Initial Impressions 2.0 Blog #123: A Classic Story, Birthdays & Graduations, Meteors, etc.

1. It sometimes shocks me to think that I have been a part of social media for 23 years. My first profile was created for Friendster in 2003. We’re closing in on half of my life chronicled online. This is all on Facebook, as nothing original from Friendster or Myspace exists anymore. I check the memories page on Facebook daily. It creates some fun snapshots of different chapters of my life. One rabbit hole that I fell down this week had to do with the last year of my Nana’s life. There wasn’t much of substance relating to her from 2009. However, a specific memory popped up this week. It involved someone hitting my parked car while I was at my Nana’s house. In short, the guy did a U-turn and rear-ended my Jeep, destroying the rear axle. This guy was a weirdo and wanted desperately to go inside and talk to my 85-year-old Nana. Why? To tell his side of the story? It’s like, dude, you hit my parked car, tell me the story, not my grandmother. Anyway, I went way down the rabbit hole of that accident story and turned it into a great blog (I think). It was the last classic story of my life while my Nana was still alive. You can read the blog here: The Final Classic Story From My Nana's Life



2. I was asked to do an author talk about my latest book for this summer at a local library. It was all set up with the date and time. Then the person who reached out to me about the event said the date they agreed to had already been taken. Funny how they offered it and agreed to it, but then went back on that. Okay fine. So I rescheduled. I filled out paperwork to use their conference room, which I’ve never had to do for any event I’ve ever done. Whatever, it was all set. This week, the same person reached out and said they needed to reschedule yet again. No reason given. So I sent in a pair of dates I could do, making this the third different set of dates for a show at this same library. I am not sure if they are incompetent. Maybe they think they can just jerk me around and I will continue to reschedule my talk, which, remind you, they reached out to me for? While I love to do these speaking events and I will be way more flexible than I probably should be, part of me wants them to not be able to accommodate my new dates so I can just tell them to take a hike. We’ll see what happens.


3. After writing the full treatment for a sitcom I am trying to get picked up, I joined a website where people post their shows in the hopes that television companies and execs will see it and possibly want to create it. I am hopeful but not holding my breath since I know that for every person like me, there are probably hundreds of others, many likely with good ideas as well. I want to make the best impression I can, so I shot a video and shared the full details of the proposed show. Any decent profile needs a photo, so obviously, I wanted to put a good face out there. That’s where the hiccups came. No matter what I did, the site kept saying there were issues with my photo. I tried several photos before finally contacting the website. I explained my issue and then also said I could send the photo to them, asking if they could just put it on my profile. Instead, they recommended changing the size, the DPI, and the file format of the photo. Each time it didn’t work, and I reiterated that it might be easier to just send them my photo. Finally, after three times of being given advice that didn’t work, they asked me to send the photo. Gee, thanks for listening. It only took a week and a handful of messages. I don’t think that I missed any opportunities in the week that my profile was up without a photo, but still, would it have taken more than five seconds to plug my photo in? It probably took 1,000 times more effort to write three emails than it would to click and post. Oh well, it’ll be worth it if the show gets picked up.


4. Despite creeping toward 50, I still enjoy playing basketball every now and then. I don’t play competitively; my body can’t handle that. I go to a nearby recreation area where there is a court that is almost always empty. I went this week to shoot around for a while. It was a perfect afternoon. Well, except for one thing. It’s pollen season. Oh boy, did that come into play. Every time I bounced the ball, a puff of yellow dust came up. I made it 15 minutes before I was getting gassed, but I pressed on. I needed to make it to at least half an hour of good cardio. By the time I hit that mark, I was pretty much choking on the pollen. I must have had a cloud of the stuff all around the court like I was Pigpen in Peanuts. My black shirt and shorts were coated in yellow like powdered sugar on a donut. That being said, it ended up being a good shoot around, and I burned over 300 calories. Not too shabby.

Me playing basketball this week.

5. I highly recommend The Burroughs on Netflix. I had been waiting for it since I saw the first trailer a little over a month ago, and it did not disappoint. Without spoiling anything, it is basically like a perfect mixture of Stranger Things and Cocoon. It centers around a retirement community that is a town in the middle of the desert. It stars several big-time actors like Alfred Molina, Bill Pullman, and Geena Davis. She is excellent, and there is a nod to Thelma & Louise in it. It is eight episodes, so an easy binge. Or you can be like me and savor it and only watch one episode per night. Even then, it only lasted a little over a week. It has been really popular on Netflix since debuting, so my hope is that it gets greenlit for a second season because there is a lot of room for more story. Go and check it out if you can.

6. A nightmare scenario almost came true this week. Since Memorial Day Weekend has passed, the beaches have gotten their porta-potties back. There is a beach I like to spend a few minutes at on my way to work most days. I took a little walk and decided to use the facilities before heading back to my car. A few steps from the porta-potty, I spotted what looked like a septic truck entering the parking lot. I figured whoever was driving saw me. Then I heard the beeping of it backing up. It dawned on me that they were there to empty the porta-potty. For a brief moment, I didn’t know what they were going to do. Bust in through the door? Strap the thing to the truck and take off with it? Even if they didn’t see me, I knew they weren’t just going to knock the porta-potty over to empty it. They’d have to open the door, which was locked. I don’t know why I felt this sense of dread while listening to the truck backing up. I stepped out and gave a wave to the driver, and everything was fine. I hope those guys get paid well. I have seen some of the most disgusting porta-potties, and knowing that people have to clean them is just nasty. So yeah, pay the septic people more, they literally deal with shit for a living.


