Back in about 1949, I again spent the summer with Ted and Ruth Hart. One of my chores was to take his boat, Suzie Q, just off what was known as Youngs Beach to check his seven or eight lobster pots. One day, it was a dead calm and the water was perfectly clear. I spotted a double line of posts protruding from the sea bottom running parallel to the beach. I had no idea what they were so I asked Ted and learned they were the remains of what had been the railway running from Oak Bluffs to Edgartown and then on to the grand hotel at Katama. I never saw them again. John Moore

According to Harthaven historian, John Moore, the clambakes began as family picnics, often after a sail to Lambert’s Cove or to tarpaulin Cove (on Naushon island). “After exploring island trails and swimming,” John writes, “they would settle down to drinks and lunch. A “bartender” at one of these forays was a good friend of Sandy and Ginny (Hart) Low’s, Thomas Hart Benton (no relation)... The clambakes were usually held the Saturday of Labor Day weekend. “This not only reflected the sociability of the family and friends of Harthaven, it was a means of raising money for harbor maintenance. Originally these were the real thing, complete with fire pits lined with beach rocks. A large bonfire was built in this pit to heat the rocks. When deemed ready, the coals were raked out and seaweed was tossed onto the red hot stones along with sundry delicacies from sea and field. Many members of the community pitched in, preparing mountains of food, setting up tables and benches and, of course, a well stocked bar. By the time all the Harts, Moores, Peases, Eddys, Abbes, Youngs, Frisbies, Vibberts, Stanleys, Russells, Upsons, Hydes, Grandfields, Rathbones, McDowells, Lows, Hookers, Boardmans, Clarks, Conlins, Prizers, Everetts, Stevens and others arrived, they were usually more than ready for a most social time of eating and drinking... and for saying goodbye to another idyllic summer.”

In 1948-49, our family had the use of the "White House," for three weeks in late June to early July. As was the custom, small cocktail parties were held each evening. I was usually bored stiff so Dad let me practice driving our '36 Ford convertible around the roads of Martha Hart Park. I discovered an overgrown road that ran beside Peter Young's house back towards the Trade Winds Airport.Most evenings I drove back through those woods out to the east side of the airport where I had stashed a pack of cigarettes. I was intrigued by the airport and occasionally conned a dollar off Dad which I carried over to Carolyn Cullen in my hot little fist. She ran the airport and was a terrific pilot, having been a WASP pilot during WW II. That dollar was good for an eight minute flight in her canary yellow Piper J-3. What a thrill! I ultimately took lessons from her in 1954 and flew my first solo flight...over Harthaven.

I remember very clearly the day in 1945 when the Navy conducted a full-scale mock invasion of the beach between the two inlets into Sengekontacket Pond, complete with all kinds of destroyers, LSTs, troop carriers, etc. (This stretch of beach still belonged to the William H. Hart Realty Company.) Pretty heady stuff for an eleven year old, seeing scores of landing craft coming ashore while the larger boats stood well off the beach launching them.

Then I hit pay dirt. Dad's cousin, Ted Hart, and his wife Ruth, invited me to stay with them for the balance of the summer when I was 13. Ted had had two daughters, Joanne and Marty, by his first marriage (his wife Jane died in 1932), and Ruth had two daughters from her first marriage as well, Judy and Brenda Blakeney. Joanne and Marty were pretty well launched by that time, so there was room for me. I believe the reason for this wonderful generosity was that Ted wanted a fishing buddy and I fit the bill. Ted and Ruth were renting a place in East Chop and I was soon immersed in the social life there, thanks to Judy's connections.

There was a great group of us who hung around the tennis club in the mornings. Then we would run down to the beach club for a swim and lunch. Then back to the tennis club or "home" to do chores. This group generally consisted, besides Judy and myself, of Peter Meleney, Fritz Knight, Bob and Jock Williams, Joan Daniels (now Perrine--my first real flame), two cousins, Weenie and Weezie Hamilton from Missouri, and David Lawton. Later, Sam and Marion Eels joined us. East Chop parents were swell. They would chaperone the Tuesday night dances at the tennis club and take us out to Katama for beach parties. We were too young to drink anything alcoholic but that didn't matter (until later). We had a ball cooking over an open fire and singing an amazing repertoire of songs. And of course we spent a lot of time hanging around Oak Bluffs.

