American Gypsies

I've become hooked on National Geographic Channel's "American Gypsies". Yes, it's a reality show, and yes it too often comes across as scripted and forced. But I like it because of the peek it offers behind the closed doors of a mysterious ethnicity.

Produced by Ralph Macchio, who isn't a gypsy (or Romany, as those in the culture prefer), the reality show is sometimes a bit over the top for me, but that just comes with the territory.

Here's a brief sample:

I gave Nat Geo's "American Hutterities" show a chance, but I found it too stilted and, well, not all that interesting. Both of these shows are part of what the network calls its American Outliers series.

"American Gypsies" fascinates me in some of the same ways that "The Sopranos" or Black Mass, the book about Whitey Bulger, the FBI and Boston's Irish mob, did. All three deal with the trials, tribulations, crimes, misdemeanors, passions, screw-ups of distinct ethnic groups.

As someone who has no real ethnic identity, I'm fascinated by the traditions of those with strong ties to their country of origin. On my father's side, I'm English, Irish, French Canadian and perhaps Native American. On my mother's side, German, Dutch and French.

But there's little from those cultures that obviously defines our family. No certain foods or traditions or religious practices. So I am easily consumed by TV shows, magazine articles, books and movies that put such cultural identities on display.

I've done a lot of genealogical work over the past 15 years or so, learning the names of my ancestors, and the places they lived and died. And while I have access to some old family photos, and a few artifacts (my late Uncle George's banjo, some copies of my great-uncle's Major League Baseball cards -- he played in the bigs!), I don't have family Bibles or stories of who my ancestors were and how they lived.

So when the folks on "American Gypsies" argue about how to stay true to their culture and their traditions, I'm fascinated. They keep their kids in separate schools, or home-school them. They work in psychic healing shops of their own. They try to interact with non-Romany (or gaje) as little as possible, except for the men, who often have extra-marital affairs with such women, according to the show.

When they toss Romany phrases into their accented English (they live in New York City), I eat it up. When the family gives a hard time to a young man in their brood who dates a non-Gypsy girl, I'm sucked in, wondering whether he can ever be happy if he's forced to marry a Roma.

While I'm enjoying learning about the culture and beliefs of the Romany, of course I'm pulling for Bobby, the second-oldest son of the Johns family. He's the one who bucks against the ingrained culture the most, wanting to honor his family's traditions and values, while embracing at least some American ways.

As he tells his father when the older man comes down hard on Bobby for allowing his daughters to take acting lessons, "It's time to adapt to the times, like every other culture has."

Of course, the Johns family has already adapted to reality TV, so is it such a big deal for them to move further into the American culture? Maybe their own sitcom? Or a "Sopranos"-like drama?

Review: The Slap

The Slap is another paperback I picked up for free at Newtonville Books after buying a full-price hardcover (see July 24, 2012, "Review: That Old Ace In the Hole").

I'd never heard of the book or its author, Christos Tsiolkas, but I liked the premise: a man slaps somebody else's child at a backyard barbecue, and as a result, a group of friends, acquaintances and family members question their parenting abilities, their cultural differences, their ideals and their relationships to each other.

Plus, it's an Australian tale and who doesn't love the Aussies?

As with the last book I read, Annie Proulx's "That Old Ace In the Hole," I feel that this book could've used a heavier edit. What's wrong with a novel that's under, say, 400 pages?

As someone who self-published a book ((C)rock Stories: Million-Dollar Tales of Music, Mayhem and Immaturity) that needed better editorial oversight, I know of what I speak. I had spent so much time getting the book ready for publication (10 years, give or take) that I couldn't stomach the idea of someone telling me where to make changes, or questioning the ideas in my book.

But if you're working with an actual editor and publisher, your book should be tighter than Tsiolkas's book. Still, I enjoyed his story and his method for presenting the multitude of difficult and intricately woven issues.

There are eight chapters, each one told from the perspective of a different character. I was impressed at Tsiolkas's ability to see life from so many different angles, both male and female, young (18) and old (69), and make each one seem true to life.

I thought he did an especially good job with the internal monologues of each of the characters. As someone who does a lot of self-talking (what probably appears to the outside world as crazy talk), I can relate to the world of inner thoughts, and how different that realm is to the persona we put forward.

And the view into the various cultures of Australia -- many of the characters are Greek immigrants and their children and grandchildren -- was fascinating. How do the Greeks deal with each other, and the aboriginal natives, and those of English descent? And what are the conflicts among friends who are Christian, Muslim, Hindu or atheist? Good stuff all around.

I know this isn't the most thorough review, but I started this a while back and just want to finish it up, so in conclusion I'll just say that I recommend the book.

G'day!

Hidden History

I'm a history buff, but not the kind who reads tomes about World War I, watches Hitler documentaries on the History Channel or re-enacts the Civil War.

I've researched my family's genealogy, and I enjoy learning about long-forgotten automobile brands, or looking at photos of vanished motels on Route 66. I maintain another blog, The Backside of America, where I post photos and write a little bit about faded parts of this country, from abandoned railroad tracks to moldering factory buildings, rusty cars left to die in the woods to old ski hills that have become magnets for taggers. The blog has several loyal contributors, thankfully.

I've spent quite a bit of time in the last few years tromping around urban, suburban and rural landscapes trying to uncover bits and pieces of the past.

Earlier this week, while doing some research online for a series of children's books, I stumbled across a piece of hidden history that fascinates me with its glimpse into the not-so-distant past and confuses me as to why it still exists.

The Walden Street Cattle Pass in Cambridge was built in 1857 in order to move cows from the railroad (now the Fitchburg line of the commuter rail) to nearby stockyards. Although those yards were closed around 1870, cattle continued to be unloaded from what eventually came to be known as Porter Square, herded down Massachusetts Avenue through Harvard Square, and to the slaughterhouses across the Charles River in Brighton (This information is available at a number of web sites, most of which seem to have gotten it from a plaque on the Walden Street Bridge, which I checked out yesterday).

(This isn't my picture, obviously. It came from Wikipedia.)

I loved discovering some of the history of Porter Square, an area I've hung out in and driven through countless times in my 20+ years in the Boston area. The square was named for Zachariah Porter, who ran a popular hotel and restaurant in the area. The porterhouse steak was named in his honor as well.

And the idea of cattle being herded down Mass. Ave and on through Harvard Square is quite the visual. Nowadays, the stretch between Porter and Harvard squares is jammed with funky shops, cool restaurants, hair salons, music stores, etc. And of course, Harvard Square is "where the weirdos" hang out, as any conservative worth his or her salt will tell you.

The cattle pass was added to the National Historic Register in 1994, and restored in 2007-8 when the Walden Street bridge was torn down and replaced. Here's the thing, though: you can't actually see the cattle pass unless you ride the commuter train, because the new bridge covers it completely.

Yes, this fascinating piece of history is hidden away under the bridge. I tried to see it when I stopped by yesterday, but it's impossible. According to one online source, the Cambridge City Council has discussed creating a vantage point for viewing the tunnel.

While I applaud the state for restoring the cattle pass, I wonder about spending money on a place that almost nobody can appreciate in person. I don't really see the city council spending money to construct a scenic overlook for this landmark.

This discovery set me to wondering about other historical remnants that exist out of our view. This curiosity is what gave birth to the urban exploration movement, and what leads me to Google Maps, looking for places to take pictures and shed a little light on the past.