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A Pink House mystery — Part 1
As I See It
Bruce Stott
Editor’s note: Over the course of the next few months, The Daily News will be publishing a multipart story written by former Pink House owner Bruce Stott. The Stott family owned the iconic Newbury home from 1960 to 2010 before selling it to the federal government.
There are several Pink House stories to tell, yet given the time of year, lets start with one for the fast-approaching Halloween season. It is time for a mystery about the Pink House. I ought to know having grown up there.
Perhaps, many folks don’t know what it was like to live there in a house with no fresh water on a salt marsh with endless tides and bugs aplenty? Or at least there are fewer old timers these days than there used to be. Expanding growth has brought new residents to experience the overlooked Great Salt Marsh of Essex County.
Somehow, the Pink House has developed a mystique reaching far and wide. A result of being one of its residents has mysteriously given rise to an unexpected notoriety. My 55th Newburyport High School reunion at Michael’s Harborside last week was an example.
Many classmates inquire as they have for decades what was going on. Many neighbors and friends have asked about what living there was like, thus coaxing this old salt marsh man out of his shell to share something not in the history books. You already know all the facts about the house ad nauseum, but not something from her residents or her ghosts lurking in her past. It might not be what is expected but here goes.
It’s a hallowed place, the pink queen commanding the marsh around her all alone. A big sore thumb sticking up that we knew as the Big Pink and often the “Pinkie” from Mom. There’s heaps to tell but let’s start with the mystery of why it’s a kind of hallowed and special place. Stories about the fresh water or attempts at desalinization stills, the full-scale glider built in the house, robbery, marsh fire, hunting, plane crash, and no Pinkie buyers, among others will have to wait for now.
This house has been adopted by the community now, a member of its family more than ever. At the same time, it’s about to be demolished at 100 years old. I say 100 because any project manager would tell you, it took at least a year from inception planning to final completion in 1925. Pinkie is like a family member and part of the personality of the town, a thread to connect to the past, a reality about to vanish.
People are used to going by it as a part of the landscape. How can you consider to demolish a part of life of this town is unanswerable dilemma? There is a mystery of how that element of community life can be snuffed out. Dare I say there is an air of an impending passing like a beloved ailing elder no one can save. A funeral is soon be held and a eulogy to days gone by will be written again. It will vanish as will my memory, unless one or two little stories are told about it.
The Pink House may vanish. No one will know a little story about it, the place or the people that owned it over the course of 50 years, half the house’s existence. This story is about how an unknown boat, and her master or part of him anyway, would both come to rest on the marshes at the Pinkie. They both will fade out of memory, but for this tale.
No matter the outcome of the house’s fate, this much is true, the tides will ebb and flow endlessly as the sea breathes slowly over the grassy marsh twice a day. and the wind will blow the birds to their destination on the flyway over a vacant place with the house, the boat, the people forgotten and previously unheard from.
Bruce Stott lives on Plum Island and in Sebastian, Florida.
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