AMERICAN
CABOVERDEANO
By
Eduardo Alberto Antonio Andrade
* * * * *
PUBLISHED BY:
Edward Anthony Andrade on Smashwords
Copyright © 2012 Edward Anthony Andrade
Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved.
This book is available in print at Americancaboverdeano.com,
Amazon and most online retailers.
Dedication
I could dedicate this book to all the women in my life, my wife Lola, Tri-City Peoples Corp. and Cabo Video but I must fervently dedicate it to the two people who had the most impact on my life – Ernest Thompson and Rebecca Doggett.
Acknowledgements
I have many people to thank for the basis of this book. Most of them are mentioned in the narrative but I need to name some of them. My wife, Lola, has constantly exhorted me to get the book done. She is convinced that it will succeed in a big way. The work of my editor, Barbara Bertschy, has been herculean. Often, she left me exhausted with the grammar corrections she directed me to make and, forgive me if I’ve missed a few. I am truly in debt to her. Many friends have lent encouragement after reading a draft: Ricardo Rosa, Evan Albright, Fred Waring, Richard Leary, Thomas D. Williams, Yvonne Smart, Edwardina Johnson, and Bob Bender.
Foreword
By Don Xavier - Businessman, Motivational Speaker, Author, Actor & Singer
Early in the 90’s while vacationing in Boston Massachusetts, I asked my cousin if there was any way that I could promote my music and acting career work in the local Cape Verdean-American community. My cousin, Jorge Fildago, a very influential person in the surrounding Boston Cape Verdean community, surprised me when he replied, “Yes” right away. He said there is a gentleman who started a program called Cabo Video that may be just the ticket. Ed Andrade, a descendant of Cape Verdeans in America, was the very person I was seeking.
This was amazing to me because at this time, the independence of Cape Verde was relatively unknown to the world. Many in the USA identified themselves as “Black Portuguese.” However, many others such as Ed, who were born in the USA, simply identified themselves as Black Americans.
As a young Cabo Verdean-Canadian Professional Actor/Singer, I was impressed and eager to meet Ed right away. I continued to press my cousin for more information and he revealed that Ed was actively working and identifying with the immigrant community through Cabo Video (now recognized as Cape Verdean Television). I discovered that the host of Cabo Video was someone with whom I had done some radio interviews with a couple of years back in the Cape Verde Islands; none other than a super-awesome journalist by the name of Valdir Alves.
I clearly remember when I was invited to do an interview on Cabo Video; I was excited to have this opportunity to promote myself and my work to the Cape Verde American community. For the interview, my long time friend, producer, arranger, artist, composer, and humanitarian, Ramiro Mendes, accompanied me. However, deep inside I could not wait to be introduced to Mr. Ed Andrade, business manager of Cabo Video’s operations.
Along with being a singer, songwriter and actor, I was an entrepreneur in the financial services industry. I discovered that Ed was doing most of the business activities that I wanted to perfect myself in such as soliciting for advertising, collecting funds, managing accounts, keeping financial records, and all aspects of TV production. Therefore, I became even more fascinated by this “American Caboverdeano.” As a strong believer in role models and mentors, I kept on researching as much as I could about Ed Andrade. I discovered that Cabo Video was just the tip of the iceberg. There were many other community events, festivals and celebrations credited to his name. Fortunately, we are blessed to have many of these events continue to this day.
As time went by, Cabo Video became “The” platform for me and many other Cape Verdean artists, entrepreneurs and community leaders to promote themselves and their work, thanks to Ed Andrade.
I especially remember doing an interview with Ed for “Cabo Video in English”. On this occasion, Lola Andrade, Ed’s wife, accompanied him to Canada where the interview was conducted in my very own home. It was so personal and a very special time. It felt like, where there was a Cape Verdean community, Ed was ready and willing to captivate the very essence of the culture and promote it to the world.
In 2011 during a telephone conversation about my self-help book, - “Unleash the Magnet in You”-, Ed mentioned that he had been writing his memoir and would appreciate any comments I might have, should I agree to proof read his work. I immediately said yes and that I would be honoured to read his memoirs and offer my feedback. Wow! And what a memoir it is!
On a flight to Los Angeles, California, I started to read the American Caboverdeano, The Life and Times of a Cape Verdean Activist. The story is so uplifting, motivating and full of important historical information that any Cape Verdean descendent would consider it priceless. Many people, me included, have wondered about the Cape Verdean-American stories from the very early days of the 1800s to the present time. I had always wished that someone would write a book like this one, even if it’s about Ed’s own life.
At first it was difficult deciding on what aspect of Ed’s life I would write about, and then it became clear to me that I should write about the side of his life that has substantially guided me to many of my successes. Ed is and will always be an “American Caboverdeano” who continues to lead the way on promoting our rich Cape Verdean culture. In my view, he is also someone who has lived a life of passion and has built a legacy.
Ed and I continue to be friends and he is someone who I look up to and admire so much for opening and keeping the doors open for so many Cape Verdeans. There are many personal and professional memories of my times spent with Ed. I am so honoured to be able to call Ed Andrade my friend. I thank him for this incredible memoir and I hope that he will continue to lead the way with his experiences through words and actions.
By Valdir Alves – Popular TV & Radio Personality
Ed Andrade is a living witness to the history of Cape Verdean immigration in the United States. That fact was apparent to me from the first moment when I became involved in the Cabo Video television program with Ed. I realized then the spirit of the transitional unifying link in Ed, from a “Cape Verdean American” to the man who now sees himself as an “American Caboverdeano” - with Caboverdeano being one word.
Cabo Video and the events promoted by Ed, such as the Onset Cape Verdean Festival, contributed to a new concept; that of immigrants awakening the spirit of Cape Verde and making known to the Cape Verdean Americans a new awareness of the Country born in 1975, a borderless island, sharing the warm music styles of mornas, coladeiras, cola Sandjon and batuque; the latter two genre hitherto unknown in America.
