AMER­ICA: Only in...Bos­ton

Timeless Travels Magazine - - CONTENTS -

Bos­ton, with its rev­o­lu­tion­ary-era his­tory and en­vi­able coastal set­ting, has long at­tracted visi­tors. Ex­plor­ing the city for a new guide­book, travel writer Dun­can JD Smith re­veals some of its lesser-known sights

Bos­ton, state cap­i­tal of Mas­sachusetts, is Amer­ica’s old­est ma­jor city. It was founded in 1630, where the Charles River meets the At­lantic, by Pu­ri­tan colonists from Eng­land. Visi­tors to­day are fas­ci­nated by the city’s quaint Colo­nialera re­mains, which co­ex­ist along­side soar­ing sky­scrapers, prompt­ing the ob­ser­va­tion that in Bos­ton the past al­ways sits along­side the present.

That is only a part of the Bos­ton story though. In­evitably the colonists mor­phed into pa­tri­ots de­ter­mined to sever ties with their mer­can­tile­minded Bri­tish over­seers. Ac­cord­ingly Bos­ton played a cru­cial role in the Amer­i­can Rev­o­lu­tion­ary War (1775–1783), in­deed the oust­ing of the Red­coats here in 1776 en­abled the coun­try to com­mence its jour­ney to in­de­pen­dence.

Since then Bos­ton’s for­tunes have waxed and waned. Sea­far­ing brought boom times, re­ces­sion prompted the growth of home-grown man­u­fac­tur­ing, and by 1820 the prox­im­ity of Har­vard Univer­sity placed Bos­ton at the fore­front of Amer­i­can in­tel­lec­tual and lit­er­ary life. As the ‘Athens of Amer­ica’, the city spawned Tran­scen­den­tal­ism and the abo­li­tion­ist move­ment.

The Great Fire of 1872 kick­started the re­de­vel­op­ment of Bos­ton’s com­mer­cial heart re­assert­ing the city’s al­lure for im­mi­grants: Ir­ish, Jews, Ital­ians, and Chi­nese. To­gether with AfricanAme­r­i­cans, they’ve added dis­tinc­tion and di­ver­sity to Bos­ton’s twenty three neigh­bour­hoods. More re­cently, mas­sive civic projects such as the Big Dig, the Wa­ter­front re­newal, and the facelift of world­class cul­tural in­sti­tu­tions have re­sulted in a city trad­ing as much on present-day en­ergy as his­toric charm.

Armed with a de­cent street map, visi­tors can quickly get off the beaten track – and un­der the city’s skin. They will dis­cover the Bos­ton of Colo­nial-era relics and her­itage trails, in­dus­trial re­mains and eth­nic en­claves, hal­lowed univer­si­ties and con­tem­po­rary art spa­ces. And they’ll find plenty of unique, hid­den and lesser-known sights, too, that speak just as elo­quently of the city’s colour­ful his­tory.

Mo­lasses and morse

Two such lo­ca­tions can be found in the North End, a part of the orig­i­nal Shaw­mut Penin­sula, where both Bos­ton and the am­bi­tious land recla­ma­tion projects that even­tu­ally dou­bled its size be­gan. The first is a hum­ble wall plaque on a wall fronting Lan­gone Park on Com­mer­cial Street. Bos­ton boasts hun­dreds of plaques record­ing episodes in Bos­ton’s his­tory but none are like this one be­cause it marks the site of the Great Bos­ton Mo­lasses Flood!

A hun­dred years ago, the old wharves back­ing onto Com­mer­cial Street were the place where im­mi­grants ar­rived, bales of cot­ton were landed, and penny fer­ries docked from East Bos­ton. They were also where car­goes of mo­lasses and sugar were un­loaded for use in mak­ing candy, al­co­holic drinks, and even gun­pow­der. One of the com­pa­nies ben­e­fit­ting from this was the Pu­rity Dis­till­ing Com­pany, which fer­mented mo­lasses at their plant in Cam­bridge to pro­duce rum. Be­fore trans­port­ing the mo­lasses to Cam­bridge, how­ever, the com­pany stored it in a huge, 2.3 mil­lion gal­lon steel tank stand­ing in what is to­day Lan­gone Park.

Dis­as­ter struck at 12.30 on the af­ter­noon of Jan­uary 15th 1919. With­out warn­ing and with “a thun­der­clap-like bang”, the tank burst. A syrupy wave of mo­lasses 25 feet high rushed out onto Com­mer­cial Street at an alarm­ing 35 mph. As it did most of the sur­round­ing build­ings were en­gulfed, the el­e­vated rail­way along Com­mer­cial Street buck­led, and the do­mes­tic res­i­dences across the road flat­tened.

