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Epistolary

Epistolary

By Leo Racicot

I suppose my lifelong love of letters and letter-writing began when I discovered The Letters of Emily Dickinson. I was young, maybe 15 or 16. I also at the same time came across the Letters of Vincent van Gogh.  The discovery was revelatory; the idea that the personal correspondence of the lofty artists I admired — what they thought, where they went, who they knew — had been preserved, was exciting, brought them face-to-face as living, breathing human beings, made them accessible to the degree they became like old friends. After all, weren’t they much like the rest of us? They had their dreams, their fears, their hopes, revealing who they were as people. I still pull Emily Dickinson’s letters down from the shelf every Fall, feeling that Autumn, a season she wrote much about, is the perfect season to re-read her.

When my friend, Joe went away to college, to UMass Amherst, I stayed in Lowell to attend Lowell State Teachers College. It was the first time in four years we were separated. We began a years-long correspondence, a way for us to keep in touch while apart. When he transferred to UMass/Boston and made his dream of living on Beacon Hill come true, the letters continued. Even though we were only a train ride away and did see each other periodically, the allure of the written letter remained. We exchanged hundreds of letters over the years, many of them gems of penpalship. When life took us to different places; he, to Chicago to accompany his brother, John, who was matriculating at Northwestern, me, to Las Vegas, Cambridge, Cape Cod, the habit of staying in touch by pen and paper happily continued. We both saved every letter, often decorating the backs of the envelopes with decals, photo cutouts, sometimes elaborate displays of our shared interests. What the mailman must have thought!  Who cares? We were forging a bond; snail mail creates a patience, a pause for reflection that a phone call is incapable of, especially in today’s culture where the quick click of an emoji is used to express it all. This is why I’ve loved and continue to love letters, even when the friend I’m writing to lives not very far away.

Some of my pen pals did live a distance away; when I was in my late teens, early twenties, I sponsored a young lady, Hsaih Mi-Chu, in China. What a thrill it was for years sending and receiving airmail, seeing the exotic postage, looking at the hieroglyphics of Hsaih’s Chinese script (along with her handwritten letters, a page translating her words, her life stories, her adventures, would be included) She and her letters brought the world closer…

Hsaih Mi-Chu’s letters are stored in my attic as are dozens and dozens of letters from friends (my high school & college pal, Linda Scanlon, college intimate, Roberta McAnespie, Joe’s, of course, who’d often include with his missive delightful newspaper and magazine clippings he thought I’d enjoy). I’ve also kept the dozens of epistles written by editor Winston Leyland who took editorship beyond the usual boundaries into friendship.

And of course, I can’t omit my letters from writer M.F.K. Fisher. Before our friendship blossomed into an enduring love and visits out to her home, Last House, in Glen Ellen, California, we sent letters back-and-forth. Her letters bristled with personal stories, gossipy anecdotes, recipes, scintillating tales out-of-school. My letters to her tried hard to impress. When we first began corresponding, Mary Frances said she thought my writing style made her think I was a wise, old professor in a small, college town, “so polished is your prose”. (later on, she even crafted a short story about an old professor’s last days, The Reunion, in her collection, Sister Age). Wasn’t she shocked when a young fellow in his early thirties showed up at her door! And, wasn’t I shocked, when, following her death, the literary executors of her estate, notified me that our correspondence would be housed along with others in her collection of papers at Schlesinger Library, Radcliffe! Through the years, whenever I need a lift, I visit Schlesinger, spend an afternoon poring through the words of my beautiful friend, my words to her….The M.F.K. connection lives on, in part, with a 30 year continuation of wonderful letters from Mary Frances’ former staff members, good friends, Pat and Marsha Moran. Pat is a fantastic writer in his own right, Marsha, his live-in editor, who also happens to be his wife. In a way, my heart still lingers in bonny Glen Ellen thanks to the epistolary magic they’ve conjured regularly throughout the years; I just had a long, good letter from Pat yesterday.

Looking back, I see I was blessed to become pen pals with several well-known people (If I like and admire someone’s work, I am compelled to write to let them know).

The gay writer, Edmund White, by the time I wrote him, wasn’t much for letter-writing; the culture had made it easier to communicate by email and social media, especially for one as busy as he was. But I have literally thousands of emails from Ed filled with his brilliance, his quick wit, his naughty asides. I treasure them.

Also, in the famous category is travel writer, Jan Morris whom I met during her lecture/book signing at Cambridge Public Library in 1988 when she made the startling comment, “What a joy it was staring out at the audience, seeing your lovely, androgynous face!” Good grief!  We, too, became years-long pen pals, she, often telling me I “must come to my home and share tea and scones with my wife, Elizabeth and me” It seemed wildly improbable that I could ever make a trip to the enchanted woodlands of Wales where they made their home but it was so nice to be invited, whether ingenuous or not.