7. This weekend, I was able to see my nephew Landon graduate from high school. It’s an interesting feeling to watch someone you’ve known since they were born taking that step into whatever the next chapter of their life is. I say this time around is interesting because next week marks 30 years since I graduated high school, so my mind has been back in those bygone days of 1996. At times, I feel like I have one foot back in my youth with the other foot trying to keep me moving forward into the future. There are times when I feel confused. How can the younger generation of family be moving on to the ‘real world’ when I feel like I haven’t firmly established myself? Luckily, I am not the only one. Everywhere I look, I find people my age expressing how they don’t feel like they’ve got being an adult down to a science. I kind of long for the days of having a textbook to follow when going through classes in school. Now all you can do is keep walking the path you’re on and hope that you’re going the right way.




8. Pontificating aside, the graduation was a fun family event. The weather was rainy and windy. It held off when we all arrived, but by the time we walked outside, the wind was kicking up, and the rain had started falling. It’s a shock to the system to be standing outside on the last weekend of May with wind chills around 40. A sunny and warm outdoor graduation would have been better, but I’m just glad I was there at all. I didn’t get to see my nephew Liam’s graduation, and my niece Emma’s graduation was during COVID. I did manage to see it from outside the fence at the high school, but it wasn’t the same. I wish we could have had a family cookout after, like we did for my oldest niece, Kaleigh, but just being with a good chunk of family was a pleasure that I don’t get nearly as often as I wish I did. We got some photos before the rain really kicked up to remember the day.


9. Staring down 50 in 18 months, I think, has made my sentimental side take over a lot in my life. I find that there are a lot of achievements, celebrations, graduations, and such that give me mixed emotions. I am happy to see and be around family, but then I end up feeling a bit empty and bittersweet. It’s not anything they do. It is the sad reality that we don’t all get together like we used to. I miss the giant holidays at my grandparents' houses. I miss big cookouts, family reunions, and hangouts just because. As we all go down the roads of our own lives, sometimes they can take us further from each other, even though we might not physically be too far apart. Jobs take up hours, and schedules don’t match. Other obligations can make it so that only when events like achievements, celebrations, and graduations come around can the family find a way to be together. It’s bittersweet because there are only so many of those types of events. If I could, I would have family get-togethers every week until we got so sick of each other that we had to pause them to recharge. Sadly, that isn’t in the cards for me currently. All I can do is check my calendar to see what the next event is that might result in another big family gathering.


10. There was a high wind warning this weekend. It was on the day of my nephew’s graduation. It really picked up in the afternoon with winds gusting 40-50mph. Despite the terrible weather, I needed to head out to the store plus to get gas. I could feel how bad the wind was while driving. It felt like my car was being pushed side to side at times. At this point, it was only in the mid 40s with wind chills dipping near freezing, at the end of May. I stopped for gas and didn’t pay attention to the wind. When I opened my door, the wind took it. The door ended up smashing into a trash can and sending it toppling over. I picked it back up, but it made the person pumping gas next to me look worried. I don’t know if she thought I was mad about gas prices and just karate kicked the garbage over. I figured I’d leave it a mystery rather than explain to her about the wind. She probably wouldn’t have believed me, or freaked out, scared, and taken off.


11. It’s not every day that a meteor comes flying into the Earth’s atmosphere. It’s even rarer when it happens only an hour from where you live. This weekend, we had a meteor rumored to be about three feet in diameter explode through the sky around Boston. The sonic booms were captured by all sorts of cameras. Apparently, the sound could be heard anywhere from Montreal to Delaware. It happened around 2:30 pm, and I was inside, so I have no clue if we could hear it. Reports said it landed in Cape Cod Bay. Not sure if anyone is going to try to find it or not. Plus, there was a rare Blue Moon that same night. So to recap, on the same day in Massachusetts, there were gale-force winds, snow, a meteor, and a blue moon. I love my home.

Radar picking up the exploding meteor(WWLP)

12. My niece Kaleigh celebrated her 27th birthday this weekend. It’s amazing how fast time can go. I fully remember my sister Kate being pregnant with her and having me drive my beat-up old Ford F-150 down the bumpiest roads we could find to try to induce labor. I have vivid memories of moving all of our stuff into a new house with my stepfather, Serpa, on the day Kaleigh was born. He and I were the last to the hospital to meet Kaleigh. I was 21 and had orange-yellow hair, an eyebrow ring, and a hemp necklace. It was the dawning of the full-on quarter-life crisis. I remember those early months being a travel trio with Kate, Kaleigh, and the numerous people who thought she was my daughter. My sister’s reaction was always priceless. I bring these memories up because, for as much as I am not a fan of getting older myself, I can deal with aches and pains and grays because I know I got to spend so much quality time with my nieces and nephews. The bittersweet feeling I tend to get around their milestones as they grow mainly comes from knowing that with each passing day, our roads grow further apart. I don’t have regrets about not spending enough time with them as kids because I actually did. In a world where I have had way too many regrets to count, the time I spent with my nieces and nephews is not one of them. I tend to get very reflective in moments like these. It was a good week for family and a good week to be reflective.

The Final Classic Story From My Nana's Life

Social media has been a part of my life since 2003, when I created my profile on Friendster. It has been mostly a blessing as it allows me to keep in touch with family and friends while also sharing my work, thoughts, and random moments from life.

In one major way, it has been a blessing because it serves as a makeshift journal chronicling my life. Anything on Friendster has long since been lost. Anything on Myspace, at least from its heyday, has also been lost. The biggest storage container of the memories of my life on social media is Facebook.

