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01-06-2025
- Scroll.in
Nature, who needs it? A writing adventure with Ranjit Hoskote at the Himalayan Writing Retreat
Never in my life had I attended a 'writing retreat', but when the email stating that Ranjit Hoskote would be hosting a three-day 'Nature and Writing' masterclass at the Himalayan Writing Retreat in Satkhol, I decided on the spot that this was one for me. The excitement began with an email from Ranjit, folders of poetic treasure attached, to read before we arrived. Pulled straight into Robert Macfarlane's article from almost ten years ago about his journey to collect vernacular words and phrases from around the British Isles which pinpoint specific local ecological detail – names for cloud formations, types of ice-melt and other landscape specific words – it all felt very much in line with what I am writing about right now, though my own work focuses on vanishing species in India and spaces of previously unique biodiversity, now earmarked for 'development'. The night before it is time to leave for the retreat, I attend an online talk at Champaca Books with Amitava Kumar, who is discussing his latest work, The Green Book. During the talk, he too discusses nature writing and speaks of how he often takes his students around city parks to observe and write. To pay attention, he emphasises and I suddenly realise why I've decided so emphatically to book time off work at this critical moment in the term. It's that gift of close focus that a retreat allows, the liberty to write without distraction, to scrutinise detail with the luxury of time. To glean the essence of a place, to become porous. To absorb and reiterate with precision and sensitivity. 'If you don't know the names of the trees in your city, then you're not a writer,' states Amitava, unceremoniously. In my imagination, I am walking up tiny Welsh lanes or over the hills on sheep paths with another strict teacher: my Mother. 'Now pay attention,' she is saying. 'This is Lady's Slipper, this is Vetch, this is a Cowslip, now getting rare; and this is Ragged Robin.' I furrow my nine-year-old brow, committing whole hedgerows to memory. I have the pictures in my Flower Fairy poetry books for reference too. All that close observation holds fast to this day and although there are many other species to be learned afresh in both the Himalayan and Haryanvi terrains which have become my homes, I recognise variants and realise how vital it was that I once learned by heart the names of things that grow. A four-hour hairpin bend drive takes us up into the hills above the tiger forests of Jim Corbett and into orchards and valleys. White plum and almost magenta-pink apricot blossom burst their buds; and on claret trees to take your breath away, the rhododendron is in bloom. Bright and dark as deep wine on deeper lips, its colour spills all over the mountainside. The air, once we reach the Guest House, is full of birdsong and in the distance (live) wedding music. Singing, the strains of a harmonium and the beat of the dholak waft across to me. Inevitable building works and the blast of amplified wedding music take over at a certain point as celebrations shift from the traditional to 21st-century celluloid dreams – then once again, there is silence sweet enough to hear the robins and blackbirds in the gaps. A dog howls gently in the distance. Hoe thwacks, pails twang, scooters zoom, birds ripple. I'm beginning to hear a distinction, already. For three mornings, our Masterclass mentor, Ranjit Hoskote, guides us through images, poems, filmscapes. As a group, 13 poets, writers and translators discuss, write, share, edit, observe their inner natures and the outer world that surrounds them. By afternoon each day, this quickly intimate knot of beings are invited to disperse, to 'go into Nature' and bring back thoughts, poems in different forms, sensed through different senses. The pace is both relaxed and intense. The attention we are required to bring to each contributor's work and selected prompt rivals the most intellectual university classes in my memory and mysteriously, the fact that we are in the middle of fields and hills makes the experience even more demanding than if we were sheltered in ivory towers. Perhaps we are being challenged to connect more deeply with the real world, with Earth herself. To clarify, I ask Ranjit what he feels is so important about engaging with Nature through writing. 'The ecological catastrophe that we, as a species, have triggered off is arguably the single most important strand within the polycrisis of this epoch. It is vital that, as writers, we address this situation and find ways of bearing witness to this situation, to our own responsibility and indeed our culpability within this situation, and to possibilities of amelioration and redemption.' (Writers, no pressure). I want to know why Ranjit has chosen to offer this masterclass in the hills of Satkhol rather than the far less challenging venues of Mumbai or Delhi, especially given that our location is not within very easy reach of anywhere. 