It was said that the actress, Katharine Hepburn, didn’t like to sign autographs, answer letters from fans. But I have many from her in reply to my sending her a screenplay I’d written specifically with her in mind, Walking Song. She initially warmed to the script and the part I’d designed for her.  She did express concerns that some of the character’s monologues were too long, that at her age she would have difficulties memorizing them. She asked me to trim them down. Long story short — many edited versions of the manuscript travelled back-and-forth to her Turtle Bay home at 244 East 49th Street. She’d always send them back saying, “Still too long!”  Ever hopeful, I kept cutting and cutting and cutting until the day came when she said, “It’s too short. You’ve whittled this thing down to a nub!”  By the time an in-person visit came to pass, I’m afraid the great actress had “gone away with the fairies”, as the Irish say, and that, as they was that re Walking Song which is gathering dust in the attic.

The English wit and eccentric, Quentin Crisp and I exchanged notes and letters in the 1990s. In one of his to me, he said something that has stayed with me all these years. In response to my moaning that my love life was a disaster, Crisp wrote, “My dear boy. There is no more to be said for loving one person than for loving the whole world.”

I found the life and work of the Canadian gay liberation figure, Jearld Moldenhauer fascinating, wrote to tell him so. His place in that movement has, I feel, gone unsung. Activist, journalist, horticulturist extraordinaire, founder of one of the first, if not the first, gay bookstore, The Glad Day bookshops, one in Toronto, one, here in Boston. The list of his credits and talents is endless. My letter found him living in Fez, Morocco, in an architectural wonder, Dar Balmira, an ancient guesthouse with a legendary rooftop garden and art gallery. I thrilled to his descriptions of life among the natives there, so different was it from anything I knew. Jearld, a restless nomad, moved to Manila in the Philippines and we fell out-of-touch.

My whole life, I’ve been lucky to find pen pals who like snail mail as much as I do. For over twenty years now, my good friend, Bob Stone (who managed the Shea household for twenty-six years) and I have been exchanging weekly letters, I throw a movie quiz in with each letter because I know how much he likes the movies of The Golden Age of Hollywood, has the answers to practically every question I throw at him. I love seeing his letters in the front hall.

Lowell historian, Richard Howe, too, is so kind to reply to my maybe too-frequent letters. A polymath, Dick’s interests and work are endlessly fascinating to me and bring a contented pleasure to the winter of my days…

____________________

Pat and Marsha Moran with Barley

Winston Leyland, 1990s

Bob Stone working on my movie quiz

Postcard from Quentin Crisp

Katherine Hepburn at home

Jan Morris, Harvard Square, 1988

Garden rooftop at Dar Balmira

Edmund White on his laptop

M.F.K. Fisher’s typewriter

Roberta McAnespie

Linda Scanlon

Joe writing a letter on the train

The Letters of Vincent Van Gogh

Letters of Emily Dickinson

Richard Howe

Living Madly: Crazy Ed

Courtesy of Peter Dyllong

Living Madly: Crazy Ed

Emilie-Noelle Provost

When I was growing up, there was an older man who lived in my neighborhood named Crazy Ed, at least that’s what everyone called him. I never knew his real name.

Crazy Ed lived in a basement apartment in a working-class tenement next to the corner store. Everyone in town knew who he was, mainly because he always wore a women’s skirt, usually plaid but sometimes denim, and high heel shoes, usually red. Every day, he would walk all over town dressed this way—miles and miles—pushing an old shopping cart full of rusty car parts and dented soda cans he’d collected from roadsides and weedy parking lots. At night, Crazy Ed would park his shopping cart outside the door to his apartment with a handmade sign on it: Do Not Touch. As far as I know, no one ever did.

Crazy Ed covered so much ground that you got used to seeing him. He was a fixture in town, so much so that his attire and shopping cart were in many ways just part of the fabric of the place, unremarkable in the way that familiar things tend to be regardless of their normalcy.

Although Crazy Ed wore a skirt and heels (I never saw him dressed any other way), he didn’t identify as female. He had a scraggly white beard and always wore a men’s shirt or sweater. During the colder months, he sometimes wore men’s athletic tube socks, the kind with the stripe at the top, with his high heel shoes.

Sometimes, kids would taunt Crazy Ed, especially young boys. Once, while walking to the corner store from my house, I came across a group of neighborhood boys throwing rocks at him. They were shouting homophobic slurs, and laughing whenever one of the rocks hit him. Unable to run in his heels, Crazy Ed took shelter behind his shopping cart. But the attack was so relentless that Crazy Ed was eventually forced to take his shoes off and hide. He cowered behind a parked car while the boys overturned his shopping cart and tossed his red heels into a nearby trashcan.

At the time, I was nine years old. I felt so sad for Crazy Ed, and I was angry that the boys were given license to treat another human being so brutally, that they felt justified in doing so. Even at the time, I knew none of them would face consequences for it. And none of them ever did.

When I was in high school, I worked in a coffee shop downtown. Crazy Ed was one of our regular customers. Almost every day, he would park his shopping cart outside on the sidewalk, sit down at the counter, and order a black coffee, for which he would pay with a handful of grubby coins. He would often sit there for a half hour or more, keeping an eye on his cart through the window. He almost never talked, at least not any more than was necessary, unless someone spoke to him first.

