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Editor’s Note: These New Bedford scenes were reported by The Light’s 2026 summer interns, who are part of the South Coast Internship program, designed for local students.
Travelers wheel suitcases toward the Seastreak ferry terminal while fishing crews work just steps away. Deckhands coil lines, sort gear and carry supplies across the weathered decks and the working wharf.
Vehicles with license plates from Connecticut, Vermont and New York fill the lot, and boats from New Bedford fill the harbor. A couple speaking Mandarin pauses to photograph a whale hand-painted on a concrete parking barrier. The man smiles as he holds up his cell phone to capture the artwork. It features the words “culture” and “community” in blue lettering.
Inside the terminal, a whale skeleton hangs from the ceiling. A mural titled “New Bedford: the City That Lit the World” traces the city’s whaling history through old photographs, including one of this very waterfront that shows crowded boats and people working along the harbor.
As the ferry approaches, passengers gather with their suitcases and cell phones. Some step into the boarding line while others linger at the railing. A picnic boat drifts past. A sailboat follows. A fishing boat heads out in the opposite direction.
“Attention passengers, we are now boarding the 3:45 ferry to Martha’s Vineyard,” an announcer says. The crew directs them toward the boarding area.
The ferry departs, passing the Viking Power and other fishing vessels on its left, their hulls towering above the water. On a nearby scalloper, three men heave ropes across the deck. The ferry looks minuscule compared to them.
The harbor churns long after the ferry is gone, with commercial vessels and recreational boaters crisscrossing the water. In a few hours, the cycle begins again, as a new group of travelers discover New Bedford’s bustling waterfront on their way to the islands.
— Aida Delano
Fake mustaches are scattered across every available surface. The walls are plastered with gaming stickers and movie posters. Several patrons in over-the-calf white socks break out in their best approximation of “dad” moves. Tonight at PLAY Arcade, it’s the Dad Rock Rave.
There’s a whiff of greasy cheese as a waiter walks by with a pizza. A bartender slides a glass of beer across the bartop, and foam spills onto the hand of the patron grabbing it. Beside the DJ, a bust of Yoda’s head appears to be smashing through the wall. A mural across the room greets visitors with a message, “Welcome to PLAY.”
Dressed in a Creed crop top and cargo pants, with sunglasses perched on her head, Kaylin Pacheco, the rave’s organizer, says that the owner of PLAY lets her throw these events to allow people a space to have a good time. “It’s just f— fun,” she said.
Patrons commit to the theme. There is a “Jawsome Dad” shirt, Hawaiian shirts, “Seinfeld” shirts, and sports apparel. One patron wears a D.A.R.E. hat, white socks, and a fanny pack. Their accessories? A baseball glove and a camera slung across their chest.
Someone dances the Macarena in front of the DJ, and when the song changes another person sticks on an available fake mustache.
Passing a “Ghostbusters” mural on the way to the roof deck, the dad rock downstairs becomes muffled. Outside, string lights stretch across a quieter party where the corners are decorated with balloons in green, white and gold. A glittering green backdrop set up by the railing reads, “CHEERS TO 20 YEARS.”
At this party, people mingle at tables in the summer air. They rest on the railing or sit side-by-side on two swinging benches.
Someone is running up the stairs, shouting, “Go, go, go, go!” These dad-rockers gasp as they emerge, realizing the stairs lead to a roof deck and a different party.
Down below, someone cheers after scoring in a game of air hockey. The lights of the game flash as the scoreboard changes. A side room is filled with pinball machines and a few people in sparkly dresses attempt to dance to an arcade rhythm game. Another patron leaves to make their way to the real dance floor.
Tokens clink as they are dispensed into yet another retro arcade game, and the dad rock blares on into the night.
— Julien Pedro
In the late afternoon, as many people arrive at East Beach as depart. One couple packs up their chairs, and the reggaeton from their speaker drifts with them toward the parking lot. Minutes later, a family arrives to claim the same plot of sand. Before they unfold their chairs, a young boy runs into the water.
The evening routine at East Beach is to turn away from the ocean to absorb the westward, afternoon sun. Men on the jetty let their feet dangle above the water. Women nap beneath umbrellas. A few girls climb onto an empty lifeguard chair — until a whistle cuts through their laughter, and they climb back down to the sand. Lifeguards practice sprinting from their chair to the shore.
Music from passing cars spills onto the beach, and a few people stop to dance before continuing on. Others wander to the shoreline to skip rocks. Out on the water, the day’s ocean traffic begins its return to the harbor. Motorboats head home one after another. A sailboat slowly cruises back. A fishing boat follows behind.
Farther down the beach, a group of men carries sand buckets filled with oysters. Here, more music from scattered speakers blends hip-hop, classic rock, and Portuguese songs. Children continue playing in the water as adults gather around picnic tables, observing the commotion. Another group unloads a portable grill for an evening cookout.
Elizabeth Pacheco, a 61-year-old New Bedford resident, sits nearby reading a book. She says she comes to the waterfront almost every day.
“I just love it here,” she says. “I love being around the people of New Bedford.”
