Valentine’s Day, Friday, Feb. 14, Halifax seniors were treated to a Valentine’s Luncheon in the Great Room of the Halifax Town Hall.
The Singing Seniors of Halifax, left, were the stars of the Halifax Council on Aging Valentine’s Day celebration.
Special guests included Plymouth County District Attorey Tim Cruz and his crew.
Guests enjoyed a lunch of pizza and salad after listening to a variety of songs with the theme of love, romance, and friendship.
Trivia and sweet treats rounded out the afternoon celebrating Valentine’s Day.
~ Photos and text by Linda Redding

By Linda Ibbitson Hurd
Special to the Express
When I was eight years old, a new family moved to Hanson at the very end of Elm Street where it turns onto Hudson Street. They were from Hingham and moved into a big two story post and beam colonial house that had been owned by a doctor at one time.
I boarded the school bus one morning and noticed a new girl sitting with two of my friends. They were smiling at me when I sat in the seat behind them and I wondered why, when one of them turned to me, pointing to the new girl, and said, “Linda, meet Linda”. I realized then why they were grinning. Linda and I exchanged grins and hellos. As time went on, we got to know each other and became not only fast friends but life long ones.
Linda was the youngest of six. Two sisters still lived at home, the other two and her brother were married with families. Her mother, Minnie, was a registered nurse. Her father was Lou Brouillard, one of the first professional fighters to win both the welterweight and middleweight World titles and was inducted into the International Boxing Hall of Fame. The local boys tried to date or make friends with the sisters so they could meet their father. I felt honored to meet him myself; he was a quiet, modest man with a good sense of humor.
The first time I was invited to Linda’s, I was impressed. The circular driveway went from the red brick walk that led to the front door, to a two story barn on the far right with a field beyond. There was a kennel for boarding dogs between the house and the barn with a gate that led to the backyard. Their dogs of choice were golden retrievers; I met and loved theirs right away.Her name was Molly.
When Linda and her sister Judy had friends over for the first time, they held an initiation. They brought me upstairs, blindfolded me and directed me to crawl around in what felt like storage space in the eaves. I was told to keep moving and to not touch the blindfold. Suddenly I felt fur underneath me. I kept going until I felt what I thought was a head and I screamed and ripped off the blindfold. I was on a big black bear rug and beside it was a white one, also with a head. We were laughing as I looked around at a very nice room with knotty pine walls and a long cushioned window seat.
Before I left that first day, I met Linda’s grandfather, Joe. He was her mother’s dad and they were from England. He had a workshop on the top floor of the barn where he made beautiful things out of wrought iron. He had also helped her father in his boxing career. I remember him as a good-natured man who almost always had a smile on his face and in his eyes.
During the next few years Linda and I had many good times. One winter during February vacation, we had gone ice skating. Grampa Joe met us as we came in the back door to hang up our coats and skates, telling us he had hotdogs, beans and cocoa warming in the dutch oven in the living room fireplace and a fire going so we could warm ourselves. He sat in his chair entertaining us with stories about growing up in England while we sat on a warm braided rug on the floor beside him. Eventually he fell asleep. Linda’s parents weren’t home and neither were her sisters. She looked at me and gestured for me to follow her.
She led me into one of the front rooms that was a spare bedroom and quietly shut the door. She asked me if I remembered asking her what a post and beam house was and that one day she’d show me. I nodded yes. She opened the closet door, reached for the four-foot ladder inside, climbed up and pushed a board at the top of the closet away. I realized I was looking up at the inner structure of the house. “Be quieter than quiet”, she whispered, as up she went and I followed.
I found it hard to keep quiet as we climbed. I likened it to a huge jungle gym with it’s vertical timbers and horizontal hand-hewn beams. Linda was on one side of the structure, I on the other as we kept climbing and exploring, until we heard a voice. “You both come down here, slowly!” “Okay Gramp”, Linda shouted down.
He was waiting for us at the closet door. He didn’t raise his voice but was very stern when he looked at us, saying, “This won’t happen again and we’ll never speak of it, agreed?” In unison, we said yes. He looked weary as he said goodnight and that he’d see us in the morning.
The next morning when we came downstairs for breakfast, Linda’s parents and sisters were up and Grampa Joe had just finished eating. He smiled when he saw us and said, “Sometimes all a body needs is a little sleep.” When he got up to leave he gave us each a nod on the way out. Everything was back to normal.
