Women of Wednesday: Eunice Kennedy Shriver

Eunice Kennedy Shriver was Grace Curtis's best friend. Grace was born the fourth of eleven children nearly 90 years ago in Beverly, Massachusetts. Within a year or so of her birth the fifth child arrived, followed not long thereafter by the sixth. In a family of that size, babies don't stay babies very long.

Although Grace wasn't talking, she potty-trained at a reasonable age and managed to blend in with her growing sibling group. She loved music, and often sat on her mother's lap while Lydia played the piano and sang songs with the family. Soon, Grace was picking out tunes on the piano and singing nonsense lyrics. Her favorite song was Everybody Works But Father, much to the delight of her father, Carl, who called her Plucky.

As the years ticked by it became abundantly clear that Grace was enormously challenged by the simplest things. Nevertheless, it was still a huge shock when the doctors declared Grace profoundly retarded. With the babies still coming, there was nothing to do but put her in The Walter E. Fernald State School in Waltham.

Formerly known as the Massachusetts School for Idiotic Children, Fernald was a snake pit. Still, it was the best alternative at the time. In fact, Carl and Lydia had a hell of a time getting Grace admitted. After much string pulling by a well-connected Henry Cabot Lodge, Jr. (for which the family is still grateful) that Gothic horror show opened up for Grace. She was placed in Fernald shortly before the birth of my mother in 1927.

Elsewhere in Massachusetts, at just about the same time, another family struggled with a daughter's intellectual disability. The Kennedy family had power, wealth and resources that the Curtis family could only dream of. Although disabled in much the same way as Grace, Rosemary Kennedy would live a protected and secure life. The Kennedys would see to that. Nobody would ever pull all their 12-year old daughter's teeth because she bit an abusive attendant. Rosemary wouldn't carry scars on her back from whippings received at the hands of her guardians, either.

Christ only knows what other abuses and indignities Grace suffered at the hands of her keepers. She certainly couldn't tell. She and thousands of other "idiotic children" were voiceless, powerless, and invisible to society. This is where Eunice Kennedy Shriver comes into Grace's picture.

Eunice may have been Rosemary's baby sister, but she was also her biggest advocate, protector and best friend. Eunice watched out for Rosemary and made sure she was included in the swirl of activities surrounding the Kennedy family. When Rosemary's disability became such that she had to be institutionalized, Eunice could easily have taken her place among the idle rich. Instead, she threw herself into service of others.

She became a social worker and worked with women prisoners in West Virginia and juvenile offenders in Chicago. Eunice was the driving force behind everything her brother, President John F. Kennedy, did for people with intellectual disabilities. Eunice became Grace's voice.

Things started really turning around at Fernald in the early '70s, thanks to people like Eunice Kennedy Shriver. In fact, if you were to drive onto the Fernald campus today, the first building you'd pass is the Eunice Kennedy Shriver Center. Special Olympics, which Eunice founded in 1968, brought unimagined joy to Fernald residents, including Grace.

Grace is still a Fernald resident. Despite the brutal years, Fernald is Grace's home. These days, it's a much happier place, in spite of Governor Deval Patrick's attempts to close it down and place the residents in community homes. What a colossal tragedy that would be for Grace and the other "lifers" who are finally living dignified, fulfilling lives in the only home they've ever known.

Grace is now receiving hospice care, and hopefully will be reuniting with her mother and father very soon. I'd like to think that when she does, her back will be smooth and her mouth full of pearly whites.

SATURDAY SHARING: Literally Salem

I'm heading south of the border today to stroll the streets of Salem, Massachusetts and check out the Second Annual Salem Literature Festival. There are a number of events and workshops today and tomorrow, and I still need to decide which ones are calling to me. I think I'll attend Brunonia Barry's 2 pm workshop Creativity and a Sense of Place this afternoon at Old Town Hall. (Pictured here.)

If you've never been to Salem before, you're in for a treat. It's a terrific walking town brimming with atmosphere. Enjoy everything that Salem has to offer, not just the witchy thing. Granted, the witchy thing is a big thing, but Salem has so much more to give you. Visit the Custom House, where Nathaniel Hawthorne's three years of employment inspired The Scarlett Letter. From there, it's a short walk to The House of the Seven Gables, which needs no explanation from me. The Peabody Essex Museum is a must-see, even if they did gut the natural history section. (What the heck did the curator do with the buffalo, giant sea turtle and all those birds anyway?) If you're really interested in a trip in the Way-Back Machine, visit Salem Willows. Established as a park in the mid 1850s, the place has been hopping ever since. Just ask anybody who grew up on the Noth Shawa.

In spite of the fact it brought my girl Rebecca Nurse to such a wicked end, I still love Salem. Maybe I'll see you there this afternoon!

Portsmouth WOG Sighting!

Three of the Write Sisters managed to connect with another WOG subject. Yesterday, Muriel, my "civilian" pals Lynne Barret and Kathy Winn, and I headed into Portsmouth to hear Doris "Granny D." Haddock speak at the South Church. We hooked up with Diane on State Street at Re-Enhabit, my cousin Jodie Curtis's store. Jodie is a sales genius and shared tons of great tips for getting Women of Granite: 25 New Hampshire Women You Should Know (WOG) and the other books in Mur’s Apprentice Shop Books' catalog into stores. She pointed out that these are exactly the kinds of books (well-written, interesting subjects, relevant to the area) that do extremely well in touristy towns such as Portsmouth. We talked with her for about an hour (actually Jodie gave us a crash course in the fine art of sales), and then went to Popovers in Market Square for an outdoor dinner.