In the im­me­di­ate af­ter­math, the streets were waist-deep in sticky mo­lasses. First on the scene to help were cadets from the train­ing ship USS

Nan­tucket, which was con­ve­niently moored nearby. They be­gan pluck­ing sur­vivors from the sticky chaos un­til the Bos­ton Fire Depart­ment ar­rived. The search for sur­vivors went on for four days by which time 21 peo­ple were re­ported dead, ei­ther crushed or as­phyx­i­ated, and another 150 in­jured.

After­wards, struc­tural de­fects com­bined with cli­matic con­di­tions were the rea­sons cited for the dis­as­ter. The fam­i­lies af­fected suc­cess­fully brought one of the first class-ac­tion law­suits in Mas­sachusetts against the com­pany and, in a twist to the story, it was later re­vealed that the com­pany had filled the tank to burst­ing to out­run pro­hi­bi­tion, which came into ef­fect just one day later.

In Lan­gone Park it­self is another easy-to-miss mon­u­ment. Con­sist­ing of a grey gran­ite pil­lar topped with the sculp­ture of a sink­ing ship’s stern, it was erected by the United States Marine Ser­vice in mem­ory of 170 ra­dio op­er­a­tors who went down with their ships dur­ing the Sec­ond World War. They were a few of the sev­eral thou­sand vol­un­teer civil­ians trained as ra­dio op­er­a­tors on Gal­lops Is­land six miles out in Bos­ton Har­bour.

Gal­lops Is­land is named af­ter John Gal­lop, a Pu­ri­tan set­tler and one of the first Bos­ton Har­bor pi­lots, who lived there in the 17th cen­tury. Like other is­lands in Bos­ton Har­bor, Gal­lops was sub­se­quently used for de­fen­sive pur­poses. Dur­ing the Amer­i­can Civil War (1861–1865), for ex­am­ple, it housed a mil­i­tary camp for 3,000 Union sol­diers. There­after it served as a tem­po­rary quar­an­tine sta­tion for im­mi­grants to re­duce the risk of dis­ease en­ter­ing Bos­ton.

Dur­ing the Sec­ond World War, Gal­lops took on a dif­fer­ent role. In 1940 the United States Mar­itime Ser­vice opened the Gal­lops Is­land Ra­dio Train­ing Sta­tion, which by 1941 was grad­u­at­ing as many as 50 ex­pertly-trained ra­dio op­er­a­tors a week. Armed with their ra­dio tele­graph li­cences, which were granted af­ter 20 weeks’ train­ing at Bos­ton’s Cus­tom House, the grad­u­ates were quickly posted to ac­tive sea duty. There they helped safe­guard ves­sels of the United States Mer­chant Marine, which were car­ry­ing food, cloth­ing and mu­ni­tions to troops around the world.

Gal­lops Is­land to­day is off lim­its to the pub­lic, so the brav­ery and ded­i­ca­tion of the ra­dio op­er­a­tors is recorded in­stead by the me­mo­rial in Lan­gone Park. Around it is carved Morse code, a re­minder that grad­u­ates were re­quired to copy in­com­ing code at a rate of 24 or more words a minute. The sides of the pil­lar carry var­i­ous per­ti­nent phrases, such as ‘Mes­sage Sent’, ‘Coun­try Served’ and ‘Duty Done’. One side is re­served for the seal of the United States Mar­itime Ser­vice and the words ‘By Their Deeds, Mea­sure Yours’.

West End mem­o­ries

West of the North End is the aptly-named West End. Un­like neigh­bour­ing Beacon Hill, with its gas-lit streets and red-brick town­houses still re­mark­ably in­tact, much of the West End, once the ar­rival point for sea­men and im­mi­grants, was largely razed in the 1960s in the name of ur­ban re­newal. One of the few his­toric build­ings to sur­vive is the so-called Bulfinch Build­ing at 55 Fruit Street, part of the sprawl­ing Mas­sachusetts Gen­eral Hos­pi­tal, the coun­try’s third old­est.