Since the spring of 2007, my life and the events of it have been shared on Facebook. Every day I look at the ‘Memories’ page, and it brings me back to different chapters of my life. It’s amazing to think that I started on Facebook at 29, and later this year, I will turn 49. It’s getting very close to half of my life.

A recent post from the memories page is what spurred this article on. When it comes to my grandparents, the three who were alive during my lifetime at least, my final memories of them are different. Not so much the very end. They were all sad, but in a small way, also a relief because they were all old and suffering to a different degree. I am looking at the final full years of their lives.

My Grampa’s final year, May 2018 through May 2019, is burned into my mind. He was trending downward from the effects of dementia. The older memories still remained, but ask him about present-day, and it was a lot of stammering and blank stares.

My last truly wonderful moment with my Grampa was sharing a photo of his childhood home in Fitchburg, Massachusetts, with him in November 2018. From then on out, it was a rapid decline and an end that was sad, but a relief because, as I said, he was suffering.

My Grampa's childhood home in Fitchburg, MA

My Nina’s final year, March 2020 through March 2021, was awful. I am sure most of you see the timeline there and know what was going on. My Nina’s final year was spent in lockdown at the assisted living facility she had been at.

The sad irony was that I had been working at that same place and had access to her every day I worked. I would visit every day, bring the foods she liked, including raising toast and bacon. If anybody questioned it, I said I was family, and I was giving her what she wanted, and basically, they couldn’t stop me.

Mere weeks before the COVID pandemic shut the world down, I left that job. I was looking for part-time so that I could start getting back into personal training. It was a huge mistake. The new job was a terrible step down, with or without the pandemic. Leaving my Nina on her own when I had been there has left me with guilt that I might never live down.

When it comes to my Nana, things are a bit blurry. Her last year was December 2008 through December 2009. With my Nina and Grampa having lived until much more recently, I have found that their lives remain fresh in my mind. Having been nearly 17 years since my Nana died, it can be hard to form a clear picture of her last year.

My last real memory of my Nana in a normal sense was around my birthday in early November 2009. I would always visit her even as I grew older into my 30s. It wasn’t until after she had ended up in an assisted living facility at the end that a few things became clearer.

Her memory was slipping, but at 85, that was to be expected. Physically, she had much more trouble walking. It became more of a shuffle. This actually led to a funny story during those final months.

I was sitting at the dining room table as I had done hundreds of times in my life. I believe that I had my laptop open and I wanted to show her something. Sitting on the floor next to me was Nana’s cat Mittens. She was a black and white striped cat who, by that time, had to have been 15 years old.

Nana came over to look, but in doing so stepped on Mittens’ tail. She screamed out and tried to run away. My Nana, with her legs weak and heavy now, couldn’t lift her foot fast enough. It ended up looking like a cartoon with Mittens jumping into the air with all four feet elevated, but stuck by her tail under Nana’s foot. Eventually, she lifted her foot, and Mittens ran off. Her anger only lasted until Nana opened a fresh can of cat food for her. This video is from October 2009, just over two months before my Nana died.

The social media aspect of this post comes through when I had a memory pop up from May 2009. A story I had totally forgotten about. I will share it, but it also made me want to take a trip back in time and see what other sorts of stories I might have shared during my Nana’s final year.

The final hurrah in terms of classic memories with my Nana actually has little to do with her. She was more of a background player in what turned out to be a typical event in my life.

It all began with a car accident. I was at a pretty rural intersection in Yarmouth. I had never before, or since, had anything remotely odd happen at that meeting of the roads. On this date, August 27, 2008, I stopped, looked both ways, and started through the intersection. Then I saw it.

A car came barreling around a bit of a blind corner. It flew through the intersection. I had a moment to cut my wheel and turn away before the car t-boned me. It hit me on the driver’s side just in front of the tire, spinning me around. My airbag didn’t deploy, which was great. If I hadn’t cut the wheel, who knows what types of injuries I would have had?

My totaled Saturn

I was fine and stepped out of my car only to see the other vehicle slowly, very slowly, driving away. I chased after it, yelling and swearing because this jerk had slammed into me and was trying to sneak away like they were a naughty child. It turned out I wasn’t too far off.

A neighbor ran out and chased the car down while another man came out to check on me. It ended up being the same man who was our school police officer at my high school back in the day. He’s asking me if I’m okay, and I’m getting excited to see him because it has been 20 years.

The man who hit me ended up being 95 years old. Insurance took care of everything, but unfortunately, my Saturn Ion was considered totaled. I ended up having to get a rental car for a few days while beginning the search for a new car. The tie to my Nana was that I was heading to her house after work on that day. So I ended up not making it due to my car being totaled.

This time, instead of choosing a smaller sedan that was good on gas, I went with a Jeep Liberty SUV. 4X4, heated leather seats, moon roof, terrible gas mileage, but whatever. I loved it.

The winter was great. I didn’t have to worry about getting stuck in the snow or sliding on ice with my Jeep. I figured that the accident with my previous vehicle was an anomaly and a story I’d be telling for years. It turned out that there was a sequel on its way.

Flash forward to May 25, 2009, and the reason for this entire post. Thanks for making it this far.

I was at my Nana’s house. It was getting dark, so it must have been closing in on 8pm. I was probably watching a rerun of The Simpsons with my father while Nana was sitting at the dining room table.

From outside, I heard a crash. Thinking there had been a collision, I jumped up from the chair and looked outside. I spotted a sedan to the right side just at the edge of my Nana's yard. Its front end was smoking, but it was still trying to drive off. There was no other vehicle until I realized what had collided with that car: my parked Jeep.

