Bill Packard Page

   I love the Amish country. Been there lots of times and always found it very, very interesting, peaceful and just plain nice. Lancaster, PA. is kind of considered the heart of Amish country, so they're probably feeling pretty down in Lancaster right now because of Nicholas Hadznick. Seems that 'ole Nick as I like to call him, even though he's only 28, had some issues. He was a guest at a resort there in Lancaster, not just a hotel or cabins, but a resort. I think we expect more from people that choose to stay at a resort than we do people who simply get a motel/hotel room. But my buddy Nick got a little out of hand. I read about him in a Spotlight article that summarizes news from around the country and the world. I'm guessing that while his antics were just in The Nation section here, he probably made The World section everywhere else.

   Nick got drunk. That's not news. Doing it at a resort is not news, but also probably not good judgment. Most of the time, getting drunk is not news, but what people do after they get drunk quite often is news. Nick took all his clothes off. If Nick had stayed in his room at the resort, this wouldn't have been news, but as you probably have guessed, he didn't. If he'd just wandered aimlessly as drunks can easily do, he could have made the Lancaster police blotter, but never would have been in The Bangor Daily News. 'Ole Nick is obviously an overachiever, so in his drunken nakedness, he trashed the resort and the grocery store across the street. We don't know why. We will probably never know why. Tomorrow there will be other headlines and Nick's follow up will not be news. I suspect Nick's follow up would not be news even if nothing happened in the world. Which brings me to another point that has nothing to do with this particular event. People that are in the public sector, politicians, local managers, selectmen, senators and congressmen sometimes forget that. When there's a hint or suspicion of news, you're better off the give all the facts up front and straight to the media. No matter how bad it might seem, it will only last a very short time. Tomorrow there will be more than enough suicide bombings, economic problems, cheating, lying, fires, floods and other news to capture the attention of the public. If you choose to ignore the media's questions or put an over the top spin on your response, you will be in the news for awhile. It's not the media's fault. It's yours.

   Of course there's no opportunity for Nick to spin this story. He got caught. Probably not that hard to apprehend a naked, drunk out of control guy in a supermarket in Lancaster, PA. The cops didn't have to ask him if he had anything in his pockets and they didn't have to ask him if had an ID on him. The answers were obvious. They arrested him and charged him. He's identified in the article as a suspect. I understand the wording and understand all that presumed innocent until proven guilty business, but my guess is that Nick did it. He was the naked guy arrested in the supermarket. The Lancaster, PA police nailed this one. Here is what's disturbing about all this and why I decided to write about it in the first place. He was charged with public drunkenness, open lewdness (which is a different crime in Pennsylvania then closed lewdness, but I suspect closed lewdness is much more serious), criminal mischief and related counts. This is not good, Nick. But the most serious crime, the one that was listed first and sounds like it carries the most sentence is "Risking a Catastrophe." Trashing a supermarket naked is certainly a crime, but in Lancaster, PA, it's "Risking a Catastrophe." This is some serious stuff. I Googled PA Laws and then searched risking a catastrophe. What do you think the results were? That's right. Nickolas Hadznick. I narrowed the search down some and got a result of 300 laws connected with risking a catastrophe. Evidently there are a lot of opportunities in Pennsylvania to risk a catastrophe.

   A consortium of groups are had a public forum on underage drinking at Camden Hills Regional High School on March 19. A lot of good information was given out. Maybe Woody Moore could use Nick as a role model for kids who think drinking is neat. Nick has had ten years to learn about the effects and keep things in control. How'd he do? Who would raise their hand and say they'd like to be Nick? He didn't plan for this to turn out the way it did, but somewhere along the way, things got out of hand. That's what happens. It sounds to me like Nick got drunk. Once he got drunk, he made some bad decisions which is pretty consistent with getting drunk. The cops and the rest of society were not drunk at the time of the alleged offences, so Nick,s bad decisions have now become criminal activity with a $200,000 bail. When I first read the article, I saw it as just another news item about stupid activity, but it's much more than that. How do you explain that to your kids. "Yes, I'm the guy that was naked and trashed a supermarket and was in jail because I couldn't make $200,000 bail. Eat your vegetables." What do you tell your mother? I'm just asking?

Alton Irven Gammon

   Well, I just got back from another trip to Dick Hall's. Hall's Funeral Home in Waldoboro will always be known as Dick Hall's. Mike has been at the helm of the family business for a long time, and he and his staff do a really, really great job, but the place will carry his dad's name for at least another generation of people. I went down to say goodbye to Alton. Ed Grinnell, the Warren Fire Chief wanted to have the department go in together, so we all gathered outside and when the time came we all went in as a department and paid our respects to the family. Nice. Very nice. Last December at the department Christmas party, Alton was given a plague recognizing his years of service to the Fire Department. The plaque was on display at the funeral home. I paused for a minute at the plaque because this was the first year the department had done that sort of thing and I knew it meant a lot to the family to have it there.

