Finding Martha's Vineyard Page 18
Kathy: And find out where the party would be that night.
Mildred: That didn’t make sense for us, to put the kids in the car, make lunch, to drive down there. This was our beach.
Kathy: In getting the house, race was a factor, because all of a sudden the bank decided we needed to put up more of a down payment, half. And they only gave us a ten-year mortgage then. The house cost $8,000 when we bought it in 1956. That $47.25 a month mortgage that we had to divide between us, sometimes it wasn’t easy.
Mildred: But once we got the house, race didn’t really figure in it. We were like a family, all the way from Ocean Park to Nantucket Avenue; we were a family, blacks and whites. It was a lovely mixture.
Ruth: A few days ago a friend was talking about the need for closets, because
these old houses don’t have much closet space. I said, Well, back then you didn’t have a lot of clothes, because you were in bathing suits from morning until night.
Mildred: Now, there are a lot of functions going on, so there’s a need for more clothes. Maybe the functions were always going on, but we weren’t involved, we were raising kids. We really did not get involved socially until we became Cottagers in 1966. Before that, we were here raising our kids and entertaining friends, that’s what we did. When we became Cottagers our circle broadened. We started meeting people from other sections of the Vineyard, the Highlands, East Chop. Before, our whole world was right here, in these streets. Now, we’re involved with the Cottagers, the Oak Bluffs Senior Center, and social—
Ruth: Social forever.
Kathy: There’s always a breakfast, a luncheon, or a dinner. Something at the Harbor View or Lambert’s Cove, or the Beach Plum Inn. For the last two weeks we didn’t have a day off.
Mildred: Last week we were invited someplace and I didn’t go. I just said I’d had it. But I had been playing bridge in the morning, so mentally I was tired. I just wasn’t ready to talk to people; I wanted to be by myself. But there are a lot of social things going on now, all the time. The good thing is that at this stage in life, you can pick and choose.
Kathy: It’s very busy here now, a lot of people and a lot of cars.
Ruth: I used to just love to go and sit out on the porch, for hours on end, and there was nobody. We find that we have a lot of visitors who come to our house, people who have bought beautiful homes in Meadow View or Tower Ridge, but they are out of town and not near the water, and there is always somebody on the porch. It’s just busy all the time.
Kathy: I told Mil last week, after we came from brunch at Lola’s, Now Mil, we want to kind of relax today, so please don’t sit on that front porch, you’re a magnet. Sometimes I just sit inside because no one can see me and I want to relax.
Ruth: Someone told, me, You really have a water view. This is not a trickle-down water view. I have a friend, she bought in Meadow View, now she wants to come back. I told her, So, you want to come back to the ‘hood. That’s what I call it here, the ‘hood. Although some islanders have told us that this area was always called the Gold Coast.
Mildred: There are some gorgeous homes all over the island, but for us, this is the place. The water is right there and you can walk to town, the post office, the store, wherever you want to go. And you are never isolated, there are always people coming by. We are very fortunate, and I think we don’t even realize it. This is commonplace for us, we’re just used to this, and it is what we’ve always had. This is it.
Ruth: The Vineyard has changed over the years. I would caution the kids now in terms of hitchhiking, which they used to do. I think there are more weirdos that have found this island; they have found our paradise. I wish I could change that. There is a feeling that we need more security, and you can’t close your eyes to what you read in the papers, a couple of rapes that have gone on... This is the real world, and it’s happening. But it did not used to be.
Mildred: Even with the changes, the Vineyard still far surpasses the other side of
America. It has been a lovely life here. We have only been off the Vineyard once in the summer, for a wedding, and we swore we will never do that again. We are just not going to leave the Vineyard.
Ruth: Send them a check, honey.
Mildred: The Vineyard is so expensive, it is forcing the natives off this island. We would not be able to buy this house now, absolutely not. We don’t even know if our children will be able to maintain what we have gotten, and that is true for many people we know. We were just curious, and a few years ago we had a realtor come over. He poked around and into all the nooks and crannies, and told us that we could get $700,000 for this house.