'It is possible to reflect closely on an ethics of testimony in a place like The Himalayan Writing Retreat. Why Satkhol, or more broadly, why the Kumaon Himalaya? Because here, we stand in the presence of nature-in-itself – the panoramic vista of the snow-capped Nanda Devi range, the serene clouds, the miles and miles of oak and pine forest – even as we recognise the unmistakable signs of human interference in nature. We recognise that the glaciers are shrinking; we see the forest fires flare up in the valleys; we walk along a path that was scorched by a forest fire not two weeks before, leaving charred rhododendron shrubs and cindered pine behind. Nature, here, is neither an idyllic tabula rasa waiting for us to inscribe it, nor is it a radically alien and forbidding wilderness. As writers, we are able to experience the close weave of the tame and the wild, the cultivated and the forested – as we walk around, taking in the sensory impressions of this landscape, we see that oak groves and small farm holdings are adjacent and even intersect. We hear the distinctive sawing growl of leopards and the lowing of cows and calves, predators and livestock in close adjacency. We receive a visceral awareness of how nature claims and affects us, and how we have claimed and affected nature – this is not available in such an immediate and full-bodied manner at a distance, in the comfort of the city, the library, the archive. Even in microcosm, our days at Satkhol draw us into the complex tapestry of the inter-species interrelationships that sustain 'nature'.' I ask the co-founders of the Himalayan Writing Retreat, Chetan and Vandita, a similar kind of question: as original city dwellers, what prompted their move to remote hills and how did the vision for a Writing Retreat come about? 'We had left Gurgaon without a plan,' they confess. Vandita had her psychology practice which kept her professionally occupied. Chetan, on the other hand, was in a complete professional vacuum. 'We knew what we did not want – city life and its inherent pressures. What we wanted was a simple life and meaningful engagement with the world. When we started it, we didn't know it would take this shape and form. It wasn't strategic forethought. It was a shot in the dark. A big part of the vision is supporting writers and our community. Our Fellowship and residencies offer amazing value for free to selected writers. We support the NGO-run Chirag School – an absolute gem. Through our First Draft Club, we raise a quarter of its annual budget. And our Book club with 600+ members is free.' So, I ask this enterprising couple: What can writers find here that's absent in the city? 'Inspiration, and a lack of distractions,' replies Chetan in a heartbeat. 'We are often asked why we don't offer our courses in the city as well,' adds Vandita. 'But when you do anything in the city, the noise doesn't leave you. The distractions pull you in multiple directions. You're still not disengaging from life to focus on your craft. A 9-to-5 course where you drive through traffic to and from the venue, and where the mundanity of the everyday humdrum sucks you back to your routine doesn't really give you a break.' Chetan nods in agreement. 'We take learning seriously, taking the many elements of effective learning and bringing them together. These include eliminating distractions and having excellent teachers. It also involves thinking deeply about what will be taught, and how.' Chetan waves his arm to encompass the majesty of the view. 'The final touch, of course, is the sheer glory of nature,' he declares. 'Snow-capped peaks, birdsong, clean air when combined with the careful attention to detail that Vandita brings make for enchantment. It elevates our workshops from being learning experiences to being indelible memories. Many participants from years ago still stay in touch. One other thing we pride ourselves on is the small group experience. We draw the line at 12, or 15 in a few cases, but never go above that. We give real, deep feedback. Everybody gets close, personal attention. We don't want learning with us to feel like a lecture hall, but a hands-on, safe experience where people learn by doing.' As far as 'learning by doing' is concerned, it's time to put theory into practice and Ranjit is keen to send the group out into the surrounding landscape to observe and listen quietly and at as close quarters as possible. I walk down winding paths for half a mile until I reach an ancient village spring and reservoir whose sweetness of water makes me wish I could drink water like this forever. As well as recognising different fruit trees – there are even ripe lemons in early March at this semi-tropical