    Alton Gammon was being laid to rest. I don't use that term loosely. Rest was not something Alton did much of. But I guess now Alton's got the word and he needs to take a break. While I was glad to attend the visiting hours with the Warren Fire Department, which meant a lot to Alton, that wasn't why I needed to be there. Alton was a friend. That doesn't make me special because Alton had many friends, but he was one of those special people that hold this whole thing called life together. There are people who complain, sue, fight, cause a ruckus, do whatever, and then there are people like Alton. The rock of the community. Part of the foundation. People miss that more and more these days. It is so important to just be there. Every day. Just doing what needs to be done. That's what Alton was all about. I came to know this part of Alton in recent years, but the reason I needed to be there tonight and why I call him a friend goes back a long time.

   I had my first mid life crisis at about 28 years old. Left my successful landscape business and started driving a truck for Graffam Borthers in Rockport. You don't need to know the details. Five days a week to Boston. What was I thinking? The trucks were serviced at Gammon's Garage. I needed directions the first time I went there. I didn't even know where Middle Road was. You can do the math, but it was around 1978. It was just a great place. I knew these people were quality and you could depend on them. Not long after that, I was in the trucking business full time as an owner operator, and Gammon's Garage was my obvious choice for maintenance. Alton's dad was still at the helm then and ran a tight ship you might say, but Alton's standards were just as high, although his manner was a little different. Sandy was in the office and when you did business with them it was like family. There were times that it was difficult to pay the bill and I got behind. Alton or Sandy would call, and ask what I could do. They had a business. I had a business. But when they called, they always asked about how the business was doing and what was new with the family. Marty was the only child that I remember working in the business, but the other kids were always talked about and over the years I've followed what they've been doing. Alton never bragged about his kids unsolicited. But if you ever asked how they were doing, you needed to be ready. I don't' know that I've met a prouder dad that was so low key. He'd start out so meek and mellow and by the time he was finished, he'd shared every accomplishment of every child. I couldn't have continued trucking for as long as I did if not for Alton and the garage. They provided quality repairs and preventative maintenance at an affordable price. And whenever you called Alton, he'd be there. I was living in Camden, on Sea Street, if you can picture it with my trailer truck parked in the yard when the starter quit. I called Alton and within a very short time, he was under the truck in the winter, removing the starter and getting another one. Probably the most high profile road call he ever made. Trailer trucks and repairs are no longer allowed in Camden, especially on Sea Street.

   Alton's dedication to Warren came out in recent years with his work on the cemeteries. He was passionate about that. Whenever I saw him, he would talk excitedly about all the work he was doing to bring the town cemeteries back to where he felt they should be. He had a passion for his town that he couldn't hold back.

   The last time I saw Alton was a fitting way to remember him. We were at the Union Highway garage and he was visiting Dean Camber who had worked for him at the garage. I happened to be there and Alton was explaining how people didn't understand him and they didn't understand Sandy. But the two of them were bringing everyone in line. First and foremost, the cancer was not going to get Alton. That was that. He understood the whole deal, but he wasn't buying into it. He knew the blood counts, and the lab test results and all that stuff. There was some crap involved with the process involving hospitals, doctors and such, and that's where Sandy came in. She explained to everyone who needed to know how things were going to be handled. It was a great visit and great conversation.

   Things didn't work out the way Alton said they were going to that day at the highway garage, but my friend lived the Frank Sinatra song, "I Did It My Way". We take special people for granted every day of our lives. I kick myself for not writing about Alton while he was still alive.

   Well, I feel compelled to write again. After reading my last piece, some may say that I've stooped to bathroom humor, or that I'm obsessed with poop and/or the smell of it. I just go with what I'm given.

    A recent article in the Bangor Daily reported on a new phenomenon; "elimination communication". Probably the whole world is familiar with this thing, but it was news to me. I guess that's why it was in the paper. Elimination communication is not using diapers on babies. Seems some person or group has determined that if you monitor your baby very, very closely you can anticipate when the baby needs to go to the bathroom and then rush the baby to the pot and have a successful elimination communication. I have a real problem with that. First and foremost, people make way too big a deal about parenting, and overanalyze it way beyond where it needs to go. You use common sense. You don't do things your parents did that you feel didn't help you. Beyond that, you live parenting day to day and see how it turns out. These people that analyze everything and write a book or article for the paper are just screwing things up even more.

   Today's Sunday Telegram had a self help article about a 2 ½ year old that was still messing his pants. The experts said that babies/children don't want to give up bowl movements because they see is as part of themselves that is going away and they don't understand it. Huh? Who is talking to who about this whole thing? Is there some adult whose life has been so scarred that they can't function because their parents took their bowel movements away from them before they were ready to let go? I mean, come on. This is like people who tell you how animals feel about stuff. They don't really know. They're not talking to the animals. They're just taking their thoughts and justifying them. That's all it is.