Ruth: This is going to be a very elitist island, that is my fear, that’s what it’s heading for. People like us, hardworking middle-class families, will not be able to come here any longer. But we have had a wonderful life here.
Kathy: And still do.
Mildred: It’s not over yet.
Vernon E. Jordan, Jr., seventy, has served as president of the National Urban League and executive director of the United Negro College Fund. He is currently senior managing director of Lazard Freres, LLC. His memoir Vernon Can Read! was published in 2001. An avid golfer, he plays regularly with his close friend Bill Clinton on Martha’s Vineyard.
Vernon: I went to New York to run the United Negro College Fund in 1970. We moved to Westchester County, where we were members of the Couples Club. Harvey and Jackie Russell, in the summer of 1971, invited my wife, Shirley, our daughter, Vickee, and me to the Vineyard. First time I’d ever been to the Vineyard. It was a wonderful adventure for all three of us. We drove, we got on the ferry, and even now the ferry has an excitement to it. Even when you’ve got to wait on line, or when you’ve got to stand by, there’s something in the tension of doing it that relates to the anticipation of getting to the island, there’s no question about it. Also, you visit in the standby line. You see friends who’ve driven from Detroit or Chicago, and so the reunion begins. It’s true that all the black people who finished college in my era know one another. And so, it was a gathering.
We stayed with the Russells. One of the beauties of staying with the Russells was they had this big front porch with rocking chairs on it, and when people came in on the boat to Oak Bluffs, if nobody was there to meet them, they went to the Russells’ porch and waited. While people were waiting for the Island Queen or the Islander to come in, they would go sit on the Russells’ porch. You never knew who was going to be sitting there waiting on the boat.
There was not a lot of restaurant eating back then. The biggest thing was to eat in Menemsha at Home Port. But most of the eating was at people’s houses, it was home eating in the early 1970s. I loved that, and the fellowship. I loved the tennis tournament in Oak Bluffs, because you’d go to the tournament and you’d see “Talented Tenth” Americans. There was Senator Ed Brooke, there was Judge Herbie Tucker from Boston, there was Judge Joe Mitchell, Dr. George Branch. It was a gathering, and with very few exceptions, it was black. I played in the tennis tournament. We stayed with the Russells maybe three times, and then we started renting.
Vernon Jordan and Bill Clinton
I think there was a time for vacation when the Vineyard was the only spot for successful black people, and in many ways it still is, and that’s a very good thing. But you don’t have to go to the Vineyard to find successful black people. Given how the workforce has integrated, I see the social life, especially among young people, as much more integrated than it was for my generation. There is now a new, expanded talented tenth, a new expanded middle class, and when you look at it you see the rewards of the civil rights movement, all these black people doing so many different things. There used to be a time when you went to the Vineyard and everybody was a doctor, lawyer, or teacher. Now you have businesspeople and investment bankers, and CEOs. The Vineyard has changed, but everything has changed.
I don’t go to the beach, I don’t sit on the beach, and I don’t go swimming in the ocean—the water’s too cold. I went
in there once and I said, To hell with this. I never do that. But what I have always enjoyed is the fellowship of the Vineyard and the options you have. You can go walk on the beach, you can go to Menemsha and watch the fishermen go out early in the morning, you can go to Edgartown and watch the beautiful boats come in, you can go on trails and walk. And I have friends all over the island: up-island, down-island, white friends, black friends.
My wife Shirley died in1985 and I married Ann in I986.What is interesting about the Vineyard is when we started spending the month of August in Chilmark, there was an attitude on the part of some, and nobody would admit to it but it was there, Why are you up there? You don’t want to be black? Too good for us? I never paid it any mind, but it was there. The answer is, I can do what I want to do. I don’t have to check in with anybody to get their approval.
I love the Vineyard. Almost every August since 1971 I’ve found myself at the Vineyard. I like the culture of the Vineyard, I like the people of the Vineyard, I love belonging to Farm Neck Golf Club, which is in my experience the most integrated club in America, racially, economically, and gender-wise. I like it that the cafe at Farm Neck is open to everybody. I like it that they’ve worked it out so that residents of the Vineyard can be members and play.