altitude. I am delighted to spot a flash of green-gold – a Greenfinch – and listen under the bough it has alighted upon as it instructs me quite definitely in a tongue (beak?) I do not quite understand. I feel optimistic to see so many different kinds of butterflies, too. I scrawl haiku, cinquains and pages of dialogue. Back at base, in the sun-warmed living room, sprawling with books and heaped with cushions, we share our bounty of foraged words like squirrels at a Spring festival. I ask Ranjit whether the landscape and residency have allowed him to write any poetry of his own or whether he has experienced any particular connection with species other than human. He tells me that 'the falcon and the greenfinch, oak and pine and rhododendron, the dogs at the Retreat and the calves in the homestead down the slope' have all made their presence known to him. 'I had hoped to work on some of my own poems,' he continues, 'but I know, from previous experience, that this does not happen when I am acting as mentor or facilitator or teacher. I become immersed in the pedagogical situation, which demands my complete attention – in terms of being fully responsive to the participants, in dialogue with them, engaging closely with their work and their thinking.' Ranjit's generosity to each and every one of us is indeed remarkable: our poetic outpourings receive written as well as verbal feedback and suggestions. I find that by the end of three days, I am self-appraising my own work at a different level. My final question to Ranjit is about whether he feels there is a difference between going into retreat to write as an individual and coming to write as part of a group with similar interests in honing skills in nature writing. 'My method,' he explains, 'in the masterclasses and workshops I do is to bring the group of participants together in a process of dialogue, distinguished by engaged and respectful exchange, active listening and trust-building. This is a workshop scenario, not a classroom script. My responsibility is to act as a convener who talks with, not a teacher who talks at or talks down to; I see myself as a conductor who brings the various contributors in the orchestra together, to articulate a fruitful polyphony. I find that it is far more fruitful and participatory when people arrive at ideas and conclusions through what I like to think of as a process of gently guided discovery. Importantly, in a masterclass or workshop setting, all the participants become aware of one another's practices and predicaments, one another's potentialities and constraints. In my experience, the fact of being in such a space of sharing considerably expands our field of experience as individuals – as readers, writers, human beings and citizens.' The proof is in the proverbial pudding and I am gently guided to see how re-writing a series I have been working on about endangered species on Great Nicobar could work so much better in the first person, or (as I self-correct myself) in 'first animal'. Though there have been moments of trepidation about sharing my innermost practice with a group of initial strangers – thankfully, old friends by the end of three days – there has also been a seismic shift in my perception about where my particular writing practice fits within the community of poetic writers and artists at large. I discover that although I am most comfortable writing on my own in a self-made retreat, pushing through insecurities has actually helped me to put things down on paper in a way I didn't expect to, opening old, half-forgotten doors within myself and exploring what I find behind them with new-found courage in the company of friends. Like Chetan and Vandita, I anticipate that there will be increasing numbers of urban-dwelling artists and writers who feel the need for a safe space in which to create. As satellite towns of the major metropolises expand with seemingly insatiable frenzy, it seems likely that more and more of us will soon be running for the hills. Before I say goodbye to this haven, I ask the founders about their future plans and dreams, but it seems it is actually right here, right now, that is most important to them. 'Nature planned and designed us. We are the outcome of forces we still barely understand. We feel that connection in our bones when we walk in a forest, when we see a clear, starlit sky or when we confront an ocean. Not so much when we look at a potted plant. We are not going to change anything in the future. We will continue to do what we do: to respect and honour nature.' Let's hope that many more feel the same need to glean inspiration in the remaining quiet places in our busy world – and that Nature feels moved to share her secrets with those of us ready to listen to her with respect and a sense of profound connection. View this post on Instagram A post shared by The Himalayan Writing Retreat (@himalayanwriting)
Axios
