Deleted Scene from Coffee Crash: The Boston Coffee Party
Contents copyright © 2012 by Steve Hoffenberg. All rights reserved.
The scene below was originally part of Chapter 27, which begins with the following quotation:
“Our LIBERTY, and LIFE is now invaded, And
FREEDOM’s brightest Charms are darkly shaded;
But, we will STAND--and think it noble mirth,
To DART the man that dare oppress the Earth.”
from the anonymous broadside ballad, “TEA, DESTROYED BY INDIANS”, about the Boston Tea Party, the title of which sarcastically misidentifies the perpetrators by their native disguises, 1773
*****
Adjacent to the Museum of Science, three amphibious vehicles emerged from a narrow concrete canal into the Charles River, the body of water separating the municipalities of Boston and Cambridge. These authentic World War II era U.S. Marine Corps six-wheeled boat/truck hybrids were originally known by the arcane initials DUKW: D indicating 1942, the model design year; U for amphibious utility body; K for front wheel drive; and W for two rear driving axles. Now, however, serving a purpose as far as one can imagine from their original olive drab duties, these brightly colored vehicles, one yellow, one red, and one pink, were part of the immensely popular fleet known as Boston Duck Tours. On most days, their chief tasks would have involved hauling tourists around the sites, both historic and modern, of the city which egocentrically referred to itself as The Hub of the Universe (as if Oliver Wendell Holmes’s original 1858 description of the gold-domed State House as “the hub of the solar system” wasn’t sufficiently grandiose). But on this sunny Saturday afternoon, these particular vehicles had been pressed into service through the liberal application of cash, for yet another entirely different purpose.
In a scene of absurdity heaped upon incongruity, wrapped in multiple layers of anachronism, Janelle Partridge, a black woman dressed as the captain of an 18th century sailing ship, stood proudly aboard the lead (yellow) 20th century military duck boat with a megaphone in hand. Accompanying her on deck, similarly outfitted in Colonial garb, were six assistants and the boat’s pilot/driver, referred to as the “conDUCKtor.” Also on deck were stacks of 60 kilogram burlap coffee sacks, 24 in all, totaling more than a ton and a half of beans. On the second (red) boat, 16 people were dressed in Colonial shirts and trousers, but with feathered Native American headdresses. And on the third (pink) boat, were 18 members of the media, including two television news crews. Two of the journalists had indulged in the spirit of the event and dressed themselves in period attire underneath their orange personal floatation vests, after having quaffed down several pints each of Samuel Adams lager prior to boarding.
Numerous recreational sailboats from Community Boating out meandering on the waterway gradually congregated in the vicinity, and a police motorboat trailed the colorful procession as it made its way up the Charles River and under the Longfellow Bridge, to the area near where the Hatch Shell stood on The Esplanade.
Partridge would have preferred to have conducted the event on a genuine square-rigger out in nearby Boston Harbor where the original Boston Tea Party had taken place, but her modest promotional budget hadn’t allowed for the scarcer ship, and city bureaucrats had declined to issue a permit for that locale on such short notice. Nevertheless, the farcical nature of the event was bolstered by the setting of “Ducks on the Chuck,” as one news report later described it.
Partridge raised the megaphone to her mouth and called out,“Welcome to Her MajesTea’s Boston Coffee Party!”
On her signal, the red duck boat maneuvered up to the side of the yellow one, then the “Indians” awkwardly clambered over the rails onto the “cargo” ship. Wielding rubber tomahawks, they lightly tapped the Colonialists on the head, and the defenders collapsed on deck. Partridge and the chief raider engaged in exaggerated hand-to-hand combat almost worthy of a professional wrestling match, until she was at last overcome by a bump on the head with her own megaphone.
The chief raider stripped off his own headdress and the conDUCKtor of the red boat tossed him a tri-corner hat, which he put on. Then he announced through the megaphone, “Now, we patriots will save our land from the despicable coffee beans that this tyrannical captain sought to foist upon our wholesome shores.”
The gang of raiders hacked at the sacks of coffee with their rubber tomahawks, but the sacks failed to yield.
The chief raider called out in the direction of the pink duck boat, “Any of ye got a knife, so that we might slash open these stubborn sacks and pour the beans overboard?”
The conDUCKtor of the pink boat, dressed in a 19th century French military uniform, stood up and shouted back, “I, Napoleon Boatapart, have a dagger!” He maneuvered his boat alongside the cargo boat and tossed over the plastic blade, then he backed his boat away.
The chief raider was preparing to slice open a sack of beans, when a black speedboat rapidly approached the yellow duck boat from the far side. At the last possible moment, the speedboat turned sharply, thrusting a wall of water over the rails of the yellow boat, drenching its occupants. The three men in the speedboat wore pirate costumes, and they each carried a sword.
Threateningly brandishing his weapon, the driver of the speedboat yelled out, “Ahoy, me buckos! Hand over the coffee beans, and nobody gets pierced.” He reached over and jabbed the tip of his sword at one of the coffee sacks.
The wet Indian raiders all put up their hands. The speedboat driver directed two of the Indians to lower the coffee sacks down to the speedboat. When several of the sacks still remained, the speedboat sat precariously low in the water from the excess weight, and the driver signaled to stop. He yelled, “Thanks, suckers,” then he yanked back his throttle, and the boat tore away from the pack.
The passengers on the press boat all enthusiastically applauded the event’s creative finale.
Partridge grabbed the megaphone. She pointed it at the police boat that had been lurking at a discrete distance. “What are you waiting for? Go after them!”
A megaphoned voice from the police boat replied, “What?”
