BY JOEY DAYTONA | The idea to drive up to Plymouth, Massachusetts for Thanksgiving came up at a Halloween party in the West Village. I’d met some interesting people at DJ Spooky’s birthday party at Damon Dash’s gallery in Tribeca years ago and stayed in touch with an amazingly creative couple.

I’d mentioned to them that I’d gone to Plymouth Plantation (now called the Plimoth Patuxet Museums because presumably the word plantation evokes memories of slavery) on a lark back in the mid-1990s for Thanksgiving without reservations and my carload of friends and I were tripping on magic mushrooms and got turned away, so we went into town. That story has us trying to eat some food while laughing our faces off in the streets and noticing an odd vibe that got us concerned.

Turns out there had been a street riot of sorts the year before, so as we got closer to where the rally and protest march would happen we kept seeing more and more police that looked nervous—which in turn made us more nervous. The twisted and tortured real history of that genocide keeps historians up at night and kept teachers on edge lest their curious students ask any uncomfortable questions on Columbus Day or in late November.

We had an hour to kill before the show began so we went to take a look at the famous rock—and like many tourists, were underwhelmed by its small size. Literally looking around and saying out loud, “That’s it?” with more laughing. We saw a family from the Midwest pull up in their car, take a look and a few photos and start to walk back to the car when their preteen son turned back and spit on the rock. We were shocked for moment then busted out laughing then felt awkward and walked off to see the ocean. We passed the Mayflower II and were again shocked at how small it was. It seemed quite unbelievable that they actually crossed the Atlantic Ocean in that RV of the sea.

We spent an hour or so just walking in the sand looking down at shells and seaweed. An entire universe of amazement there in the flotsam! Horton Smells an Aquatic Who! When you’re under the influence of psychedelics, you can have intrusive thoughts that run the spectrum of hysterically funny to horrendously depressing and sad. Wild mood swings based on your random thoughts, synapses ablaze. A boat coming closer? Pirates! Clown pirates perhaps that will make us walk a rubber plank. Swords made of swordfish. Sure, why not? Anything was possible. I had to lay down, so I did, on a bench near the seawall. I felt like the sleeping bum on the cover of that Steely Dan album. Thankfully, this was all before cell phones or there might be silly pictures somewhere as all we had were film cameras back then.

We attended the rally at a safe distance and tried not to laugh too much and hung back during the march so at the end we managed to find our way back to our car and get the hell back to Boston in time for Thanksgiving dinner at the home of a friend’s parents. Surprise! By that time, we weren’t bugging out so much and were able to act mostly normal between shots of Wild Turkey. Fast forward to 2023 and after the Halloween party I decided to go back to Plymouth and see what it was like. I called the Plimoth Patuxet Museums and was told they had no openings for Thanksgiving but could be put on the wait list, so I did that. I did some general reconnaissance by looking online for what was around there. From the satellite view it looks like the area has been overdeveloped. Lots of big buildings and parking lots. There was also a familiar shopping mall in Kingston that felt oddly familiar, as if I’d been there before—and I had. It was on a hot mess of a date that ended in a kiss on the cheek and unanswered answering machine messages. A flood of memories invaded my mind and heart as I tried to unearth the petty details of the jerk I was back then. Did I really not hold the door for her? So unlike me!

I kept my online recon going and checked various review pages like Yelp! and Tripadvisor. The mall is the Kingston Collection, which sounds…like a clothing line or something, but was built in 1989, so when I took my date there it was about 10 years old and felt shabby even then. I zoomed in and saw they have a movie theater and Thanksgiving would be opening night for a slasher flick aptly titled, Thanksgiving, made by horror director and Quentin Tarantino pal Eli Roth. Originally a parody trailer in Tarantino’s Grindhouse, Massachusetts native Roth kept the dream alive and finally made the movie he’d been wet dreaming of while monsters hummed under his bed to drown out the moans and groans coming from above. I made note of the showtimes and as the date of my drive to Massachusetts got closer, I’d seen the preview on Youtube and had a morbid fascination with both the potential bloody horror and implied humor of the film. Unfortunately, the K1 Speed indoor go-kart racing track located next to Regal Cinemas had closed in 2019 (frowny face emoji).