“People may talk badly about the city, but I just love being here, by the ocean, hearing kids laugh, watching the boats go by.”
Pacheco says Fort Taber Beach is her “happy place.”
“It’s beautiful now. They’ve done a good job here,” she says of the park’s improvements over the years.
She now brings her grandson after school and throughout the summertime because “he loves it here. He makes new friends.”
“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”
— Anna Brenner
The mid-afternoon light shines through the windows on the second floor of the New Bedford Free Public Library. Outside, cars and emergency vehicles honk their horns and speed past. But inside it’s quiet. Four men sit back in their chairs, headphones on, as they browse the library’s computers. A woman sits at a nearby table, flipping through a newspaper. Behind her, a man breaks the silence by occasionally scanning papers. The machine whirs and he whispers to himself as he reads.
Dictionaries in different languages, historical documents, census data, old meeting minutes, and archives of local newspapers fill the bookshelves that surround this room. As the sunlight moves across the building, the natural lighting overpowers the fluorescent bulbs overhead. Besides the whirring from the scanner, the only noise on the second floor comes from the library staff. A woman crosses back and forth between the staff desk and the shelves, rearranging books as she goes. Her shoes scuff the floor. The elevator doors occasionally ding. The reference desk stands in the center of a marble-lined hallway with sculptures of fish, sharks, and insects suspended from the ceiling above.
Shortly after, the woman emerges from a back room behind the desk, holding paper cones with red, white, and blue streaks drawn across them. “I made party hats for America’s birthday,” she says.
Another librarian, Russ Ramos, answers questions about the services the library provides to veterans and unhoused individuals. From computer assistance to bimonthly consulate services, he says, the library eases the pressure on outside agencies, which are often “overwhelmed,” Ramos said. Another librarian, Amy Ferguson, says she urges patrons to browse their online calendar for book clubs, programs, and other services the library offers.
Downstairs, two staff members stand at the front desk, near the children’s reading room. Inside, a mother pleads with her child to put on his shoes. Outside, the young adults and children’s sections span the hallway and spill into the opposite room. Summer reading lists hang next to children’s drawings of animals and fictional characters.
The marble staircase at the end of the hall returns back to the second floor, where the sun reflects off a wooden table, and the trees tap against the window.
— Samantha McCarthy
New Bedford’s CoveWalk is busy in the 80 degree weather of an early summer weekend. Locals walk and enjoy a view of the ocean on the raised concrete pathway above the hurricane barrier. Boats in the distance float on top of the water, swaying side to side in the breeze. Bicyclists travel in groups and ring their bells as they pass.
One cyclist tows a kid’s trailer that carries a helmet-wearing toddler playing with a toy. A skateboarder holds on to the railing before pushing himself forward and coasting away. People walking in opposite directions exchange smiles.
On the rocks below, a group of men fish and shout to their friends on the trail above. The passing group watches for a while, then continues down the path.
Farther down, the trail passes a spray-painted mural of two swans who form a heart. The mural reads, “GIVE LOVE” and “GET LOVE.” Behind the swans, two fish face towards them, surrounded by roses and other detailed flowers.
A man who has come to the end of his walk stops and leans over the railing to admire the water, which sparkles with the reflection of the sun. Nearby, a woman does the same before setting up a portable camping chair. Birds fly overhead, then land in the water, splashing and flapping their wings. Cricket chirps and bird calls almost get lost behind the sounds of sirens and cars driving past.
As time goes by, the men who were fishing climb the rocks back to the top of the pathway, carrying empty white buckets. Two of them get on their bikes and leave, while the rest put away their gear.
— Liv Hunt
As children walk through the arched entrance of Noah’s Playground on Pope’s Island, parents and caregivers spray them with as much sunscreen as possible — a difficult task as the kids sprint toward the slides and climbers.
The colorful playsets contrast with the monotonous beige of the picnic tables and benches occupied by adults. On some tables, water bottles and stuffed animals mark their territory.
A group of moms chats at one table while sipping on their iced coffees from the Dunkin’ across the street. They watch their children compete on the monkey bars.
One father walks his daughter, who barely reaches his knees, up the steps to the tallest slide. Before he lets her go down, he warns her to pick up her feet. The toddler disappears into the darkness, and a rubbery squeak echoes through the park as the daughter’s sneakers slide against the plastic. At the bottom, her mother catches her, and both parents whoop and celebrate.
Accompanying the sound of the squeaking swingsets and slides is the laughter of teenagers, too.
A group of four teens race on an obstacle course they’ve imagined around the playground. As one runs from one checkpoint to the next, the others time them. They take care to keep separate from the younger kids nearby, not wanting to interrupt an ongoing game of hide-and-seek-tag.
The dreaded “five minute” warnings are called out when it’s almost time to leave. When those minutes have passed, some children quietly jog over to their parents. Other parents chase their toddlers before getting them in their grasp.
A group of young girls head towards the exit with their parents, saying heartfelt goodbyes to each other even though they only met that day. The parents, who also shared the day with new friends, say goodbye too.
— Samantha Medeiros
Email Colin Hogan at chogan@newbedfordlight.org
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