This vehicle had slammed into the rear end of my Jeep while doing a U-turn in the middle of the road. Then they tried to sneak off, much like the old man the previous August. I knew that my rear axle had to be trashed from the collision.

I ran outside yelling at the other car. This scrawny guy steps out. He was probably around my age, then early 30s. I could tell he must have been on something by the way he was speaking in stuttering phrases while being very jittery.

Flashbacks of my Saturn popped into my head, and I started going off on the guy. How could he be so reckless as to slam into my parked car? I wasn’t in the middle of the street. I asked him if he was drunk, and suddenly his demeanor changed.

He started begging me not to call anybody. He begged to be able to go inside and talk to the people in there. So this tweaking weirdo wanted to go inside and talk to my 85-year-old grandmother? No way.

By this point, my Nana had come to the door to see what was up. This bag of bones sees her and starts calling out to her. He’s begging to be allowed to go in and talk to her. Why? Honestly, what did he need to speak to my Nana? To plead his case? You hit my car, pal. Plead your case to me.

I stood between him and the front door, telling him explicitly that there was no way I was letting him near my Nana. I demanded his insurance info. Now my father had come out, and the other guy finally relented. Granted, he was still pleading his case, but what could he say? He hit a parked car like a moron.

I remember being so mad. Part of me was mad that I had stayed a little longer at my Nana’s. The whole situation could have been avoided if I hadn’t been there. That was just misguided anger. It was a random coincidence that nobody could have predicted.

I believe I drove my Jeep home, but then I didn’t dare to drive it. The sketchy other driver continued to bat 1,000 by ducking his insurance company for days. I had to think seriously about going to the police to get this guy to cooperate. I was also shopping around for a good, reliable mechanic to fix the Jeep.

A few days were spent chasing the guy down and getting his insurance company to handle the claim. I did a lot of walking until I got a rental car, which ironically ended up being the same model as a friend at work. That should be where the story ended, but it wasn’t.

A rare photo of that rental car.

You’d think that it would be as easy as bringing the Jeep to the mechanic and getting the rear axle fixed. Nope. Come on, why would it be that easy? From the day that the accident happened to the day that the Jeep was 100% again was two months.

Not only did it need a new rear axle, but a new fuel tank as well. There was also confusion from both insurance companies as to the actual place where my vehicle was. I had to deal with the idiot who hit my car, calling me angrily, asking about where my Jeep was. In reality, the guy was pissed that he had caused way more damage than he thought. It’s like, hey dude, don’t drive like a moron, and things like this won’t happen.

After five weeks of rental cars, walking, and even riding bikes, I got my Jeep back. Almost immediately, my battery died. It was a comedy show, as anytime I wanted to go somewhere, I had to pop the hood and jump my battery. I believe I had borrowed a portable battery charger. This was every single time I needed to start it. So back to the mechanic it went.

As I mentioned, it was two full months before the Jeep was purring like a kitten again. I loved that vehicle, but an issue would rear its ugly head. Gas prices. Shortly after my Nana died in the last week of 2009, I started doing road trips to cope. I took photos and wrote articles about the places I saw. Those articles are actually way, way back in the archives of this blog.

Gas prices were nearly as high as they are in 2026. Each trip I took got further from home and cost more. I knew I had to make a choice. It was either the road trips that were soothing my soul after my Nana’s death, or the Jeep that up to that point had been my favorite vehicle I had.

In the end, I chose the road trips. I sold the Jeep and got a Ford Focus. Great gas mileage, average looking, but it allowed me to keep logging loads of miles. It worked out for the best.

Me parking my new Ford in some odd places.

Only when going through my Facebook archives did I come upon this story of the Jeep accident. It makes me glad that I have shared as much as I have on social media. I have a great memory, but some things slip through the cracks.

Besides that accident and her standing on Mittens’ tail, there aren’t many memories I have from my Nana’s final year. Luckily, in her case, and the case of all of my grandparents, I have more than enough memories to keep them alive inside my mind for as long as I live.

That is a big reason why I choose to share stories like this. Sure, it’s kind of funny, but it’s also a way to keep my Nana’s memory alive. She might have been gone for going on 17 years, but she created a legacy, and I am a part of that. It is partially my duty to her that I keep the legacy going. I take great pride in that duty.

Provincetown's Forgotten Maritime Disaster - Cape Cod History

In the courtyard of a beautiful but unassuming church on the East End of Commercial Street in Provincetown, there stands a wooden cross. For a church, this is hardly a surprise. That is, until one approaches the cross and finds two plaques, one on either side.

On the side of the cross facing the church is a square plaque that reads: ‘In Memory of the Officers and Crew of the Submarine S-4. Sunk Off Wood End. Dec. 17, 1927.’ On the side facing Commercial Street is a much larger rectangular plaque. Here one finds the names of all of the men lost. There are forty of them. This is the story of the USS S-4, a deeply tragic and also mostly forgotten disaster.

Despite seeming like a 20th-century invention, the history of the submarine dates back to the late 1500s. It was in 1578 that English mathematician William Bourne first conceived the idea of an undersea vessel. It would, however, take more than forty years to put that idea into action. Dutch inventor Cornelis Drebbel is credited with the physical invention of the submarine. He was able to dive underneath England’s River Thames in 1620.

Over the ensuing three centuries, the submarine as a military vessel would grow and evolve. American colonist David Bushnell created a submarine affectionately known as the ‘Turtle’ in 1775. With hand-cranked propellers, it was meant to be used as a weapon against the British during the Revolutionary War. It was a failure.