Usually, other customers would just say hello to Crazy Ed, but if someone asked him a question, especially one about why he was wearing a skirt and heels, he would get angry and defensive, often causing a loud argument.

At the time, I found these exchanges, and Crazy Ed himself, pretty frustrating, especially considering the frequency with which they seemed to take place. The coffee shop was almost always busy, and it was easy to fall behind if something took your attention away from your work. The other employees and I eventually started trying to discourage Crazy Ed from sitting at the counter by putting his coffee in a to-go cup, but it usually didn’t work.

After I went away to college, I would still spot Crazy Ed around town sometimes when I was home on breaks, but not very often. A few months, after I graduated, I moved to Boston to attend graduate school. After that, I don’t think I saw him again.

In the years since, I’ve often wondered what drove Crazy Ed to live the way he did. Did he suffer from some sort of mental illness or was he just eccentric? What was his life like before he moved into that basement apartment and took up roaming around town with a shopping cart full of junk? When and why did he start wearing a skirt and heels? Did he have a family? Did he have enough to eat? Why didn’t anyone ever try to help him?

When I think about Crazy Ed these days, it’s almost always with a wistful heart. Although I’m not particularly religious in a conventional Western sense, my memories of him often bring to mind the Parable of the Sheep and Goats in the Gospel of Matthew, which says the way we value and care for the most vulnerable among us—the poor, the hungry, the sick, those who are discriminated against for one reason or another—is, in the end, what reveals our true character.

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Émilie-Noëlle Provost is the author of The River Is Everywhere, a National Indie Excellence Award, American Fiction Award, and American Legacy Award finalist, and The Blue Bottle, a middle-grade adventure with sea monsters. Visit her at emilienoelleprovost.com.

Seen & Heard: Vol. 41

A weekly report on things I’ve read, heard and seen since last Wednesday. 

Article: From bus driver to professor, he keeps RI workers’ history alive, by Carlos Munoz in Boston Globe, September 27, 2026. This is the story of Scott Molloy, who was hired as a Rhode Island Transit Authority bus driver in 1973, drove for eight years then became the union business agent for three more. During this stretch, he received his Ph.D. in history. He was hired by the University of Rhode Island to teach labor history. Along the way, he accumulated a substantial collection of RI Transit and labor history artifacts. He recently donated some of it to the Smithsonian and most of it to the URI archives. About a dozen years ago, the Globe saw a business opportunity and started aggressively covering Providence, Rhode Island. The plan must have worked since RI coverage is more extensive than ever in the Globe. I went to Providence College from 1976 to 1980, so I have some lingering fondness. Plus, Providence politics can be pretty entertaining which keeps me paying attention.

Article: “Nutritionalists love these fall fruits and vegetables” by Caroline Hopkins Legaspi in New York Times, September 29, 2026. About eight years ago, I got a CSA subscription. That stands for Community Supported Agriculture. You pay a lump sum and then each week you get a crate filled with fresh vegetables, all locally grown. (The provider here is Farmer Dave’s in Dracut). This has expanded my culinary horizons to the point that vegetables are the high point of most meals, although some time I struggle to identify what a particular thing is. As a result, anytime I notice an article on fruits and vegetables, I pay attention. As the article states, “Here are 10 less popular but no less delicious – or nutritious – fall fruits and vegetables nutrition experts say are worth experimenting with this fall:” Brussels sprouts; cranberries; Jerusalem artichokes; Swiss chard, pomegranate seeds; okra; rutabagas; persimmons; winter squash; and pears.  

Book Review: Gods of New York: Egotists, Idealists, Opportunists, and the Birth of the Modern City 1886-1990 by Jonathan Mahler (2025). This book spans the final four year term of Mayor Ed Koch who served three consecutive terms, from 1978 until 1989. Besides Koch, the main characters in the book are Al Sharpton, Rudy Giuliani and Donal Trump. A strong supporting cast includes Benjamin Ward, the first Black police commissioner; David Dinkins, who succeeded Koch as mayor and was the first Black person to hold that office; and Larry Kramer, the AIDS activist. The events this group must navigate include the stock market collapse of October 1986; the AIDS epidemic; runaway homelessness; the Central Park Jogger assault; the Preppy Murder; race confrontations at Howard Beach, Bensonhurst, and other places. Runaway homelessness, and much more. Having lived through it, I remember many of these events but not in the context of each other and of what else was going on in the world. That’s one reason why this book is so interesting. 

