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Title: Washington Street and Adams Street intersection
Creator: Boston Redevelopment Authority
Date: 1975 September
Source: Boston Landmarks Commission image collection, Dorchester series, 5210.004
File name: 5210004_012_480
Rights: Copyright City of Boston
Citation: Boston Landmarks Commission image collection, Dorchester, Collection 5210.004, City of Boston Archives, Boston
New York, New Haven and Hartford Alco RS-3 diesel-electric locomotive no. 532 , with Alco DL-109 in stall, at Dover Street turntable, Boston, Massachusetts, some time between 1950 and 1955. Photograph by Leo King, © 2016, Center for Railroad Photography and Art. King-01-007-002
Title: Boston City Hall
Creator: Boston Redevelopment Authority
Date: circa 1968
Source: Government Center Urban Renewal project, Boston Redevelopment Authority photographs, Collection # 4010.001
File name: R35_0058
Rights: Copyright City of Boston
Citation: Boston Redevelopment Authority photographs, Collection # 4010.001, City of Boston Archives, Boston
with many Boston airport car service providers in the scene, there has been a respite to these threats, and people have become much more relaxed. So once you are done with booking the tickets, the next thing that you need to do is book a transportation facility for that day so that you can travel in comfort and without any hurry reach the airport on time.
Visit Us: www.blackcarrides.com/
Wife and I went to Boston... well, actually: Salem, New Bedford, Dartmouth, Fall River, and Newport, RI. We didn't do much IN Boston.
The T from Alewife into Boston was closed between Alewife and Harvard, so they forced us to ride city buses and snake through crowded streets. While the bus was waiting for a light, I took a shot of this little street-corner park.
File name: 08_02_000689
Box label: Fairchild aerial photos: Downtown Boston (incl. harbor): High obliques (Greater Boston)
Title: Boston. Commonwealth Avenue and Beacon Street
Alternative title: Boston northeast from Copley
Creator/Contributor: Fairchild Aerial Surveys, inc. (photographer)
Date issued:
Date created: 1930
Physical description: 1 photographic print : gelatin silver ; 6 3/4 x 8 3/4 in.
Genre: Gelatin silver prints; Aerial photographs; Cityscape photographs
Subjects: Cities & towns
Notes:
Provenance:
Statement of responsibility: Fairchild Aerial Surveys Inc. N.Y.C.
Location: Boston Public Library, Print Department
Rights: Rights status not evaluated.
Amazingly, it is a week since my last working day, and time is already flying through my fingers. Our fingers.
But time had come for us to bid New York goodbye, back our things and head north to Beantown, Boston, for a few days.
We laid in bed for a while, me coughing loudly from time to time, then Jools announcing she has now caught the cold. Or a cold. Might not be mine.
Anyway, we have to pack, get all the clothes we have brought back into the case ready for the trip. We had hours to get it done, so we take hours, and had decided to have breakfast at Penn Station rather than go to our usual haunt.
At ten we are done, so go down to check out, and for the bellhop to call a cab. We had the most reasonable man in New York driving us, who spoke with knowledge of global events and current affairs, and of Brexit and Trump.
He made the journey to the station seem so effortless, it was a shame when we arrived. Outside the station, or stations, more of that in a minute, it was mad. Two drunks, so out of it they could hardly stand, panhandled us for change, the woman incapable of speech in fact. We dashed over the road to the wonderful building on the other side only to find there are two Penn Stations, and this grand one is the New Jersey railway, the other, more Euston-like, was back on the other side of the road.
We cross back over and begin the hunt for breakfast, which we thought would be civilised. But all there was were a series of fast food places, and people everywhere. We d find a table at a deli and I get food. And it still cost thirty backs or so, no cheapness even there. But we needed to eat.
Then began the wait for the train, sitting in the waiting room for the train to be called, then wait some more to find which platform it was coming in on. When it was announced platform 9, there was a mad rush and we were at the back, but a member of staff opened another stairway down onto the platform, so we go on really quick, found two spare seats in business, still trying to work out what was business or different from the cattle class tickets, just as cramped and hard seats, but at least the seats lined up with the windows, unlike back home.
And off we go into a tunnel under east Manhattan, under the East River and out into the Bronx. We get fine views over the rooftops with the Manhattan skyline as a backdrop, until the train dips and dives through the New York suburbs, and in half an hour, into the countryside.
I like a good train journey,
especially one I have not been on before, so I am enthralled as the train passes through many towns with identical names as some back home, most look the same, but after a while we are beside the sea, and whizz through a series of resorts and fishing villages until we pass into Connecticut.
All the towns blur into one, Stamford, New Haven, Yale University all pass by. We stop a couple of times, drop passengers off, pick up only a handful. Into Rhode Island, a state I have been to before, but we are in and out of it pretty quick, and then into Boston.
Outside the station we flag the angriest man in Boston to take us to the hotel; he is on the horn all the while, not indicating, and angry at everyone. We tip him at the hotel just glad to be out of his presence.
Out hotel is swish. Posh even, named after one in London, The Langham. The bellhop wears a bowler hat and carries our bags to check in, but we say we can carry our own cases thank you very much.
Upstairs we find we have a suite, and plenty of room to spread our rags and tattered clothes.
Lets go out to eat!
Boston has changed huge amounts since I was last here a decade and a half ago, I have no idea where we are or where to go. We walk up through the commercial district to a main shopping street, down that, but can see nowhere to eat.
I then spy a place, the Boston Chop, we go in. Also, very swish. A hundred bucks for a bog standard bottle of red, so we pass. But they do a good steak, which is good. And we have crème brulee to follow, and all is right with the world. Until the bill comes.
