torn down years ago. In its place, a plaza devoted to Southeast Asian businesses (shops, laundromats and restaurants) was constructed. I can still look over and see the plaza here from my second-story kitchen window, and it’s always wildly busy, cars and customers coming-and-going constantly, trying carefully to maneuver through its tiny parking lot. I think of it and its takeover of the corner of Cross and Willie streets as symbolic of one race of immigrants making way for the next. In place of the Betses, Lellos, Tournas Zaharakis & Krikoris families I ran into every day, there are Luu, Hoa and Naly families. These days, of the old crowd, I only run into George Bletsis at the market. Along with his late brother, Christos, he ran Star Pizza on Merrimack Street for years, a favorite hangout in those days.      Continuing on across Broadway Street, I see a succession of what were known as Greek coffeehouses, social meeting-places where men (no women or children were allowed inside) could gather, to drink coffee, gossip, talk politics and enjoy one another’s camaraderie. Being as restricted as they were lent a mystery to them and I used to wish I was Greek and grown-up so I could go inside their smoky interiors. By the end of the1970s, certainly by the early 1980s, these significantly important social outlets for the city’s Greek community and economy, had vanished. In their place, I now see a barber shop, an Hispanic eatery, PIkalu’s. George the Tailor’s, owned by our neighbors; Bill and Anna Krikoris’ brother for years and years, is now the site of an upscale modern sign design operation. From my childhood, only Anton’s Cleaners and Olympos Bakery remain on this street.     I can’t find anyone who remembers, as I do, that before George’s Pizza moved to the corner of Broadway and Willie Streets, it was located further up Broadway at the corner of Broadway and School. I’m sure I didn’t imagine it; my mother used to walk Diane and me up regularly to treat us to a pizza or spaghetti lunch or supper. It was there I first heard Barbra Streisand singing People on the jukebox. George’s, at both locations, was a popular eating place for Acre residents and when it closed its doors and was demolished, many Acre-ites were devastated. Who can forget Eddie, the cook, or Dot and Irene, its longtime waitresses?  Where it stood, across from Anton’s, is now occupied by an Asian Restaurant and Bakery, not bad food but certainly not George’s steak-and-cheese or its unforgettable spaghetti with pepperoni.  A little way up from George’s stood the odd architecture of Cote’s Paint Store where our next-door neighbor, Clem Brissette, worked for years. That staple of the Acre closed and was taken over by, first, a bookstore, then a second-hand thrift store. When I was a kid, I hung around with the Brissette kids, Vivian, Diane, Denise and Michael, and one of the images I never can shake is of the day Anna Krikoris and I were chatting with their mom, Rita Brissette in the driveway that separated 5 from 7 Willie. As if out-of-nowhere, Rita’s face turned deep blue and she dropped to the ground, dead in a split second. On the spot where Cote’s Paint Store stood is now an abandoned, weed-heavy lot.      Wending my way up Broadway Street, I come to Macheras Auto Body Shop. Lowell fixture, George Macheras, is long gone but his shop still stands, maintained by the Macheras family. From there, the road then bends onto Dummer Street, a street we spent a lot of time on as kids. On Dummer, the original DeMoulas Market stood, a small place but in those days, it seemed big and carried all the goods our family needed. It closed in 1997 when a new, larger store opened up on the corner of Broadway and Fletcher, to accommodate bigger crowds. The new store, under the name Market Basket was built on the site of a Gulf Gas Station (or was it a Mobil?). My one memory of that gas station is of the time I pulled up to one of the pumps to make sure I had enough gas to get to Worcester; I was on my way to see Truman Capote who was appearing at Worcester State College. Diane had very generously said I could borrow her car. I was so excited. But after I filled her tank, I got back in the car and it wouldn’t start. A station attendant checked it and said the battery had died. Bummer. I was crestfallen for weeks after; Capote being one of my favorite writers. Also, on Dummer Street was McCord’s Drugstore, close enough so that any of us could walk there when a medical emergency required a prescription pickup, Alka Seltzer, cough drops, Pepto Bismol. It later changed its name to McCord-Sweeney. Marie’s Oyster House was on Dummer. Our mother often took Diane and me there, either to eat or for take home. I’ve never since tasted a fish batter that so ambrosial, and you’ll still hear Lowell residents on buses or on street corners talking about how wonderful Marie’s was.  Going to this area, I’d often take a shortcut leading from Saint Patrick’s Church past the Greek Orthodox Church through O’Brien Terrace over to Dummer. Then, the Greek Church gated its property to create more parking space so — no more shortcut. I still grouse about having to “go around”, especially in bad weather. Dummer Street led to Lower Merrimack where a stop-off at Pollard Memorial Library was always a treat. On the way home from high school, Anthony Kalil and I would head into Elias Bros. Tobacco Shop; In addition to cigars, cigarettes and pipes, the brothers sold quite a variety of sweets: penny candies, candy bars. I can still see the brothers’ kind Middle Eastern faces. Good people. Further up from there was The Royal Theater which, by that time, had seen better days. I went there only once, to see WIlliam Castle’s The Tingler with the great Vincent Price. The rumor was that The Royal was home to something like a million rats. For The Tingler, Castle had come up with a gimmick (he was known for inventing these) whereby when the creature, the tingler, appeared on the screen, theater seats were rigged to give the audience members a sudden jolt. When my seat buzzed, closer to my leg than to my rear end, I thought a rat had rushed over my foot and I screamed louder than anybody. I ask you — how do you forget something like that?!! Further up the street was Henry Poirier’s Hobby Shop where we kids bought chemistry sets, monster models like Frankenstein and The Mummy and ship-building and kite-making kits. I still have in the attic the cool Viking boat I put together from Poirier’s for Mrs. Dalton’s fifth grade history project.

