Gloucester Day 1

I arrive in Gloucester at 9:30 and make my way to the Cape Ann Museum, taking a detour to catch my first glimpse of the harbor. The day begins at a chilled 28 degrees Fahrenheit. The sky is clear and the water extending to the horizon. In the distance I can make out ten pound island. At 10:15 I am at the Museum and have time to take a look around. It’s a beautiful, spacious and inundated with light. In the first room I was happily surprised to find traces of chinoiserie, a style of art that developed into a European craze in the late 17th century. Having recently completed a research project on this phenomenon, I was most excited to see these authentic pieces of porcelain, lacquer, sculptures and paintings. Beyond this room there were walls covered in paintings of the harbor, old chests and furniture, and sculptures. A large room is reserved for the work of Fitz Henry Lane, a native of Gloucester who’s work, the Cape Ann Museum has the largest collection of. There is also a library with extensive collections of material related to Gloucester artists and ships.
At 11:00 I met with Rhonda Faloon, director of the museum. This space, Faloon said, “houses the treasures of Gloucester.” The museum is directed toward the residents of Gloucester, artist and art researchers, as well as summer tourists. They host many free educational programs including a lecture today on a famous poet of Gloucester. Art is still alive in the city and contemporary works are displayed in temporary exhibits. This includes Jeff Weaver’s painting of the Bird’s Eye, a controversial topic at the moment. Many citizens are protesting the governor’s idea to tear down a historic building in “the Fort” and replace it with a large hotel. Faloon proceeded to give me the contact information for Scott Memhard of Cape Pond Ice. Before I headed out, I was treated to a tour of a beautifully maintained 18th century home of a Gloucester captain. The riches of that time were evident in the British porcelain, decorate piano, and handsome portraits.
Heading to Cape Pond Ice, I asked a man directions and continued to inquire whether he was a fisherman. Indeed he was. He asked me if I had heard the news. What news? “This morning a boat exploded and two men were lost.” I listened incredulously. What? How? He thought it was probably due to hydrolics, that the Coast Guard had only recovered one body and that the other was still missing.
News travels fast. At Cape Pond Ice my initial conversation with Scott was interrupted by one of his employees who shared the same information that I had just learned. With a hint of dark humor, Scott turned to me and said, “that is how we lose one more customer,” “and a friend” retorted his employee. A somber nod was Scott’s only response. Both men stood in silence.
Stacked against the office walls are T-shirts with large snow flakes and a poster of the character, Bugsy from the Perfect Storm , sporting said shirt. The ice from the Andrea Gale, in reality and for the film, was bought from Cape Pond. On an adjacent wall are posters of men in early twentieth century winter garb, picks in hand and a large frozen lake in the background. As I was led into the next room, it was clear that times had changed. Through the dim light, the room was fascinating. Machines with frost clinging to their metal exteriors stretched and twisted across the wooden floor. Hooks dangled ominously in the background and an imposing container of ammonium gas kept the facility steadily below freezing. In the second room we entered were large slabs of ice, 4x2x1. He showed that, unlike any other material, these heavy ice slabs (six pieces to a ton) could be slid across the wooden floor “like hockey pucks.” I gave one a push, but upon learning that a broken foot is the most common injury, decided observation would be good enough.
We exited a door to a small loading dock where two boats were tied up. While Scott showed how the tubing could transfer one ton of ice to the boats’ hulk per minute, a helicopter flew in across the harbor. We watched in silence. It was the Gloucester Coast Guard.

To be continued...

-Erika Volchan O'Conor