Volunteering himself body and soul as a bridge between generations of Cape Verdeans in America, Ed Andrade solidified Kriolo identity - dispelling the concept of “Black Portuguese.” He helped project the image of a country under construction, demystifying the message left by his “elders” of a land that has no “bathroom and toilet-paper” but a nation that travels the road of development and modernity. Ed Andrade uses his extensive experience as an “American Activist” and puts it into good service for the benefit of Cape Verde as an “American Caboverdeano.”
By Ramiro and Joao Mendes (Mendes Brothers), Musicians, Lecturers
Americano Caboverdeano is a moving story of a Cape Verdean American whose personal struggles reflect the deep challenges faced by our people living in America in the mid 20th century. A memoir filled with vivid life stories of a child of first generation Cape Verdean immigrants, raised in New England, Americano Caboverdeano is a remarkable tale of triumph in the face of adversity.
By Ricardo Rosa, University of Wisconsin – Madison Department of Curriculum and Instruction
I think that work like this one is superb in assisting Cape Verdean - American youth in navigating the socio-political and economic conditions of the United States. I can foresee this life history being used as part of the curriculum in U.S. schools that serve Cape Verdean youth.
By Evan J. Albright, Author of Cape Cod Confidential & Long Time Newspaperman
Your writing voice is wonderful, and I am relishing every little story. You are capturing a world that in some respects is long gone, and it is important that it be written down somewhere.
Prologue
On July 5, 1975 the New York Times ran a small article on the front page announcing the Independence of the Republic of Cape Verde. Upon reading that article, I began my journey as a Cape Verdean American. I began to recognize my heritage in a major way and, with great pride, I adopted the attitude of a Cape Verdean American. Although I knew I was of Cape Verdean heritage, I had always identified publicly as a black American of black Portuguese heritage because Cape Verdeans were virtually unknown. Now I had a nation of my heritage that was part of the larger international community, and it was a great feeling. I had come home!
In 1980, I made my first visit to Cape Verde. I left the United States as a “Cape Verdean American,” but I returned as an “American Caboverdeano.” I was changed. The trip caused me to realize for the first time how much I had inherited the personality and culture of Cape Verde during the course of my lifetime.
Years later, in 2009, I was awarded the honor of a school named for me in New Jersey: the “Edward Andrade School for Social Change.” I mentioned to a friend how humbled I was with the honor, and she said, “You have a legacy!” It was an unexpected comment. As I thought about it, I happened to see an old photo of me at age five. Looking at that photo, I wondered how I could have achieved any sort of legacy from where I started; therefore, it made me think of my past. Reviewing my life’s seventy-five years of experiences, I realized that as the child of first generation Cape Verdean Americans, raised by my immigrant grandparents, I had a beginning with no expectations, with no plans for a future, with few career options, and with limited opportunities. Yet, I became involved in extraordinary adventures; I benefited greatly from significant relationships; I reached an acceptable level of education; I achieved substantial public recognition; overall, I learned to make my way in a society that prizes individual effort; and, taking everything into consideration, I have led a unique life of noteworthy accomplishments. I realized that my legacy, if I have one, is not a school named for me but instead it is my life story – above all, my life as an activist.
My story begins in a segregated, working class, ethnic (Cape Verdean) Massachusetts community and, thus far, brings me to a diverse, middle class, “Posh” coastal Florida town. But, it’s not a tale of class differences or financial standings; it’s about the unexpected, the unpredicted, and the “Who would have guessed?” Many life-stories tell about going from a “Log Cabin” to the greatest heights in politics or in business, but my story fits in between those extremes; it’s about a common man of Cape Verdean heritage – a Caboverdeano, and, optimistically, it is unique.
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts.
William Shakespeare’s Play “As You Like It”
I am one such man who, in his lifetime, has played many roles, and many significant parts of my adult life can be categorized in the following areas: 1. My contribution to noteworthy improvements in my community, 2. My loving relationships with remarkable women, 3. My predilection for adventure, travel, knowledge, and above all, affinity for my ethnicity.
In my childhood days, I had no clear aspirations for a future or a career. I quit school in the ninth grade because I was an apathetic student with no direction, vacuously existing in my classrooms, believing that college was only for rich kids; I had no clue what a high school diploma meant for my future livelihood. Based on the high school dropout of students in the United States today (more than 50%), I believe there are many who feel as I once did.
After joining the Catholic Church as a teenager, and spending time with my godfather, Father Edmund, the pastor of Our Lady of Assumption Catholic Church in New Bedford, Massachusetts, I became interested in joining the priesthood, but that ended quickly because I was more interested in girls.
While in the military, I was called the “Million Dollar Kid” because I intended to make a million after leaving the service. During my first job after the military selling magazines door to door, I had an opportunity to meet a millionaire for the first time in my life, and I was shocked with his ignorance; I had naively expected him to be brilliant. I was disappointed, and it made me reconsider my focus on making money. As a result, I became interested in completing high school and attending college. My change of focus because of disappointment was one of the many times in my life that my expectations were thwarted by disappointments.
When I met my mentor, Ernie Thompson, my life focus changed again, and I began my career as a serious-minded community activist. Until then, I was an uninformed, superficial participant, and casual campaigner in politics along with everyone else. Eventually, my activism became exclusively focused in the Cape Verdean community.
My relationships with women began at age seventeen with a beautiful American Indian woman, and I have been fortunate to have had several wonderful, life-changing, and life-lasting relationships with women since then.
I have traveled world-wide from China to Africa, and I have lived in several countries since I left home at age fifteen.