When summer came that year, we explored the woods near Linda’s house looking for an Indian burial ground that our sixth grade history teacher told us was supposed to be in that area. One hot, humid day we were walking across the driveway and as we passed by the corner of the barn, I noticed rocks that looked like they had been part of a building. Linda said when the house and barn were built there had been a carriage house there. I noticed a door that was slightly opened and pointed it out. “Oh my gosh, the tunnel, I forgot all about the tunnel, follow me.” When she opened the door I realized it was the cellar underneath the barn. “This is usually locked”, she said, “No one is supposed to be in here, it’s dad and Gramp’s workshop.” When we went in, there were stationary drill presses, lathes and saws. We walked past them until we came to a dark opening. It was a tunnel.
We rushed to the house to look for a flashlight, to no avail, grabbed a book of matches, ran back to the tunnel and started walking. The dirt floor was solid and we were surprised there was no trash or clutter other than an occasional stick, some paper, a few mouse remains and no graffiti. We were determined to find the end to see where it came out. There were places we felt fear, even danger. We had no doubt this had been a tunnel to hide and help keep slaves and possibly others, safe. It got darker in the tunnel and we both lit matches. They went out. We lit two more. They went out again. We realized we were were running out of oxygen. We turned around and headed back, dying of thirst.
We knew we were getting closer to the entrance of the tunnel when it became easier to breathe. We heard someone yelling, “I can see them, they’re okay!” Linda’s sister Joan helped us the rest of the way out.
Linda’s mother gave us water, telling us to take small sips. When we were back in the house Linda’s mother looked at us, “I was just about ready to call the fire department when Joan saw you in the tunnel. What do you have to say for yourselves?”
Linda and I looked at one another. I could see her thinking.“I’m glad we did this, we could feel a little bit what it felt like for those people and I’m proud of our house and the owner during the Civil War who helped people.” Linda’s mother said with a smile, “you’re saved by depth of thought. Can you both guarantee me a stress-free rest of the summer? ”
Everyone laughed when we said yes.

Monday, January 6, the Holmes Public Library was host to author Ted Reinstein who spoke of his book, A New England Notebook, as well as other titles he has written over the years.
Ted Reinstein is best known in New England as a journalist and reporter for “Chronicle,” Boston’s celebrated—and America’s longest-running, locally-produced—TV newsmagazine. While he appears occasionally in the studio at the anchor desk or delivering an opinion commentary, it’s out in the field where viewers are most familiar seeing Ted. From every corner of New England, he’s found the offbeat, the unique, the moving, and the just plain memorable, all while telling the enduringly colorful stories of the region’s people and places.
Ted has also been a regular contributor for WCVB’s political roundtable show, “On The Record,” and has been a member of the station’s editorial board since 2010. In 2002, he was part of a “Chronicle” team which received a national DuPont-Columbia Broadcast Journalism Award for coverage of Boston’s controversial Big Dig, and how such massive public works projects compare around the world. In 2018, he received an Emmy Award for his story on the “Good Night Lights” phenomenon in Providence, Rhode Island.
Elsewhere on television, Ted hosted the premiere season of the Discovery Channel’s Popular Mechanics show and brought viewers up-close to some of America’s most iconic landmarks for the HGTV network’s special, “Lighthouses.” For the Travel Channel’s photo-adventure series, FreezeFrame, he explored Hawaii’s volcanoes, the caves of Puerto Rico, and the South Pacific islands of Tahiti.
His first book, A New England Notebook: One Reporter, Six States, Uncommon Stories (Globe Pequot Press/2013) was selected by National Geographic Traveler as a “Best Pick.” He is also the author of Wicked Pissed: New England’s Most Famous Feuds (GPP/2015), and co-author, with his wife, Anne-Marie Dorning, of New England’s General Stores: Exploring an American Classic (GPP/2017). Ted’s most recent book is Before Brooklyn: The Unsung Heroes Who Helped Break Baseball’s Color Barrier (Lyons Press/2021).
Ted received his bachelor’s and master’s degrees from Brandeis University. He has two daughters, and lives just west of Boston.

The Campaign for Catholic Schools, a change agent for rebuilding Greater Boston’s urban Catholic schools, is pleased to announce that longtime trustee, Gerald V. “Jerry” Sheehan, has been elected the organizations’ first Lifetime Trustee in appreciation of his extraordinary leadership and philanthropic support of the Campaign. Mr. Sheehan first became involved with the Campaign for Catholic Schools in 2010 shortly after its founding. Since that time, he and his wife, Maureen, have been an integral part of CCS’ growth, ensuring that countless young people from Greater Boston’s most at-risk neighborhoods, especially Brockton and Dorchester, receive a top-notch Catholic education in a safe, caring environment.
