Durgin-Park
Still today* a popular eating-place for locals and visitors alike, Durgin-Park in Boston’s market district had already become a family tradition, ’way back when I was all the family we had in the East.

An undergraduate take on the story resides in a sidebar in an earlier section of this account. I put this photo there, too, though it fits better here. That’s probably I in the whitish shirt with the camera strap at the end of the line; I was seldom seen so dressed-up, in the earlier period. ’Specially not in the Market District.
In 1964, most of a decade later, as soon as we could manage it on a Saturday, I insisted that Valerie and I check out Maggie’s table. The staff said that she had had health problems and retired, mostly—but, waddya know, there’s Maggie! Still tall, kinda undernourished (a bit incongruous, in that setting), nearsighted, and kindly: if she didn’t recognize me, she also didn’t let on. I introduced Valerie with the usual Massachusetts cordialities. Maggie, Boston-Irish-style, brought us extra corn bread, for auld lang syne
*We were desolated in 2019 to learn from faraway Utah that Durgin had closed its doors.
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