She was engaged in her weekly mission. Mom wasn’t satisfied with just cleaning the inside of our house, the entry or stairs. The lady of the house took her broom outside and swept the sidewalk from the corner of the big six tenement that ran from the corner of Brightman and Lindsey to the driveway of the house next door.
She was engaged in her weekly mission. Mom wasn’t satisfied with just cleaning the inside of our house, the entry or stairs. The lady of the house took her broom outside and swept the sidewalk from the corner of the big six tenement that ran from the corner of Brightman and Lindsey to the driveway of the house next door.
Empty cigarette packs, candy wrappers and the occasional cup from a take-out drink at the drugstore were the most common forms of litter, but it was the cigarette butts that really upset her.At the Weetamoe Yacht Club most of the old sailors would take a finished cigarette, punch it out then roll it between calloused fingers, allowing what little tobacco was left to disperse in the wind while keeping the little white ball of paper wrapper in their pocket to dispose of properly. The Navy taught them well.
One fine summer morning Mom was sweeping the sidewalk into the street when a woman came by and asked if she was the owner of the property. Mom smiled and replied that she was just a resident who appreciated clean surroundings. I took a page from that sainted woman’s book and have been trying to conduct myself in a manner she would appreciate. One hot summer day she was watching out the window as I peeled the sticky wet paper from a popsicle and was looking around.
The window was raised, and she inquired. “And what do you plan on doing with that wrapper?” I walked across the street and deposited it in the trash can behind the grocery store.
In 1971 there was this big BU goon who didn’t seem to understand that the referee’s whistle meant the end of the play. There were seconds left on the clock and we were up by a goal when they iced the puck and I skated over and touched it. The hulking forward, who couldn’t believe they were being beat by a pick-up team, kept on coming and hit me from behind, lifting me up and tossing me over the net. My left skate got caught on the boards, my body spun, and it broke my left ankle.
I had a lot of plans for that winter but none of them included spending three months in a cast. After the first week I was going stir crazy, so I convinced my wife to take me down to the boat ramp then drive me along the shoreline to relieve my restricted state. I saw numerous tires, derelict boats, more trash than you could imagine along with huge oil tank someone had pushed off the beach. With time on my hands I made a few calls and brought together a group of extraordinary people who agreed that our shores needed an extensive cleaning.
Growing up along the shores of the Taunton River, I was dismayed with the city dumping sewage into the water and with many citizens using the river as a receptacle for all sorts of trash. I can assure you that the shores alongside the club from the Brightman Street Bridge to the other side of Clarkson’s boat yard were free of trash, paint cans and other discarded material. That was their property, their home and they didn’t tolerate trash along their shores. I know; I picked up numerous cans, cup, brushes and other junk that came in on the tides. Back then boaters were notorious for dumping trash overboard, like the woman pulling out of Dunkin Donuts in her new Audi SUV who peeled the straw for her iced coffee and tossed the wrappig out the window on her way out of the parking lot. I gazed at her in disbelief and she returned my stare in a very dismissive manner. She believed that in order for her expensive vehicle to remain clean there was no reason not to toss her litter out the window.
The first people to join our group were Margot and Tom Cottrell, John and Marsha Borden, Maureen O’Brien, Janice Burrows along with the Swansea Shell Fisherman’s Association, and several Boys and Girls scout troops. Selectman Bob Kelliher joined and arranged for the town DPW to assist in the disposal of the trash collected. A project that began with a limited scope soon expanded into an undertaking of enormous proportions.
I was serving on the board of directors of Save The Bay at the time and Executive Director, John Scanlon, made a proposal to have the organization join our effort which was unanimously approved. When this idea first came to fruition I was expecting a few dozen people picking up the most obvious pieces of litter. However when that sun rose on that cold and damp Saturday it was drizzling. But when I arrived at the Coles River boat ramp, most of the Swansea Shell fishermen were there in their boats. Some of them had gotten a head start and had their boats loaded with trash. The shell fishermen had donated a few bushels of quahogs and we had a few cooks with excellent reputations, volunteering to make a chowder along with hot dogs, soda and hot coffee that were served in the old Bluffs building.
We urged participants to wear boots, bring heavy trash bags and warm clothing and that was when they began go arrive. We had several troops of Boys and Girls Scouts from our local area as well as from Fall River and Rhode Island, along with teachers who brought their civic and biology classes for a firsthand experience of doing rather than just talking about a project.
The Herald News ran a single large photo of John Borden, myself and two other men lifting a 275-gallon oil tank that had been deposited above the high tide mark just north of the Coles River Bridge at Route 103. Several residents came out to thank us for removing an eyesore that had been there for years. The photo caption detailed our cleanup, named OPERATION CLEARWATER, and our quest for volunteers and donations.
In the age before e-mail and cell phones, my home phone began ringing off the hook. The Swansea DPW trucks made 35 runs with full loads of trash of all sorts to the town dump. We had one fisherman overload his boat and swamp and another blow his engine towing a raft loaded with trash. The donations were sufficient to pay to repair the boat and the engine and all the food and drinks served to a group that was estimated to be about 350 volunteers.
For almost a year I have been looking at a white swimming pool ladder that was deposited up into one of the coves on the northwest corner of our river and a white beach chair that was blown off someone’s deck and now sits just above the low tide line. There are a few old tires thanks to our proximity to I-95 and too many styrofoam cups and flotation foam chunks to count. At the first prospect of good weather, my neighbor Dan Keighley and I will be putting our boats in and gathering up all the trash we can reach. I will be contacting the DPW to determine if they will pick up what we collect so we don’t create a trash heap on the shoreline. If everyone would just take my mom’s lead and clean up in front of their home, no one would ever have to organize a cleanup.
If anyone is interested in helping out or has any suggestions or questions, please contact me at linesiders2000@yahoo.com.