Obituary: “Sam McDowell, 84, Pitching Ace Who Battled Alcoholism, Dies” by Richard Goldstein, New York Times, October 9, 2026. My interest in baseball was born in the summer and fall of 1967 when I was eight-years-old and the Boston Red Sox won the American League Pennant and nearly won the World Series, losing to the St. Louis Cardinals, 4 games to 3. At least some of the games were televised but the production values were still rudimentary, so I consumed most games on an AM radio. I also learned about the players by purchasing baseball cards. They cost 5 cents per pack which gave you five cards and a brittle stick of bubble gum. I didn’t accumulate an entire set but I had a big stack of cards, sorted by teams, so when the Red Sox faced the Cleveland Indians, for example, those cards were pulled out and studied. One of those cards was of Sam McDowell, a fearsome starting pitcher who teamed with Sonny Siebert to give the Indians a one-two pitching punch on an otherwise lackluster team. McDowell played a few more years, retiring early in the 1975 season. I don’t think I’ve thought of him since but noticed his obituary this week, a memorable name from my childhood.

L’Etoile – A Star on Prince Street, Chapter 9

Two years ago, Louise Peloquin began sharing excerpts from L’Etoile, a French-language newspaper published in Lowell from 1886 to 1957. At my urging, she has agreed to compile some of her previous posts with added contextual information into a book manuscript to be called, L’Etoile: A Star on Prince Street. Starting this week, Louise will present draft chapters from the book in serial form here on the blog. Today, we have another installment.

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L’Etoile – A Star on Prince Street

Chapter 9 – The Star Highlights Locals

By Louise Peloquin

As Poet Muriel Rukeyser (1913-1980) observed: “The universe is made of stories, not of atoms.”

L’Etoile never hesitated to feature stories about residents, and everyone had star status as these five examples demonstrate.

L’Etoile November 1, 1917

Nouvelles de France

Mme. Veuve Favreau, de la Lakeview avenue, reçoit un câblogramme de son fils Urgèle qui vient d’arriver en Europe. Son frère Pierre est aussi dans l’armée.

D’après un télégramme reçu hier par Mme. Elodie Favreau, 989 avenue Lakeview, son fils Pierre doit avoir été l’un des premiers soldats américains à entrer dans les tranchées en France la semaine dernière. La dépêche en question a été envoyée par son fils, le soldat Urgèle Favreau, et elle est datée du 29 octobre ‘quelque part’ en France. Ce dernier dit avoir fait une heureuse traversée mais qu’il n’a pu rencontrer son frère Pierre car celui-ci était parti la semaine précédente avec son régiment.

Mme. Veuve Favreau a cinq fils: Euclide, qui s’occupe de réparages d’automobiles à son propre compte; Urgèle, Albéric, Pierre et Venance, électriciens associés sous le nom de ‘Favreau Frères.’

Le 12 juin dernier, Urgèle, âgé de 25 ans, et Pierre, âgé de 19 ans, se sont enrôlés volontairement dans la Compagnie C du 6ème régiment d’infanterie du Massachusetts. Ils firent leur apprentissage, dans l’armée au camp de Framingham, puis au camp d’Ayer. Au mois d’août, le 6ème régiment fut envoyé au camp Bartlett de Westfield, où il fut démembré en grande partie afin de remplir les cadres des régiments qui étaient prêts à partir pour la France. C’est alors que les deux frères Favreau furent séparés. Urgèle fut nommé dans la police montée du 103ème régiment et Pierre fut classé dans la Cie C de la 101ème d’infanterie. Il fut envoyé dans le New Jersey et, vers la fin de septembre, il s’embarqua pour la France. Il y a une quinzaine de jours, sa mère recevait de lui une lettre disant qu’il avait fait une bonne traversée et qu’il continuait son entraînement militaire en France. Il envoya aussi de ses nouvelles la semaine dernière, disant qu’il était bien portant.

Mme. Favreau reçut la semaine dernière une carte postale de son autre fils Urgèle, laquelle était écrite sur le bâtiment qui devait le transporter en France. La carte a passé par le bureau de poste de Washington. Le soldat Urgèle Favreau disait qu’il était malade, mais qu’il prenait du mieux. Dans la dépêche qu’il vient d’envoyer, il dit qu’il est maintenant bien portant.

Il avait espéré rencontrer en France son frère Pierre qu’il n’a pas revu depuis le mois d’août, mais il a été désappointé car son frère était déjà parti pour le front probablement, quoiqu’il ne le sache pas exactement.

Leur frère Euclide, réparateur d’autos, aimerait aussi servir son pays mais sa mère trouve qu’elle a déjà fait un assez grand sacrifice en laissant partir deux de ses fils pour la guerre et elle a fait faire des démarches pour faire exempter son fils Euclide du service militaire vu que son nom est sur la liste des conscriptionnaires.”

________

News from France

Mrs. widow Elodie Favreau, of Lakeview avenue, receives a cablegram from her son Urgèle who has just arrived in Europe. His brother Pierre is also in the army.

     According to a telegram received yesterday by Mrs. Elodie Favreau, 989 Lakeview avenue, her son Pierre must have been one of the first American soldiers to enter into the trenches in France last week. The dispatch in question was sent by her son, soldier Urgèle Favreau, and is dated October 29 ‘somewhere’ in France. The latter says that he had a good boat journey but that he had not been able to meet his brother Pierre who had left with his regiment the week before.