In 1800, American inventor Robert Fulton designed his Nautilus submarine. It was seen as more modern, coming equipped with adjustable dive planes and a dual-propulsion system. The H.L. Hunley, a Confederate sub, sank the USS Housatonic during the American Civil War in 1864. It wasn’t until World War I that the submarine became a more common piece of equipment, particularly by the Germans with their U-boats.

The 1920s submarines were far advanced than those of the preceding century. Though not without their own operational difficulties, the U.S. Navy’s S-Class vessels represented the first properly functioning designs. S-4 was a diesel-electric submarine commissioned in 1919. The 231-foot-long steel behemoth was one of fifty-one such ‘Sugar’ boats built between 1918 and 1925. Eight years passed with little fanfare or issue with the S-4. That all changed on the afternoon of December 17, 1927.

The USS S-4(Public Domain)

On December 15th, the S-4 had been refitted at the Portsmouth, New Hampshire Navy Yard. After that, it headed for Cape Cod, captained by R.K. Jones. The S-4 was to be engaged in standard speed and maneuverability trials off the tip of Provincetown near Wood End Lighthouse. During the early afternoon of December 17th, while the S-4, with forty men aboard, was performing submerged runs. Up on the surface, a different sort of patrol was happening.

The 1920s were smack dab in the middle of the Prohibition Era in the United States. Provincetown, with its mass of challenging dunes at Race Point, was a haven for illegal alcohol smuggling. The Coast Guard had dispatched a 740-ton destroyer, USCGC Paulding (CG-17), captained by Lieutenant Commander John S. Baylis, to conduct rum patrols around the tip of Cape Cod.

Baylis had just investigated one schooner off Wood End and was headed back into Provincetown Harbor. In the days before radar and sonar, it was incredibly difficult for a ship to know the position of a submarine. What happened next was catastrophic.

The Paulding in 1918(Public Domain)

At about 3:37pm, while the S-4 was surfacing from a submerged run, the Paulding, which was steaming nearby, struck the sub at a speed of 18 knots. Accounts describe the telescope of the S-4 surfacing near the Paulding’s bow, less than seventy-five yards away. Ensign P. Miller, the man on watch for the Paulding, thought it was a fish stick, the marker fishermen use for their nets.

The destroyer collided with the submarine’s hull, punching holes that quickly flooded compartments. The S-4 rolled over and sank bow first within minutes to the bottom, roughly 130 feet down, less than a mile off Wood End.

The Paulding stopped and launched a lifeboat, but there were no men to be found. They all had gone down in the submarine. The ship next dropped a buoy to mark where the S-4 had gone down. To save itself from also sinking, the Coast Guard vessel had to run itself aground at Long Point with a gaping wound.

Immediately, the Coast Guard and Navy dispatched vessels, divers, and salvage specialists. Captain Adolphus Andrews, commander of the Submarine Base in New London, Connecticut, was ordered to send all available vessels to the site. Word reached President Calvin Coolidge, who expressed regret and intense anxiety over the disaster.

Divers reached the hull and established that many of the crew had moved into dry compartments. It was only a slight hope, since sealed compartments could mean survivors if rescuers could keep them supplied with air and prevent flooding.

Communication was established with men trapped in the forward torpedo room by divers and the surface commanders. The men inside replied with a series of taps on the hull, demonstrating that at least six were known to be alive there in the hours after the sinking. Time was of the essence as some of the naval officers gave the crew roughly three days to survive under the water. It was seen as a 1000-1 shot, but it was enough of a chance for the rescuers.

Unfortunately, winter storms, rough seas, strong currents, and the limited depth technology of the era repeatedly hampered rescue operations. Teams attempted to rig air hoses and pumps to the submarine and to use divers to keep lines attached and to feed air into compartments. The weather and wreckage complexity repeatedly forced pauses in the operation. Over several days, rescuers worked frantically; the men in the torpedo room continued to send taps and other signals for some period.

Ultimately, after days of fits and starts in deteriorating conditions, those survivors succumbed before divers could effectively extract them. In the end, all forty on board died. Those aboard the S-4 included officers, enlisted men, a Naval officer, and a civilian. It was noted afterward that the thirty-two men found in the engine room had likely died within hours of the collision due to either drowning or asphyxiation, thanks to carbon dioxide.

The story of the horrific collision and the loss of all on board the S-4 was nationwide news. It stunned locals who could see the buoys that had been left on the surface above the location of the doomed vessel by the submarine tender Wandank. In the end, those buoys would be used for the salvage mission.

Secretary of the Navy Curtis D. Wilbur (2nd from left) during salvage work of S-4 in March 1928. Captain Ernest King and Lieutenant Henry Hartley in charge of the salvage operation, are first and second from right, while Rear Admiral Philip Andrews (left) looks on.(Public Domain)

Despite the massive loss of life on the S-4, the vessel was not a total loss. An experienced salvage force was sent to Cape Cod. This included Captain Ernest J. King, Commander Edward Ellsberg, other senior Navy and Coast Guard officers, and local crews from Provincetown.

Over the winter and into early 1928, divers and salvage crews worked to attach lifting pontoons and cables. After months of difficult work, a successful raising and tow to the Boston Navy Yard occurred in March 1928. S-4 was later repaired and returned to service as a test and training vessel before final decommissioning in the 1930s.

The S-4 being towed to Boston Navy Yard.(Public Domain)

In the end, though it was an accident, there was blame to be placed. Lieutenant Walter J. MacGregor, commanding officer in the Naval Militia, placed the blame on Prohibition. He said in an interview in the immediate aftermath that the vessels out searching for rum runners go where they please, while the submarines stick to very specific routes. The crew of the Paulding was not blamed for the accident. It was however used as a battle cry for those looking for the repeal of Prohibition. This ended up happening in December 1933.