20-02-2025
- Business
- Axios
Loudmouth's legacy of protection
When Loudmouth Books opened in September 2023, it continued a nearly century-old legacy of protection on the 200 block of East 16th Street. Why it matters: The bookstore sits in a single-story brick building in Herron-Morton Place that was once listed in the " Negro Motorist Green-Book" — guides printed between 1936 and 1967 that highlighted safe businesses for Black travelers during the Jim Crow, an era of legalized segregation and racial violence. The big picture: Fewer than 20% of the sites listed in The Green Book nationwide remain today — a fading link to the past, largely left unpreserved despite their significance in the fight for Black mobility and safety. Flashback: Author and Indianapolis native Leah Johnson opened Loudmouth Books in response to book-banning attacks targeting the work of Black, LGBTQ+ and other marginalized authors. As a Green Book mainstay, the business at 212-214 E. 16th St. operated as the Jacobs Cleaners Building under owner Meyer O. Jacobs. Believed to be built in 1928, the building was a cleaning business until the early 1970s, followed by years of vacancy and church usage. State of play: Last spring, the National Park Service awarded the Indiana DNR $75,000 to protect and highlight the state's Green Book site history. Zoom in: Holly Tate, an architectural historian with Indiana DNR, told Axios nearly 200 Indiana businesses were listed in the Green Book at least once, but only about 25 of them are still standing. "There were approximately 115 (businesses) in Indianapolis alone, and so far we've only found about 14 or 15," Tate said, noting Loudmouth Books building is among those counted. How it works: Cultural resource management firm Gray & Pape surveyed Green Book sites for Indiana DNR last summer to gather key data on each location, such as its historical importance, condition and current status. Data collected from the survey will be used to develop an interactive story map on the Indiana DNR website, allowing users to easily explore Indiana's Green Book sites alongside detailed historical context. The fine print: Gray & Pape is also preparing multiple property documentation (MPD) as an umbrella document for Green Book sites nationwide. The MPD will explain the significance of the sites in the broader context of national and state history, set the framework for future preservation efforts and outline the criteria for registering Green Book properties on the National Register of Historic Places. Additionally, two Indiana Green Book sites will be nominated for inclusion on the National Register as part of the grant, ensuring their legacy is formally preserved. What's next: Tate said the project, while comprehensive, recognizes the potential for missing sites, particularly as street names and addresses have changed over time. Residents and historians are encouraged to contribute any information they have, hoping that crowdsourced information will help uncover any missing sites. The bottom line: By digitally preserving this history, Indiana is providing future generations with an opportunity to learn from Black travelers who navigated a dangerous era.
Boston Globe
31-01-2025
- Boston Globe
When travel was treacherous for Black people: The Green Book's legacy in New England
Someone had a camera. Everyone paused what they were doing, turned to it, and smiled. Flash. The image of them celebrating the languid summer days on the South Shore was forever preserved. Guests who stayed in cottages at the resort could go horseback riding at nearby stables and bring their children to swim in the crisp blue sea at local beaches. Camp Twin Oaks, a go-to destination on the Duxbury-Kingston line for Black families, was just one location listed in the Green Book. Advertisement The cover of the 1940 edition of the Green Book. The New York Public Library The Green Book was a travel guide listing hotels, restaurants, gas stations, barber shops, and other establishments across the country where Black travelers would not get hassled, turned away, or be put in dangerous situations. It was started in 1936 by Victor H. Green, a US Postal Service carrier who wanted his fellow Black travelers to be able to 'vacation without aggravation.' The Green Book was circulated when Black travelers had to navigate a segregated South, sunset towns, and de facto segregation in the North, with no guarantees of finding a safe place to eat or sleep. Such was the case in October 1955, when a Haverhill hotel owner refused to accept a reservation for a Black college professor despite his booking the room months in advance. And in July 1962, when seven hotels in Maine refused to provide lodging for Black actress Claudia McNeil when she was starring in a play at the Kennebunkport Playhouse. Guests dined at Camp Twin Oaks on the Duxbury-Kingston line. The resort was one of many vacation