I’ve said this before and I know I’ll say it again: It’s easy to forget the riches all around us when we’re focused on our day-to-day lives. Especially living in a place as rich, and as distracting, as Chatham.

That point was brought home to me, once again, this past weekend when I made a brief trip out to North Beach. The purpose of the trip was all business — see the story elsewhere in this issue — but the effect was more than just researching a news story. Instead, it reminded me that Chatham, and Cape Cod, in the summer is not just traffic, crowds, longer times to get everywhere, lines everywhere, and longer hours to fill bigger newspapers.

Summer here is also gorgeous, clear days when you can see forever, sun-warmed sand scorching the bottoms of your feet, sea salt wafted on a constant light breeze, and the sound of children playing in the fascinating classroom of the beach.

On North Beach, all these things are magnified. To paraphrase Thoreau, when you stand on North Beach, you put all of Chatham behind you, both literally and figuratively. Across Pleasant Bay is a panoramic view of the town that is unlike any other view of the town; seawalls alternate with beige shoreline, trees and houses compete for prominence against the sky, the two water towers dart up like breaching whales, and the rotating beacon of the lighthouse can be picked out even in the brilliant morning light.

There’s no shade on North Beach unless it’s man-made. The flat expanse of sand — an impermanent barrier beach with its origins in Orleans and its sand supplied by the seashore cliffs in Eastham, Wellfleet and Truro — is covered by nothing but rolling dunes, beachgrass and scrubby plants like rosa rugosa and beach plum. There are about two dozen cottages, called camps by the locals, groups in two villages, forming little communities where people spend weekend or entire summers, cooking and reading by gas power and depending upon solar cells and well water. It’s the last place in town where outhouses still exist.

There’s a camaraderie that exists among the camp owners that is ignorant of mainland status. The same goes for the many people who regularly park their campers and ORVs along the outer beach; it doesn’t matter if you’re a roofer, teacher, lawyer, contractor or accountant, if the beach is in your blood, you’re accepted.

Some question if allowing vehicles on the beach will only hasten its demise, surely to come about anyway in the (distant, we must hope) future. Those who use the beach regularly know, for the most part, that they are only temporary occupants, that the next generation, or the next after that, might be the last to enjoy the beauty and serenity of the outer beach. It’s difficult to see how banning vehicles would do anything to prolong the inevitable; one storm, even one good high tide, can remove more sand and weaken dune structures more than a summer weekend’s worth of vehicle trips. And those who use the beach are generally good stewards of the resource, even if they may not go about things totally by the book.

Walking along the outer beach during the summer offers a mixed bag. It’s hard to find a spot where campers or other vehicles aren’t visible, even if just in the distance. Sound carries farther out here, and the cries of children playing often competes with the dominant background music of the waves pounding the shore. A motley collection of shorebirds — gulls, terns, piping plovers, sandpipers — provide a variety of vocalizations weaving in and out as if following some grand score. If you’re lucky, as I was Saturday, a curious seal swimming just a few yards offshore will shadow you as you walk along the beach.

Relatively few people get to enjoy the splendor of North Beach. I know folks who’ve lived here for years and never been to North Beach. It’s not all that accessible, unless you have a boat or four-wheel drive vehicle and are willing to go through the sometimes arduous process of obtaining an over-sand permit. Water shuttles are available, but it somehow seems easier to just take a walk out onto South Beach, once a part of the outer beach, which offers much the same experience.

It’s not the same, however. Not only is the human element missing, but South Beach just doesn’t seem quite as isolated, as special. It lacks an ambiance that clings to North Beach like a summer fog. Nor is Monomoy the same, although it is part of the same barrier beach system. It’s just different.

North Beach is one of the rare things those of us who live here tend to forget about. We need to open our eyes to the wonders around us; they make the inconveniences and problems of the summer shrink to the proper perspective.

July 2001

Me And My Chucks

It’s a good thing I had just pulled into a parking space, because if I’d heard the news while I was still on the road, the consequences might have been tragic.