One of the most important legacies of the S-4 tragedy was pressure to improve submarine escape and rescue capability. The limits of the 1920s response, weather-vulnerable diving operations, no standardized submarine rescue chamber, and primitive escape equipment for individual submariners became painfully obvious. The loss of S-4, which came after an earlier disaster involving the S-51 submarine in 1925, pushed submarine professionals and the Navy bureaucracy to accelerate research into reliable rescue tools.

Two major innovations that came soon after the S-4 disaster were first the creation of the Momsen ‘lung.’ These were individual escape breathing devices. The other innovation was the McCann Submarine Rescue Chamber. This was a chamber that could be lowered to a distressed submarine in up to 850 feet of water. The chamber later proved its worth in the 1939 rescue of 33 men from USS Squalus, the first large-scale successful deep submarine rescue.

Beyond equipment, the S-4 tragedy contributed to procedural and cultural changes: improved training, standardized rescue ships and teams, new communications/telephone buoys and mating procedures, better watertight doors and bulkhead designs, and even hazard pay reforms for submariners, all measures aimed at reducing the chance that a similar accident would end in total loss.

Cape Cod paid homage to those lost on the S-4. On the tenth anniversary of the disaster, December 17, 1937, services were held at the Church of St. Mary of the Harbor. After the services, the pastor, Reverend Robert Wood Nicholson, dedicated a timber cross adorned with a pair of plaques commemorating those lives lost. It was fitting that the cross was fashioned from wood salvaged from another shipwreck off Cape Cod.

It has been nearly a century since forty men lost their lives in a horrific but seemingly unavoidable accident off Provincetown. The wooden cross, standing in the courtyard of the Church of St. Mary of the Harbor, is the only reminder of the tragedy that happened just offshore.

Cape Cod, especially the Atlantic Ocean side from Eastham to Provincetown, has a legacy of being a haven for shipwrecks. Sadly, many of those wrecks, and the people who went down on them, become lost to time. Such is the same fate of the forty men lost on the submarine S-4. If one is taking a stroll down Commercial Street, stop into the courtyard and pay respects to those lives lost in Provincetown’s forgotten maritime disaster.

Those lost aboard the S-4

Initial Impressions 2.0 Blog #33: Road Trip 2024 Day 2

1. Day 2 of the road trip began with a chilly but beautiful morning sitting on the screened-in porch at the Pemi Cabins in Lincoln, New Hampshire. Despite going to bed relatively late I was still up at 6am to enjoy as much of my time there as I could. I did not want to leave but I had a ton to see.

2. This included finally walking down to the river behind the cabins. I got some photos and videos but also noticed to my right what looked like a bridge over the river. It turns out it was a metal grating bridge leading down a dirt road. The bridge had a chain across the entrance so no vehicles could drive across, but I easily stepped over it to get some cool photos of the Pemigewasset River.

3. Disappointment rained down on me as I was getting set to venture out for breakfast. I wanted to revisit Flapjacks which was a 5-minute drive away. Too bad they were closed on that morning. Oh well, so I picked a popular diner that was actually a shorter drive. This was a fine replacement. Until I got there and the lot was full, cars were lined up across the street, and people were lined up out the door. So yes, the story of it being popular was true. I ended up going to White Mountain Bagel very close by. I had an excellent sausage, egg, and cheese on a wheat bagel. So my 3^rd option was still a good choice.

A worthwhile breakfast spot in Lincoln

4. I packed up my stuff and left the Pemi Cabins, but not before chatting briefly with another woman from Massachusetts. I say briefly because she seemed to be caught off guard that I was being friendly. Sorry, we’re from the same state and I just wanted to say hi. I wasn’t looking to steal your luggage.

5. Next up I drove out on the Kancamagus Highway. This is one of the most scenic routes in all of New England. In short, it’s a 34.5-mile stretch of road running between Lincoln and North Conway. It would take a few days to see all of the sites along that road.

6. Be prepared though. Driving The Kanc means little to no cell service, inclines and declines on the road sometimes at 9% grade, and also no gas, no stores.

7. I drove about halfway out to Sabbaday Falls. I figured I’d start at the furthest point I wanted to visit and work my way back. This is a short hike and a beautiful waterfall. It’s easy enough for people of almost any age. One thing I did do was not pay the parking fee which I saw when coming back. Hey, I was there for not even 20 minutes and the lot had maybe 5 cars in it so I didn’t steal a paying customer's spot.

Sabbaday Falls

8. My car is creeping up toward 150K miles. It has been paid off for 4 years and still runs great. That being said, when driving up and down the steep grades of the road on The Kanc I did not risk it, I drove slowly just in case my car decided today was the day it was going to mess with me.

9. The driving slowly and carefully paid off. When heading back from Sabbaday Falls toward Kancamagus Pass (the highest point on the road) I spotted a motorcyclist around a corner with their arms up asking me to stop. Up ahead another biker was on their back in the road. I’m not sure if they got hit or fell off on their own. Luckily I had plenty of time to stop. When I got to Kancamagus Pass I watched 2 police cruisers and a fire truck heading toward the accident. Hopefully, the biker was alright.

10. The wailing of the police sirens was replaced by the wailing of a screaming child in a van that pulled into the Kancamagus Pass parking lot a few minutes after me. I was surprised I didn’t see a herd of moose or bears running away from the area because of the noise. They didn’t stay too long and soon it was perfect scenery and weather.

The view at Kancamagus Pass, minus the screaming child.