Perhaps my most important contribution of my life time has been the establishment of Cape Verdean Television, Cabo Video, the first widely distributed weekly program exclusively produced for Cape Verdean immigrants in the United States.
If my life has a theme, if it can be summarized to this point, if my memory is reliable enough to recall enough details--the whole story–-then, perhaps, it can be portrayed as providential, “A common man lives an engaging life as a community activist.” The standard hype in this country portrays success as the pursuit of accumulating wealth. The propaganda is that everyone has the potential to accumulate an abundance of monetary wealth; not everyone will do so; it is an illusion that can lead to frustration – “Fool’s Gold.” However, concentrating on living as a significant member of one’s community is obtainable and more realistic. I have been fortunate, for this has been a focus in my life, and my purpose in this memoir is to share it with others.
To help with the writing of my memoir, I began reading about authors of Western Literature that I neglected in college. Their literature explains the human condition, and it jogged my memory and helped me frame my narrative; “That happened to me,” was a response that I often had as I was engrossed in the time-honored literature. Of course, I did not have time to read the full breadth of what the authors wrote, and so I was selective and sometimes perfunctory with my readings, but I was pleased to be engaged in learning what I ignored in my youth.
It is interesting that the more I wrote about my past, the more I remembered. It was as if I was reliving many of my past experiences. My friend, Pat Swann, asked me, “How did you remember all of those things?” It was surprisingly easy and enjoyable. It is said, “use it or lose it” especially about the brain, and at my advanced age, writing my memoir was very useful for brain activity and retention of knowledge.
A Cape Verdean friend, Ricardo Rosa of the University of Wisconsin, upon reading a draft copy, commented that my memoirs could be useful in educating Cape Verdean youths. His comment made me re-evaluate my focus on my memoirs; therefore, I have included Cape Verdean youths in my thoughts as I share my memoirs. I hope my story proves helpful to them.
As I thought of the usefulness of my memoirs for educating Cape Verdean youths, it was apparent that Ricardo was referring to his community, the new immigrants, those whose arrival began in the 1960’s after the passage of the “Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965.” As I thought about it, I realized there was a dearth of information within the total immigrant community about American born Caboverdeanos. Because my story is of an American born Caboverdeano, perhaps it can contribute to their enlightenment. Even the title, American Caboverdeano, is directed towards that view because it will resonate within the new immigrant community to create interest. But, although the title will be unfamiliar to most non-Cape Verdean readers, my story is for all people.
Because I have been in the unique position of gaining recognition in the new immigrant community through my work with Cape Verdean television, Cabo Video, perhaps my story can contribute greatly to ameliorate the lack of information within the total immigrant community about American born Caboverdeanos. If so, it will complement my greatest contribution during my career in television which was to meld together the differences between the two communities – immigrant and American born Caboverdeanos. I certainly hope that my memoir will play a part and encourage other American born Caboverdeanos to tell their stories.
In The Beginning
From a remote spot on the globe and at the cross roads for adventurers like Sir Francis Drake and explorers Vasco da Gama and Ferdinand Magellan, amongst others, my ancestors have contributed, through me and others, to social change and progress in one of the world’s super powers - America. Even an unknown, undersized land can contribute, if only in a small but unique way, to the progress of a major country. How did this happen?
At the end of the 19th Century and the beginning of the 20th Century, during a time of great mass immigration, my paternal grandfather Alberto Andrade, my paternal grandmother Brazina Pina, my maternal grandfather, Jose Joao Vasconcellos Araujo Falcao, and my maternal great grandmother, Francisca Britto Baptiste, with her daughter, Carlota Leitao Britto Baptiste, arrived into the United States from the Cape Verde Islands, West Africa. They traveled aboard small schooner-type ships on a dangerous, arduous, 30 – 40 day ocean trip to escape from a small, virtually barren island and a difficult, limited life. Because of their determination for a better existence, they created the basis for my way of life in this vast and prosperous country of the United States full of wonderful benefits which I have enjoyed until the present. How lucky I am. The realization that I am their descendent, a Cape Verdean American, fills me with enormous pride; they are my heroes!
Although the passage to America has radically changed – it now takes hours to travel instead of days – I hope that the Cape Verdean children of immigrants have a respect and appreciation of their parent’s efforts to provide for them a better life in America. If, in any way, this book supports this idea, I will feel accomplished.
Portuguese Locate “Ilhas Do Cabo Verde”
It is speculated that the Portuguese Explorers, to their great delight, bumped into the uncharted Islands of Cabo (Cape) Verde. Although the islands were unknown to them, the explorers were familiar with the locale on the nearby coast of Africa whereupon approaching the islands in circa 1462, they declared "Ilhas do Cabo Verde" believing that the islands belonged to Cap Vert, Senegal, a cape approximately 350 miles east on the mainland. Although Cabo means cape and Verde means green, the Islands are neither green nor a cape. Cape Verde is an archipelago of ten islands; nine are inhabited; one island is entirely a volcano with occasional eruptions; several islands have mountains, although others are flat; and all but one is dry.
Because the islands were uninhabited when discovered, the Portuguese were fortunate to have the Islands as a detention center for their captives from the African mainland that they were making slaves. Cape Verde was a perfect location; it was too far from the mainland for the tribal captives to escape by swimming home; in addition, there was no fear that their brethren would attack the Portuguese. However, the island where they chose to establish an outpost, Sao Tiago, was huge enough for some captives to escape to the mountainous interior of the island safely hidden from their captors. As time passed, a mixed population of Africans with Portuguese nationals and other people from different countries created a new populace called Creoles or Caboverdeanos and a new language called Creole ( Cape Verdean: Kriolo).