Bob Atchinson, Managing Director of Adage Capital Management and Chair of the Board for the Campaign for Catholic Schools, notes, “Jerry decided to help rebuild Greater Boston’s urban Catholic schools, and he has quietly done it all without any fanfare; he just decided it was going to happen. He believed in the vision of our co-founder, the late Jack Connors, Jr., and he’s been a thoughtful and valued leader every step of the way. His tremendous commitment to providing opportunities to underserved children through an excellent Catholic education is exemplary. This is really a case of we couldn’t have built this organization without him, and we are delighted to appoint Jerry as our first Lifetime Trustee for his tireless efforts to rebuild Greater Boston’s urban Catholic schools.”
Travis Rhodes, President of Abrams Capital and Vice Chair of CCS’ Board comments, “We stand on the shoulders of giants, and our promise to Jerry is that we will continue to do his work and will aspire to make a difference – the kind of difference he and his family have made for many decades, especially in the great city of Brockton. On behalf of so many kids and families, thank you.”
A recipient and ardent supporter of Catholic education who grew up in Jersey City, NJ, Mr. Sheehan attended Our Lady of Victories Grammar School and is a 1948 graduate of St. Peter’s Prep (NJ). He graduated from the College of the Holy Cross in 1952. At St. Peter’s and Holy Cross, Mr. Sheehan has been a “beyond the bricks and mortar” lead benefactor, establishing major scholarship programs that provide full tuition for deserving students based on their academic merit and good moral standing. The Sheehans are also deeply committed to environmental causes and have funded efforts that have led to over 10,000 acres in Southeastern Massachusetts being designated as protected conservation land.
For over 60 years, Mr. Sheehan served as president of L. Knife & Son, a fifth-generation family-owned company located in Kingston, MA. Founded in 1898, the company is a national leader in beverage distribution, currently serving customers throughout Massachusetts, New York, Wisconsin, and Virginia. Under Mr. Sheehan’s leadership, the company grew to become one of the largest Anheuser-Busch and craft beer distributors in the United States and was consistently recognized for both business and philanthropic achievements.
Mr. Sheehan and his wife Maureen, who have been married for 67 years, have eight children and 20 grandchildren. They reside in Duxbury.
Founded in 2007, the Campaign for Catholic Schools (CCS) is a 501 (c)(3) nonprofit organization focused on improving Catholic education in underserved urban communities in Greater Boston. It aims to create sustainable change through a new model that includes school consolidation/renovation, lay governance, strong academics, effective school management, and innovative teacher support. CCS currently co-sponsors and works closely with two large regional academies it created, Saint John Paul II Catholic Academy (Dorchester) and Trinity Catholic Academy (Brockton), which educate 1500 PreK-Gr 8 students, most children of color from low- to moderate-income families. CCS continues to work in targeted ways with other Greater Boston Catholic schools as well.

Boston is a city known to be rich in history, so it is only fitting that the Massachusetts State House has served as the backdrop to events ranging from the creation of the gerrymander to the crusade against the “Red Menace” and the theft of the Sacred Cod.  Former State Representative and author Josh Cutler dives into these stories and more, connecting them in his latest offering, Under the Golden Dome:  Historic Talks and Tales from the Massachusetts State House, which was published by Clipper Press and released last month.
From the stirring oratory of Martin Luther King, Jr. and the inspiring words of Helen Keller, to the fiery rhetoric of Theodore Roosevelt and the fearless advocacy of Angela Grimké and Dorothea Dix, Cutler offers a vivid portrait of historic personalities as well as moments, spanning two centuries within the historic walls of the Massachusetts State House.  Even the unexpected appearance of Jackie Gleason, the daring flights of Amelia Earhart, and the machinations of Richard Nixon find their place in the rich tapestry of history, politics, and human drama that has unfolded Under the Golden Dome.
Under the Golden Dome is the third book authored by Cutler.  Previously, he examined the role of a young Federalist editor in the War of 1812 in Mobtown Massacre:  Alexander Hanson and the Baltimore Newspaper War of 1812, published by The History Press in 2019 and winner of the 2020 Baltimore History Prize.  Cutler also wrote about the abolitionist movement in Boston in the 1830s in The Boston Gentlemen’s Mob:  Maria Chapman and the Abolition Riot of 1835, also published by The History Press in 2021.
