Tag Archives: backyard

The Legend of Captain Kidd’s Treasure – New England Legend

Description of Informant

NM (49) is a Massachusetts native living in California. He commits to a regular exercise routine and owns/operates a metal decking supply firm. NM enjoys strategy games, world news/current events, and participates in a weekly chess match with friends. From 1970-1980 (his birth through elementary school), NM lived at 118 Andover Street, Wilmington, MA (the address is significant given the legend). Wilmington was a bit further inland, about 20 miles west of the Atlantic Ocean.

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Context of Interview

The informant, NM, is met in his garden by the collector, BK, his nephew. They speak poolside.

Interview

NM: Ah, there was a pirate legend when we lived in Wilmington. In the back of that house, there was a huge rock wall, and a cave at the bottom of it, and, uhh… the legend… and we would have people come and knock on our door, in Wilmington, to take their little metal detectors and walk around the backyard. Because the legend was that Bluebeard or Blackbeard or some old pirate was seen coming down the street with a chest and a couple slaves. And then he left that street with just the cart. With no slave, and no chest. So the legend was that he buried his treasure, killed the slaves to protect it, buried them with it, and that there’s treasure somewhere in that backyard. And the cave is called Devil’s Den. So we would have people looking for that treasure in our backyard every once in a while with their metal detectors. But obviously *laughing* none was ever found!

BK: Was there a ghost story associated with this legend?

NM: No. Just that story. That the slaves were killed to protect it. But yeah, we were never, as kids, nervous about being back there. I climbed pretty far into that cave but it had a dead-end. There was no treasure down at the bottom of it. It was just a dead-end, and extremely claustrophobic. You start getting really nervous when you’re surrounded by that much stone.

I wouldn’t be surprised— I’ve got to ask my mom if I’ve got the pirate’s name right… I think it was like Blackbeard or Bluebeard.

BK: Was your house in Wilmington close to the sea?

NM: *thinking* No! Yeah, what the heck was he [the pirate] doing in that area? Yeah like I said, we were a good 15-minute bike ride, 20-minute, hmm, maybe 15-minute car ride. So I don’t know what he would be doing that deep into, uh, suburban. Yeah, that raises a flag on that legend. Why he would go that far into suburbia to bury his treasure.

BK: When you say this was in your backyard… could you give me some sense of scale?

NM: That property was like an acre-and-a-half, I guess, and I think our property line probably ended above this rock wall. Y’know it was an old, 1800s type of house. Sort of victorian. Mainly people would go from just, near the cave, and wander within a 50 meters circle. Wandering around to see what they could— the trouble was there was a lot of magnetic rock in the area so *laughing* they got a lot of false… probably made them give up pretty quickly when they realized how much magnetic rock was around there and not finding anything worthwhile.

NM: If you were looking out the backdoor or the back window, you could’ve easily seen everything. It was probably about 100-feet from the backdoor to the face of the rock wall. And you could see the cave and… uhh… everything was pretty open.

BK: Would people ever come dig up your yard? Would your mom get upset about it?

NM: I don’t remember anybody doing any digging. I feel like they— they’re thing would go off. They might go a few inches deep and realize it was a rock. I’d have to ask them [my parents] if anybody ever got really serious about digging a hole. But I don’t remember ever going back there and seeing a big hole that somebody dug. I mean, by the time you were really looking where they were looking, it was woodsy. It wasn’t like our lawn. So, maybe they didn’t care, and maybe that’s why we didn’t know. Maybe they were digging holes, filling them in, covering them with leaves, and we just didn’t know.

BK: If you could figure out who the pirate was, that would be really helpful.

NM: I’ll ask them. I don’t know why I think they had a beard in it… but I’ll ask my mom.

Collector’s Reflection

It seems the pirate did not have “a beard in it” after all; Captain William Kidd is the legendary swashbuckler said to have hidden his treasure in Wilmington’s Devil’s Den cave. According to local legend, Kidd would frequent Harden Tavern. Today, the tavern is a preserved, victorian style home. NM’s mother used to volunteer there as a guide for tourists, and he has visited several times. Given Kidd’s seeming regular presence in the town, the idea of him burying his treasure there does not seem so far-fetched.