I play golf every day on the Vineyard, every day. Farm Neck is a beautiful golf course. You go up on the third tee and look out across that ocean; it’s as beautiful a scene as that on any golf course in the world. And then you go to the fourth tee, you’re closer to the water and it’s even better.
When I’m not at the Vineyard, I play golf mostly with my wife, Ann. But at the Vineyard Ann has her crew of ladies that she plays golf with. I tee off at six thirty in the morning. I finish a little before noon. Then I go and get my newspapers, go home, call my offices, go play tennis, or read in the afternoon. Then, it’s time to drink and have dinner. What a life. Yeah!
The one option that you have at the Vineyard is to say, No, I am not coming. Oh yeah, I say that. Because you can be out every night, or three times a night, every night. On the best days, we play golf, eat lunch, go mess around in Chilmark. I’ll call down to Larsen’s, order two lobsters, go get them at 6:30. Make some salad, corn on the cob that you picked up somewhere on the island, a little wine, read a book, and go to bed. My life has never been either/or, it’s always been both/and. The Vineyard satisfies that in me.
I remember one summer it took us eight hours to get to the Vineyard from Washington—flying! Just delay, delay, delay, delay, delay. We had a tradition Ann and I developed with Kay Graham: We’d always have our first dinner with her. We were late, and she waited dinner on us. It was one of those cool August nights, and when we got to her house she had the fireplace going and a drink, and all of the frustration of the eight hours disappeared! That’s the Vineyard.
I used to get up early in the morning and go down and watch the fishermen go out from Menemsha, just watch them do their craft. I still do that sometimes. While I’m not big on sitting on the beach, I am a walker. Do I have a ritual on the Vineyard? Being alone. And yes, I am very often with people. As I said earlier, it’s not either/or. It’s both/and.
Hurmie Todd Thorne, eighty, has spent summers on Martha’s Vineyard since 1970. She and her husband, Bob, a dentist, bought a house there in 1972, when their three sons, Michael, Ronald, and Gary, were twenty-one, nineteen, and seventeen. Her husband died in 2003 and their home remains a gathering place for her sons, their wives, and six grandchildren, as well as family—she had nine siblings—and friends from her home state, Michigan. Like many older black summer residents, she spends her winters in Sarasota, Florida.
Hurmie: I first came herein1970. I loved it. There was a certain type of serenity here, you just forgot about what was going on back in the city. It was total relaxation. I was a beach person and a bicycle rider.
I went to look at houses with Merle Thomas, a real estate guy, but I was just looking. I had a house in New Rochelle, New York, and I really didn’t want two houses. I walked in the front door and I loved the staircase, and I said, This is it. I did not go upstairs, I just loved the way the first floor was arranged. I could see all the possibilities. I loved the location. I’m about a block from the beach, about three blocks from town, the tennis courts, baseball field, and the majority of my friends are all within walking distance. When I was younger, I could even walk to the golf course.
When we bought this house I said, Nobody’s giving me two weeks on Martha’s Vineyard, so I quit my job as a medical technician. Bob, my husband, used to come for two weeks in August, and occasionally for weekends. It was wonderful to have this time to myself. It gave me time to relax and reflect on things after raising three boys. I did a lot of reading. I had a good time being me, doing what I wanted to do when I wanted to do it.
Hurmie Thorne and granddaughter Alexa
The mortgage was $104 a month, I’ll never forget it. You couldn’t stay in a motel for a week for that amount of money in 1970, and that’s what we bought this house for.
I used to make seaweed paintings, go to the flea markets, collect shells, macrame. Basically, I’m an arts and crafts person, so I did a lot of that. I play golf. I used to socialize a lot in the I970s. There were a lot of house parties back then. Now people go to restaurants. My relatives all came to visit from Michigan. We used to have a grand time just socializing among ourselves. I always found it very relaxing here, because you could do whatever you wanted to do.