Opened in 1821, the Bulfinch Build­ing was de­signed by Amer­ica’s first pro­fes­sional ar­chi­tect, Charles Bulfinch (1763–1844). Ren­dered in the Greek Re­vival-style, it is built from white Chelms­ford gran­ite hewn by in­mates from the Charlestow­n prison. It was a care­fully con­sid­ered struc­ture, with novel fea­tures such as a cen­tral heat­ing sys­tem and flush­ing wa­ter clos­ets. A key el­e­ment was the op­er­at­ing the­atre. Dur­ing the 19th cen­tury it was im­por­tant to ad­mit as much light and air to such the­atres, so Bulfinch placed it at the top of the build­ing. There it was il­lu­mi­nated from above by windows in a cop­per dome, which also ad­mit­ted breezes blow­ing off the Charles River. The seats for on­look­ers were ranged pre­cip­i­tously along the the­atre’s south wall, af­ford­ing the best view of the surg­eries tak­ing place be­low.

Another rea­son for plac­ing the the­atre at the top of the build­ing was to muf­fle pa­tients’ screams! This was cer­tainly true in the early years, when surgery was per­formed with­out anaes­thetic. That changed on 16th Oc­to­ber 1846, how­ever, when three men made med­i­cal his­tory here. Den­tist Dr. Wil­liam T. G. Mor­ton (1819–1868) was in­vited to per­form a pub­lic demon­stra­tion of the use of ether to ren­der a pa­tient in­sen­si­ble to pain. The pa­tient was Ed­ward Gil­bert Ab­bott, a lo­cal man with a tu­mour on his jaw. With the ether ad­min­is­tered, Har­vard Med­i­cal School sur­geon Dr. John Collins War­ren (1778–1856) re­moved the tu­mour with­out caus­ing Ab­bott any sig­nif­i­cant dis­com­fort.

The Ether Dome, as the op­er­at­ing the­atre is known to­day, can be found on the 4th floor of the Bulfinch Build­ing. Now used for lec­tures and meet­ings, this ar­chi­tec­tural gem has been de­clared a Na­tional His­toric Land­mark and is open to the pub­lic. Visi­tors will see where more than 8,000 op­er­a­tions were car­ried out be­tween 1821 and 1868, and can sit where on­look­ers wit­nessed them.

A very dif­fer­ent old West End build­ing is the Lib­erty Ho­tel at 215 Charles Street. A sin­gu­lar ex­am­ple of ar­chi­tec­tural adap­tive re­use, it served orig­i­nally as the Suf­folk County Jail. In this guise, it was com­pleted in 1851 to a de­sign by Bos­ton ar­chi­tect Gri­d­ley J. F. Bryant (1816–1899), who con­jured up a cru­ci­form build­ing made of Quincy gran­ite, with four wings ex­tend­ing from a cen­tral, oc­tag­o­nal atrium. No­tably Bryant col­lab­o­rated on his plans with the pi­o­neer­ing prison re­former Louis Dwight (1793–1854), whose hu­man­i­tar­ian ap­proach to pris­on­ers called for in­di­vid­ual cells and larger rooms for com­mu­nal work and ex­er­cise. Ad­di­tion­ally the river­side lo­ca­tion en­sured fresh air and nat­u­ral light.

Be­fore its clo­sure in 1990, when the jail re­lo­cated to new premises on Nashua Street, sev­eral fa­mous in­mates were in­car­cer­ated here, in­clud­ing the colour­ful but cor­rupt Bos­ton Mayor James Michael Cur­ley, African-Amer­i­can hu­man rights ac­tivist Mal­colm X, the Ital­ian an­ar­chists Sacco and Vanetti, and the cap­tured crews of two Ger­man Sec­ond World War U-Boats. There­after the empty jail was spared de­mo­li­tion and in­stead clev­erly con­verted into the 300-room Lib­erty Ho­tel, which opened in 2007. Orig­i­nal cell doors can still be found in the foyer and the bar!

On the wa­ter­front

South Bos­ton (known af­fec­tion­ately as Southie) lies across the Fort Point Chan­nel from Down­town. An­nexed by Bos­ton in 1804, this neigh­bour­hood’s his­toric in­fra­struc­ture of piers and ware­houses is cur­rently be­ing put to new uses, in­clud­ing of­fice blocks and ho­tels, restau­rants and cul­tural at­trac­tions. Two lo­ca­tions though still reek of Bos­ton’s long­stand­ing re­la­tion­ship with the sea.

The first is the his­toric Bos­ton Fish Pier. Un­like the nearby Com­mon­wealth Pier, which once wel­comed freight and pas­sen­ger ships into the Port of Bos­ton and is now a Con­fer­ence Cen­tre, the Bos­ton Fish Pier still serves its orig­i­nal pur­pose.