We walk back through the city centre until I find what I was looking for; the Freedom Trail, which we will follow tomorrow. I take shots of buildings, some old, some new, all interesting, until Jools says she is tired, so we try to find the hotel.
Back inside I have a shower, Jools watches some Breaking Bad, and another day has passed us by.
I'd experienced my first "First Night" in Boston, on the cusp of 1983-1984 (yellow button). The whole city became a massive party, with performance venues ranging from the larger halls down to residential brownstones. Everywhere there was dance, music, poetry, art -- ranging from Indonesian gamelans to Mozart, Morris dancing to ballet. Shop windows became stages. Ice sculptures gleamed. Up and down the street, brightly-colored plastic horns longer than an arm lowed like a herd of festive moose. City Hall Plaza, largely underutilized the rest of the year, got to live up to its public space potential. Between 10 PM and 2 AM, cabs and the T's subways and buses transported revelers free of charge. My train home, after the fireworks in Boston Harbor, was a joyous sardine can.
Children's activities for the New Year began around 1 PM on December 31, and at 5 PM the Procession began. I'd marched in the Procession twice. The first time was 20 years ago today, on December 31, 1988, when I became the first woman to carry one of the Janus heads.
Journal excerpt, First Night 1988-89
I headed to the Hynes Auditorium, where I first came across a magnificent Janus head, set in a sunburst pattern and made of plaster of Paris. Smaller heads were mounted on ten-foot poles. One leaned alone, against a column; the others leaned against a perpendicular wall. Farther down were giant puppets. A woman in a double (Janus) mask and black cape gestured to a cop standing by a fleet of police motorcycles.
Animal masks. Banners and flags.
I stepped into a pizzeria for a late lunch. A couple of slices would power me through the march.
Around 4:30 I returned to the Janus heads and to banners proclaiming "History is Now" and "When the Fire and the Rose are One."
A woman approached me. "Are you here to carry something?"
"Yes."
I went to the Janus head leaning against the column and hefted it. By my estimate it weighed about 40 pounds. I've lifted piano actions weighing between 25-30 pounds, and based my estimate on that.
She asked, "How does that feel?"
"Manageable."
"I've been looking for women to carry a Janus head," she beamed. Later on I would realize why it had been traditionally carried by men.
I suited up in a white Tyvec suit over my jacket and tied on a light blue sash. Technically the pole should be placed in the sash, but mine never worked out that way, and I wound up carrying the full weight for half the Procession. Another woman had taken a Janus head to carry, but swapped it for a banner before the Procession began.
We lined up on the street. I was moved to the front row of our division, in the center. We started out down Boylston: animal masks, laser light, drummers, unicyclists, dancers, banners -- like something out of Carnivale. I felt wonderful, knowing we re-enacted a celebration that's gone back for thousands of years. Yes, we had high-tech implements, but other items could have been carried eons ago, and the sculpture I carried was one of them. One head faced toward the past, one toward the future.
We began to march shortly after sunset. The wind picked up, blowing banners and challenging my strength. I rested the pole against my thigh and in my crotch area when we stopped enroute, thinking It's a good thing I'm not a man or I'd be writhing in the street by now. (Stanley, whose sash worked and who carried a Janus head to my left, commented to me that he'd carried his son's sweater in a strategic place for his own protection.) My thighs sport complementary purple splotches -- but the black and blue marks were worth it. I felt proud carrying that Janus head, part of a grand tradition.
The wind, however, won. One stiff breeze and I murmured, "I'm in trouble." The head swayed to the right. A man came up from behind and straightened me out, trying to get the sash to work, but to no avail. "I can take that from you."
"Thanks," I said, "but let me see if I can take this a bit longer."
I did -- for two more march periods. At the second rest period I said, "I have no feeling in my fingers." This time I relinquished my trophy, dropping back to walk beside the woman who'd traded her Janus head in for a banner before the Procession began. My hands experienced some moments of agony as feeling returned to them. Then I took over a flag from a young girl whose arms were tired, and returned it when she was ready to take it on again. We waved to the throngs on the sidewalk, called out Happy New Year.
Back in the early afternoon I'd heard the "long horns," whose din increased during the march and which would reach an ear-splitting crescendo by midnight.
I picked up soda and Pop Tarts to hold me -- took in some of the exhibitions in Boston Common, then went to the Old South Church to catch the Old South Brass. They repeated their rendition of Louis Vierne's "Carillon de Westminster," which had thrilled me at the previous First Night. Afterwards I took off to hear the Evan Harlan Quintet, where I caught a dinner of Dim Sum and arrived early enough to get a stage-side table. I particularly liked "Bean's Bag," named after one of Harlan Evans's cats.
I made my way to City Hall Plaza to catch the Oracle: an impressive production that utilized, in a very clever way, the architecture of City Hall. Then it was on to Boston Harbor, where I warmed up in an office building lobby and where a very, very patient security guard kept telling people that no, there were no bathrooms available and no, they should stay outside the elevator bays. All the while she tried to understand a caller who was not speaking clearly on the phone.
Being at the front for the fireworks display gave me a terrific view of the boat that sent them up and made for a slow, shoulder-to-shoulder exit from the harbor.
Boston Common (also known as "the Common") is a central public park in downtown Boston, Massachusetts. It is sometimes erroneously referred to as the "Boston Commons". Dating from 1634, it is the oldest city park in the United States. The Boston Common consists of 50 acres (20 ha) of land bounded by Tremont Street, Park Street, Beacon Street, Charles Street, and Boylston Street. The Common is part of the Emerald Necklace of parks and parkways that extend from the Common south to Franklin Park in Roxbury. A visitors' center for all of Boston is located on the Tremont Street side of the park.
Wikipedia