Contrary to NM, versions of this legend do account for a ghostly aspect. It is said that the slave Kidd murdered remained there in spirit; his ghost would move the treasure should anyone try to find it. 

I find the legend dubious, as (1) the supposed treasure has yet to be found, (2) I find it dubious that such an infamous seafarer would move his treasure so far inland, and (3) the original legend is based on an eyewitness account from children, who claimed to have seen Kidd’s oxcart move down the lane. Regardless, it’s a fun tale and an exciting piece of Wilmington, MA culture.

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For another account of Captain Kidd’s legend, please see:

Neilson, Larz F. “Buried Treasure in Wilmington?: A Look Back at Wilmington of Yesteryear….” Wilmington Town Crier, 22 Dec. 2008. 

LINK: http://homenewshere.com/wilmington_town_crier/article_a807bfb2-2228-5cc0-b2de-647c2e04f97d.html 

The Backyard Clown

Title: The Backyard Clown

Interviewee: Adrian Vigil

Ethnicity: Mexican-American

Age: 20

Situation (Location, ambience, gathering of people?):

AJ is sitting on a sofa in front of the Trojan Knights house, it is a calm warm Sunday in South Central Los Angeles. It is a group of 10 male students from the University of Southern California sitting on the front porch, sharing stories. All of these men are members of Trojan Knights, and are relaxing after having started cooking homemade friend chicken. All of these men are close to one another, including the interviewer. AJ says he has a good one as he puts his drink down.

Piece of Folklore:

Interviewee- “Okay here we go. This is long one, but I have a good scary story that happened to my friend. I think it could have been a ghost, but I don’t know. Okay here we go you cannoli (see post “What a Cannoli”). Okay so my friend lives in these suburbs of Houston.”

Interviewer- “Texas?”

Interviewee- “Of course you cannoli (see post “What a Cannoli”)! Ok so he lives in the suburbs, and his house has this back yard. It’s pretty big back there not going to lie. And so the backyard is all grass and surrounding the backyard he has bushes that act like a wall between his backyard and other peoples yards you know? Ok so he has this backyard, and his bedroom is the on the second floor, and he has this one big window looking back over the backyard. So this is where it gets creepy. This one night, he was sleeping, and he is a really light sleeper so stuff wakes him easily. Ok so one night he was sleeping, and he wakes up because he hears something weird in the backyard. So he walks to his window, and he sees this stupid clown dude just stumbling around in the backyard, looked like he was drunk or on something to be sure. My friend told me thought it was funny to see this guy bumbling around. So my friend then went back to bed and made a mental note to tell his parents that they should make sure drunk people can’t stumble onto their backyard anymore. So my friend went to bed that night laughing to himself. He told his parents the next morning, and his parents waved it off saying that that was a one-time thing. So my friend goes about his day as normal. Only thing is, is that he wakes up the next night, and hears things coming from his backyard, but the sounds are different. Immediately he is more upset at the noises, and more on edge about the whole situation. So he walks slowly to the window, and sees into his backyard. And in the backyard, with a shovel, is the clown. The clown isn’t bumbling about anymore, and he has a shovel in his hand. The clown is digging, digging into his backyard, and at this point my friend is thoroughly freaked out. He walks back from the window, makes sure all the doors in the house are locked and windows, and goes back to bed to try to sleep, but the sound of the digging kept him up. The next day he tells his parents, and they say that he’s seeing things and he is just a silly guy who always tries to pull something on his parents. They say that it was probably a dog digging for something, because dogs usually do that and the hole left in the back was just a dog and they would fix it soon and have someone come to fill it up. They did admit however that it was quite a big hole, a hole that is far bigger than most dogs can make. They dismiss the idea of the clown none the less. Then came the third night. Once again, my friend woke up in the middle of the night, around three am I think it was. But something is wrong, something is very different this time. A feeling of dread came upon him as he realized he was awake. He knew something was wrong. He didn’t hear anything coming from outside, but he didn’t know why he was awake. He kept telling himself to just go back to bed, to ignore everything in his imagination and just go back to sleep. He told himself not to get out of his bed, but he did. He told himself not to walk across his room over to the window, but he did. He told himself not to look out the window into the backyard, but he did. And there was the clown, with his back to my friend, and he was staring at the hole he had made the night before. In that hole there was a coffin. My friend was very confused. Then the clown bent down and opened the coffin, it was empty. My friend was confused, he didn’t know what was happening. Then the clown turned around and stared at my friend in the eyes. He knew he had been watching. My friend was paralyzed with fear. The clown just stared and him, then the clown pointed at the coffin, and started to laugh. My friend realized the coffin was meant for him. He shook his head to say no, and the clown tilted his head in confusion, even putting his hands on his hips in a comical way. He pointed again at the coffin, and my friend again shook his head. The clown grew upset and now frowned, even showing his teeth a little in hatred. Then the clown once again pointed at the coffin this time forcefully. My friend started to walk backwards slowly, to go tell his parents, but then in a blink the clown was gone, like he had just disappeared, so my friend went up to the window to look and see where the clown had gone. That’s when he heard his closet door creak open, and a creepy laugh coming from behind him.”

