The Portuguese Connections

I was going to name this the minority to the majority…. But I think a better name is the Portuguese connection.

Last week was St.Patrick’s Day. They say no one is a prouder bunch. And so I don’t offend the Irish, that is largely true. But mostly they are just louder about it. Everyone celebrates St. Patrick’s Day, not only the Irish but the wanna be’s too. On Dave O’s blog the subject came up, of what nationality are you. Only a few were full blooded of any one type. Myself, included. I am quite comfortable in my own mixed nations. My father was English and Swedish and my mother was English and German. I have traits of all 3. The staunchness of the English. The backbone of the German. The tenderness of the Swedish. Which makes me a complex person. But the one nationality that I learn the most from was the majority that surrounded me as a child. I learn compassion, and passion about things and people. I learn great work ethic. That nationality is the Portuguese.

I was raised on a large island in Rhode Island, called Aquickneck. Island. Which consist of 3 different towns. Newport, which most people have heard of thru the media. That was on the ocean side with a bay on each side. On the opposite end was Portsmouth, all farm land when I was a child. And in the middle of all this was applicably named Middletown.
Newport was made up of Irish, (police officers, doctors, lawyers, and hardware stores)
Italians, (police officers, fishermen, blacksmiths, and gardeners.) There were Jewish (they have the first Synagogue in the United States) (who were lawyers, trades men of all kinds, vegetable and fruit stores, and etc.) There were others of many trades and nationality. And then in Middletown, Portsmouth and Jamestown a little island off of Aquickneck, were the Portuguese. They were and are, farmers (a good share of them were.) fishermen, shop owners, worked civil service, as Newport was a Naval Base. One of the trades got lost in the years and came back a few years ago, because no one could compete. Stone men. They made the famous stone walls that are in that area. Stone walls are land marks, dividing ones land from another. Most of them are 100 years or more. You can’t find harder workers than the Portuguese men.
The start of my connection was with my neighbor. A little girl who was a year younger than myself. We were really the only kids on the block for many years. I say block because the first half mile out side of Newport, on the Middletown side was residential. The rest was farms and Naval base. The parents of this little girl, Madeline and Manual Perry. Now before you think I might get sued for this… Madeline and Manual were as common names as John, Bill and Perry, well they cover half a page in the phone book. But I don’t think they will be upset with my talking about them. They were wonderful people. Manny (as most Manual’s were called) worked for one of the estates in Newport, he was a landscaper. Madeline was a stay at home mom. Which most were in those days. Their daughter was an only child. Madeline had the most wonderful smelling kitchen. But then most Portuguese women do. She also had a wicked sense of humor. She is taller than all her sisters by at least 4 inches. And she told Barbara and I that she got that way, because her mother told her if she was going to be tall she had to stand in cow manure for 10 minutes a day. Which she did. And that is how she got to be tall. I never did get to know the truth. They were a very loving family. And I thought Madeline was the most beautiful woman. And when I went back about 10 years ago, I stopped in to see them. And she is still beautiful. And when I told her this, she blushed just as she use to.
The next was school. I went to 3 different schools as I progressed thru the grades. The first one was a good share of Navy personnel children. The second was half and half, Navy and Portuguese. The third was one was ¾ Portuguese, as the Navy was starting to down size some what. It was just before the Korean war. Sorry, policing.
My best friends were Portuguese from 6th grade on thru high school. I would walk from our house on the edge of the Newport/Middletown to Rogers High School that was in the middle of Newport at that time. It was on a summer day, on a weekend, as I walked home from town that I heard this lively music, but in a foreign language. It was better than the rock and roll that had started at that time. It was the Portuguese festival at Jesus Savior Church. On the side they were having their summer festival. The music was wonderful and the food was the best. One of my school friends grabbed me and said come on…I told her I had to be home soon. (my folks were real sticklers for that) but I walked thru with her to see. The colors, the smells and music.
A few years later, I think I was a senior, and one of my friends who lived not to far away, who had a horse like mine and was a school friend, invite me to Christmas mass at Jesus Savior Church. It was a wonderful experience. I was an Episcopalian, which we jokingly use to refer to being a rejected Catholic, as we did all the ups and downs on your knees and sing that the Catholic did. But the Catholic was so much more than my church had. Ours seem so much more older, drab in comparison.
My connection, is…
My aunt Florence, married to my Uncle Richard. You could not go to their house with out eating. And remember what I told you about their kitchens. She would be offended if you did not eat anything. She would have a full meal in that refrigerator, ready in case some one came. There were sandwiches, there were desserts, and cookies and coffee. My Aunt Florence was a sweetheart.
My sister in law, married to my only brother. They will celebrate I think 38 years of marriage. Her mother had the same kind of love of family as Florence did. And everyone was welcome to their place. They had a swimming pool later in life. Had swimming suits so you wouldn’t miss out.
My daughter in law, who spoils me rotten. Poor thing is married to one of my twin sons. But the salt of the earth. Family is the major thing. She makes me feel just as important as her side of the family. I got to meet her grandfather and grandmother several years ago in R.I. What a wonderful couple. And of course walking into their house… the smell in the kitchen… and can I get you something to eat.
Then of course, with a daughter in law, I get two grandchildren who are Portuguese.
And friends… so many friends….
And then in 1999, the final connection… my husband Ken. His mother was a wonderful little spitfire that was 4 foot 8 inches, full of laughter, compassion and passion.
And of course, a dang good cook, which she passed on to her son Ken and the rest of the family.
So thank you, Alvernaz’s , Sanchez’s, Sanches’s , Perry’s Rose’s Viera’s Sylvia’s and Silva’s Cardoza’s, Roderick’s, Rodriguez, Santo’s Arruda’s, Rego’s Raposa, Oliveira, Nunes, Pine’s, Souza’s and all the rest … Thank you for showing me what hospitality is really like, what love of life is really like, what passion and compassion for life and people.
Like I said, I am comfortable with my own nations, but if I had to chose a wannabe
It would be the Portuguese…..Soupa anybody? Make sure the linguica and kale is in it.