destinations listed in the Green Book. Duxbury Rural & Historical Society Green's guide wasn't the first of its kind. Six years before the first Green Book was published, a woman in Connecticut named Sadie D. Harrison put together a nationwide directory of accommodations for Black travelers that was published in 1930. Green's guidebook only included New York businesses when it first came out but soon included other states and, eventually, other parts of the world. Businesses listed ranged from pharmacies to summer resorts to 'tourist homes,' which were private residences where travelers could rent a room for a few nights. Advertisement After the Guests posed for a photo at Camp Twin Oaks, circa 1930s. Duxbury Rural & Historical Society 'That is when we as a race will have equal opportunities and privileges in the United States,' he wrote. 'It will be a great day for us to suspend this publication for then we can go wherever we please, and without embarrassment.' Candacy Taylor, author of ' The Globe created a database of Green Book sites in all six New England states. It contains approximately 350 listings that can be viewed by clicking on the dots on an interactive map. Globe reporters have also written stories about several businesses that were listed in the Green Book, some of which are still around today. If you have anecdotes about any of these places or photos to share with us, ***Intro end*** ***** The interior of the Sunset dining room at the Western Lunch Box, with proprietor Mary C. Jackson in the back left. Boston Guardian/Library of Congress *** ***** The buildings at 415-417 Massachusetts Avenue used to house the Western Lunch Box, a restaurant in the Green Book. Suzanne Kreiter/Globe Staff For one girl, Western Lunch Box was Nana's house By Larrine King and her baby sister, Mary Ethel, leaned forward and peered out their grandmother's upper-story brownstone window to engage in one of their favorite weekend pastimes: people watching. Advertisement People of all shades buzzed up and down the busy street. Some jetted by to urgent plans while others staggered under the weight of liquor. Several more, led by their empty stomachs, walked through the front screen door of Mary C. Jackson's Western Lunch Box. Mary C. Jackson (second from right) posed for a portrait with her family. Jackson was the proprietor of the Western Lunch Box on Mass Ave. From left, granddaughter Mary Ethel, son Lachester, mother, Jerrie Johnson, Jackson, and granddaughter Larrine. Boston Guardian/Library of Congr To King, now an 84-year-old Sharon resident, Western Lunch Box wasn't a renowned South End restaurant and guest house that hosted people from all over the country. It was Nana's house. It was where her grandmother's gingerbread cookies melted into a chewy, 'molassessy,' buttery concoction on her tongue. Where the savory, peppery smell of her grandma's hot tamales seduced her nostrils. Where her fingertips winkled in the humongous tub of cool water as she and Mary Ethel rinsed dirt from the day's hand-picked collard, mustard, and kale greens. As King's grandmother claimed in newspaper ads, Western Lunch Box was a 'home away from home' for Southerners booking short and lengthy stays in Boston. Before the actress and comedian Jackie 'Moms' Mabley began donning her iconic housedress and bucket hat, she would linger near Jackson as she battered fried chicken for customers. Martin Luther King Jr., then a Boston University student, came in often because he was enthralled by Jackson's ham hocks and greens. King remembered thinking once after speaking with Martin, 'Maybe I could go to BU, too.' *** ***** At Kornfield Pharmacy in Nubian Square, Sharon Kamowitz (right), granddaughter of its second Jewish owner, Henry Shapiro, met current owner, Esther Egesionu, inside the pharmacy for the first time. Esther took ownership after her husband was killed. John Tlumacki/Globe Staff Frappes, sandwiches, and elixirs. Kornfield Pharmacy was a local favorite. By At all hours of the day, Kornfield Pharmacy was a symphony of business. The jolt of a hand-crank cash register here. The ringing of a telephone there. The smoothing of medicinal powder on marble. Ching. Ring. Swoosh. Henry Shapiro was its hardworking conductor, and the comforting, busy medley lasted until his death. Advertisement From 8 a.m. to 11 p.m., 'there were always people going in and out of the store,' said Sharon Kamowitz, Shapiro's granddaughter. Children tugged at their parents' clothes as they picked up their prescriptions, begging them to buy them one of the decadent frappes — a sugary concoction of milk, soda, and ice cream ― the store sold. Hungry passersby would snag cold tuna or egg salad sandwiches from the lunch counter. Intoxicated clubbers from Aga's Highland Tap across the street sauntered into Kornfield Pharmacy for another round of liquor, purchasing non-medicinal elixirs over the