Page 12 THE MALDEN ADVOCATE–Wednesday, November 27, 2019 Malden to take on Medford in coun Jerry Mervil, Ishmael Sylus, Matthew Bessey, Jamari Youman, Peterson Maxis, JJ Costa, Michael Mathes, Wootchy Pierre-Rene, Moise Fanfan, Khali Hardmond, Shawn Barthol Joseph, Peyton Carron, Lyden Louis, Philip Duong, Eliezer Santiago, Eliezer Beato, Jeremiah Dessources, Sebastien Blanc, Davenche Sydney, Samuel Solorzano, Justin Desim Colin Kyaw and Muneer Odally. (File Photos) MALDEN: TODAY | FROM PAGE 4 a “colored man” of mixed blood, who claimed descent from the Natick Indians, resided among the hills in the north-eastern part of Malden about the year 1820. He used to catch rattlesnakes, which then abounded in the crevices of the ledges and among the angular stones which the frost had detached from the cliffs and strewn at the bases of the hills. He carried the captives home in his hands, holding them fast just below their heads, their tails being wreathed about his arms. When their fangs became hooked in a piece of stout woolen cloth, which he held for them to bite at, he would pull them out by a sudden jerk and render them harmless. If they did not bite at the cloth, he would open their mouths with a stick, as he pressed them to the ground, while an assistant would entangle their fangs in the cloth, and so extract them. Sometimes he held them down with a forked stick and removed the fangs with pincers. The ‘creepies’ thus treated he exhibited in Boston and elsewhere, on public occasions, as tamed snakes, which he could handle and carry in his bosom with impunity, to the astonishment of spectators. Besides the ‘taming’ of snakes, he and his family did quite a business in the preparation of rattlesnake oil, which was sold about the country as a specific for rheumatic complaints and diseases of the joints. Fifty cents for a small bottle was considered cheap by the purchaser, and amply repaid the seller. Mrs. William Hogan, who will be remembered by many old inhabitants, was an itinerant saleswoman in that line, and added to her stock skunk’s fat, and roots and herbs, which she procured as ordered.” One more time with feeling: “Just once more...” • I’d like to see Mr. Brendan Duffy walking through the basketball court at the old Y, dripping sweat, after a hard-fought handball game upstairs against “Johnny No Gloves,” ready for a Ballantine Ale. • I’d like to see former heavyweight pugilist Ronny “Bevy” Drinkwater go another round or two. (Who remembers his bout with Muhammad Ali!?) • I’d like to walk that long front corridor at the Granada Theater, sit in one of those old ratty seats and take in a midnight movie (“The Song Remains the Same”?) • I’d like to see Medford guy Joe Pet’s “Incredible Two Man Band” at the Centre Bar & Grille on a Saturday night with all my good time friends. (I ran into him at the Topsfield Fair last month and he looks great!) Senior Captains Jerry Mervil and Ishmael Sylus • I’d like to spend a Sunday night at the Broadway East when Richie Willis and his boys in North Shore Acappella were the hottest ticket in town. (Richie had/has some serious stage presence, don’t he?!) • I’d like to walk into Jack Haneys Bar & Grille on Main Street, sit down at one of those vintage bar stools and order a 35-cent draft. • I’d like to walk into Joe & Nemo’s with my dear friends Bobby Hench, Barry Hitchcock and Chuckie Frangules and order a steamed hot dog or two. • I’d like to sit at the counter at Bernie Miller’s place, O’Neil’s Drug Store, on Charles Street, order a lime rickey and hang out with the Silvas, Hitchcocks, Feminos and all the rest of the old neighborhood gang. • I’d like to spend a Sunday night at the Blue Star Bar & Grille watching Preacher Jack implode on the piano. (Rest in peace to his guitarist “Sweet” Ray Burnette). • I’d like to see Dave Angelo behind the stick at the old Highland Café. • I’d like to see beloved educator/literary muse/raconteur John O’Brien walking through the Square, trench coat & soft hat, salt & pepper beard – making his way to his next class. “Just once more – for the sake of old times and old-timers!” Thank you to James Calagero, who I totally lifted this idea from (and the last line) while I was thumbing through a back issue of “Boston’s North End” from 2002. “This is the end, beautiful friend, this is the end, my only friend, the end...” as the late great Eddie Larson used to say, “No man is a failure who has friends.” Hope all you out there had a great Thanksgiving!
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