The word Creole means a new language or new people. When different nationalities gather on islands with their native languages, their offspring create a common language between themselves – a Creole language. Cape Verdean Kriolo was created from ancient Portuguese syntax mixed with words from other African languages. The Islands remained a colony of Portugal until they gained their Independence on July 5, 1975. Complete information on the Islands can be found at www.caboverde.com
Note: An explanation for the use of the word Kriolo. In the past, this word has been spelled in Portuguese Crioulo. More recently, the Cape Verdean language has adopted the phonetic “k” in place of the hard “c”. Many Caboverdeanos in the U.S.A. prefer the original spelling. With due respect to them, I prefer to use the k.
My Cape Verdean Ancestors
Grandpa John
My maternal grandfather, John Filkins, was born either in Portugal or Cape Verde. His death certificate says Portugal, but some people said he was born in Cape Verde. Either way, he was born of Portuguese parents, and in 1890 emigrated from Cape Verde. His family says, while he was in school training as a pharmacist, he was more interested in girls and was neglecting his classes so his grandfather suggested that he continue his education in America. Grandpa John’s father was Luis Vasconcellos, and his mother was Maria Araujo Falcao. His father lived on the Island of Fogo, and his mother was from the Island of Brava. The men of Fogo often married women of Brava. The women of Brava were known to be attractive, and because it is the smallest Island, they preferred to marry someone from the bigger island of Fogo. It may be that it was equivalent to going to the city from the country-side although possibly Fogo was no more sophisticated than was Brava.
Grandpa John worked most of his life at the Parker Mills now called the Tremont Nail Factory in Wareham, Massachusetts. It was recognized as the oldest nail factory in the USA dating back to the 1800’s until it closed in 2006 with plans to make the property an industrial history museum. Grandpa had a good job because, along with decent pay, he had a year-round job in an area that had lots of temporary seasonal employment. He also ran a small store out of his house selling a variety of goods. Like many immigrants, he wanted to be an entrepreneur.
What I remember most about him is that he was laconic and into mysticism. I don’t remember hearing him say more than one sentence at a time, but I remember seeing magazines in the house from the Rosicrucians, a mystical and esoteric fraternity worldwide. With this mystical aura, he led his family to believe he had supernatural powers. He continued to live at the homestead in Oakdale (the Cape Verdean neighborhood of Wareham) when the rest of the family moved to New Bedford, 18 miles away, and would visit on weekends whereupon he would first seek me out, ”Eddie, write down these words and you must not tell.” Then in a secretive pact, he would have me write certain words on paper. Later, he would announce to the family that he could predict what I wrote on the paper not having seen me. I liked being his accomplice and I also got paid for it. I have never revealed his secret before now. I guess it’s all right, all the participants have passed on.
Grandpa was also conservative, and I believe that he was a follower of the John Birch Society - a right-wing conservative group. I heard him saying that Representative John F. Kennedy was a Communist. His conservatism must have influenced me because the first time I ever voted was during the Nixon/Kennedy election and I voted for Nixon. Of course, I have always regretted it. He always owned a new Buick car or it seemed that way, and this was unusual for our neighborhood. I think that he felt superior in class to the neighbors because this was common behavior in the old-country for the Portuguese. This is not to say that he had a negative attitude towards his family. He treated me like a grandson, and I felt close to him.
One of Grandpa’s memorable characteristics was that he was a hypochondriac. He often complained about numerous illnesses he had – especially about his back. He used the word “sciatica” to describe his back pain. I still can hear his ubiquitous cough. If you greeted him with the common phrase, “How are you John?” You had to be prepared to hear a long series of his ailments. I don’t remember him having any medical treatment by a doctor or hospital.
Grandpa John Filkins’ original surname was Vasconcellos but it became Filkins in the United States. I discovered how his surname became Filkins from Vasconcellos while in Cape Verde--the city of Praia on the Island of Sao Tiago--when I heard someone call out what sounded like, “Sr. Filkin.” I rushed over to the man and asked his name. “Luis Filkin,” or that represents what I heard and I asked him to spell it. He wrote FALCAO. I discovered that CAO was pronounced COWN, but when pronounced quickly it sounds like KAHN. In Portuguese and Kriolo the combined letters “ao” sounds like OWN in English. In fact, the name Falcao means Falcon (the bird) in English, and it sounds like Filkin when pronounced.
Upon my return to Massachusetts, I asked my Uncle Roy for his father’s original name, and he wrote; Joao Jose Vasconcellos Falcao. The mystery was solved. I had heard various stories about how John got his name, but it seems obvious that, when he arrived in the U.S.A., the customs person spelled the last name phonetically FilKAHNS or Filkins. The custom in Cape Verde is to include your mother's name after your father's when it is written. Therefore, he must have written his full name Joao Jose Vasconcellos Falcao and his surname in the U.S.A. became Filkins, and his first name Joao (pronounced ZHUWAN) became John. Whenever I meet a Filkins in Massachusetts, I know that we are related because of our made-up name. I am the only family member who made this discovery, and when I meet Filkins I inform them of their original name - Falcao.
Recently, I met the young Eric Filkins on Facebook. When I inquired of his parents, it turned out that he was the son of Cousin Leo Filkins of New Bedford, Massachusetts. I told him his true name, and he was excited because his friends often doubted that he was a Cape Verdean due to his fair complexion combined with the English-sounding Filkins name. Cousin Eric declared, “Now I can tell everyone my real Cape Verdean name is Falcao.”
This cousin is not the only person of Cape Verdean heritage who does not know their original and authentic surname. I have other cousins with the name of Andrews instead of Andrade. Their father (Uncle George) would insist to me that his name was correct, not mine. He was raised to believe that the American version of Andrade was Andrews. He, my father and two sisters became orphans at an early age after their mother died, and they became wards of the state. In the process, their names were changed, but my father was the oldest and he would not allow them to change his name. Therefore, my two aunts and my uncle became Andrews. Today’s youths of Cape Verdean immigrants are fortunate that they have their true name that is representative of their heritage.