Converse had filed for Chapter 11 in U.S. Bankruptcy Court.

NPR reported that the North Reading company filed for protection last Monday in order to restructure debt and complete the transition from a manufacturer to a "licensing model." While it sounded as if Converse wasn’t going away completely, the prospect of the company that manufactures my footwear of choice going under was enough to send me into a spiral of anxiety.

For at least two decades, Converse Chuck Taylor All-Star high top basketball shoes have been my trademark. Not just any Chuck Taylors — red ones, which have always been among the most difficult to find. For better or worse, I am known by my red sneakers. That’s fine by me; they’re comfortable and suitable for most occasions, although I was recently forced to purchase a pair of real shoes for several more formal events.

Fortunately, the announcement did not catch me completely by surprise. A few months ago there was a rumor going around the Internet that Converse was about to go belly up. In a story on the ESPN Web site, the company denied the rumor, but it was enough to get me thinking: what would I do if Converse did go out of business? Absent Chuck Taylors, what would I step into each morning as a matter of rote?

Shortly after the rumor broke, with my last pair of Chucks rapidly falling apart, I sought out the Converse outlet in Malden and bought out their entire stock of red high tops, size 10½. I had been unable to find a single pair of red high tops on the Cape; several shoe outlets told me they only carried white and black and had no interest in even ordering my color choice. So much for service. I put one pair of new sneakers aside for my upcoming nuptials — I may reluctantly wear a tux but I won’t compromise on my footwear — and have been careful not to abuse the remaining pairs, since they may have to last for some time.

The whole episode — going miles out of my way to secure the shoes, my panic at the possibility of losing them altogether — got me thinking about footwear. One of the exercises at a writing workshop I attended over the holidays was to write a brief, spontaneous essay about shoes. I, of course, wrote about my red Chuck Taylors, but everyone in the room had some sort of story to tell about footwear, most of them humorous.

Aside from its practical uses, footwear can be a statement of fashion, personal style or even political ideology. Remember Imelda Marcos and her thousands of pairs of shoes, which helped bring down her husband’s government? Footwear says a lot about a person; messages are sent by how high your heels are, if your shoes match your outfit, whether they are sensible or not. Wearing expensive sneakers is, to me at least, a sign of indulgence. Consistent formal footwear choices says something about a person’s rigidity. Like all clothing, shoes often reflect a person’s personality, taste and outlook on life.

I’m a bit hazy on the origins of my red Chuck Taylors. I think my mother bought me a pair once and I just liked them, so I kept getting the same thing over and over again. Their benefits are legion: they’re comfortable, reliable, inexpensive and easy to clean (pop them in the washer and they look like new). They are also one of the most popular sneaker in the world (especially, oddly enough, in Japan), and were the shoe of choice of some of the NBA’s top players.

Despite the momentary dread evoked by the news about Converse, I have no doubt that Chucks will continue to be available. According to a press release, the 97-year-old company has already switched all of its overseas operations to licensing, and will continue to supply U.S. retailers directly through June, when Global Brand Marketing, Inc., will become the licensee for Converse brands in this country. The company is also closing plants in the United States and Mexico and selling its North Reading headquarters building for $15 million. Half of Converse’s products are already manufactured in Asia; financial analysts said one of the company’s downfalls was its insistence on keeping part of its manufacturing operations in the United States after most other sneaker makers had shifted to cheaper foreign markets.

The goal of the Chapter 11 filing, which was done voluntarily, is to "streamline Converse as an efficient worldwide manager of our strong brand" and emerge "as a leaner and financially healthier business," said chairman and CEO Glenn Rupp.

While the details about the company’s debt and financial difficulties are beyond my understanding, I will mourn the passing of Converse as a full manufacturing and marketing company, another victim of the our country’s transition from one type of economy to a leaner, more administrative and information-based system. I hope their standards are not compromised by the shift; I hope my Chucks will always be the same deep, vibrant red and as durable and comfortable as they have always been. They are part of my identity, for better or worse, and I would be a different person without them.

November 2001