Fisherman's Feast and Flying Angels

Two weeks ago Nick and I ventured out to the North End to attend the Fisherman’s Feast—one of several Italian festivals going on in Boston in the summer. The roots of this festival come from Sicily and its fishermen’s devotion to the Madonna del Soccorso. The descendents of the Sicilian fishermen have kept this festival alive in Boston for 98 years.

Crowds of people watched as the statue of the Madonna, surrounded by multiple marching bands, made her way around the narrow streets of the North End. The procession made regular stops, and ribbons with dollar bills attached to them flowed down to the Madonna from the near by businesses and houses.

Many people followed the Madonna around the neighborhood, but by eight o’clock a small crowd started assembling at an otherwise unremarkable street corner. We promptly joined this crowd of people, patiently waiting for the three flying angels to appear—the highlight of the festival, and from what we heard the sight “not to be missed.” When the statue of the Madonna drowning in ribbons of money finally arrived at this street corner, angels appeared over the crowd.

The first two “flying angels” we saw were fairly stationary. Two young girls dressed as angels appeared on balconies across the street from each other and spoke in Italian. I think they pronounced a prayer to the Madonna for the fishermen’s safe return from the sea. Then the third angel appeared, and this one was indeed flying. The third young girl dressed as an angel was yanked out of a third story window on a pulley. With ropes also tied to her legs to help her maintain her body position in the air, she was lowered towards the Madonna and continued the prayer.

Behind me two teenagers whispered excitedly debating if the girl was going to fly back up. Their mother bet them $5 each that that there would be “no more flying tonight.” Sure enough, a few minutes later the third angel was yanked up over the crowd and slowly pulled back into the same third story window while the teenagers behind me cheered.

When the angels disappeared, the people we thought were watching the festival from the rooftops above started throwing large amounts of shredded white paper onto the crowd. The paper quickly covered the street, hanging in clumps on the electric wiring, and obscuring small children. The festival was over, and shuffling white paper under our feet we headed home.