     Mrs. widow Favreau has five sons: Euclide who is an independent automobile repairman; Urgèle, Albéric, Pierre and Venance, electricians associated under the name ‘Favreau Brothers.’

     Last June 12, Urgèle, 26, and Pierre, 19, voluntarily enrolled in Company C of the Massachusetts infantry regiment. They completed their apprenticeship at the Framingham army camp, then at the Ayer camp. During the month of August, this regiment was sent to camp Bartlett of Westfield where it was largely dismantled in order to fill the regimental cadres ready to leave for France. The two brothers were separated at this time. Urgèle was named in the 103rd mounted police regiment and Pierre was classified in Company C of the 101st infantry. He was sent to New Jersey at the end of September and he embarked for France. Approximately fifteen days ago, his mother received a letter saying that he had had a good journey and that he was continuing his military training in France. He had also sent news last week saying that he was in good form.

     Mrs. Favreau received a postcard last week from her other son Urgèle who wrote about the ship which would be transporting him to France. The card passed through the Washington post office. Soldier Urgèle Favreau said that he was ill but improving. In the dispatch just sent, he says that he is now in good form.

     In France he had hoped to meet his brother Pierre whom he had not seen since August. However, he was disappointed because his brother had probably already left for the front.  He did not exactly know.

     Their brother Euclide, automobile repairman, would also like to serve his country but his mother thinks that she has already made a big enough sacrifice in allowing two of her sons to leave for the war. She has taken the steps to have her son Euclide exempt from military service given that his name is on the list of conscripts.

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L’Etoile celebrated Jack’s Kerouac’s future friend Fr. Armand Morrissette, O.M.I. (1910-1991) who recognized in adolescent Jack a talent which would become no less than stellar. “Father Spike” championed Jack even into eternity when, on October 24, 1969, he officiated his friend’s funeral at Saint-Jean-Baptiste Church. Until his own dying day, Armand Morrissette never ceased to advocate for his fellow Franco-American who so phenomenally contributed to putting Lowell on the world map.

In 1924, no one knew where destiny would lead Armand Morrissette. However, the following article demonstrates that a great many Lowellians saw in him the trappings of a remarkable individual. Young Armand brought all kinds of people together to celebrate in Lowell. Had he been in attendance, even at the age of two,“Ti-Jean,” later known as Jack, would surely have enjoyed the following party:

L’Etoile, September 5, 1924

Jolie Réception en l’Honneur d’Armand Morrissette

On le fête, à l’occasion de son départ prochain pour le juniorat des Pères Oblats à Colebrook, N.H. Adresse, cadeau, chant, rafraîchissements. Le Rév. Père Emile Bolduc, O.M.I., assiste à la fête.

Mercredi soir, les nombreux parents et amis de M. Armand Morrissette se réunirent à la demeure de ses grands-parents, M. et Mme. Louis-Joseph Cornellier, 44 rue Race, pour lui faire une agréable surprise à l’occasion de son départ pour le juniorat des Pères Oblats à Colebrook, N.H. mardi prochain, le 9 septembre.

Peu après les 8 heures, tous étaient rendus pour le rendez-vous et, à l’arrivée du jeune homme de Fall River où il avait passé ses vacances, qu’elle ne fut pas sa surprise de se voir entouré de tant de personnes, parents, amis, confrères de classes et connaissances! Déjà la soirée était en branle. Aussitôt, M. Stanislas Paquin se mit à lire au héros de la fête, M. Armand Morrissette, une jolie adresse composée pour la circonstance par M. l’avocat Arthur Eno. Puis, M. Ernest Eno présenta au jeune confrère une bourse bien garnie, don des convives de la fête. Ensuite M. Armand Morrissette reçut des mains de son frère Joseph Morrissette une belle sacoche de voyage, un autre cadeau de ses amis. Pour comble de surprise, Mlle. Yvonne Comtois présenta au héros de la soirée un magnifique bouquet de fleurs que lui avait envoyé sa tante Mme. Alphonse Paquette de Pelham, N.H.

Au point de vue du programme musical et artistique de la veillée, il est peut-être inutile de mentionner qu’on remplaça la musique par le chant, comme le deuil existe encore dans la famille. Mais il ne va pas  sans dire qu’on s’amusa gaiement tout de même. M. Stanislas Paquin intéressa les gens de la fête par ses deux chansons comiques. A la fin de la veillée, Mme. Alexandre Morin exécuta plusieurs sélections de chant à la grande satisfaction de personnes présentes. Mais à vrai dire, c’est Mlle. Corinne Héroux qui tint l’intérêt de l’auditoire en suspens par ses chansons comiques, ses déclamations de farces et autres plaisanteries du genre.

Au cours de la soirée, on passa des rafraîchissements, bonbons, fruits et un goûter fut servi.

Le Rév. Père Emile Bolduc, O.M.I., de la paroisse Saint-Jean-Baptiste, était le principal hôte à la fête. De l’étranger on remarquait Mlle. Délia Métivier de Fall River, Mass.