counter in inconspicuous paper bags. Henry Shapiro behind the counter of Kornfield Pharmacy. The photo was taken at some point in the 1950s. Sharon Kamowitz Shapiro immigrated to Boston from what is now considered Ukraine dreaming of possibility. He applied to Harvard University's medical program to become a doctor. But when he applied, he was told that 'they had too many Jews,' his daughter, Elaine Bloom, told the Globe. Shapiro didn't give up on his dream. He went for the next best thing, which didn't require a degree at the time: pharmacy. He worked at and later bought Kornfield in Lower Roxbury's thriving Jewish community. While around 80 percent of the businesses in the Green Book are Black-owned, the remaining ones were sometimes owned by other marginalized groups, including Kornfield, which, under Shapiro's stewardship, became a favorite pharmacy for locals. His customers called him 'Doc.' Exterior of the Kornfield Pharmacy, taken in the 1950s. Sharon Kamowitz *** ***** Longtime patrons shared a laugh at the bar during jazz night at Slade's Bar and Grill in Boston. The historic establishment, a fixture on Tremont Street since 1935, has hosted the WeJazzUp band for nearly 25 years, continuing its legacy as one of Boston's enduring venues from "The Negro Motorist Green Book" era. Erin Clark/Globe Staff Since opening in 1928, Slade's has been a haven for the community By It's a Tuesday night at Slade's Bar & Grill, and the band is kicking into high gear. In the blue light, patrons sip drinks, eat Slade's famous chicken wings, and nod along with the music. Some members of the ensemble, WeJazzUp, have been playing this venue for decades. Some are Berklee College of Music students sitting in for the night. Most of the customers are regulars. Advertisement A man posed in front of Slade's barbeque chicken restaurant on Tremont Street 1935-45. Winifred Irish Hall/Northeastern 'They call this the Black Cheers,' said Sonya Yancey, who has worked at the historic restaurant and nightclub for about 20 years. 'Everybody would come here after work. We had a lawyer who sat at the bar and would give free legal advice. We had a doctor who would pop in every now and again. We had some of everybody once upon a time.' Muhammad Ali. Ted Kennedy. Martin Luther King Jr. Bill Russell of the Celtics, who owned the place in the 1960s, nearly 7 feet tall in his burgundy suit. All passed through the doors of Slade's, which opened in Boston in 1928 in a different location, under the name Slade's Barbecue. The restaurant even employed Malcolm X as a server when he needed a job to get out of jail, according to current Slade's owner Britney Kyle Papile. *** ***** The building at 510 Columbus Ave. in Boston where Mother's Lunch used to host many famous musicians. John Tlumacki/Globe Staff Mother's Lunch: where famous jazz artists practiced By Duke Ellington, Louis Armstrong, Dizzy Gillespie, Andy Kirk, and J.C. Higginbotham. They are just some of the jazz musicians who passed through Mother's Lunch, a venue in Boston's South End that had rooms for rent and kept intimate, conducive spaces for musicians on tour. Mother's Lunch was one of many packed brick rowhouses on Columbus Avenue but it stood out because it offered more entertainment options than the rest. It wasn't just a place musicians could stay when they were in the city. Mother's Lunch rented out a rehearsal space and had a nightclub called the Tangerine Room on its second floor, where jazz artists played until the night sky turned gray and then a clear, pale blue. There was a downstairs restaurant, and when the city warmed in the summer months, patrons spilled into the street when it turned into a relaxed outdoor cafe. For a while, Armstrong's band rehearsed at the venue daily and Ellington's group passed through on their summer tours. The establishment offered a nurturing space for Afro-Cuban jazz, bebop, big band jazz and other complex compositions. 'With the jazz and nightlife, Mother's became a prominent location and was the most important and best of a series of running houses in that area,' Jazz historian and writer Richard Vacca said. Mother's Lunch was owned by Wilhelmina 'Mother' Garnes, a Black businesswoman from Ohio who ran it until 1956. While Boston hotels began admitting Black people in the 1930s, many Black musicians would choose to stay at Mother's Lunch over the other rowhouses in the South End. *** ***** A mural at Fulton Park in New London Conn., with an image of Sadie Harrison. David L. Ryan/Globe Staff *** ***** The exterior of 73 Hempstead St. in New London, the former home of Sadie Harrison. It is featured on New London's Black Heritage Trail. David L. Ryan/Globe Staff Before the Green Book, there was Sadie D. Harrison's trailblazing Black travel guide By My Dear Madam: Could you tell me if there is a colored boarding house in New London? I expect to be driving through November 