Some of you know when it comes to food, I’ve been obsessed with breakfast most my life. When I worked at 59th and Madison, I had a habit of getting my $5 Manhattan “breffix” of an open air street banana, Duane Reade yogurt, and a street muffin from my main man Alex in his little trailer hut on Park Avenue (who would on occasion throw me a free chocolate croissant on a Friday with a knowing nod of, “Yo bro, we’re all in this together!”). There was a day when I was going into work to ask for a raise and said to him, “Today’s my Brut day and King Kong ain’t got shit on me!” He laughed but I realized as I walked away, he probably had no idea about those ancient Brut cologne ads or had seen the movie Training Day with Denzel Washington. A few years back I’d had a great experience at Persy’s Place in Middleboro and wanted to repeat that. Sometimes we can’t proverbially go home again—but in this case, they were so consistent I got there early enough to get in an order of Eggs Benedict with their famous corned beef hash. Om nom! What a great spot.

I won’t bore you with the details of my drive out of NYC through CT to MA, but suffice it to say I prefer not to drive east into a blinding sunrise glare and due to some slight clouds that was mostly avoided.

Instead of the 1995 Camaro I had in my last outing written up here, I’d traded that for a 1994 Impala SS with low miles and a lot of low-end torque grunt.

Not wanting to get a speeding ticket, I’d driven out early and arrived in Plymouth with plenty of time to walk around. I knew not to park too close to the center of town and chose a free parking spot in Nelson Memorial Park with a lovely view of the water out to Beach Point and the vast Atlantic Ocean past that. I walked down Water Street and took some photos that are part of this online travelogue.

Still very much a vacation destination, as with much of oceanside towns, the locals have a love-hate relationship with tourists, needing their money in the warm weather to tide them over during the leaner winter months. On the left was the East Bay Grille, the Lobster Hut, the Crabby Shack, and the Tavern on the Wharf. I walked to the famous rock and had a moment there pondering the history. I kept walking and managed to find the 7-Eleven and get a cup of coffee. “Big day today, huh?” I asked the guy behind the counter. He forced a smile and nodded. I walked down Main Street and took a right onto North, where at the end I found a bunch of cosplayers pretending to be pilgrims. It was in the yard of the Mayflower Society, aka The General Society of Mayflower Descendants, aka The Enemy! I wondered if they’d ever been confronted with a protest. I imagined them being pelted with rocks and garbage as they clung to their replica prop blunderbusses. The image of them in full period European invader gear as they were wheeled into the emergency room made me laugh out loud. A tourist watching them looked at me puzzled. I stared them down and felt like spitting but saved my bile for later.

I made my way to the Coles Hill Burial Ground the site of the statue of Massasoit that was made in 1921 by sculptor Cyrus Edwin Dallin “to mark the three hundredth anniversary of the Pilgrims’ landing. The sculpture is meant to represent the Pokanoket leader (Wampanoag sachem) Massasoit welcoming the Pilgrims on the occasion of the first Thanksgiving” – Wikipedia. The Welcoming Regretted Evermore as I call it.

“Amidst the George Floyd protests, the statue has garnered controversy for some people’s interpretation of it representing colonialism.” Well, yeah, I guess. This is an odd one due to the fact while otherwise well-meaning folks might tie a chain to a statue of Christopher Columbus in the middle of the night and pull it down in protest, few feel like destroying a statue of a “Native American.” I mean, have you seen his abs? A small group of radical leftist leaders were setting up a stage and PA system. Their counter-cultural zeal was aptly represented by their comfy sandals and hemp shirts. Some were actual indigenous people, while some were obviously Democrats. There is a subset of these folks who are considered Limousine Liberals and the Champagne Socialists by elitist bashers. An interlocking board of nonprofit charitable foundations and philanthropists obliged to give away the bare IRS minimum of 5% of their returns on their investments keep many such pro-social and progressive groups afloat. Liberal guilt is a hell of a drug.