Dinner on the sidewalk in Portsmouth is a people-watching extravaganza. The Leftist Marching Band just happened to be playing at a peace rally on the corner right next to Popovers. The band was a colorful mix of old and young hippies attired appropriately and adorned with some of the best body art this side of Seattle. We arrived just in time for the don’t-shop-at Walmart sing-along. Regardless of your feelings about Walmart or your political leanings, they were fantastic. Democracy in action is a beautiful thing. Dinner was mighty tasty, too.

After the band finished, who should appear from the dispersing crowd but Doris “Granny D.” Haddock! She wore her trademark feathered hat, and the only concession to her 98 years was a pair of escorts, one on either side. Lynne snapped a couple of great pictures, and we told Granny we were looking forward to her speech that evening.

We spent the rest of our time in Market Square talking about the literary world's designated next big thing, Brunonia Barry's first novel The Lace Reader (William Morrow, 2008). This originally self-published book ended up going for better than 2 million dollars at auction. At that price, it better be the literary world’s next big thing. Anyway, both Lynne and Kathy live in Salem, Massachusetts, where The Lace Reader is set. They said that the buzz surrounding this book is phenomenal. Salem, a huge tourist town, has even added a Lace Reader Tour to the tourist trolley schedule.

After dinner we headed to the South Church, passing Granny D. and her escorts on our way. (Not much of a feat, really. The woman is 98-years old, after all.) Granny D.'s speech was absolutely inspiring! There aren’t many folks left who remember first-hand women winning the right to vote. She was 10-years old at the time, and recounted how excited and proud her mother was at the prospect of casting her first vote. She made the crowd laugh when she told how her mother turned to her father and asked, “Who should I vote for?” She was quick to point out that was the one and only election for which she sought his advice.

Granny D. remembered trying to bring her father into the Democratic Party. He was a Lincoln Republican (as in personally remembers Lincoln!) and a hard sell. Can you imagine in the year 2008 being able to say that your father was a contemporary of Abraham Lincoln? It’s stunning, really.

We presented Doris with a copy of WOG, and ended up creating a little WOG buzz within the crowd. We are finding that once people learn about WOG, they always want to hear more.

Oh, and guess who else was spotted on State Street yesterday. Jeanne Shaheen, another of our WOG subjects! Diane saw the Governor and her husband strolling past Re-Enhabit shortly before Mur and I arrived.

It was a veritable WOG festival in Portsmouth yesterday!

Research Rule #1: Don't Believe Everything You Read on the Internet

I've learned to check and double-check information gleaned from the internet. If somebody forwards an email touting the cancer cure Johns Hopkins has been hiding, I'll check the content at both Johns Hopkins and Snopes before spreading the good news. If I learn something brand spanking new about a research subject, I'll make certain the source is unimpeachable, and that I can reliably validate that information.

There are some things, however, that I do not question. If I read on the Fandango website that I can catch a showing of Iron Man at the Ioka Theater at 8 p.m., I'm going to believe it. And if I read on the Rebecca Nurse Homestead website that the hours starting June 15th include Thursdays from 10 a.m. to 4:30 p.m., I'll believe that, too. Silly me.

When I arrived at the homestead to sift through the remnants of Rebecca's life, it was closed. The two cars parked outside Rebecca's door lead me to believe somebody must be there, but my repeated knocks and calls of hello-oo went unanswered. I tried phoning the office on my cell, but got little satisfaction from the tinny voice on the answering machine. I left a slightly miffed message, then began roaming the homestead, snapping pictures.

Several clapboards had been replaced and not yet painted, the untreated wood slashing the home's red facade. A kitchen garden was unfolding outside the doorstep, it's neat little rows of corn just about knee high. Except for the two cars parked in the dooryard, I suspect things looked pretty much the same through Rebecca's eyes as they did through mine.

I wandered out to the cemetery where Rebecca's monument dominates the surrounding headstones. A second largish monument sits close to Rebecca's. It lists the names of the people who stood at her trial publicly testifying to her exemplary Christian character, brave souls all.

A pile of Putnams were buried over on the far side of the cemetery, direct descendants of the Putnams who accused Rebecca of witchcraft. How could such a revolting development not leave poor Rebecca eternally rolling in her grave?

As my visit wore on, my slight miffedness melted away. I was happy for the solitude and the chance to walk in Rebecca's footsteps. So what if I didn't get to go through the house? I had the run of the rest of the homestead. And I didn't have to pay $6.50 for the privilege.

Procrastination Vacation, Part Deux

The procrastination vacation continues with a field trip! I figure if I'm not going to be writing anyway, I may as well do something that advances the cause. I'm turning my attention to Rebecca Nurse and heading down to Danvers, MA to do a bit of research at the Rebecca Nurse Homestead. I lived on the North Shore years ago in both Danvers and Beverly, so I feel like I'm going home.

I actually visited the Rebecca Nurse Homestead when I was a kid, but I mustn't have been paying much attention. I remember very little about the homestead other than its centerpiece was a big old saltbox affair of a house. I also remember hoping to see a bedwarmer, like the haunted one flying around in an episode of Bewitched filmed at the House of Seven Gables in nearby Salem. Maybe because I used to live on the North Shore, or maybe because I completely loved Bewitched, I remember every last detail about that episode.

Which leads me back to writing. I want to write a Rebecca Nurse chapter for Women of the Bay State: 25 Massachusetts Women You Should Know which my young readers will remember into old age. It shouldn't be that difficult, considering how remarkable Rebecca's life was. It'll be even easier if the bedwarmers start flying around the homestead later today.