Grandma Carlota
My maternal Grandmother, Carlota Baptiste Leitao, immigrated to the U.S.A. at a young age with her mother, Francesca Britto Baptiste. As the story goes, it is told that Grandma Carlota was an illegitimate daughter of a black mother and white father. Her father, in the Island of Brava, was Sr. Leitao, a Portuguese, who had a family with a white wife and several families with black women including Francesca. This was not unusual for Cape Verde. Apparently, her mother took advantage of the situation to leave Brava. Given the opportunity, most people preferred to come to the U.S.A. Sr. Leitao's brother owned a boat on which he was the captain. They arrived in the U.S.A. on the boat owned by Grandma's uncle circa 1898.
Apparently, Sr. Leitao was an important man in Brava, and I believe that Grandma adopted a quiet, yet proud, independent, self-reliant demeanor from this relationship. Although she was brown-skinned and uneducated, she married an educated white Portuguese. She was definitely a strong woman.
Grandparents Carlota & John Filkins
For a complete chronicle of photos go to: www.americancaboverdean.com
I have been told that my great grandmother, Francesca, was murdered by a crazed man with an axe as she was attempting to collect rent. The story goes that, after the incident, the sky turned dark. Regardless of its dubious fact, it portrays an interesting story that I will continue to repeat like everyone else. It reminds me of the movie “The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance.” In response to James Stewart, the reporter from the East says, “When the legend becomes fact, print the legend.” I am going with the legend.
An interesting relative of my grandmother is her cousin, Judge George N, Leighton (from the same Leitao family in Cape Verde), of Chicago and Plymouth, MA. The U.S. Post Office in New Bedford, MA was named after him in September 26, 2005. Judge Leighton lived in New Bedford as a child. He has an interesting story which I will share in another chapter.
Regrettably, the only family history that I know has come about in dribbles from relatives and other persons from the Islands. The lack of having a family history handed down from my grandparents stems mainly from their wish to forget the “old country” and desire to adopt the ways of America. I lived my entire youth with them, and yet, they never spoke to me about their lives in the Islands. Whatever I learned from them was during their private conversations with other Kriolo-speaking persons. Despite the fact that Grandpa Filkins spoke “broken English,” it was rare to hear him speak Kriolo more than a word or two. He and Grandma clearly wanted to constantly exhibit their new found “Americanism.”
Grandma Carlota was well known for her extraordinary cooking. She owned several restaurants and worked at others. Consequently, I was raised eating her restaurant cooking. But, Grandma also cooked at home, and she would prepare many courses of foods like it was a restaurant. One staple was the ubiquitous jagacita (rice & beans). I can still have jagacita daily if available. Other favorites were cachupa (a stew made of corn, meat, and vegetables), canja (chicken soup), cus cus (steamed corn meal) and linguica (Portuguese sausage).
Grandma habitually played the "numbers" which was the Lottery before it became legal. She was as hopeful in her belief of winning big someday as she was in her belief in the afterlife – and just as disappointing?? She would use a magnifying glass to inspect a cartoon strip that appeared on the racing page of the local newspaper in hope of discovering hidden numbers that foretold the winner. The connection with the cartoon strip was that it portrayed racing, and the winning “number” was selected from the daily handle (total of all the bets) from selected thoroughbred race tracks. Therefore, Grandma surmised that the winning number could be hidden among the racing figures in the cartoon. Additionally, she seemed to be constantly praying, under her breath, for God’s intervention with the numbers and, of course, with all the other important matters that He had to handle, there was no response.
Grandma was also the matriarch of the family and my disciplinarian. On one unforgettable occasion, at the age of seven, I stole some change from a house where we received religious training after school and Grandma was informed of my discretion. I probably still have scars from the spanking I received, and it wasn’t the first time either. I learned a lesson on honesty, but I am not advocating brutalizing children. I’m just saying…
Grandpa “Brachi”
I know little of my paternal grandfather, Alberto “Brachi” Andrade, other than he was born on the Island of Fogo, Cape Verde and arrived in the U.S. at a young age and was a laborer. He lived with my father in Onset, Massachusetts. Because he spoke Kriolo and I did not speak a word of it my time with him was limited. He usually sat alone in the yard smoking his pipe and sometimes with his guitar. He was tall, somewhat light skinned – it was hard to tell because I saw him only in the summer with a tan – and he barely spoke at all, even to Dad. I was curious but I never learned how to approach him. Unfortunately, my family did not see the need to teach me Kriolo. It seemed as if they assumed I would learn it automatically as did the first generation or that it was not important.
Grandpa Brachi – 1912 / 28 Years Old
Grandpa Brachi died in 1954 in Wareham. I know less of his wife, Grandma Eugenia, who died before I was born, but I did meet his family in Cape Verde upon my first visit in 1980. The family resemblance was startling between Grandpa Brachi and the oldest member still living, Maria Santa Pires. Upon our meeting, she asked about several members of the family living in the United States that were unfamiliar to me. Apparently, members of the family were dispersed in Massachusetts and not in regular contact with each other. I remember going with my father to Falmouth, New Bedford and Taunton to visit relatives with whom I lost complete contact after his death. I regret not knowing more about them.
My Early Years
Ed - Baby Photo Ed - 1939
(For additional photos go to: www.americancaboverdeano.com)
I was born on July 13, 1936 at Boston City Hospital and although I don’t remember much of my early age in Boston, I do remember the walkup brownstone building where we lived and sitting on the steps leading into the building while watching people and cars pass by. I have an image of my mother taking me shopping somewhere along a busy street with many store fronts and looking at all the stuff in the windows and the hustle and bustle of the streets. I think that the early impression of the city environment has had a life-time affect on me because I have always felt more comfortable living in or visiting cities – especially Boston.