13 and would like to spend the night. If you know of such a place that you could recommend, I would appreciate the address. Very sincerely yours, W. E. B. Du Bois Du Bois had asked the right person where to stay in the port city in southern Connecticut. Sadie D. Harrison ran a tourist home in one of the city's first black neighborhoods, a two-story, wood-frame house called Hempstead Cottage. Her mind turned as she read over the letter, dated Nov. 8, 1929. Du Bois didn't know this, but for years Harrison had been creating a hotel guide for Black people traveling through the United States. Harrison responded to the civil rights icon the next day, typing out her letter on Putting together the hotel guide was a labor of love for Harrison, who spent countless hours writing to local chambers of commerce and city officials across the country and compiling the names and addresses of hotels and tourist homes that welcomed Black guests. This photo of Sadie D. Harrison appeared in a 1928 issue of "Opportunity: A Journal of Negro Life," an academic journal published by the National Urban League. The Internet Archive Publishing the book was simply one accomplishment in her intrepid life. Years before, Harrison had left her husband in Indiana, filed for divorce, and sought a Harrison teamed up with Edwin H. Hackley, a Black lawyer and writer in Philadelphia, and published ' In the introduction to the book, Harrison reprinted the letter she received from Du Bois (with Tom Schuch, a New London historian and researcher for the city's 'Prior to what she did, it was basically word of mouth,' Schuch said. 'She got it into print, which made it available for people.' *** ***** The Pates Hotel, also known as "The Pates," was at 86-90 Archibald St. in Burlington, Vt. It was listed in the Green Book from the 1930s until the last edition was published in 1966. Rebekah Mortensen *** ***** The listing for The Pates in the 1956 edition of the Green Book. The New York Public Library A porch full of memories at The Pates Hotel: Vermont's haven for Black travelers By Maxine Leary has fond memories of the time she spent doing bookkeeping work at The Pates Hotel as a teenager in the 1940s. On Saturday mornings during her freshman year of high school, she walked over to the two-and-a-half story building, which looked like several houses stitched together, knowing she'd get to spend time with one of its owners, Cleta Pate. Pate was a Filipino native who ran the hotel with her husband, Frank, and lived there with her family. When Leary arrived, Cleta would bring out the paperwork and sit with her at the dining room table while she crunched numbers for a couple of hours. Leary remembers that Cleta was a warm and easygoing person and they laughed a lot together. 'I loved her,' Leary said. The hotel had a big porch in the front where people could gather and where Frank, who was Cleta's second husband, would sometimes spend time relaxing with his step-grandchild. Occasionally, celebrities passed through. In the summer of 1930, about a decade before Leary was employed there, a Black baseball team called the Burlington Colored All Stars took up residence there for the summer. One of the players on the team was Cleta purchased the building in the 1920s with Frank Pate, a military veteran who'd served in the US 10th Cavalry, an all-Black Army regiment known as the Buffalo Soldiers. She expanded it over the years to become both a boarding house and a hotel. Long after Leary left, Cleta's son from her first marriage, Alfred, continued to run the family business as a Green Book hotel until the 1960s, and then turned it into an apartment house. *** ***** Bob Greene in front of the former Thomas Tourist Home (far right), a Green Book destination for Black travelers in Maine. Suzanne Kreiter/Globe Staff *** ***** A green lantern led Black travelers to Thomas Tourist Home By PORTLAND, Maine — When the sun set on Portland's West End and the streets went quiet, the Green Lantern Grill at the Thomas Tourist Home came to life. Black soldiers, sailors, and railroad porters listened to Nellie Lutcher and Dinah Washington on the jukebox. They relaxed over cards, and they ate warm, filling meals before heading upstairs to rest at one of the few places in the city that welcomed Black travelers. The Thomas Tourist Home was a Green Book destination used by many of the Black porters who worked out of nearby, long-gone Union Station. Suzanne Kreiter/Globe Staff 'Everybody knew about the Green Lantern,' said Bob Greene, a Black historian and eighth-generation Mainer. The Thomas Tourist House was a modest, cream-colored, two-story rooming house where a green lantern hung in a bay window, lit in good weather and bad, to welcome Black members of the military and railway workers from nearby Union Station. They laughed, they gossiped, and if they wanted a drink, they brought their own. Maine did not