Rhode Island:
An Oxymoron, a Paradox
August
12 , 2005
Directly on arrival, a foreign
traveler to Rhode Island finds himself witnessing
an almost perfect illustration of an oxymoron. For,
Rhode Island has nothing whatsoever to do with the
famous Rhodes scholarships; nor, the tiny state
is an island though bulk of its shores are washed
by the waters of the Atlantic Ocean giving it the
popular name of ‘Ocean State’.
It is like a small rectangular piece of brick that
a mason found left over after he had completed his
structure. Instead of letting it lie around and
go to waste, he fitted it neatly into a niche between
Connecticut and Massachusetts.
Smallest of the fifty states (1231 sq. miles) five
hundred Rhode Islands could easily fit inside Alaska,
over 200 in Texas. Why it was not called something
like Teeniveenicut to rhyme with the names of its
neighbors, historians are unable to answer, although
there was no dearth of the tongue-twisting Red Indian
names. Take for instance the names of the rivers
that flow through the state into the Narragansett
Bay: Pettaquaniscutt, Potowomet, Pawtucket, Pawtuxet,
Pawcutuck, Chepachet, and Moshassuck.
To impress a foreign visitor with his knowledge
of local geography, a Rhode Islander uttered in
quick succession the names of these rivers. The
bewildered foreigner asked: “Can’t you
speak English?”
Incidentally, the Rhodes scholarships were set up
under the will of Cecil Rhodes, a British statesman
and financier and a founder of the famous De Beers
Mining Co of South Africa. He never set foot on
Rhode Island.
Historians are generally agreed that an Italian
explorer and navigator, Giovanni, called it by its
present name comparing its beauty and charm to the
Rhodes Island in the Aegean Sea off the Southwestern
coast of Turkey.
Considering its diminutive size and a population
of not much above a million, one is tempted to ask
if there really was a need for a separate state
of Rhode Island? Why was it not grabbed by one of
its neighboring states? The answer is simple: to
show what America is all about. (Didn’t India
show what it is all about -heads I win, tails you
lose-when it grabbed both Hyderabad and Kashmir.)
The statue of ‘Independent Man’ on the
top of the marble dome of the Capitol building in
Providence symbolizes the spirit of independence
of the original settlers and the respect for it
by the colonists of adjoining territories. The Rhode
Islanders were the first among the original thirteen
colonies to declare independence from England, but
significantly they were the last to join the union.
They did that only after the bill of rights was
assured to be incorporated into the US constitution.
Horror writer, H.P. Lovecraft, was not far wrong
when he described Rhode Island as “that universal
haven of the odd, the free and the dissenting.”
The first permanent settlement in the territory
took place in 1636 at Providence, the capital of
the state, under the leadership of an English clergyman,
Roger Williams. These settlers had migrated to North
America to avoid persecution by the Church of England
for non-conformity and to seek freedom of worship.
Williams named his settlement Providence, claiming
that it was God’s providence that had guided
them through the wilderness. That spirit of religious
tolerance still permeates the inhabitants of the
state and has had salutary effects in other parts
of the country.
These deep commitments to independence and religious
tolerance provide the raison d’être
of this tiny but vigorous, throbbing, thriving state.
On the lighter side of life in Rhode Island, a foreign
visitor notices numerous things. The diminutive
size of the state has conditioned the people in
many ways. There is no part of the state that cannot
be reached in less than half an hour from Providence.
A 25-minute commute to work is considered a torture,
unless you want to be as far away as possible from
your boss to hide something from that martinet.
The distance phobia may be gauged from the fact
that if a person has to drive half an hour to attend
an evening function, he usually books a room in
a motel there for the night instead of spending
another half an hour on drive back the same evening.
That is regarded as the normal thing to do.
The state has produced no marathon champion. You
can’t have a long enough track for any one
to train on it. Understandably, the most popular
game is racquetball.
If you leave your house at 11.45 am, you will make
it to the noon flight. At the Providence airport,
you have to step on to the tarmac and whistle for
the airplane. Forget long distance travel by bus;
they don’t serve as many packets of peanuts
as they do on planes. And, you can have several
sodas of your choice; you may even get drunk on
coke.
No matter in which direction you drive, you see
a Dunkin Donuts shop every four-five minutes. You
don’t have to ask anyone what the police have
(gratis?) for their breakfast.
Rhode Island has been a kaleidoscope, a melting
pot, and a laboratory of various European cultures.
An outcome of this cross-fertilization is a language
spoken with a peculiar accent. Rhode Islanders (Pronounced:
Roe Dyelindas) assert their tongue to be English.
They pronounce ‘lore’ as ‘law’,
and ‘law’ as ‘lore’, ‘pocket’
as ‘parkit’,
‘part’ as ‘pot’. “Till
death do us pot !” -no wonder marriages in
the state excel in harmony. In Hollywood, the vow
is taken to mean “Till death do us party”
with a new partner each time; naturally that gives
an average of 25 partners and three marriages.
In an ice cream parlor in Providence, I asked for
sugar-free ice-cream. The girl called the lady scooping
up the required stuff: “Kawell (Carrol), one
shugay fee (sugar free) cope (cup).heya (here).”
Twenty miles south of Providence, almost at the
southern tip of the state, is Newport, long famous
as a summer resort for the super-rich and known
now as the sailing capital of the world and an important
naval base. Pleasure boats and million-dollar yachts
jostle one another in the same harbor where merchant
ships once moved rum, molasses and slaves.
Newport still houses the well-kept and majestic
mansions of 19th century industrial tycoons. The
wedding reception of Jacqueline and John F. Kennedy
was held in one such mansion. The grandest of them
all is called ‘The Beakers’. It was
built in 1895 by a shipping magnate and boasts 70
rooms. Another mansion ‘Marble House’
built by the brother of the magnate, contains 500,000
cubic feet of marble walls and columns. There are
dozens of these mansions which, to my mind, reflect
the indigestion of wealth of the filthy rich of
a bygone era.
I couldn’t help wondering why a port town
that has a history of over a century is named Newport.
Where is the Oldport then?
As for the eccentricities of the owners, second
or third generation perhaps, let me just quote from
Ann Heinrich’s book on Rhode Island. “The
story is told that Oliver Hazard Belmont, a bachelor
who loved horses, kept several of them in his marble-floored
Belcourt Castle -until he married. Then his wife
insisted that the horses must go.” And they
did. Had Benazir done the same, and thrown out the
polo ponies (preferably the baby along with the
bath water), she wouldn’t have suffered the
humiliation she did! (The writer may be reached
by e-mail at: Arifhussaini@hotmail.com or by Ph.
at: 714-921-9634)