(Long pause)

Interviewer- “Is that it? Did anything else happen?”

Interviewee- “Nope that’s it. It turned out to be nothing although my friend doesn’t sleep in that room anymore and hates clowns now. His parents still think he was dreaming.”

Interviewer- “Do you?”

Interviewee- “Ummm no. I think he was telling the truth, at least the truth from his perspective. Maybe he had nightmares that seemed too real, or he had nightmares that were real for him.”

Analyzation:

So there are many parts to this story, and they all seem to work together. There are multiple versions of this story going around, especially recently with the internet being as big as it is today. I personally have read an online story that sounded very similar. In that respect, there are certain things that give it away as being a story that has been told many times. That is not to say that it did not happen, more so to say that it has been converted into a form that is easy to remember and relay to other people. Firstly, the fact that the clown appears in the backyard three times, and the third time is the time that something big happens. Likewise, further into the story, when the clown is pointing at the coffin, he points three times, and the third time is again when something happens. This is prevalent in western culture, this fixation on the number three. Beginning with the Holy Trinity in the Catholic faith, to the three colors of the American flag and many other flags and such. Three strikes and you’re out, the list goes on and on. The number three is integrated heavily into our culture, but natural things do not usually occur in threes, so when things like that do happen in stories, and even twice within the same story, one can discern that it has morphed into more of a story than an actual account of what happened.

Tags: Horror Story, Clown, Backyard

Backyard Football

My informant used to play tackle football – yes that’s right, TACKLE football – in a friend’s backyard, with no pads or helmets or anything.  His friend had a large enough backyard to accommodate play.  Also this was, according to my informant, back in the days before wavers and rampant lawsuits and whatnot.  If you got hurt, you got hurt and went home and that was the end of that.  So everyone would get together at this one person’s house and divide up into teams, usually it would be 5 on 5, but sometimes as big as 7 on 7.  It was self-hike, and you could pass or run.  The backyard was big but it wasn’t quite football field huge, so there were no distance markers, just two end zones marked out.  You had to get a first down or a touchdown or else you would be forced to give up the ball.  First downs were obtained by making two complete passes.  Players were also allowed to throw lateral passes during plays, making the game very “Razzle Dazzle” as my informant put it.

While I have never played padless tackle football, I have played several games of small-field football.  Usually there were one of two ways you could make a first down.  Either you had to cross the halfway point of the field, or you had to make two complete passes during your first four downs.  Also when the ball was turned over on downs, the other team simply took their ball all the way back to where it would be if the original team had made a touchdown.  Interceptions, on the other hand, are played at the spot where the interceptor is deemed down.  Back in the 70’s though, people were not as uptight as they are now about kids getting hurt and roughhousing and such, and parental supervision was hardly required for kids to play sports.  This does not necessarily mean that parents were less concerned with the safety of their children than they are now, but instead that no one wants to get sued, so they make sure that no harm befalls their children or, more importantly, that no harm befalls other children while they are around.  As soon as someone figured out that you can so another person when your child gets hurt at their house, everyone was in a hurry to make sure playdates and games were absolutely safe, lest they get their butt sued.