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Page 6 THE MALDEN ADVOCATE–Friday, January 28, 2022 Malden Today, Tomorrow and Yesterday – Carolyn Keohan remembered By Peter F. Levine E ach time we lose another of our elders, we lose a piece of our souls. We mourn. The community mourns. Each time we lose a parent or grandparent, part of us dies with them. Unless. Unless we keep their memory alive. As long as we continue this time-honored tradition, they will not die in vain. An old Jewish prayer goes like this: “As long as we live, they too will live; for they are now a part of us; as we remember them.” From what good people have told me, Cathy MacMullin’s mom was a strong, dignified, principled and beautiful woman. A huge regret is that I never got to meet Carolyn A. (Barthelmes) Keohan face to face. I would have loved to have gone one-on-one with Carolyn. But she passed away on January 10 of this year at 84 years lived. I wrote this piece a while back. Cathy’s mom was the impetus for the article, but it morphed into something a little bit more. A short love story for all our moms is what I would like to think. So, Cathy, my sincerest condolences to you and your family. It’s powerful pain, Cathy, but you have friends that care, a lifetime of memories and a community to lean on. My article this week is a Mother’s Day love letter. It is authored by Cathy MacMullin (or “Cathy Mac” as she is known to just about every single person in Malden) with a little help from her friends and is specifically targeted at all the great moms from Newland Street. The ones that nurtured a generation of outstanding children/citizens out of the Newland/Bowdoin Street neighborhood (not to be confused with Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood, by the way). But make no mistake; the message presented here is universal. For the love and sacrifice I saw out of Newland Street through Cathy’s words I saw the mirror image less than two miles away in Edgeworth. It is for all the moms out there actually. As I read through Cathy’s initial draft, I saw my mom. I saw Mrs. Laura Damiano. I saw Mrs. Gloria Disano. I saw Mrs. Eleanor Molinari. I saw Mrs. Dorothy Scibelli. Mothers from another era – mothers from the “Mad Men’ era” – deck stacked against them, making sacrifices and fighting like Viking Moms to ensure their children felt loved. That their children had what they needed – that their children had the best possible childhood they could possibly offer them, by any means necessary. Believe me on that one. Making sacrifices that none of us will ever know about, they would have it no other way. So, although this takes place on the “other side of the tracks” (as Cathy likes to rib me about from time to time), I feel as though Cathy’s mom Carol was doing the Lord’s work just as my mom but only a few short miles away. I have a feeling that Dorothy Drago Levine and Carol MacMullin Keohan would have been the best of friends. So, without further ado, let’s get this party started: This article is about what our mothers taught us; community/neighborhood/friendships. Those three words don’t hold up as well today it seems. And we miss that. Would you knock on your neighbor’s door and ask for Law Offices of Terrence W. Kennedy 512 Broadway, Everett • Criminal Defense • Personal Injury • Medical Malpractice Tel: (617) 387-9809 Cell: (617) 308-8178 twkennedylaw@gmail.com The late Carolyn A. (Barthelmes) Keohan a “cup of sugar”? Sadly, not likely. Well, let’s talk about growing up in the Newland Street area. Every mom was known, as a sign of respect, of course, as Mrs. Goldman or Mrs. Smith. Never by their first name. They took care of their own children and any of the other children in the neighborhood if their moms were busy. Out grocery shopping or running errands or whatever – didn’t matter. We would not hesitate to go next door to borrow the basics: milk, sugar, instant coffee, or cocoa to make whoopie pies. That’s the way it was. That’s the only way we knew. We were lucky: We had a bunch of dedicated mothers that got together and started the Newland Street Association; this group made sure we all had fun on our 4th of July at Miller Park. We had road races, basketball shooting contests, threelegged races and many other activities. The prizes: ice cream and hot dogs – always plentiful. Our moms made sure of that. Some of our mothers had green thumbs and a way with plants, on occasion giving us lessons on why and how to stay away from them. Then there were other mothers who took pride in their little piece of earth, the lawns of Newland Street. You never wanted to feel the wrath of (any) mom for recklessly cutting across their lawn. That Newland Street Mom’s wrath