Chapter One

When I was around twelve or thirteen, I used to have this recurring dream about this building. It was a Greco-Roman forum looking structure on the outside, with giant columns in front. I remember the interior being mid-twentieth century styled offices upstairs with lots of wood paneling and the like.

A friend of mine from the Rocky Boy reservation in Box Elder, Montana once said, “We instinctively travel the paths of our fathers.” A brief look at my own experiences would indicate this to be true. It was a hot morning, that 29^th of June in 2002, as I started my trek from Mashpee to New Bedford. I was about to be initiated into Union Lodge No. 4, the Prince Hall Masonic lodge in New Bedford. I had found out after making application that Union Lodge had been the home lodge to many a Wampanoag Freemason, including my grandfather during the 1920’s to the ‘40’s. I didn’t even know that my grandfather had been a mason; then realizing that my father, who had joined a lodge while stationed in Germany, was the only of my grandfather’s sons to enter the craft. Union Lodge No. 4 has been the home lodge to a large number of Wampanoag people from all of the tribes, all the way back to it’s formation in 1857.

That morning, I chose to take Route 28 across the bridge, into Buzzards Bay and use Route 6 to go to New Bedford. Why 6 when I could’ve taken 195, you ask? It was the route that my grandfather used to get to New Bedford. According to my elders, the numbered routes that pass through the towns of Massachusetts (28, 44, 123, 6, etc.) are based on the trails and paths of the Wampanoags, Narragansetts, and Nipmucs traveling to all of the places that our people lived. Route 6 was a well worn path for many Wampanoag people, traveling back and forth to visit families, bands, and tribes along the coast. Over time, I came to find that the paths and locations of significance to my familiar antecedents would also have special meaning to me.

Some Mashpee families have lived in New Bedford for many generations; their ancestors coming to the “big city” for greater opportunities in employment, education, and the like. In the early part of the 20^th Century, my grandfather came to New Bedford to go to high school, as it was the custom on Cape Cod to dissuade students of color from continuing past the eighth grade, directing them towards menial and manual jobs. Afterward, he went to Boston to attend college. For me, New Bedford was a place to hang out in my teens, a place to do my youth theatre programs in my early adult years, and now I’m a full-fledged resident (closer to my job), who still often goes home to Mashpee.

For native people, April is our New Year, which makes a lot of sense since spring is the season of rebirth and renewal. This New Year was particularly significant for Mashpee Wampanoags, receiving federal recognition and opening a satellite tribal council office in New Bedford. Interestingly enough, it’s located on the second floor of a building that I used to dream about as a child. People who I’ve been seeing around the city over the years turned out to not only be neighbors, but in some cases, relatives. The things one will find when they travel the paths of their father’s.