Journal of a Sabbatical

September 6, 1998

festival of labor

Link du jour:

Labor History Page

Copyright © 1998, Janet I. Egan

The socialists were out in force at the labor festival.

So here we are in the birthplace of the Industrial Revolution in America and home of the nation's first textile mill at Slater Mill in Pawtucket on the day before Labor Day. The Labor and Ethnic Heritage Festival in Pawtucket is kind of on the same scale and spirit as the Bread and Roses Labor Day Heritage Festival in Lawrence, so the plan was to attend the festival at Slater Mill today and then drive Nancy back up to my place tonight so we could go to Bread and Roses tomorrow. That was the plan.

What actually happened was a leisurely breakfast at 729 Hope St. after sleeping in - after all, we were out 'til 1:00 AM at Water Fire - and an attempt at enjoying the festival.

I don't think either of us really realized how hot it was. There was no shade at Slater Mill. We heard the end of a set by a pretty good klezmer band and then a whole set by a wonderful steel drum band. Candidates for several public offices shook our hands. I got sick.

No, not from shaking the Myrth York's hand (if I lived in RI I would probably vote for her for governor).

I got a stomach ache. It wouldn't go away. I tried to convince myself it would go away soon. I just felt worse and worse. It was really really hot. I went into the port-a-john and spent a long time there. It felt like a sauna. I was sweating from places I didn't know had sweat glands. I was afraid I was getting heat stroke as well as whatever was going on in my digestive tract.

Nancy was listening to an Italian band whom she really liked and I didn't want to make her have to leave, but the pain in my gut wouldn't go away and on top of that I felt like I was going to lose my nice 729 Hope breakfast.

On the way back to Nancy's place, it was all I could do to keep from throwing up in the car. At the intersection of North Main and Cypress I opened the window just in case. I drove the rest of the way with my hand over my mouth.

I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening on the futon in Nancy's living room (or in the bathroom) curled up in a ball. Nancy watched the ballgame on TV and woke me every time Mark McGwire came up to bat.