“Go after them!” she repeated.
“You mean they weren’t part of the act?”
“Hell, no! We’ve been robbed.”
“Our LIBERTY, and LIFE is now invaded, And
FREEDOM’s brightest Charms are darkly shaded;
But, we will STAND--and think it noble mirth,
To DART the man that dare oppress the Earth.”
from the anonymous broadside ballad, “TEA, DESTROYED BY INDIANS”, about the Boston Tea Party, the title of which sarcastically misidentifies the perpetrators by their native disguises, 1773
*****
Adjacent to the Museum of Science, three amphibious vehicles emerged from a narrow concrete canal into the Charles River, the body of water separating the municipalities of Boston and Cambridge. These authentic World War II era U.S. Marine Corps six-wheeled boat/truck hybrids were originally known by the arcane initials DUKW: D indicating 1942, the model design year; U for amphibious utility body; K for front wheel drive; and W for two rear driving axles. Now, however, serving a purpose as far as one can imagine from their original olive drab duties, these brightly colored vehicles, one yellow, one red, and one pink, were part of the immensely popular fleet known as Boston Duck Tours. On most days, their chief tasks would have involved hauling tourists around the sites, both historic and modern, of the city which egocentrically referred to itself as The Hub of the Universe (as if Oliver Wendell Holmes’s original 1858 description of the gold-domed State House as “the hub of the solar system” wasn’t sufficiently grandiose). But on this sunny Saturday afternoon, these particular vehicles had been pressed into service through the liberal application of cash, for yet another entirely different purpose.
In a scene of absurdity heaped upon incongruity, wrapped in multiple layers of anachronism, Janelle Partridge, a black woman dressed as the captain of an 18th century sailing ship, stood proudly aboard the lead (yellow) 20th century military duck boat with a megaphone in hand. Accompanying her on deck, similarly outfitted in Colonial garb, were six assistants and the boat’s pilot/driver, referred to as the “conDUCKtor.” Also on deck were stacks of 60 kilogram burlap coffee sacks, 24 in all, totaling more than a ton and a half of beans. On the second (red) boat, 16 people were dressed in Colonial shirts and trousers, but with feathered Native American headdresses. And on the third (pink) boat, were 18 members of the media, including two television news crews. Two of the journalists had indulged in the spirit of the event and dressed themselves in period attire underneath their orange personal floatation vests, after having quaffed down several pints each of Samuel Adams lager prior to boarding.
Numerous recreational sailboats from Community Boating out meandering on the waterway gradually congregated in the vicinity, and a police motorboat trailed the colorful procession as it made its way up the Charles River and under the Longfellow Bridge, to the area near where the Hatch Shell stood on The Esplanade.
Partridge would have preferred to have conducted the event on a genuine square-rigger out in nearby Boston Harbor where the original Boston Tea Party had taken place, but her modest promotional budget hadn’t allowed for the scarcer ship, and city bureaucrats had declined to issue a permit for that locale on such short notice. Nevertheless, the farcical nature of the event was bolstered by the setting of “Ducks on the Chuck,” as one news report later described it.
Partridge raised the megaphone to her mouth and called out,“Welcome to Her MajesTea’s Boston Coffee Party!”
On her signal, the red duck boat maneuvered up to the side of the yellow one, then the “Indians” awkwardly clambered over the rails onto the “cargo” ship. Wielding rubber tomahawks, they lightly tapped the Colonialists on the head, and the defenders collapsed on deck. Partridge and the chief raider engaged in exaggerated hand-to-hand combat almost worthy of a professional wrestling match, until she was at last overcome by a bump on the head with her own megaphone.
The chief raider stripped off his own headdress and the conDUCKtor of the red boat tossed him a tri-corner hat, which he put on. Then he announced through the megaphone, “Now, we patriots will save our land from the despicable coffee beans that this tyrannical captain sought to foist upon our wholesome shores.”
The gang of raiders hacked at the sacks of coffee with their rubber tomahawks, but the sacks failed to yield.
The chief raider called out in the direction of the pink duck boat, “Any of ye got a knife, so that we might slash open these stubborn sacks and pour the beans overboard?”
The conDUCKtor of the pink boat, dressed in a 19th century French military uniform, stood up and shouted back, “I, Napoleon Boatapart, have a dagger!” He maneuvered his boat alongside the cargo boat and tossed over the plastic blade, then he backed his boat away.
The chief raider was preparing to slice open a sack of beans, when a black speedboat rapidly approached the yellow duck boat from the far side. At the last possible moment, the speedboat turned sharply, thrusting a wall of water over the rails of the yellow boat, drenching its occupants. The three men in the speedboat wore pirate costumes, and they each carried a sword.
Threateningly brandishing his weapon, the driver of the speedboat yelled out, “Ahoy, me buckos! Hand over the coffee beans, and nobody gets pierced.” He reached over and jabbed the tip of his sword at one of the coffee sacks.
The wet Indian raiders all put up their hands. The speedboat driver directed two of the Indians to lower the coffee sacks down to the speedboat. When several of the sacks still remained, the speedboat sat precariously low in the water from the excess weight, and the driver signaled to stop. He yelled, “Thanks, suckers,” then he yanked back his throttle, and the boat tore away from the pack.
The passengers on the press boat all enthusiastically applauded the event’s creative finale.
Partridge grabbed the megaphone. She pointed it at the police boat that had been lurking at a discrete distance. “What are you waiting for? Go after them!”
A megaphoned voice from the police boat replied, “What?”
“Go after them!” she repeated.
“You mean they weren’t part of the act?”
“Hell, no! We’ve been robbed.”