I met new people when I came up here, but I wouldn’t call them friend friends; they were more like acquaintances. I only had two really close friends, one was your mother, A’Lelia Nelson, and the other was Iris Martin. I could talk to both of them; they were like confidantes. The other people were just social people. I had a good time going over to their homes, but they were not tight friendships.
Your mother and I became friends because she was a very interesting person to talk to and she didn’t do a lot of gossiping. We talked about what was going on on the island, we played poker, we had a lot in common because of raising kids.
Me and your mom, we used to just run around and talk, look at her garden, things like that. I could go to her house, sit in the swing on the front porch and relax. Talk about what was going on in the world, my feelings, I could talk about just anything with her.
We used to love to go get scratch tickets and play her numbers. I played a little bit, but she played a little more than I did. The last summer she was here, she really won some money. She used to say when I took her to play the numbers I brought her luck.
When you have a good friend, you can talk about anything and it’s interesting, even housework or how tired you are after cooking for fifty-odd years, other men or the good times you had when you were a teenager. We talked about everything you can imagine.
The island is not as free as it used to be. Everything is too rush-rush; it’s not laid-back anymore. Prices for everything are higher. Even some of the merchants
aren’t as nice as they used to be. You used to be able to go into stores and look around as long as you wanted, and the merchants would be pleasant, tell you to have a good day. Now, they act insulted if you don’t buy anything. That’s why I like my house and where it is. I can just sit on my porch and not have to go anywhere. It used to be a ritual, after dinner you walked into town; you always had a good time walking into town. You’d go get an ice cream, and just sit sometimes, and people watch. The town has changed; it is not peaceful like it used to be.
Even some of the black people are not as friendly. You used to sit on your front porch, side porch, no matter, people would always stop and talk. Now, they walk by and won’t even speak. Everybody would say Hi, Good morning, How you doing today? Now, people walk right past your house, and even the young people are not raised to be polite. People walk by now and pretend they don’t see you.
I’ll never give up Martha’s Vineyard. Even with the changes, there are still things I love to do. The island is really a b
eautiful place. I have nice neighbors, thank goodness for that. Now that I’m a senior citizen I enjoy the services for seniors on the island, I go by the senior center. I like doing things around my house; I’m a frustrated interior decorator, really, so I’m always finding something to do around here.
Some people think everybody who has a house on Martha’s Vineyard is a millionaire or something, instead of plain, ordinary, hardworking people who know where to put their money and how to enjoy life. Maybe some people do believe that when they get a house on the Vineyard they’ve arrived. For me, it’s just a relaxing place. I don’t care if you’ve arrived or not arrived. I’ve always believed that if you have to prove you are, then you ain’t.
Skip Finley, fifty-six, spent summers growing up on Martha’s Vineyard. After a career in radio all over the country and raising two daughters, Kharma and Kristin, who like their father grew up summers on the island, he and his wife, Karen, moved full time to the island in 1999. In 2002 he began consulting with Inner City Broadcasting Corporation Holdings in New York, ultimately becoming vice chairman. They have two grandsons and now divide their time between the Vineyard, New York, and Washington, D.C.
Skip: My parents bought their house at 14 Pequot Avenue in August 1955 for $4,700. To stay here, my mom used to rent rooms to her friends. My father was a civil engineer who owned his own firm. My mom shopped. She played tennis, she played golf, and she shopped and looked good. She had more shoes than Imelda Marcos. We obviously weren’t destitute, because we did have two homes and two cars, but money wasn’t long. So when Mom had her friends in the house and they were paying to stay, you did the kind of bed and breakfast thing. Our job was to set up the doughnuts in the morning. We’d go to the Laundromat and wash the sheets. We had chores around the house, and the rest of the time was our free time. We were at the beach from ten in the morning until six at night and invariably didn’t leave the water; jumping on the raft was the extent of leaving the water. Or, if you were starving, there’d be the waxed paper sandwich, flattened Wonder bread, stained with jelly or tuna fish. I still eat them, I still do.