11. Parking fees be damned Part 2. My last stop along The Kanc was Lincoln Woods Trailhead. I only wanted a few quick photos of the Pemigewasset River and a bridge going over it. My plan? As opposed to plopping down $$$? Park as close to the road as possible, take a side trail instead of the main entrance and get my photos. I did succeed but I will say that there was a park ranger standing on the bridge I wanted photos of. I had to sneak onto the bridge and get my photos while also looking inconspicuous. Done and done.

12. Next up was crossing from New Hampshire into Vermont for my first extended time in the state since 2000. This was the first time on my trip that I checked ‘avoid highways’ on my GPS so I could really see the countryside.

13. It was a total drive of 220 miles from Lincoln, NH down to Brattleboro, VT. I spent that entire time on more scenic routes. However, I think I’ve gone soft when it comes to disregarding my safety for photos. Rather than pulling off the road or screeching to a halt when I saw something I should shoot I ended up passing right by. This was mainly because there would either be a few cars close behind me, or there would be nowhere feasible to park. That wouldn’t have stopped me in the past, but here we are.

14. A few places that stood out in my backroads travel included a few historical sites in the small town of Weathersfield. Their population is just over 2,800(2020), making it 1/10th the size of Yarmouth where I live, and Yarmouth is a small town.

Weathersfield, VT is a very small town.

15. I really enjoyed the solitude of some of the places I stopped on this road trip. However, I didn’t enjoy it when it came time to post updates to social media and my phone would be on SOS mode.

16. I also stopped at the Dummerston Center Cemetery in the town of Dummerston, VT. This spot is home to a famous New England urban legend, the Dummerston Vine. In short, it is a story of several members of the Spaulding Family dying young. These deaths coincided with an ominous vine crossing over the grave of the last family member to die. Each time the vine crossed a Spaulding grave another member of the family would die.

17. The only other time I spent any extended time in Vermont was in 2000 when I went camping with a few friends in Jamaica State Park. On this trip, I visited a few places from back then. First was the Dam Diner in Townshend. Back in 2000, they had amazing bison burgers. This time they were closed meaning they could really be called the damn diner. Second I went back to Jamaica State Park. However, by this time I was hungry and a bit punchy from driving so much. I had no desire to go hiking or to even pay the fee to get in. A photo of me in front of the sign was good enough.

My reaction to the Dam Diner being closed.

18. The motel I stayed at in Brattleboro was definitely not as nice as Pemi Cabins, but for the price it was alright. That being said there were a few too many weird people sitting outside of their motel rooms. I noticed them because I immediately left after dropping off my stuff.

19. Where did I venture to? Hannaford first because of course. It was also right across the street so why not double my fun from the previous night? The intersection had talking signals which were neat and told me when I could walk. This Hannaford also had the big 16-ounce 5-Hour Energy. I’d only seen them in one other store and not for a year. I naturally grabbed a few.

20. Speaking of drinks I visited a cool nearby dispensary as well. I saw a billboard for a different dispensary on my way to Brattleboro which made me wonder if there was one near my hotel. Oh, there was. They are named Cannabis Maximus and were maybe ½ mile away. The potency allowed in their products is higher than in Massachusetts. That was another bonus.

21. Eating well was not on the menu. Well, I should say eating healthy. I went to Brattleboro House of Pizza. They call themselves BHOP which is funny because on Cape Cod one of my favorite pizza/sub places is Dennisport House of Pizza which we call DHOP. I ordered online and literally walked in and out with my meatball sub. Some of the people waiting to order seemed confused by how I got my stuff before them but I didn’t have time to explain the Internet.

The scent of meatball sub filled my car while taking this photo.

22. Besides a large amount of panhandlers I really enjoyed driving around Brattleboro. There was a couple in front of a convenience store I stopped at after BHOP. I didn’t have to pretend I didn’t see them since I was legit so excited that they had pepperoni pizza flavored Potato Skins chips. I’d never had them so this night was becoming more and more legendary.

23. After eating I surprisingly had the energy left to go find a spot to shoot the sunset. It was also partially guilt since I didn’t know when the next time is I’ll visit Vermont. Of course, being a sunset expert I found a perfect location to venture out to.

24. It ended up being an abandoned railroad bridge. How did I know it was abandoned? It had grass and flowers growing out of it. The view was excellent as when you’re in northern New England you typically have to shoot the sunset a while before the sun goes down since most places are hilly, or mountain-y. To my surprise, a cop saw me pull into a rocky parking area next to an electrical generator but didn’t come back to tell me to leave.

25. On that bridge I did take my life in my hands a few times when trying to get as close to the edge of the bridge to get certain vantage points for the sunset. In addition to grass and flowers, the bridge has loads of small loose stones. That meant that one false move and I’d be launched over the side. I highly doubt the couple fishing down below would dive in to save me either, more than likely they’d have snagged my camera and car keys.

Sunset from the abandoned railroad bridge.

26. I ended up with more time to spare before sunset so I drove a little further south to the Brattleboro Bridge. Why was this my choice? Because the bridge that’s a part of Rt. 119 crosses the Connecticut River and includes the border of Vermont and New Hampshire. Yes, that’s right, I was shooting the sunset in 2 states at once. It was very exciting. Well, except for the part where the bridge would rattle violently when more than 3 cars would be on it at once.

27. Day 2 of the road trip was filled with scenery, lots of hills, and tons of fun. My plan for Day 3 was another early morning, maybe a big breakfast, and crossing a spot off of my Bucket List.