     The Acre of today is populated by a large group of Southeast Asian residents. The streets I walked so often — Butterfield, Varney, Adams, Cross, Rock, Rockdale Avenue, are now heavily decorated by typical ivy- and vine-covered canopies. It’s a common sight, when passing by, to glance into people’s driveways, alleys and enclaves and see Southeast Asian gardens, little Buddhas, incense sticks.  I find the many thatched or timbered louvers dotting the Lowell landscape, protectors against rain and shade, a delight. There’s a certain area at the end of Suffolk Street leading to Dutton where, in summer, I see and smell orchids, bromeliads, Rangoon creepers, catalpa, Hoya, Rafflesia and ginger in bloom. I imagine I am walking in Laos or Vietnam.

                                                 ________________

First DeMoulas Store on Dummer Street

George’s Pizza being torn down

George’s Pizza by Janet Lambert Moore

Greek Coffee House

Macheras Service Mart

Marie’s Oyster House

Olympos Bakery

Pappas Funeral Home, 120 Cross St

Royal Theatre

St. Patrick’s Church spire

WWI Doughboy statue

Seen & Heard: Vol. 17

Book Review – Kent State: An American Tragedy, by Brian VanDemark (2024). On May 4, 1970, members of the Ohio National Guard fired upon students at Kent State University in Ohio who had gathered for a protest against the Vietnam War. Four students were killed and nine others wounded, including two who were paralyzed. This book provides a minute-by-minute account of what happened in the larger context of American politics at that time, and also offers some timeless lessons. Discontent with the Vietnam War was rising in America. In his successful campaign for the presidency in 1968, Richard Nixon had promised to end the war, but his actions upon taking office seemed to do the opposite. That was especially true at the end of April 1970 when news broke that U.S. ground forces had invaded Cambodia thereby expanding the geographic scope of the war. This triggered widespread protests across the United States, especially on college campuses. On Friday evening, May 1, 1970, in conservative Kent, Ohio, students from the adjoining university held a protest in the town that escalated to significant property destruction. The following night, other students set fire to  the school’s ROTC building which burned to the ground. That all prompted the state’s governor, who was running for the U.S. Senate on a “law and order” platform, to call out the National Guard and to decree that any gathering of students, either in the town or on the campus, was henceforth illegal. On Monday, May 4, 1970, students organized a large protest on campus. A National Guard general at the campus with approximately 100 troops tried to force the students to disperse. This inflamed the students who moved closer to  the guardsman with some students throwing rocks. The Guard used tear gas but a breeze made it ineffective. The general, whose judgment was later deemed both incompetent and reckless, maneuvered the soldiers into a vulnerable position which heightened their fear. Armed with bayonet tipped M1 rifles with live ammunition and no less-than-lethal tools for crowd control, one of the guardsmen fired which led many others to do the same. Some purportedly fired over the heads of the students but others purposely fired into the students. A few of the rock throwers were hit, but those who were killed were far away, felled by the high velocity bullets fired from the Guard weapons. Most in the country, including President Nixon, were shocked by the violence. But many weren’t, including plenty of people from Ohio whose main criticism was that the Guard didn’t kill enough of the “Communist” protesters. The surviving victims and the families of the deceased received hundreds of pieces of hate mail with similar sentiments, reminding us that horrible people are not a recent phenomenon in America. Another broader takeaway from this book is the need for specialized training and equipment for law enforcement organizations that confront civil protests. Many large city police forces seem to have learned that lesson and try to do it correctly. But as we saw this past year in Minnesota, putting heavily armed, poorly trained, and incompetently (or evilly) led paramilitary forces up against peaceful protesters is a recipe for disaster. 

