New England is an odd place for people who are used to outward amicability. We do not tend to look strangers in the eye, or say more in passing than a meek "hello". We might meet our neighbors, but might not; the idea of neighbors bringing the welcome wagon is absurd.
Now, you ask, how did it get this way? Why are we socially colder than everywhere else in the United States?
I shall tell you. It all starts with a second cousin of Miles Standish, named Miles Standoffish.
Now Miles Standoffish didn't come to Plymouth on the Mayflower, but to Boston on the Junebug. And it was a strange voyage for everyone else, because despite the crowded conditions of life aboard those rickety little ships, somehow Miles would always be found standing apart from everyone else. If everyone was on deck, he was down in the hold. If everyone was everywhere, he'd be at the end of the bowsprit. Nobody quite knew how he managed it.
And when the ship hove into Boston Harbor, he was up in the Crow's Nest. Now, in those days the people of Boston and their little colonies through the wilderness weren't socially distant like yankees are now. It was a very genial place. Very "Hey there Josiah, how ya doin, how's the wife and kids." Slap your friend on the back, quaff a tankard of ale and sing merrily. That sort of place.
Which meant that ol' Miles didn't exactly fit in, any better than he had aboard ship. People would be out working in the fields and he'd be far away from them at the end of a row. Or everyone would be in church and he'd be sitting in the back. People didn't like that much about him. Thought he didn't like them at all. Now Miles, he didn't hate anyone specifically. he just wanted to be alone.
Why on earth he didn't just light out for the woods is anyone's guess. Maybe he liked the city life, poorly though he fit. In any case, people got fed up with him, and they wondered where they ought to make him work that he'd actually handle well. And as it happened, there was a pressing issue of ships running aground at a certain point, and the need for someone to keep a light going in the evening.
They didn't have lighthouses in those days -- but they had lightships. Get an old hulk out on the water, take the masts off and turn it into a barge and anchor it, and put a big lantern up on the aft castle. It worked well enough, but it was a lonely and cold job, and nobody wanted to do it.
Which meant, of course, that they gave the job to Miles. And he looked at the lightship, and he said, "Golly, that thing looks pretty leaky." And the mayor said "Miles, don't worry. You're in the Lord's hands. He'll keep you safe." And Miles had to agree.
So he stood out there, night after night, and slept by day, and didn't talk much to anyone, and even though he felt like he'd been given a crummy job, it worked out for him. Anyone else would have been distracted by their longing for company. Anyone else would have done a lousy job. And he saved many a ship from foundering on those shoals. So Miles felt pretty good about himself.
But one day, the wind picked up in a strange way, and there was a dark line on the horizon, getting closer by the minute. And Miles knew he had to get off that ship, or the oncoming storm would sink him. He couldn't swim -- not many could, in those days, even if they hadn't been wearing heavy wool clothing. And he looked about the ship, but there was no longboat, nor anything to make one. So Miles climbed up to the top of the mast, and hoped he could hang on.
It was a mighty wind that blew, rocking the ship this way and that in the high waves. Rain lashed the poor man's face. Lightning struck all around him. Miles realized to his horror that being at the top of the mast was the last place he ought to be --
There was a flash, and a mighty BOOM, and the next thing Miles knew, he was in the water, and the sea all about him was lit by the great fire that raged over all the lightship.
Long time Miles struggled in the wild waves, flailing about in a vain effort to keep himself above water. Perhaps it was by luck, or by the Lord's grace, that the waves picked him up and threw him onto the beach. Perhaps it was by the Devil's mischief that the beach was all rocky and the next wave dumped water right on his face.
It was a sodden and bedraggled Miles that made his way into town. What a fearsome sight he made, dragging himself to one door after another in the gloomy darkness. Not one door he knocked on answered, though he knew there were people inside. Until at last he came to the Parson's door, for the Parson, a man of the Lord, surely would not turn a weary soul away.
The Parson opened the door, and seeing Miles standing there, eyes downcast, beard dripping water, he said, "Good heavens, Miles, you look like a witch that came from the sea!"
And then the Parson thought. He thought, why, if this man fell into the water but did not drown, he must be a witch. So he brought Miles in, and gave him dry clothing to change into and warm soup, and bade him sit by the fire -- and in the morning he had the magistrate arrest Miles for witchcraft.
At the trial all the witnesses said his survival proved he was a witch. They claimed they'd seen him casting evil spells, and that was why he stood apart from everybody. They blamed the milk going sour on him, and they blamed babies crying on him, and they blamed the big storm on him. They even blamed their tea going cold on him.
And Miles said, "Alright, you so-called people of the Lord. You've treated me poorly this whole time, and now I'll repay your unkindness. If you hang me for a witch, I'll curse you all to be like me. You'll never get to know your neighbors without effort. You'll never greet strangers on the street with anything more than a meek 'hello'. You'll never look the cashier in the eye."
And everyone asked, "What's a cashier?"
And Miles said "You'll figure that one out later."
Well, that statement certainly didn't help his case, if his case could even be helped. And they hanged him in front of all the town the next morning.
But as they were burying the poor fellow, people began to whisper among themselves that he might have been right. They hadn't treated Miles all that well. So they began to feel mighty guilty, and they couldn't look each other in the eye. They didn't talk to each other much anymore. Didn't sing merry songs like they used to. Everybody started keeping to themselves out of shame. And in the next generation, their children picked up on this behavior, and it became the way everybody acted from then on.
So that's why we're all standoffish now. All because of Miles.