However, because my parents divorced early in their marriage, I lived with my maternal grandparents, aunts and uncles at their homestead in the Oakdale community of Wareham, Massachusetts. The residents of Oakdale were almost exclusively Cape Verdean immigrants and their American-born off-spring. Many of them were related and most came from the Islands of Fogo and Brava in Cape Verde. Most also came to work in the cranberry industry located in the Wareham area. Cape Verdean recruiters were hired to travel to the Islands each picking season to recruit workers for the bogs. Some of the workers would return after the season but many remained in the U.S.A. especially in the Wareham area. I remember my grandmother picking cranberries briefly, but none of her children, or I, worked in the bogs. Grandma most likely did it for extra money because grandpa always had a good job. But, Grandma was an independent woman, a hard worker, and she always sought ways to make her own money.
Most of the children of the immigrants also worked in the cranberry bogs. Caboverdeanos of school age enrolled in classes only after the picking season had ended in November instead of September – the normal starting time. I remember many of them saying that they needed the money to buy school clothes. Perhaps there was an unwritten policy with the school board to allow for their absences because the cranberry industry was influential locally. Imagine missing two months or more of classes and having to catch up to the other students. This was the challenge of many Cape Verdean youths of that time, especially for two cousins who achieved high educational honors – Belmira Lopes and Judge George N. Leighton. I will explore more of their stories in a later chapter.
Oakdale was a small, segregated community – the only whites nearby lived on the periphery. We lived in a small two story house with three bedrooms on the second floor. I didn’t like it upstairs because the constant smell of the slop pails or chamber pots (I don’t remember what they were called) that contained the human wastes. The kitchen included a coal stove for cooking that was eventually converted to oil. The kitchen was the warmest room in the winter and the gathering place. The coal heat seemed better than the stinky oil. A small pantry extended from the kitchen and was built over a well with a hand pump that provided all the water for the household, and all the dishware was stacked on the shelves built on both sides. A sink was built at the pump along with a window that looked out on the back yard. I remember my baths in a big zinc tub – it seemed that the water got cold real fast. Originally, there was no electricity – we had kerosene lamps for light. In time, we got electricity and indoor plumbing. A small bathroom was built extending out from the dining room. There was a back door from the kitchen onto a porch and a front door off the front room. Below was a full cellar that contained a coal-burning furnace, a storage bin for coal, and it served as the refrigerator in the winter where Grandma stored her ubiquitous jars of fruit preserves. I don’t remember being euphoric about the modernization of our house. Either way seemed to me to be normal.
The back yard had fruit trees: pear, cherry, peach, apple, and a sizable vineyard built with trellises six feet above the ground, wide enough to walk under them. Except for the pears and grapes, the other fruit did not grow large, but the small cherries were sweet. Many years later in Oregon, I saw huge cherries on the local trees that tasted unbelievably sweet. It’s possible that we picked the fruit before they were fully ripened. Included in the yard were two outhouses, a cesspool, a patch of land for growing vegetables (especially corn), and a car garage with an additional room for storage that I loved to rummage. Our dog, Quincy, also had a small house in the yard.
I remember once we had a pig and what loud squealing it made when it was slaughtered. I suppose it was for a Cape Verdean celebration of a saint’s day. The flavor of the fresh pig meat was strong-tasting, and I got to play with the blown-up bladder. I loved playing in the back yard; it was an enchanting place.
My friend Betsy lived across the street. She was athletic-looking and seemed to be smart. After I left Wareham, I never saw her again. I think her family moved to California which, at the time, was a popular thing to do among Caboverdeanos. On the other side of the house, about a hundred yards away, lived another friend, Connie. She was the prettiest girl in the neighborhood, and once I received a dreadful spanking for getting caught doing something with her that we were not supposed to be doing. I think we may have been exposing ourselves to each other. It wasn’t anything serious at our young age. I discovered many years later that she married my childhood friend from New Bedford – Ben Silva. I did not have a chance to get to know her again before they divorced, but my friendship with Ben was renewed. Other families nearby included the Gomes, Mendes, Fontes, Barbers, Babbits, Sequeiras, Pires, and others.
The homes in Oakdale were spaced far enough apart that each had a patch of land for farming. Originally, all the streets were unpaved until the main roads into the community were paved but not our street. Wild grapes and the ubiquitous rhubarb plants grew along side of the unpaved streets, and blueberries grew in the patches of forest that were part of the community. The wild grapes and blueberries were delicious, but the tart-tasting rhubarb was delicious only when cooked in a pie.
Oakdale was bordered on one side by Sandwich Road, the main road leading into the center of town, with the Wareham River on the other side, and with three entrances from Sandwich Road. We swam in the muddy Wareham River and scooped up the abundant crabs and periwinkles (snails) that collected there to be boiled and eaten. Part of the main road running through the neighborhood had a small hill and we would sled on it during the winter. It appeared steep as a child, but I discovered as an adult that it had a slight incline. There was one store in the community owned by a Cape Verdean gentleman named Caetano and it was an absorbing place to visit – so much to see. Nearby the house was one small church, although most of the residents attended the Catholic Church in the town center. My family belonged to the Episcopal Church; I don’t remember any regular attendance, but when I did attend I was captivated by the design of the interior. It was the first time I was exposed to a church building and stained glass windows.