Opened in 1914 and op­er­ated by the Mas­sachusetts Port Author­ity (Mass­port), it is the coun­try’s old­est work­ing fish pier and re­mains at the heart of Bos­ton’s seafood in­dus­try. Ad­mit­tedly with New Eng­land fish stocks now strictly man­aged, cod, mack­erel and had­dock is no longer landed here in the quan­tity it once was. In­stead the pier’s seafood deal­ers and pro­ces­sors draw around 75% of their catch from more dis­tant oceans, which ar­rive by truck from Bos­ton’s Con­ley Marine Ter­mi­nal and Lo­gan Air­port. The rest still ar­rives by sea.

As high-end of­fices, apart­ments and at­trac­tions con­tinue to en­croach, the Fish Pier re­mains a de­fi­antly blue col­lar place of work. The South Bos­ton seafood in­dus­try sup­ports more than 3,000 jobs and a good num­ber of them are based in the build­ings that run the length of the pier. Be­hind the anony­mous doors, hard-work­ing seafood pro­ces­sors wear­ing fish-stained slick­ers and fil­let­ing gloves work as hard as their fa­thers and grand­fa­thers did be­fore them.

Of course the seafood deal­ers on Fish Pier re­main con­scious of the fact that gen­tri­fi­ca­tion rarely takes liv­ing com­mu­ni­ties into ac­count. Busi­ness is cer­tainly up on pre­vi­ous years and the planned dredg­ing of Bos­ton Har­bor will even­tu­ally al­low large con­tainer ves­sels to land car­goes di­rectly onto the pier. But still there is a need for the pier and its com­mu­nity to be pro­tected. With this in mind state politi­cians are push­ing for the Fish Pier to be added to the Na­tional Reg­is­ter of His­toric Places. This would pre­serve its in­dus­trial char­ac­ter and pro­tect it from un­suit­able com­mer­cial de­vel­op­ment. Fin­gers crossed this will come to pass.

For now the few pub­lic fa­cil­i­ties on the pier are all re­lated to the seafood busi­ness. They in­clude the pop­u­lar No Name Restau­rant, which be­gan life in 1917 as a seafood stall serv­ing fish­er­men, and the Ex­change Con­fer­ence Cen­tre, housed in the for­mer fish ex­change at the end of the pier. Ad­di­tion­ally, each Au­gust since 2012 the Pier has hosted the Bos­ton Seafood Fes­ti­val. It is a great op­por­tu­nity not only to en­joy seafood but also to learn about the sus­tain­abil­ity of New Eng­land’s fish­ing in­dus­try.

The sec­ond mar­itime lo­ca­tion is sit­u­ated in the Ray­mond L. Flynn Marine Park at the far end of the South Bos­ton Wa­ter­front. Seem­ingly of lit­tle in­ter­est to visi­tors, this area of marine ac­tiv­ity dates back to the late 19th cen­tury, when an area of tidal mud­flats was re­claimed for use as state ship­ping ter­mi­nals. The ter­mi­nals failed to ma­te­ri­alise, how­ever, and in­stead part of the area was ac­quired by the Bos­ton Wharf Com­pany for its ware­houses and rail yards. Then in 1920 the rest

a sym­bol for the Chris­tian Science Pub­lish­ing So­ci­ety’s in­ter­na­tional char­ac­ter and world­wide ac­tiv­i­ties. The 608 glass pan­els used in its con­struc­tion were bought from a com­pany in Eng­land and shipped to New York, where the maps were drawn onto them. It then took eight months to paint and fire them, af­ter which they were brought to Bos­ton, fit­ted into a bronze frame, and il­lu­mi­nated from the out­side. By pass­ing through the Map­par­ium on a foot­bridge, visi­tors are able to view the world from the in­side, which pro­vides a more ac­cu­rate per­spec­tive of the world than is pos­si­ble us­ing tra­di­tional flat maps.

Equally im­pres­sive is the Isabella Ste­wart Gard­ner Mu­seum on Evans Way. The re­mark­able Isabella Ste­wart Gard­ner (1840–1924) was Amer­ica’s first fe­male art col­lec­tor and her epony­mous mu­seum is the coun­try’s only pub­lic mu­seum in which both the col­lec­tion and the build­ing con­tain­ing it are the prod­ucts of a sin­gle mind.