Read About Road Trip 2024 Day One

In Their Footsteps: Cape Cod History - The Story of Route 6's 'Suicide Alley'

 

The Mid-Cape Highway, known as Route 6, extends 63 miles across Cape Cod from the foot of the Sagamore Bridge to Herring Cove Beach in Provincetown. It passes through every town on Cape Cod except for Falmouth, Mashpee, and Chatham. First designated in 1926 this road has been consistently improved and redeveloped over the subsequent century. It is now the main highway and busiest road on the Cape.

Throughout its lengthening and widening, eventually connecting the entirety of Cape Cod Route 6 has remained a quite normal highway. It is a double-barreled road from Sandwich to Dennis, while becoming more of a traditional surface road between Eastham and Provincetown. However there is one section of Route 6 that has become a world unto its own. This 13-mile section connects Dennis to Orleans and has been witness to an unusually high number of fatal auto accidents. So much so that this section of road has had its own unique and chilling nickname. It is known by locals as 'Suicide Alley.'

This section of Route 6, extending the highway to the Orleans Rotary, was initially completed in 1959. In 1954 the highway was widened from two to four lanes up to Hyannis, it took until 1971 for it to be widened to four lanes into Dennis. However that was where the widening stopped. The section between Dennis and Orleans remained two lanes, one in each direction, and has right up until the current day.

The Mid-Cape Highway in the 1950's.(Sturgis Library)

Initially this two-lane highway maintained the 55mph speed limit of the rest of Route 6 up to that point. To allow faster traveling vehicles an easier time 22 passing zones were also included on this part of the road, meaning it was possible for passing vehicles to be face to face with those coming in the opposite direction. Likely sensing impending doom the Massachusetts Department of Public Works discussed plans to widen Route 6 to four lanes all the way into Orleans. However environmental concerns halted these talks by 1974. The proposed widening would impact some wetlands, several ponds, and potentially town drinking water. The state did lower the speed limit from 55 to 50mph in 1974. This did little to slow the increasing rash of severe accidents.

It was not until the late 1970's that this part of the highway got its morbid nickname. First seen in a printed capacity in 1979 'Suicide Alley' was bestowed upon the 13-miles of road. This was due to the high number of fatal vehicle accidents. Between 1973-1979 alone there were 17 deaths and 174 injuries along Suicide Alley. It was easy to understand why as the two lanes had hardly any separation between them with vehicles commonly traveling far above the posted 50mph speed limit. This was a cramped section of road where on an off-season day the highway can see upwards of 55,000 vehicles. It only exacerbated in the summer when those numbers could easily double. Traffic jams heading west on summer days are frustratingly normal even to this day.

In 1979 there were renewed talks over widening Route 6. The environmental concerns were raised again though the idea of getting the towns involved (Dennis, Harwich, Brewster, and Orleans) on the same page seemed to be just as difficult. It was said at the time that a 'united front' would help get the project funded. By 1981 again talks had quieted down. Instead locals gave ideas on how to make Suicide Alley safer without widening it. Some of these included traffic lights at all on ramps and a concrete barrier along the entire stretch of road. The barrier was also nixed due to environmental concerns.

An interesting note on Suicide Alley was the fact that despite the fatalities along it being higher than the state average for highways, the number of accidents in general was lower. In the mid-1980's some state police officers referred to the Dennis to Orleans section of highway as the most dangerous road in Massachusetts.

'Suicide Alley' in Brewster c.2005

An environmental impact study was green-lighted in January 1986 with a Route 6 task force suggesting again to widen the highway to four lanes in September 1986. In addition to the environmental worries some locals theorized that a wider Suicide Alley could lead to a faster development of the areas it passed through. This time though the project actually gained steam. By the end of the 1980's 36 people had died on the road in the previous two decades. The tipping point was the horrific accident in April 1989 when Brewster mother Lois Ann Scholomiti and her 2 children died in a head-on collision with a truck.

In an attempt to appease all sides a $7 million($13.7 million in 2021) project was completed in 1991. A three-foot wide berm(artificial embankment) and three-foot tall reflectors were added for the entirety of Suicide Alley. The passing zones were also removed and the two lanes slightly widened. Despite these safety improvements the talk of making the road four-lanes remained and had its closest pass to date in 1994.

The Massachusetts Highway Department submitted three proposals for the maligned Suicide Alley. They all included some form of widening the road, though each with different end points of said widening. A 'full-build' to the Orleans Rotary was estimated to cost $45 million ($81 million in 2021). The project even had design plans drawn up by the Highway Department. In the nearly 3 decades since though the project has never moved beyond design plans and speculation. It must be said though that the two Cape Cod Rail Trail bridges over the highway in the years since have left room for the addition of more lanes.

The proposed changes to Suicide Alley in 1994(Mass. Highway Dept.)

For more than 40 years a 13-mile section of Cape Cod highway has been alternatively known as 'Suicide Alley' by locals. Is the name justified? There are drivers and police alike who say it is not. The Bourne Scenic Highway is one such road seen as more dangerous than Suicide Alley. According to a study by the Cape Cod Commission in 2004 the crash rate on Route 6 in Eastham is the highest, nearly triple any other section of the road, including Suicide Alley.

Those safety measures implemented in 1991 have reduced the accident rates on the road. However the rumblings of extending the four-lane Route 6 all the way to Orleans are always just below the surface. Anytime a terrible accident occurs, or a several-mile traffic backup occurs in the summer, those talks will again come bubbling up. Until it is officially no longer two lanes 'Suicide Alley' will maintain its name among locals, even if it has not been truly fitting in three decades.

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Previous Blog Posts:

In Their Footsteps: Cape Cod History - How Mashnee Island Became A Village

Child of the 1980's - Introduction to Music

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