Introduction
Boston is a city of many moods. Strolling across Longfellow Bridge in May is not the same as huddling for cover on that same bridge in February. Many cities have varying weather patterns, but few have so distinct a personality as Boston. To put it bluntly, Boston is not your father or your mother’s city. It belongs to your grandparents.
Like a marvelous grandmother, Boston shows you the charms of the area. Holding your hand in hers, the grandmother escorts you along the Freedom Trail, perhaps the single most exciting and intriguing piece of history tourism ever developed. The grand old lady puts salt water taffy in your mouth, and takes you to the Public Garden for a ride on the famous swan boats. And then, to top it off, she allows you to stroll the Esplanade, and perhaps invites you to hear the Boston Pops perform. But as you head for home, you remember: I have a grandfather, too!
Like a grumpy grandfather, one who has seen too many winters, Boston acts like the personification of Saturn, the Roman God of the passage of time. Your grandfather can chuckle, but he growls as well, and he wants you to know the seamy, as well as the sensational, part of life. With you trailing behind, your grandfather walks down the old and tired streets of Boston, pointing out where the Boston Strangler was found, and where the riots over busing began. He never tires of pointing to the discrepancy between rich and poor, saying that when the world comes to an end everyone will have to account for their actions. Walks with grandfather are not the same as those with grandmother. But on one thing Grandmother and Grandfather concur: The Red Sox are the greatest team the nation has ever seen.
She is a lady of many moods, the great city of Boston. Though men have often served as her leaders, there has never been any doubt about her identification as feminine. Very likely it stems from the fact that the Charles and Mystic Rivers rush right past her on their way to the great bay from which Massachusetts gains its name. And, like any grande dame, she has her eccentricities and peculiarities. Even the casual visitor knows strolling on Longfellow Bridge in May is one experience, and that taking one’s life in one’s hands in December is entirely another.
The Puritans named her, but the Native Americans were the first to drink from her waters; in fact, the name “Shawmut” means “place of the beautiful spring.” Even in Puritan times—less grim than we sometimes suppose—Boston was known for her ale and wine. A festive spirit managed to conceal itself behind the ramparts of religious perfectionism. And, over time, that desire to be the best altered its course, moving from the religious to the political sphere. The Revolutionary leaders—men like James Otis and Samuel Adams—were no less persuaded of their righteousness than their Puritan great-grandparents.
The Revolutionary generation saw the town sink to a very low ebb, but the architectural genius of Charles Bulfinch brought Boston to new heights; just a generation later, people began calling Boston the “Athens of America.” The genius of the founding Puritans could still be seen as late as 1880, but it was equaled by their arrogance, as proper Bostonians refused to yield ground to the Irish and Italian newcomers, who, of course, have been followed by the Poles, Lithuanians, African Americans, and others. If there’s one great lesson to learn from the ethnic conflict it is that Boston belongs to no special group: she is always at the beck and call of those willing to serve her.
Can the story of Boston be told without research in her libraries? Of course not, and equally one can ask if it is possible for Boston to be known without an understanding of the Red Sox and New England Patriots. Even the most diehard sports fan will admit that the crowds are fundamentally different: the thousands who pour into Fenway on a July afternoon are not the same as those who crowd the Garden on a Saturday night. Boston has a thousand dimensions, but she has only four great obsessions: education, sports, architectural beauty, and the pursuit of personal perfection. Whether the last of these is demonstrated in research at the Massachusetts Historical Society, skulling on the Charles, or making the best masonry chimney is entirely up to the individual.
One can, of course, go the comparative route and ask where Boston stands compared to its many rivals. And though such competitions are necessarily self-limited, we can participate and say that Boston—at her best—is the very best place in the United States for a college-aged person. No other city offers so many opportunities and venues, ranging from the purely academic to the social and cultural. There was a time, perhaps as recent as the 1950s, when critics declared Boston was a great place to go to school, and not a bad one for one’s retirement, but not good for any age in between. If this was once true, it certainly is not so today. The theatre, opera, and Boston Pops are almost unrivaled, and the discriminating