The daugh­ter of a suc­cess­ful li­nen mer­chant, Gard­ner was born in New York City, where her ed­u­ca­tion ex­posed her to art and mu­sic. Aged 16 she moved to Paris, where two events changed her life: she be­came class­mates with Ju­lia Gard­ner, mem­ber of a wealthy fam­ily of Bos­ton ship own­ers, and she ex­pe­ri­enced Re­nais­sance art at the Museo Poldi Pez­zoli in Mi­lan. She vowed that should she ever in­herit money she would cre­ate such a mu­seum, too.

In 1858 af­ter re­turn­ing to New York she vis­ited the Gard­ners in Bos­ton, and was in­tro­duced to Ju­lia’s brother, John ‘Jack’ Low­ell Gard­ner (1837– 1898). The two mar­ried in 1860 and moved into a spa­cious home on Beacon Street. In 1863 she gave birth to a son but he suc­cumbed to pneu­mo­nia. She then suf­fered a mis­car­riage, and with no fur­ther chil­dren pos­si­ble be­came de­pressed. She cured her­self by trav­el­ling, and in 1867 spent a year with Jack ex­plor­ing Europe. She re­turned to Bos­ton rein­vig­o­rated and be­gan es­tab­lish­ing her rep­u­ta­tion as a so­cialite. A dozen fur­ther trips fol­lowed, in­clud­ing the Mid­dle East and Asia, and each time the cou­ple re­turned with art­works. By the 1890s they had ac­cu­mu­lated a world-class col­lec­tion of paint­ings and sculp­ture, as well as

ceram­ics, met­al­work, ta­pes­tries, and fur­ni­ture.

Fate stepped in again in 1898, when Jack sud­denly died. Isabella dealt with the loss by re­al­is­ing her dream of build­ing a mu­seum. Ac­cord­ingly she pur­chased land in the Fen­way area of Bos­ton and built Fen­way Court. Plain from the out­side, this four-storey struc­ture looks in­wards onto a mag­nif­i­cent glass-roofed court­yard in­spired by the palaces of Re­nais­sance Venice. She then spent a year ar­rang­ing her col­lec­tions around it (pre­dom­i­nantly her beloved 15th and 16th cen­tury Ital­ian Re­nais­sance works), each ac­cord­ing to her own aes­thetic, with ob­jects dis­played to fos­ter a love of art rather than their study. In her will she stip­u­lated that the mu­seum would only re­main open af­ter her demise if this ar­range­ment was pre­served, and with the ex­cep­tion of a new en­trance this has been hon­oured.

Calm in Cam­bridge

When Bos­ton’s bus­tle gets too much there is help at hand. Re­treat across the Charles River to the sep­a­rate city of Cam­bridge, where Har­vard and the Mas­sachusetts In­sti­tute of Tech­nol­ogy stand at the fore­front of aca­demic and tech­ni­cal in­no­va­tion. Though th­ese aca­demic cen­tres are de­cid­edly lively their bus­tle is off­set by two rel­a­tively tran­quil lo­ca­tions. One is the So­ci­ety of St. John the Evan­ge­list Epis­co­pal Monastery at 980 Me­mo­rial Drive. With its sturdy walls and Ital­ianate arches, it might ap­pear aloof but step in­side and the monks here will wel­come you into an un­ex­pected sanc­tu­ary.

The monastery’s lo­ca­tion so near to Har­vard Univer­sity may seem cu­ri­ous at first glance but it is in­ten­tional. The con­struc­tion of the So­ci­ety’s first monastery in 1866 along­side Ox­ford Univer­sity in Eng­land was aimed at pro­vid­ing spir­i­tual guid­ance to the stu­dents, and the same ra­tio­nale un­der­pins the lo­ca­tion in Cam­bridge.

The So­ci­ety’s North Amer­i­can con­gre­ga­tion was es­tab­lished in Bos­ton in 1870, as part of the Protes­tant Epis­co­pal Church in the United States of Amer­ica. Work on the Cam­bridge monastery com­menced in 1924 to a de­sign by Ralph Adams Cram (1863–1942), an ar­chi­tect renowned for his ec­cle­si­as­ti­cal build­ings. Later in the mid-1930s, Cram de­signed new liv­ing quar­ters for the monks, and the orig­i­nal monastery build­ing be­came a Guest­house. At the same time he de­signed an im­pres­sive new monastery church ded­i­cated to St. Mary and St. John, ren­dered in Cram’s favoured French Ro­manesque Re­vival style. With its col­umns of In­di­ana lime­stone, mar­ble floors and stained glass, it con­veys the essence of an early Chris­tian basil­ica.