I saw the crypt and paused to note its massive presence. “At the southern end of the hill stands a granite sarcophagus erected by the General Society of Mayflower Descendants in 1920. It contains skeletal remains accidentally disinterred from the hill in the 18th and 19th centuries, which are believed to be those of Mayflower settlers buried here in the winter of 1620-21 when 52 out of 102 died.” – Wikipedia. Them bones!

Ah, you can smell the history! And the vaping of marijuana! I saw a Palestinian flag being unfurled which was a hint of things to come as the Israeli invasion of Gaza since the Hamas raid on October 7th was in the news daily. When anti-Semitism and anti-Zionism collide! The parallels between the genocide of American Indians and the citizens of Gaza had been gaining steam as the narrative shifted uncomfortably on college campuses and newsroom editorial desks. I hung out on Carver Street catching the vibe then decided to walk back towards the 7-Eleven to see what was up and try to remember exactly where I was years before when we hung out with the hippies while tripping on magic mushrooms. Much had changed and while some storefronts seemed familiar, some were clearly very new. A London-style phone booth for example

and a cigar store Indian carved out of wood.

I arrived back at the hill in time for the speakers and a solemn moment of silence. The agreeable weather had brought a good turnout, and some had even been bused in.

Besides the speeches, the National Day of Mourning includes a march, all organized by the United American Indians of New England. Since 1970, they’ve been beating the drum of truth despite the cover-up the white colonialism-loving apologists and tourists want.

“Teach the children the truth!” sang Wyclef Jean years ago. There is a lot of good information on their web page, but what really caught my attention was the story of how the planners of the 1970 commemoration thought it would be a nice gesture to have an actual Indian speak! Oh, dear… Well, Frank James accepted the invitation but when the kind white folks in charge saw the text of his speech he was planning on giving, they thought the better of their gesture and Frank decided not to change a word. The speech he wanted to make can be found here and its a powerful read even today, much less 1970! Back in 1968, the American Indian Movement was formed in Minneapolis, Minnesota and soon enough they were being compared to the Black Panthers by the FBI. Dangerous leftists probably funded by Castro and the USSR! In 1973, the occupation of Wounded Knee in South Dakota helped spark a renewed awareness of Indian issues and the poverty and deprivations on the reservations. Was General Custer related to any Pilgrims? Hmmm… After the occupation came the siege and you can read about it here.

I drove to the mall to catch the movie, which was both gory and funny.

After the seriousness of the day, the laughs were welcome as I munched on a box of peanut M&Ms as the fake blood flowed onscreen. Eli Roth is quite a character, and he is probably best remembered for his portrayal of the Bear Jew in Quentin Tarantino’s film Inglorious Bastards. After the movie I drove to an old college friend’s place where the door key was under the door mat since they were out of state visiting their relatives like a normal person. There was a list of instructions on the kitchen table and as the heat cranked up, I helped myself to some rocky road ice cream. The next day for lunch I helped myself to what we used to call a TV dinner of turkey, stuffing, corn, and mashed potatoes that had been bought by my absent host just for me. I packed up my overnight bag, turned the heat off and drove away with colonialism on my mind and food in my stomach. I realize I’m as much caught up in the bourgeois daily pursuits and distractions of our modern consumer society as anyone I knew, even those trying desperately to detach from it in any way possible without living in a cave. On the way back to NYC, I stopped off at a state park in Connecticut and took a walk in the woods to feel back to nature if only for an hour, and to feel some sense of what it was like to live as the people did before Columbus and the Pilgrims came onto the shore like the “illegal” immigrants they were.

JOEY DAYTONA  | Joey was a DJ, snowboarder and drag racer before retiring early to wait tables in Chelsea during the day and drive for a car service at night. His spirit animal is Travis Bickle. He also writes e-books under a pseudonym and was the manager of the Spaghetti Tacos restaurant upstate and former co-owner of the Go More Fast speed shop. He has a YouTube channel under his real name and was banned from Twitter. His motto is: On the Road, On Tour, Across the Country!

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