“From my time serving under the golden dome, I’ve been intrigued by all that has transpired in the Massachusetts State House,” said Cutler.  “Researching its history and sharing its stories has been a true labor of love.”
Before being elected to the Massachusetts House of Representatives, where he represented the sixth Plymouth district for 11 years, Cutler was a publisher and editor of the Duxbury Clipper.
Under the Golden Dome is now available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Bookshop.org.  For more information, please visit https://joshscutler.com.

By Linda Ibbitson Hurd
Special to the Express
Our Dad was very particular about Christmas trees and the right way to put them up. Every December, when it was time to get our tree, the four of us kids would bundle up and follow him through the snow across our back yard and field, past the brook and blueberry patch and up into the pine grove to pick one out.
We all had a say in which tree we liked the best. Dad always seemed more patient, relaxed and happy in the woods, taking his time and even smiling. When we all agreed on which tree we wanted, he’d chop it down. He pulled it behind him as we plowed back through the snow, following the path we had made on the way to the woods to make the going easier. When we got back home, Dad propped the tree up beside a bucket of dirt near the kitchen door as it was closer to the living room. He told us to go in through the back door shed and take off our boots and hang up our coats.
Once inside, Jingles our cat would meow and walk in front of us as if to tell us to follow her. Mom called to my younger brother and sister from the living room, saying she needed help to lay an old sheet on the hardwood living room floor, then asking my sister Penny and me to carry the big box of ornaments in from the storage shed.
We could hear Dad outside moving the dirt in the bucket around with his shovel. He opened the kitchen door and stuck his head in, asking Mom if she was ready yet. When she was, Mom, Davey and Barb stepped off the sheet and Penny and I put the big box down on the hearth in front of the fireplace while Dad wiped his feet on the mat and brought in the bucket of dirt. He placed it in the middle of the sheet and told us all to stand back while he brought the tree in. Jingles was perched on the arm of the couch and as the tree came in the door, she dove under the coffee table, her eyes as big as saucers.
When Dad would step down the two steps into the living room with the tree, Jingles usually took off like a shot, running into the other room. It made us laugh and we figured she was hiding under the dining room table or one of the beds. Every year it was a ceremonious occasion as Dad carefully carried the tree across the room, placing it snugly into the bucket of dirt he so carefully prepared. He watered it and packed it in some more until he was satisfied. He told mom to let it set while we had supper and then we could decorate it.
Our favorie Saturday night supper was hotdogs and beans. While mom was getting it ready and after Penny and I set the table, the four of us watched our favorite program, “Roy Rogers,” with Dad. While we watched, Penny and I finished stringing popcorn and cranberries to put on the tree and trying not to eat it. Jingles quietly came out to have some of her supper and disappeared again.
When supper was over, all of us were excited about trimming the tree.
Dad always went first, placing the star at the top and then adding the tree lights. The garlands of popcorn and cranberries were next and then came the ornaments. Each of us had a favorite one and some survived the test of time; I still have several. Mom and Dad would lift Barbie and Davey up so they could hang their ornaments on the branches they chose. Mom preferred to string the tinsel herself as she used it sparingly which always made a beautiful final touch.
We were almost finished decorating the tree when Jingles generally showed up on the two steps that came down into the living room, perched on the top one, her tail switching wildly. Dad stamped his foot and clapped his hands and away she ran.
Mom reached for the box of tinsel and Dad plugged in the tree lights. I heard something and looked up. Before any of us could do anything, Jingles leaped off the step and was flying through the air like a jet at top speed landing head first high into the tree. Dad let loose with a stream of expletives that were more colorful than the Christmas decorations. Jingles got her bearings and soared back into the air, landing on the kitchen floor, clawing the linoleum as she raced to get away and almost crashing into the wall turning the corner to get into the dining room. Mom and us kids were laughing so hard we couldn’t stop. Dad disappeared down into the cellar, slamming the door behind him. We went with Mom to find Jingles to see if she was okay, which she was. She sat washing herself as if she was very proud.
When Dad came back he had a hammer and screwdriver in one hand and a metal object in the other. He went into the living room behind the tree where there were two windows. He screwed the metal piece into one of the window frames behind the curtains. He informed us that from now on there would be a rope tied to the inside of the tree attached to the metal holder that would keep it in place and withstand any mishap. It may still be there to this day.
Like Jingles, Dad seemed very proud of his solution. We helped Mom and Dad fix the tree and interestingly enough, had no more problems with Jingles.

Linda Ibbitson Hurd is a resident of Halifax who grew up in Hanson in the 1960s in a much gentler time.