Au nombre des invités qu’on remarquait à la réception, il y avait: M. et Mme. Amédée Archambault, M. et Mme. Joseph Theriault, M. et Mme. Joseph Paquette, M. et Mme. Alexandre Morin, M. et Mme. Wilfrid Sawyer, M. et Mme. Edouard Légère, M. et Mme. Charles Sawyer, M. et Mme. Pierre Eno, M. et Mme. Wilfred Eno, M. et Mme. Joseph Comtois, et M. et Mme. Cyprien Morrissette; Mme. Herménégilde Tanguay Beausoleil, Hormidas Comtois, Thomas Côté, Pierre Leblanc et Henri St. Cyr, Mesdemoiselles Corinne Héroux, Marie Héroux, Amanda Bergeron, Diana Eno, Demerise Richard, Anna Dumais, Blanche Caron, Exilda Généreux, Marie-Louise Comtois, Marie Patenaude, M. Lord, Marie Laplante, Diana Côté, Bertha Carpentier, Julia Côté, Marie-Louise Morrissette, Clarice Dureault, Diana Boisvert, Alice Boisvert, Marie Ouelette, Marie Bourgeault, Irène April, Jeannette April, Marie Morrissette, l’avocat Albert Blazon, le bijoutier Willis Peltier, le Dr. Hervé Rochette, Messieurs Albert Desruisseaux, George Beaudoin, Albert St.-Laurent, Henri Poirier, Jean Bouthillette, G. Pelletier, M. Lavigne, M. Morin, Alcide Bourgeault, Maurice Doyle, Gédéon Boisvert et Jean-Baptiste Morrissette.

Assistaient en plus à la fête un bon nombre des confrères de classe et des amis du jeune Morrissette dont les noms suivants: Stanislas Paquin, Ernest, Léandre, Arthur, Gérard, Roland et Nestor Eno, Roland et Albert Bergeron, Georges St-Jean, Hervé et Réal Perreault, Henri Ducharme, Joseph Frenette, Hildège Bourgeault, Joseph Légère, Louis Desruisseaux, Joseph Morrissette, Arthur Laurin, Roméo Poirier, Léon Fournier et Henri Bolduc.

Mme. Joseph Comtois a organisé la fête aidée des Messieurs Stanislas Paquin et Ernest Eno.

A une heure avancée, les convives se sont retirés enchantés de leur soirée et souhaitant bonne chance à M. Armand Morrissette dans sa carrière future.”

________

Beautiful reception in honor of Armand Morrissette

     Celebrating Armand Morrissette on the occasion of his upcoming departure for the Colebrook, N.H. Oblate Fathers’ juniorate. Address, gifts, singing, refreshments.

     Reverend Father Émile Bolduc, O.M.I., attends the celebration.

     Wednesday evening, Armand Morrissette’s numerous family members and friends got together at the request of his grand-parents Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Cormellier of 44 Race Street, in order to give him a pleasant surprise before his departure next Tuesday September 9th for the Colebrook, N.H. Oblate Fathers’ juniorate.

     A little after 8 o’clock, everyone gathered for the young man’s arrival from Fall River where he had vacationed. How surprised he was to see all of the family members, friends, classmates and acquaintances! Right away, Mr. Stanislas Paquin began to read to Mr. Armand Morrissette, the hero of the celebration, a beautiful address composed for the circumstance by Attorney Arthur Eno. Then, Attorney Eno presented the guest of honor with a well-filled purse offered by the reception participants. Then, Joseph Morrissette gave his brother Armand a travel satchel, another gift from his friends. To cap it all, Miss Yvonne Comeau presented the evening’s hero with a magnificent bouquet of flowers sent by his aunt, Mrs. Alphonse Paquette of Pelham, N.H.

     As far as the evening’s musical and artistic program is concerned, it is perhaps useless to say that the music was replaced by singing as some of the family was still in mourning. But it is not needless to say that everyone enjoyed themselves. Mr. Stanislas Paquin amused the partygoers with his comical songs. At the end of the evening, Mrs. Alexander Morin performed a wide selection of songs to the attendees’ great satisfaction. Miss Corinne Héroux also captivated the audience with comical songs, joke-telling and other pleasantries.

     Refreshments, sweets and fruit were passed around during the evening. An evening snack was then served.

     Reverend Father Émile Bolduc, O.M.I., of Saint-Jean-Baptiste parish, was the principal guest of the celebration. From out-of-town we noticed Miss Doria Vétivier of Fall River, Mass.