I retain very nostalgic memories of the tennis club dances--to the music of Ralph Stuart. Who can forget how we wound up those dances, forming a large circle on the dance floor and singing Blue Skies, All of Me and Johnny Long's rendition of Shanty Town? And who can forget someone announcing at either the beach or tennis club that "The surf's up!" Off we would rush to Katama beach to body surf some very large "rollers." At least we thought they were huge.

I guess I was a pretty good kid because Ted and Ruth invited me back. .. for four more summers! After the second year, Ted and Ruth took possession of Ted's mother and

father's (Great Uncle Max and Great Aunt Louise's) house in Harthaven, which the Woollacotts now own. (Jill Woollacott is a great grand daughter of Max and Louise.)

One of my "chores," while Ted was in Boston during the week, was to go out at least every other day in his 32 foot power boat, the Susie Q, and tend his eight to ten lobster traps. These he had strung out several hundred yards in front Bill Hart's and Nanny and Grampa's houses. Some days I'd bring in as many as eight legal-sized (alwaysl) lobsters.

Whenever Ted came down on the weekends, we would go out fishing. Invariably I would get seasick, but I didn't mind as long as we got into some blues or an occasional striper. One day we went out on his friend Al Lathrop's large boat, the Walrus, for swordfish. Ted harpooned a 350 pounder and he and I ended up in the boat's dory, hauling in this monster. Despite constant sea sickness, I managed to keep the line properly coiled and we finally tired out this beast sufficiently to land it aboard the Walrus. I later had the swordfish bill made into a proper sword for display purposes.

I don't know for certain what finally cured me of mal de mer, but I'm convinced it was Ted's doing. One morning he said to me, "Let's get going." "Where?" I asked. "Wasque, fishing," he replied. "Do we have lunch?" "Yes." As it turned out, "lunch" consisted of white bread, mayonnaise, salt and pepper ... and raw onions. Our sandwiches were delicious, and I was never seasick again.

When my Mom and Dad were on the island, life was very social. Cocktails before dinner for several hours and highballs after. One night Ted and Ruth were over for dinner along with Ted's sister, Maxine. Maxine grew increasingly worried because her son, Sammy Chandler (Jill Woollacott's father), was way overdue sailing back from a regatta to Nantucket. This was understandable, because she had losther husband at sea a number of years before. By 9:30 P.M it was decided to launch a "rescue mission". Dad, Ted, Maxine, a couple of our house guests, my brother Ros and I piled into Grampa Moore's open cockpit boat, the Handy Andy, with me at the wheel. When we were off Cape Pogue the engine died The winds and sea were picking up and we were drifting towards the mainland. We rigged a sea anchor that helped to keep our bow upwind. At about 4:30 A.M. a fishing boat spotted us and took us aboard while taking the Handy Andy in tow. We were a pretty sorry, miserably cold bunch of survivors. As it turned out, Sammy, Larry Pease and the others had misnavigated their return and sailed down along the Vineyard's south shore until someone spotted Bill Hart's shack in Chilmark. They turned around and made it back to Oak Bluffs around ten o'clock that night, just as we were setting off on our "rescue mission."

When I obtained my driver's license, Ted let me use his 1930 Model A Ford with a small

truck bed in place of the rumble seat. This wonderful mobility allowed Judy and me to continue participating in all sorts of East Chop functions. I had learned to drive in my family's 1937 blue Ford convertible over the back dirt roads behind Martha Hart Park, even so far as the Trade Winds airport. I'd often hustle over there with a dollar bill in my hot little fist to go up with Carolyn Cullen in her vintage 1934 canary yellow Piper J3 for all of seven or eight minutes. I also had a pack of cigarettes stashed under a rock ... which is about as naughty as any of us got in those days.