serve liquor by the glass at the time. The place was run by Benjamin Thomas, a Red Cap who assisted railroad passengers, and his wife, Edith, whom the government paid to feed Black service members during World War II. The couple also opened the Marian Anderson USO, named after the famed Black singer. There is no plaque at the Green Lantern Grill, and its history is not widely known. But today, according to Kate Lemos McHale, executive director of Greater Portland Landmarks, 'it's part of a bigger story that needs to be told.' *** ***** This private residence, at 57 Salter Street in Portsmouth, N.H., was the site of the Blank's Riverview Cottage. Pat Greenhouse/Globe Staff *** ***** A peaceful snapshot of Blank's Riverview Cottage By Blank's Riverview Cottage was shrouded in a restful calm that Baxter F. Jackson welcomed after days of traveling through New England and Canada, according to an essay he wrote in the 1941 Green Book. He left for his trip on a Sunday in July with the Southernaires playing on his car's radio. The sun was warm as he drove on roads that reminded him of ribbons, passing farmhouses and white birches as he drove through the countryside. When Jackson reached the cottage, he had already visited Hanover, N.H., home to Dartmouth College, in addition to stops in Vermont and Quebec. He reached Portsmouth after spending two days in Old Orchard Beach, Maine, with a friend who dragged him to the beach despite it being a bit too cold to swim. At the picturesque waterfront cottage nestled on a dead-end street, Jackson had a chance to relax. Outside, wooden shingles shielded the house from the elements, while the interior contained upscale decor, including a floral-patterned china serving dish and ornately carved side tables made of wood and marble. He met some friends from New York there who were just beginning their vacation and they feasted on meals made by Annie B. Blanks, who ran the cottage along with her husband, Eben F. Taylor. 'If a man digs his grave with his teeth as I have been told, I hope I can dig mine with Mrs. [Blanks'] cooking,' he wrote in the essay. In the evening, he listened to Eben talk about his younger years in the Navy, completely absorbed by the stories. He felt like his days at the cottage, frequented by musicians and Black travelers, passed too rapidly. Soon, he was on his way home dreaming of the vacation he'd take next year. He hadn't settled on his next destination, but he hoped it would be as pleasant as the last. The Farrar Sisters Trio performed in Portsmouth, N.H., in 1933, including at Blank's Riverview Cottage, according to the historical newspaper clippings and documents pictured. Black Heritage Trail of New Hampshire *** ***** The Biltmore Hotel and neighboring buildings, seen from across a plaza in Providence. Providence Public Library *** ***** Graduate Hotel in Providence, which was previously named the Biltmore Hotel. The Biltmore was listed in the Green Book, which was a travel guide for Black Americans during the time of Jim Crowe . A view of elevator at top. Jonathan Wiggs/Globe Staff Velvet, velour, and high fashion at the Biltmore Hotel By A Black model in a floor-length coat walked down a catwalk. The coat swished back and forth when she moved, the fur-trimmed hem brushing against her ankles. Another model strutted in a dark, glittery dress. Others wore velvet and velour outfits created by some of the leading designers in the United States and Europe for a high fashion show hosted by Ebony magazine at the Biltmore Hotel in 1970. It was Ebony's 13th annual show, which had been seen in 78 cities from coast to coast since its inception. The show's theme focused on a liberated look in various styles — from soft and casual to the most elegant, wrote fashion writers at the time. For those who were in the know or worked inside the luxurious Biltmore, having people of color at the hotel had long been the norm. The Biltmore hosted politicians, Rolling Stones bandmates, and socialites. But, even before the Civil Rights Movement, the Biltmore welcomed both Black and white guests at a time when discrimination at hotels was common. 'This was everything a traveling businessman would need access to,' said Interior view of the Bacchante in the Biltmore Hotel in 1950. Providence Public Library The Biltmore Hotel stands 18 stories tall over downtown Providence and directly next to City Hall. It opened in 1922, with an opulent chandelier hanging from the ceiling and an awe-inspiring glass elevator rising from the center of the gold-and-marble lobby. The Biltmore was acquired by Sheraton Hotels, which paid to be listed in the Green Book from 1947 to 1955. Today, there are no historical markers in the hotel noting it was open to Black travelers at a time when most luxury hotels were not, and many members of its current staff and leadership are not aware it had been listed in the Green Book. ***
