Memorial Day weekend, an annual milestone of sorts—the unofficial beginning of the summer season; it’s a day associated with that first trip to the beach, a barbecue with friends and family, and, or yeah, that parade business.
Back in the middle of the 1930s, the automobile was becoming pretty common place on the roads of our fair town. What was once, just a decade or so earlier, a rare sight in a horse-and-buggy world was now so prevalent that it was causing unforeseen problems.
Regular readers of this column over the last 21 years may remember that, from time to time when I get bored, I revert back to my 12-year old self and revel in the joys of writing from that long ago perspective.
Long before Alcoholics Anonymous was even thought of, there was the Temple of Honor. The Temple of Honor, along with its sister organization The Women’s Christian Temperance Union, were the spearheads of the Temperance/Prohibition Movement which swept across the country during the end of the 1800s.
The recent demolition of the circa 1888 Belleville district schoolhouse on Oak Hill Road has got me thinking about the little forgotten mill village of Belleville and some of the unique stories that originated from this little hamlet. The rise of James R. Wilson is one of those tales.
Those of you who are regular readers of this column are more than likely aware that, in the early part of the 20th century, summers in the seaside village of Saunderstown were an extraordinary time.
From time to time, I must admit, I indulge myself by prattling on about various artists, writers, actors, and other celebrity types that have lived in or passed through our fair town.
This week we are going to stop for a while and examine the story behind one of the four fine Victorian era homes on the west side of Boston Neck Road just past the landmark Hussey Bridge.
Just a few months ago, an anniversary of sorts here in our fair town was reached. For it was 215 years ago, at the end of November, that the region’s first bank, the Narragansett Bank of Wickford opened its doors to the public for the first time.
The four little houses that run from 5 to 35 Washington Street have seen a lot of history in their two hundred years or so of existence.
Regardless of whether we are all aware of it or not, North Kingstown, is now poised upon the end of an era. I take note of it each week as I read the local obituaries (an almost uncontrollable habit had by both people who are beginning to feel their years and by folks brought up in the undertaker’s trade – two groups to which I belong) or reach out to members of our senior citizenry for information about our fair town’s past.
Regular readers of this column are most certainly aware that Rough Rider and United States President Theodore Roosevelt was a frequent visitor to our fair town back around the turn of the last century.
Thankful Union, the minute I first saw that name I just knew there had to be a special story associated with it.
Last week, we stopped and pondered the life and times of 19th century black barber Uriah Weekes. Today we will examine the tragic death of another of our fair town’s black residents in the 19th century; a man who spent much of his life as a slave working on the dairy farm that once was located at Rome Point, Cato Roome.
This week, we are going to delve into the story of Uriah Weeks, one of the first barber/hairdressers who served the large black community that lived here in South County during the middle part of the 19th century.
This house was constructed some time around 1831, as the second home located on a large parcel of land Nichols purchased in April of 1830 from his commanding officer in the RI State Militia, General Peter B. Phillips and his wife, Phebe Phillips.
Since much of what I write – especially my books – is focused on endangered species, I often get asked why we should bother protecting rare species, especially those that are less-than-charismatic, like snakes, mice or Rhode Island’s state insect, the American burying beetle.
I always look forward to observing a good display of shooting stars. I’ve watched countless “burning rocks” plummet through the Earth’s atmosphere in the 45 years I’ve been an amateur astronomer. The experience doesn’t get old, except perhaps when the expected peak of activity falls far short of forecasts.
One of the few good things that has come out of the COVID19 situation is that it has resulted in many more people taking walks at our local parks, refuges and wildlife sanctuaries than usual, since it allows us to maintain social distancing while also getting some exercise and enjoying the fresh air.