The Harthaven Clambakes! For very good reason, viz., the amount of alcohol consumed, kids under the age of 18 weren't allowed to attend. When I was 16 or 17, however, Ted enlisted me and cousin Ben Moore to help. There was a tremendous amount of work

involved. Many of the community pitched in, shucking corn, peeling potatoes, wrapping pieces of swordfish in cabbage leaves, hauling tables, benches, cooking equipment, food and booze, etc. over to the beach just north of the harbor entrance. When the clambake started, I was to pick people up at the dock by Walter Hart's house in Ted's Susie Q and ferry them out around the harbor entrance close to shore. My passengers then disembarked into a rowboat manned by Ben, who then took them the rest of the way into shore. Many of our passengers had obviously got a head start on the festivities; they were very merry!

Out of nowhere appeared a large yacht, belonging to James Cagney. He was a good friend of Ginny and Sandy Low and had been invited to several clambakes over the years. Ben and I were dispatched to the yacht where James and his guests were to load themselves into the rowboat. I was to follow them as Ben rowed to shore. One of Cagney's guest's, an attractive young woman, was about the first to climb down to the rowboat. They had been partying as well and she slipped, plunging into the water. They retrieved her and all eventually made it ashore. When Cagney was rowed in, he insisted I stay right behind them, even when my bow gently touched bottom. He wasn't very nice about it either ... a real tough guy!

I hit pay dirt again ... big time ... when I was 17. Judy Blakeney came through once more. She had met a girl from New Britain who was in Harthaven for a couple of weeks with her grandparents, Marge and Louis Young. Judy thought she was just great and I had to meet her. One afternoon I finally did meet Caroline Young (a second cousin, once removed) and I was immediately smitten. We were married just five years later and have shared an incredible 43 years plus ever since, complete with three sons and a daughter, all of whom adore the Vineyard too.

I missed summers at the Vineyard in 1952 and 1953 but spent the summer of 1954 working and living in Vineyard Haven with brother Ros. I worked nights in the A & P which left my days open. I took flying lessons with Carolyn Cullen and got through my dual cross-country requirement before I ran out of money and summer.

On the first of September, I moved in with Ted and Ruth for a couple of weeks before going back to college. I mention this because while I was there, the infamous Hurricane Carol set the Vineyard in her sights. Ted called me from Boston the night before it hit and asked me to go down to the dock (the northernmost in Harthaven harbor) to secure the lines on his beautiful 38 foot fishing boat, the Daiquiri, below the level of the dock's planking so the ropes wouldn't float off. Judy and I went down in a raging easterly wind and managed to get everything secure. Imagine our horror the next morning when we went down towards the harbor, shielding ourselves from hurricane force winds at the Young's house. There was the Daiquiri securely fastened but rising up and down on the dock's pilings. When the hurricane backed off and the seas receded, the Daiquiri was high and dry with three pilings through her bottom. It took a crane to get her off. I believe Ted sold her "as and where is." I felt just terrible until I happened to overhear him answer a friend of his who asked, "What was Johnny thinking of?" Ted replied, "Don't blame him, he did exactly what I asked him to do." But the sight of the Daiquiri hanging there, seemingly in mid-air, haunts me still.

My wife Caroline and I were blessed with the use of her grandparent's (Louis and Marge Young's) shack on Upper Chilmark Pond for one month at a time as our four children grew up. (In fact, we spent our honeymoon there in 1956.) We did this purposely because we realized that our nomadic life with the Air Force was not giving our John, Jr., Stephan, Matthew and Kristin a place they could call home, an anchor. How lucky they were to be able to spend wonderful times with their great-grandparents on days we would spend at their Harthaven house. Their maid Mary Kerry adored the children as well. She invariably had a marvelous lunch ready for them after their exploration of the wonders of the harbor ... complete with her famous chocolate cake with white frosting laced with chocolate drippings! Idyllic is the best one-word description that comes to mind when recalling those days.

The Vineyard ... and Harthaven ... was and is a very special place. It is a source of wonderful memories and, today, good times among family and friends. Our twice-annual pilgrimage from the mountains of Colorado to the seashore environment of the Vineyard is a wonderful restorative of the human spirit!

John Moore