     Among the guests at the reception were Mr. and Mrs. Amédée Archambault, Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Thériault, Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Paquette, Mr. and Mrs. Wilfred Sawyer, Mr. and Mrs. Édouard Légère, Mr. and Mrs. Charles Sawyer, Mr. and Mrs. Pierre Eno, Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Comtois, Mr. and Mrs. Cyprien Morrissette, Mrs. Herménégilde Tanguay Beausoleil, Hormidas Comtois, Thomas Côté, Pierre Leblanc and Henri St. Cyr, Misses Corinne Héroux, Marie Héroux, Amanda Bergeron, Diane Eno, Démerise Richard, Anna Dumais, Blanche Caron, Exilda Généreux, Marie-Louise Comtois, Marie Patenaude, M. Lord, Marie Laplante, Diana Côté, Marie-Louise Morrissette, Clarice Dureault, Diana Boisvert, Alice Boisvert, Marie Ouellette, Marie Bourgeault, Irène April, Jeannette April, Marie Morrissette, Attorney Arthur Blazon, jeweller Willis Peltier, Dr. Hervé Rochette, Mr. George Beaudoin, Mr. Albert St-Laurent, Mr. Henri Poirier, Mr. Jean Bouthillette, Mr. G. Pelletier, Mr. M. Lavigne, Mr. M. Morin, Mr. Alcide Bourgeault, Mr. Maurice Doyle, Mr. Gédéon Boisvert and Jean-Baptiste Morrissette.

     Also in attendance, a number of young Morrissette’s classmates and friends whose names are as follows; Stanislas Paquin, Ernest, Léandre, Arthur, Gérard, Roland, and Nestor Eno, Roland and Albert Bergeron, Georges St-Jean, Hervé and Réal Perreault, Henri Ducharme, Joseph Frechette, Hildège Bourgeault, Joseph Légère, Louis Desruisseaux, Joseph Morrissette, Arthur Laurin, Roméo Poirier, Léon Fournier and Henri Bolduc.

     Mrs. Joseph Comtois organized this celebration assisted by Mr. Stanislas Paquin and Mr. Ernest Eno.

     At a late hour, the guests left delighted with their evening and wished Mr. Armand Morrissette good luck in his future career.

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L’Etoile, January 6, 1925

Il passe 28 ans dans la Lowell Humane Society

L’agent Charles F. Richardson a vu l’organisation se développer et s’étendre.

Au mois de mars prochain, l’agent Charles F. Richardson aura passé 28 ans au service de la Lowell Humane Society; et au cours de ce lapse de temps, l’organisation a éprouvé un développement au point de vue de l’hygiène. L’organisation existe depuis plus de 50 ans et a fait beaucoup pour l’humanité dans ce district. Le 51ème rapport annuel, qui vient d’être complété, contient des faits remarquables. Au cours de l’année, l’organisation prit soin de 355 enfants, soit 61 de plus que l’année précédente. Le nombre total des animaux que les membres ont eu à visiter était de 12,359, soit plus que l’année précédente.

La Humane Society fut organisée en mai 1873. Il est intéressant de remarquer que Son Excellence William B. Washburn qui était gouverneur du Massachusetts, était présent à la première assemblée de la société, et à cette occasion, il parla en termes bien éloquents de la signification de l’organisation et du but pour lequel on la fondait.

Actuellement, William E. Potter est président. Au nombre des anciens présidents sont: H. Coburn, Frederick P. Marble, le juge Frederick A. Fisher et Robert F. Marden.”

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He Spends 28 Years at Lowell Humane Society

Agent Charles F. Richardson has seen the organization develop and expand.

     Next March, agent Charles F. Richardson will have spent 28 years serving the Lowell Humane Society. During his tenure, it has improved with respect to hygiene. The organization has existed for 51 years and has accomplished a great deal for humanity in this district. The 51st annual report presents remarkable facts. Over the course of the year, the organization has taken care of 355 children, 61 more than during the preceding year. Members visited a total of 12,359 animals, more than they had the year before.

      The Lowell Humane Society was founded in May 1873. It is interesting to note that His Excellence William B. Washburn, governor of Massachusetts, was present at the first assembly of the society and spoke very eloquently about its mission and its objectives.

     Currently, William F. Potter is president. Among the former presidents are: George Stephens, Charles H. Coburn, Frederick P. Marble, Judge Frederick A. Fisher and Robert F. Marden.

****

Lowellian Paul Blanchette served in as a Seaman First Class in the U.S. Navy during World War II. After the war, he worked as civil agent for the Lowell postal services, was named Franco-American of the year by the Franco-American Day Committee in 1977 and became president of the FADC in 1982. Paul Blanchette tirelessly promoted Franco-American history, culture and identity all over New England and abroad. Here is his 1944 story in the Pacific.

L’Etoile, March 10, 1944

Impressions du marin Blanchette

de service dans la zone du Pacifique

Quand on est stationné dans une île lointaine du Pacifique, comme l’est le marin de première classe Paul Blanchette, on voit des choses phénoménales et variées. Ce jeune marin qui quitta les Etats-Unis en août dernier comme membre du corps des métiers maritimes (Seabees) raconte des incidents très intéressants dans les nombreuses lettres adressées à ses parents et amis de la ville. Il dit avoir vu un volcan sur le point de faire éruption et d’avoir ressenti le contrecoup de huit tremblements de terre en la seule journée du 24 décembre dernier. Il fut aussi témoin de la visite de l’acteur Randolph Scott.

Le marin Blanchette se dit en parfaite santé malgré la besogne quotidienne ardue de son unité.