was known from coast to coast! Who remembers the circle between Newland and Alden with the beautiful flowers and big American flag? Thank you for that, Franco. Who remembers the three “Trees” (only two standing today)? I do. And always will. Mom encouraged us to “go out and play.” The “fresh air is good for you,” she would say. Sports happened 24/7. We had a sponge-ball diamond with two umpires (who can name them?) with clothesline poles as first and third bases. In the winter, the basketball court was frozen over where we battled on ice skates and sometimes played hockey (insert smiley face). Marbles were popular as well as “relivio,” but when those streetlights went on we scampered home lest we feel that mom’s wrath once again. That’s the way it was. Come the cold weather, our moms made sure all the kids in the neighborhood dressed warmly before they sent us out to play. If winter clothes were needed, our moms would head to Sparks or into Boston to find a deal on coats, hats and gloves. Hello, Filene’s basement! Moms were wicked smaht! If our boots weren’t waterproof, Wonder bread bags helped to ensure we’d stay dry. Love ya for that, mom! As a neighborhood in the summer, we hardly went away. And we really did not care. With a mother’s ingenuity and a D.I.Y. attitude, we made the best of our Newland Street playland. We thought we had our very own summer camp right in our very own backyard: small swimming pools, clothesline tents with 45 rpms playing on the record player, picnic areas. If we were lucky, one of our mothers who worked at a sub shop (who can guess who?) brought home subs for everyone. That summer feeling – priceless in the Newland Street Projects. My mind wanders back to Bob Miller and the “Y Extension” – the dances, the camping trips, riding those minibikes, the legendary Camp Madaca and those endless games of floor hockey. Our childhood is full of so many unique (and not so unique) memories, most created by our mothers. Who remembers Zarex, “Jolly Man, “The Whip Truck, “Jimmy the Milkman,” movies in the park, sledding up at Daniels Hill and Thursday Nights? Mrs. Russo and our famous ice-cream trips to the beach with Cathy Doherty. Such memories! We had a police scanner in every home, not because we feared the police but because it kept our moms occupied, amused and informed. When the mothers heard the police would be coming our way, they would call in the brood and bring them safely home. Funny story: One long ago night a group of about 20 of our moms were sitting in a circle enjoying their favorite “beverage” when somebody yelled out that the police were on their way. When the men in blue arrived, there were 20 empty lawn chairs. True story. “This is the end, beautiful friend, this is the end, my only friend, the end” – while this piece could go on, like, for another thousand words or so, due to column length restrictions, I am tasked with bringing it home. This Mother’s Day let’s remember what they taught us. Whether you were from the far reaches of Edgeworth or from Newland Street, don’t matter. Our mothers were universal in their love and protection of us. The love and respect for the “neighborhood” was of utmost importance. Cathy told me that if there was a theme song for the Newland Street Community, it had to be “Lean on Me” by Bill Withers. That’s the way it was, she said. That’s how it will always be in Malden and Newland Street, she continued. Thank you, mothers of Newland Street, and all mothers out there, for the unconditional love you gave to us and any other lost soul no matter what they looked like or where they came from. And for instilling in us pride of community. Our small piece of Mother Earth, heaven on earth: Newland Street. Postscript 1: So many moms, so little column space. This one’s for you: the Spinneys, the Farrys, the Willcoxes, the Sparrows, the Longs, the Eccelstons, the McNultys, the Dohertys, the Geers, the Mcdonalds, the Smiths, the Reddicks, the Spignisis, the Toppings, the Blundells, the Graffins, the Kanes, the Faheys, the Tuxburys, the Stokes, the Strums, the DeSimones, the Vinings, the O’Briens, the Sullivans, the Marshalls, the Tamagnas, the Hydes, the Lombards, the Rogers, the Gagliardis, the Redfords, the Greenbaums and the many others that we’ll remember at another time. Postscript 2: “A mother is the truest friend we have, when trials heavy and sudden fall upon us; when adversity takes the place of prosperity; when friends desert us; when trouble thickens around us, still will she cling to us, and endeavor by her kind precepts and counsels to dissipate the clouds of darkness, and cause peace to return to our hearts”—Washington Irving

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