A major Cape Verdean Festival called a Mastro was held annually in a field nearby our house in June on the “Dia de Sao Joao,” Saint John’s Day. That is the traditional day for the Mastro celebration which depicts a mixture of African and European traditions. The center piece of the event consists of a tall telephone type pole stuck in the ground that resembled a ship’s mast with cross wooden rods tied with fruit, large cookie type pastry, and other foodstuffs. A parade of people led by a drummer marches around the Mastro chanting. Meanwhile some attempt is made to snatch the items off the Mastro, but the real scramble for the foodstuffs by youngsters ensues when the Mastro comes down. I would get real excited when I would see them plant the telephone pole anticipating the day of the event. Other than the carnival that showed up in town annually, this was the biggest fun event of the year.
I was fortunate to attend an original Mastro Celebration on the Island of Brava years later, and I realized that the American version of this celebration had been somewhat distorted due to time since it had been imported to the USA which is to be expected. But, whether in the USA or Cape Verde, this fun celebration represents a significant event for all Caboverdeanos, and they look forward to participating in it. Overall, I have pleasant memories of Oakdale in my early years growing up there.
My sister, Cookie, who was less than two years younger than I, was a tomboy, but she was cute. She did not live with us. Instead, she lived with Mother and also sometimes with Dad. When she did live with us for a short time a memorable incident happened; she broke a milk bottle on my head, which resulted in a small cut on the tip of my nose along with some loud crying. She claims I instigated it, but she got the spanking.
Cookie, Eddie & Friends Oakdale, 1941 - Cookie & Eddie
Although I was treated well by my grandmother and aunts, at the same time, I had this weird feeling sometimes that I did not belong in Oakdale. There are several possibilities why I may have felt this way. I was away from my parents: my mother was somewhere else, and my father was missing. I use the word “missing” on purpose with my father because I missed him. Once while riding in a car with my grandmother and aunts, they passed an area with a strong skunk smell and one of them remarked, “Tony [my father] must be nearby.” It caused me to burst into tears. I think they got the point because that was the last time they ever spoke ill of him in my presence. My grandmother made it clear she did not like my father, and she blamed him for the problem in my parent’s marriage. Later on it became clear to me that my mother was the problem; however, I never heard my father mention my mother in a negative way.
Although I missed my father, I felt close to my grandfather and I enjoyed the times he would take me for a ride in his car. When I was two years old, I remember riding over the Wareham Bridge the morning after the 1938 hurricane. I saw the biggest boat that I had ever seen, and it was resting on the bridge. Another fascinating experience with Grandpa was when he took me to visit his job at the nail factory. Even in the darkness of the huge factory room, I could see an array of machines with long belts that stretched from the ceiling, and they powered the machine that Grandpa used to cut nails.
My Father Tony
The person I admired most in my childhood was my father, Antonio “Tony” Andrade. He lived in the Onset area of Wareham, and every year when school ended, I anticipated with great delight spending the summers with him. Dad was educated at a design school in Boston and was talented as an artist and in his trade as a house painter. He was self-employed and well-known in the Upper Cape Cod Region although he did jobs as far away as Provincetown. Dad was known for mastering a technique he called craftex: a mixture of paint, plaster and sand that he applied to walls incorporating different designs. He was a hard working man who also had a deep insight into his surroundings; he taught me to be compassionate towards others. Instead of being a competent business man, he was known for his generosity; he did a lot of painting free which helped cause a minimum cash flow. During cranberry season, he would voluntarily transport migrant cranberry workers to and from food shopping in his truck.
Dad
Another strong memory I have of my father’s talent was as an artist. In our front room in Oakdale, we kept one of his oil paintings depicting an Indian sitting around a bonfire. It was a subtle and poignant scene painted in an impressionistic style. I believe it was destroyed in a fire.
Also, my father was a musician – he played maracas in a local Cape Verdean band. My earliest recollection of Cape Verdean music was going with him and Cousin Arthur Joia to the Marion, Massachusetts Cape Verdean Club where they played in the band; Arthur played the bass. It was there, while I sat on the stage with Dad, I developed my life-long love for Cape Verdean music. Perhaps I was exposed to the music at other times, but because of the proximity of the musicians, I was enveloped with the sound and it felt great. Also, I loved watching my father playing the maracas: keeping the rhythm. As I reflect on this image, I can see it as clearly today as it was then.
I remember Dad as kind, gentle, handsome, and smart in a wise sort of way. He remarried a pretty, young woman, named Marie Fernandes, and had three children – Leticia, Paul and Kenneth. At present the three siblings reside in Wareham, Massachusetts.
Before he remarried, he was taken with my godmother, Ann Lombard Carter. I believe that he told me he had dated her, and after they had a break up, he married my mother on the rebound. But, I don’t think he ever got over Ann. She lived away from Onset and I always knew when she would be visiting because he would suddenly remove his paint covered clothes after work and get spiffed up which was unusual for him to do normally. His attachment to Ann is the reason she became my godmother.
With my father’s exceptional talent, I often wonder how he would have fit in today’s society with its many additional advantages.
My Aunts and Uncles
My maternal grandparents had six sons and three daughters (Jesse, Johnny, Stanford, Teddy, Roy, Billy, Dorothy, Mary, and Anita). At the time of this writing, Uncle Billy remains the sole survivor. Uncle Jesse left the Wareham area early and settled in Montclair, New Jersey, married, and had a son and daughter. Uncle Johnny married early, had two children, and got divorced. Much later he remarried and had four more children. I was the witness at his second marriage. Uncle Stanford also married early, left the household, and had nine children. He became a major “numbers” (illegal lottery) banker in the upper Cape Cod area and owned a small grocery store in Onset along with his illegal “numbers” activities. Uncle Teddy worked at Grandma’s restaurant in New Bedford, married, had four children, and worked at the Goodyear plant in New Bedford most of his life. When World War II started Uncle Roy and Uncle Billy joined the service, and although they were siblings, Uncle Roy served in the white segregated Navy and Uncle Billy served in a black Army outfit. This was an example of the stupidity of Jim Crow laws (anti-black, segregation laws). Uncle Roy was a radio man in the Navy, and after he left the service, he married, owned a radio and television store, and had three children. Uncle Billy served in the Army until retirement age at which time he married and had two children.