The monks to­day are chiefly in­volved in lo­cal and re­gional min­istries, preach­ing and of­fer­ing spir­i­tual guid­ance not only to stu­dents but also pris­on­ers, the home­less, and the sick. They have also de­vel­oped a suc­cess­ful line in hospi­tal­ity, of­fer­ing mod­est, short-term ac­com­mo­da­tion in their guest­house to those in search of calm and

respite. With po­lite signs pro­mot­ing quiet, and mo­bile phones ban­ished to the perime­ter fence, life at the monastery fol­lows a gen­tle rhythm. The monks are al­ways on hand for prayer­ful con­ver­sa­tion and the shar­ing of meals. In so do­ing they have struck a suc­cess­ful bal­ance, pre­serv­ing a sense of old fash­ioned sanc­tu­ary, whilst also en­gag­ing en­er­get­i­cally with the world out­side.

Per­haps the ul­ti­mate ex­pres­sion of tran­quil­lity can be found far­ther west, where Cam­bridge be­comes Water­town. Mount Auburn Ceme­tery, with its neo-Clas­si­cal mon­u­ments set in acres of beau­ti­fully land­scaped grounds, is con­sid­ered Amer­ica’s first land­scaped gar­den ceme­tery. It couldn’t be more dif­fer­ent from Bos­ton’s stark Colo­nial-era bury­ing grounds and did much to soften the coun­try’s tra­di­tion­ally bleak view of death and the af­ter­life.

It was Mas­sachusetts-born Ja­cob Bigelow (1787–1879) who first pro­posed the idea of a gar­den ceme­tery. As a med­i­cal doc­tor he knew of the health risks at­tached to bury­ing the dead in over­crowded church crypts, and as a botanist he saw virtue in spa­cious, out-of-town burial grounds such as Père Lachaise in Paris. With as­sis­tance from the Mas­sachusetts Hor­ti­cul­tural So­ci­ety, and a de­sign from its first Pres­i­dent, Henry Dear­born (1783–1851), the ceme­tery was in­au­gu­rated in 1831.

As much a park as a necrop­o­lis, Mount Auburn quickly be­came a vis­i­tor at­trac­tion. Sixty thou­sand peo­ple passed through the ceme­tery’s im­pres­sive Egyp­tian Re­vival gate in 1848 alone. The ceme­tery sprawls for a glo­ri­ous 175 acres. Ten miles of roads and paths wind through tran­quil wood­lands and dells, which pro­vide a sym­pa­thetic back­drop to the graves of the 98,000 peo­ple buried here. Visi­tors can ei­ther wan­der at leisure or else sign up for one of sev­eral thematic guided tours.

Rightly much is made of the fact that there are over 9,000 trees at Mount Auburn, en­com­pass­ing hun­dreds of dif­fer­ent species. Ad­di­tion­ally there are thou­sands of shrubs to add tex­ture and fra­grance to the scene. Such di­ver­sity at­tracts wildlife, with over 220 species of bird recorded by or­nithol­o­gists, and a breed­ing colony of spot­ted sala­man­ders in a pond in Con­se­cra­tion Dell.

It is no sur­prise that Mount Auburn has its fair share of rest­ing lu­mi­nar­ies. They in­clude Isabella Ste­wart Gard­ner, Mary Baker Eddy, and Charles Bulfinch, as well as poet Henry Wadsworth Longfel­low (1807–1882), au­thor of The Bos­to­ni­ans Henry James (1843–1916), and poly­math Oliver Wen­dell Homes Sr. (1809–1894). All would no doubt ap­prove of their fi­nal rest­ing place.

Left: Por­trait of Isabella Ste­wart Gard­ner by John Singer Sar­gent in 1888 Above, left: The First Church of Christ, Sci­en­tist, Chris­tian Science Cen­ter. The orig­i­nal Mother Church (1894) is in the fore­ground and be­hind it the Mother Church ex­ten­sion...

Left: The Lib­erty Jail Ho­tel Above: The Bos­ton Fish Pier (Both im­ages: © Dun­can JD Smith)

Above, left: The So­ci­ety of St. John the Evan­ge­list Epis­co­pal Monastery Above, right: A fu­ner­ary mon­u­ment in Mount Auburn Ceme­tery (Both im­ages: © Dun­can JD Smith)

Dun­can JD Smith’s book Only in Bos­ton: A Guide to Unique Lo­ca­tions, Hid­den Cor­ners and Un­usual Ob­jects has just been pub­lished by The Ur­ban Ex­plorer. For fur­ther de­tails visit www.on­lyin­ and www.dun­can­jd­

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