The City That Lit the World

by Joe Flanagan

Recalling the scene later, he would write, “On one side, [the town] rose in terraces of streets, their ice-covered trees all glittering in the clear, cold air. Huge hills and mountains of casks on casks were piled upon her wharves, and side by side, the worldwandering whale ships lay silent and safely moored . . .”

Herman Melville was 21, a green crewman of the 359-ton Acushnet, bound for the Pacific in pursuit of the sea’s most coveted prize. New Bedford, the town he describes in the immortal Moby Dick, was growing rich on whale oil, evident in its teeming waterfront, its grand houses, and its thriving financial institutions. Whaling money founded railroads, textile mills, and land corporations. It transformed New Bedford into an exotic, cosmopolitan city, its streets crowded with people from Cape Verde, the Azores, Portugal, and other distant ports. The New Bedford of Melville’s time exuded the vitality of a place that had urgent business in the world, that had exceeded its humble beginnings. A hundred years later, New Bedford had the desperate and hollowed-out look of so many New England towns that hit their prime in the 19th century, then were left behind by advancing technology and economic change. The glory days of whaling were a distant memory. What was not visible, looking down on the decay from the elevated interstate that cuts through the city, was the struggle to preserve a heritage. It was a struggle fought locally, against sometimes high odds, in the face of indifference and the shadow of urban renewal.

The establishment of New Bedford Whaling National Historical Park in 1996 was recognition of the national importance of the whaling story and, in many ways, the crowning achievement of decades of hard work and faith. Comprised of 13 blocks of the historic waterfront, the park includes more than 70 structures, many of which are privately owned or managed by local authorities. It is a nontraditional model of a national park, whose viability depends on partnerships. In fact, the legislation that established it demands collaboration. Says Superintendent Celeste Bernardo, “We tend to look at partners as external to the park, but in this case they are the park.”

It is not a case of the National Park Service swooping in and rescuing history. Local organizations had been telling the whaling story for a long time. Advocates had been lobbying for preservation for years, and a nonprofit had quietly acquired scores of historic properties. New Bedford already had perhaps the most extensive whaling museum in the country. If anything, the park is a convergence of vision and experience, an arrangement where each party contributes its strengths to give voice to the city’s heritage.