Uncles Billy, Teddy, Jesse, Johnny, Grandma Carlota & Aunt Anita
Uncle Billy served in a segregated Quartermaster outfit in Germany during World War II. Only two black infantry divisions existed at the time (92nd & 93rd) because of the belief, by the white officers, that blacks were not capable of combat duty. However, the black 92nd did fight gallantly in Italy. Uncle Billy volunteered for the infantry but was told that the quota was filled. Years later, he related a story to me about an experience he had in Germany.
“On one occasion while I was taking part in an activity on the front lines near a white outfit and a soldier shouted at me, ‘We must be getting hard-up in this war because now they’re sending n****rs here.’ I wanted to get my rifle and challenge him but another soldier in my outfit who we called ‘Jesse James’ pulled me aside, ‘There’s thousands of white soldiers with rifles out there so don’t be stupid and go out there.’ After we got back from the front lines, Jesse said, ‘This is a white man’s war - white men killing white men. We’re here f**king white women – what are you complaining about?”
During the famous Battle of the Bulge, German soldiers dressed as Americans were infiltrating American lines. To counter this maneuver, the leadership decided to replace white soldiers with black soldiers so they would know who was American. Uncle Billy refused to participate as he reminded the leadership that they didn’t want him when he tried to volunteer to fight in combat.
Uncle Billy also served in Japan after the war and he was an accomplished boxer. He says, “While in Japan, my outfit, the 24th Infantry, had the best boxers in the entire Army.” He has maintained his good physical condition for his entire life. Uncle Billy says that, even during his service in the Korean War, the black soldiers were confronted with the reports that “they were too coward to fight.” After retiring from the military, he worked for the Ocean Spray Company in Middleboro, Massachusetts until he retired again.
I always admired Uncle Billy more than my other uncles because of his military service. He was striking in his uniform when he came home. I wanted to be with him every moment. On one occasion, I followed him in secret while he was on his way to a rendezvous with a woman. After he arrived at her house, he was surprised to see me and sent me away. I didn’t go far. I wanted to be with him every minute he was home.
All my uncles were smart, handsome, and often sang and made jokes around the house. I think I became like them as I matured; therefore, I owe them much for my sense of humor and the pleasure it has brought me in my life. I love being humorous.
With the girls, Aunt Mary was the studious one, had one son, and worked for the Aervox Company in New Bedford as well as at Grandma’s restaurant. Of the remaining children at home, she owned the first new car - a brand new baby blue and white Ford with a spare wheel mounted outside on the rear bumper. Although my grandfather always had a new car, Aunt Mary’s car was the first time I was old enough to appreciate the style, the color, and the smell of new car. I always imagined owning and driving her car.
My first out-of-state trip was with her to New Jersey to visit Uncle Jesse in Montclair. The ride took more than ten hours because the interstate highways did not exist at the time, and from Wareham we drove along route 6 until joining the Merritt Parkway in Connecticut. What I remember about the ride was that Aunt Mary often had conversations with other motorist on the highway. I guess the speed of the cars was slow enough to converse between cars.
Aunt Anita was the beauty of the girls; she had no children, tried dancing and modeling, and also worked at the restaurant. She went to New York City for a brief period to break into show business but was not successful. Aunt Anita was the youngest, closest to her mother, and lived with her until Grandma died. She seemed to be erratic at times. I spent more time with her than anyone else, but I never did understand her.
Dorothy, my mother, had two children – my sister Lois (aka Cookie) and me. Mom was attractive but fragile, unstable, and ill most of her life. Also, she was an alcoholic in her adult life, and she died young from cirrhosis of the liver. I did not live with her more than a few months during my adolescence. The brief time I spent with her was difficult. I don’t have pleasant memories of our relationship.
Mom, Sis & Me in Front of Oakdale home 1940
My father’s brother and sisters were George, Mary, Bella and Angie. Uncle George was a carpenter and lived most of his life in Onset Village in the Town of Wareham and had three daughters. Uncle George was a taskmaster but with a constant smile on his face. Although it was brief, I enjoyed being around him. Aunt Mary died young and I did not know her. Aunt Bella lived in Boston, and I knew very little about her. Her most notable feature was that she was a life-time volunteer with the Salvation Army. Uncle George and Aunt Bella have passed on.
Aunt Angie did not come into my life until I moved to New Jersey after my military service and we became family again. She lives in Newark and is 93 years old. It became a tradition to have Thanksgiving dinner at her home for my wife and children while I lived in New Jersey. I love talking to her as often as I can.
Hometown – Wareham, Massachusetts
Wareham is an old town dating back to 1739 before the Revolutionary War; located on Buzzards Bay that makes up part of the Cape Cod Canal, an early industrial town that produced ships for the whaling industry, along with iron, lumber, nails, cranberries, and other products that were shipped out to the rest of the world from the well-placed seaport located in town. Whereas today Wareham downtown has limited businesses, in my childhood, downtown had a vibrant shopping center that included stores for appliances, foodstuffs, clothing, and restaurants. There was a movie theatre in the middle of town, and the two earliest movies I remember seeing were Lassie Come Home – a young boy (Roddy McDowell) loses his dog to a rich man and the dog returns to the boy after a long and arduous trek - and National Velvet, both with the unmatched beautiful Elizabeth Taylor; a young Taylor rescues a discarded horse and rides it to victory in a big race. I cried at the poignant scenes. I saw many more movies in New Bedford, and some of my favorites included, Song of the South, Pinocchio, Bambi, How Green was my Valley, Singing in the Rain, and any western with Roy Rogers or Gene Autry.