‘Là-bas, on se lève à 4h45 du matin et l’on se hâte de faire tout le travail possible avant que le soleil devienne insupportable. La plupart du temps, la messe se dit l’après-midi et les soldats catholiques, en grand nombre, font l’impossible pour y assister. Les récréations comprennent des vues animées, des programmes de radio, mais c’est avant tout le travail qui sert à chasser la nostalgie. Chaque militaire reçoit tous les jours, une tablette d’atabine comme préventif de malaria, deux pilules de vitamines concentrées et est bien pourvu de cigarettes et de nourriture.’

‘Malgré la chaleur torride, s’élevant à une moyenne de 130 degrés centigrade,’ le marin Blanchette ajoute, ‘les pluies soudaines mais non fréquentes sont très froides et malsaines. La végétation de cette jungle tranquille est de toute beauté mais les loisirs pour la contempler sont plutôt rares.’

Le marin Blanchette, dont les lettres sont saturées du sain optimisme d’un jeune homme courageux de 21 ans, est le fils aîné de M. et Mme. Tancrède Blanchette, rue Mount Washington. Gradué du Collège St.-Joseph et du high school municipal, il s’enrôla le 26 janvier 1943, après avoir travaillé quelque temps à la défense. Son jeune frère Raymond entrait aussi dans la Marine au début de la semaine.”

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Impressions of seaman Blanchette

serving in the Pacific Zone

When one is stationed on a faraway island in the Pacific, as is the case for seaman first class Paul Blanchette, one sees phenomenal and diverse spectacles. This young seaman, who left the United States last August as member of the United States Marine Corps (Seabees), relates very interesting incidents in numerous letters addressed to his parents and friends in the city. He tells them about having seen a volcano on the verge of erupting and having felt the aftershocks of eight earthquakes in a single day, last December 24th. He also witnessed the visit of actor Randolph Scott.

    Seaman Blanchette says he is in perfect health despite the arduous work of his unit.

     ‘Over there in the Pacific, one must get up at 4:45 in the morning and rush to do as much work as possible before the sun becomes unbearable. Most of the time, Mass is said in the afternoon and the numerous Catholic soldiers make every effort to attend. Recreations include movies and radio programs. However, above all, work serves to chase homesickness away. Every day, every military member receives a tablet of atabrine to prevent malaria, two concentrated vitamin pills and a good supply of cigarettes and food.’

     ‘Despite the torrid heat, rising to an average of 130 degrees,’ seaman Blanchette adds, ‘the sudden but infrequent rains are very cold and unhealthy. The vegetation of this tranquil jungle is absolutely beautiful but the leisure to contemplate it is rather rare.’

     Seaman Blanchette, whose letters are saturated with the sound optimism of a courageous 21-year-old, is the eldest son of Mr. and Mrs. Tancrède Blanchette of Mount Washington Street. Graduate of Saint Joseph College and of Lowell High School, he enrolled on January 26, 1943 after having worked for a time in the defence industry. Recently, his young brother Raymond also joined the Navy.

****

Women were always an integral part of L’Etoile, Yvonne Lemaître and Marthe Biron Peloquin presented in chapter 6, for example. Local women’s stories regularly appeared in the paper’s columns.

L’Etoile, June 30, 1944

Mlle. Lachance devient WAVE

Mlle. Rollande M. Lachance, fille de M. et Mme. Gédéon J. Lachance, 990 rue Middlesex, a été assermentée dans les WAVES mardi et se rapportera au Collège Hunter à New York dans la dernière semaine de juillet pour y commencer son entraînement préliminaire.

Mlle. Lachance, membre d’une famille franco-américaine en vue de la paroisse Notre-Dame de Lourdes, fit son cours aux écoles paroissiales élémentaires et secondaires locales. Elle est diplômée aussi de la Wilfred Academy de Boston et fait partie du personnel du salon de beauté du magasin Pollards.

A l’occasion de son départ, ses compagnes de travail de Pollards lui ont fait fête hier soir en la salle de banquet Page. Il y eut dîner en son honneur et présentation à la nouvelle WAVE d’un nécessaire de couture, de chaussures et de cosmétiques en de riches étuis de cuir. Cette fête avait pour organisatrice, Mme. Leonard Hunt.”

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Miss Lachance becomes a WAVE

      Miss Rollande Lachance, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Gédéon J. Lachance, 990 Middlesex Street, was sworn into the WAVES Tuesday and will report to Hunter College in New York during the last week of July to begin her preliminary training.

     Miss Lachance, member of a prominent Franco-American family from Notre-Dame de Lourdes parish, attended local primary and secondary parochial schools. She also graduated from the Wilfred Academy of Boston and is a member of the Pollards department store beauty salon staff.

     On the occasion of her departure, her Pollards workmates organized a party at Page banquet hall. A dinner was held in her honor and the new WAVE was presented with a sewing kit, shoes and cosmetics in rich leather cases. Mrs. Leonard Hunt organized this party.