Magazine Article – “How to Lose a War” by Louis Menand, New Yorker, April 20, 2026. With online newsletter, websites, print journals, newspapers and books, I have access to far more prose than I have time to read. My first layer of triage is to identify the author since, for some favored writers, I will read anything they publish. That’s the case with Louis Menand, a Harvard literature professor and New Yorker staff writer who won the Pulitzer Prize for history in 2002 for The Metaphysical Club and his 2021 book, The Free World was an outstanding cultural history of the U.S. post World War II. This month, Menand compares the quagmire of Vietnam to the current war against Iran. He contends that the decisive event in Vietnam came on March 8, 1965, when the first U.S. ground troops arrived in the country. It’s easy to stop bombing, he observes, but once troops on the ground start getting killed, it’s much tougher to walk away from a war that is likely impossible to win. The paramount U.S. objective in Vietnam quickly became saving face, an effort that dragged on for seven years and cost more than 50,000 American lives. Menand ends his story by drawing a comparison to our current conflict, writing, “Much like Vietnam, only a lot faster, the American war in Iran has reduced itself to saving face. Within two weeks, the United States was trying to figure out how to end the war without losing it.”

Newspaper Op-Ed – “My dog doesn’t read your lawn signs” by Stephen O’Connor, Boston Globe, April 26, 2026. Lowell writer and dog owner Steve O’Connor hits a home run with this essay in last Sunday’s Globe in which he laments the increasing number of lawn signs ordering passersby to “keep your dog off the grass.” Steve, always a close observer of what’s going on around him and a long-time dog owner, gets into the mindset of the dog who is intent on sniffing interesting scents the way we consume interesting content online. Although Steve doesn’t use the term, I’ve heard this described as “pee-mail” and see it in operation each time I walk my dog. Before leaving the house, I shoo her into our back yard to “do her business” which she does so we set out, each with relatively empty bladders. Along the way, my dog will vigorously sniff until she suddenly pauses in one spot, sniffs even more intently, then squats and, as Steve puts it, “squeezes out a drop.” I’m not sure what message she is sending, but I am fully convinced she is communicating with another dog. In the age of email, many of us have acquaintances that we know only through our online communications. We may have never met in person, but the information we share is interesting and fulfilling. My dog’s actions are the canine equivalent of that. To be fair, as a homeowner with a lawn bordering the street, I am always supremely annoyed to find unidentified dog poop in my yard so I sympathize with the sentiment, but every dog owner I know scrupulously cleans up after their dog when walking the neighborhood. Anyway, congratulations to Steve on another terrific article.

Party & Pay

Party & Pay – (PIP #104)

By Louise Peloquin

From January 20 to March 3, seven peeks into the past presented L’Etoile’s coverage of Lowell’s centennial celebrations. See the links below. (1)

Here is a financial follow-up.

L’Etoile – April 3, 1926

CENTENNIAL BILLS SUSPENDED

__________

The mayor provisionally suspends payment of the nine centennial bills he finds excessive.

__________

NO COMMENT

__________

     Among a batch of centennial celebration invoices presented to him yesterday at City Hall, mayor John J. Donovan suspended payment of nine for a total of approximately $2,500.

     His Honor sent a letter to the Budget Commission to explain that he had retained these invoices for further examination.

     Here is the complete list of unapproved invoices:

• Whitehead-Hoag Co. of Newark, N.J., badges and buttons: $742.81
• William Trottier, professional services: $562.50
• B. Thomas, centennial cake: $32.50
• Sullivan Brothers Printers: $405.25
• Page Catering Co., banquet for guests: $174
• Samuel G. Lyness, centennial punch: $187.50
• Ladydon Catering Co., orchestra: $37.50
• Lillian Abbott, professional services: $154.45
• Kershaw Music Store, professional music: $136.45

     Last Wednesday, centennial invoices totalling $7,700 were presented to the Budget Commission which examined and validated them before sending to mayor Donovan for approval. The mayor questioned nine. When asked about it yesterday, he did not comment but simply said that he wished to study them further before issuing the payment order. These bills will probably not be paid before the beginning of next week. (2)

1) PIP #93 – https://richardhowe.com/2026/01/20/it-was-a-very-good-year/

PIP #94 – https://richardhowe.com/2026/01/27/planning-lowells-centennial/

PIP #95 – https://richardhowe.com/2026/02/03/centennial-spending-objections/

 PIP #96 – https://richardhowe.com/2026/02/10/having-a-ball/

PIP #97 – https://richardhowe.com/2026/02/17/that-is-what-matters-most/

PIP #98 – https://richardhowe.com/2026/02/24/happy-100th-to-the-town-become-a-city/

PIP #99 – https://richardhowe.com/2026/03/03/speeches-songs-poems-prayers-and-much-more/

2) Translation by Louise Peloquin.