   So let's just say that some overeducated new parent decides to apply the elimination communication system. Here's the first problem I see. Most of the overeducated new parents that would buy into this theory will be in favor of the mother going back to work as soon as possible because, after all, having a baby is no reason to interrupt a perfectly good career. So the baby goes to day care, and while it might seem practical to monitor one baby looking for signs that signal the need to poop, I just don't see how that would work on a larger scale. So Caleb is communicating that need to poop, but then realizes that he's giving up a part of himself that he's not sure about and while the daycare provider is monitoring this situation and Caleb's mixed signals, Emily has crapped her pants. But Emily has no diaper to control the situation because her parents are part of the elimination communication movement, too, so her clothes are a mess, the place stinks and all the other kids are upset. What a concept.
   Kids are not allowed to be kids anymore, and this stupid idea is just the latest effort to create tiny adults that emerge from the womb ready for the world. What a bunch of crap. Literally. Kids need to be kids. They need to allowed to crap in their pants. When it happens on the other end of the trip, it's not because people don't care or communicate, it's because they didn't see it coming. If somebody eighty years old with lots of experience doesn't feel a b.m.(that's what the self help article called them) coming, what chance does a 1 year old have? And I can guarantee that once you figure the whole thing out, you don't ever worry that you're losing a part of yourself. In fact, you can't get rid of that part of yourself fast enough.

   Life is short and life is precious. There are two very short windows in people's lives where they can do what they want. One is at the beginning and one is at the end. They are both very similar. You get to do stuff as a child because you don't know any better. You get to do stuff as a senior because you can't help yourself. While there is a possibility the elimination communication system might work at the beginning, it sure as hell won't work at the end.

   Just spend time with your kids, show them you care. Encourage them. Praise them. Correct them. Let them have a blanket or teddy bear or whatever until they don't want it any more. Let them poop their pants. Cross you fingers, pray to God and hope for the best.

     It's been quite awhile since you've seen my work in the pages of this fine publication. The reasons for that are unimportant. A couple of times, people that were special to me passed away and I felt compelled to put my thoughts about them down for the world to read, but other than that, few things in life peak my interest. Like everyone else, I wait for spring and hope the sun comes out more often.

Up until now.

     There is a flatulence situation in Camden at the middle school! This is serious. First off, as a native of Camden and one who has observed the town closely over the years, just the implication that someone in Camden actually passes gas is completely unacceptable to the whole town and the image they want to portray. There are certain things that people in Camden do not do, and passing gas is one of them. Back in the day, we kids did pass gas. We were fairly proud of it, I guess, and the parents and teachers educated us on the negative aspects of such action and as I recall, it was never a big deal. Of course we didn't think as much of ourselves as Camden people do now, so the whole atmosphere was different. But this deal, now, this is serious. We're talking Camden, Maine. The Jewell of the Mid-Coast. 2008 and the world now knows that there are accusations that our children, the future of the planet, are having farting contests in school. The shame. The brutal, brutal shame. Even if the accusations turn out to be false, people may choose to vacation elsewhere and the whole economy of the region could be thrown into turmoil right in the middle of the current recession. These accusations were published by the same publication that listed the sports scores of our teams and school honor roll members. How could they?

     It seems the school has taken the appropriate action and denied everything. That is a very good first response to a situation like this whether it is true or not. It buys time, if nothing else. It also perpetuates the image of Camden that nothing like that goes on in our town. But what if there's something behind the story? What if, in fact, they are penalizing students for intentional flatulation? How would you manage something like that? A whole list of problems comes to mind. First off, the article says that boys are the target of the policy. I'll bet they are. But we can't be sexist here. Intentional farting by either sex will not be tolerated! ( I understand that women do not fart, but we need to be fair.) What about the poor teenage boy who has an unintentional event? Suppose he happens to be with a group of boys who are suspect? Will he be subject to detention? How will intent be determined? Probably a School Board Sub-Committee will need to be formed to sort out all the details. The silent offender will be even more difficult to deal with. Assigning blame will be almost impossible as all suspects will accuse the others. Possibly an undercover flatulence officer would work, but after a couple of busts, his or her identity would be compromised and another officer would be needed.

     Of course all of these questions would not be needed if that darned ole' Village Soup had never published the article and none of this would be needed if none of the facts in the article are true. Which brings us back to whether we believe that 8th grade boys in Camden, or anywhere on the planet would actually have farting contests and if they did, how the administration would deal with it. Unless boys have changed an awful lot in the last 50 years, I'll bet they're doing just what we used to do. And I'll be the school threatened them with detention to stop it, not ever thinking that the whole thing would become public. And now that it is, the school is reacting like every other government agency that was ever portrayed poorly by the media and denying the whole thing while blaming the media for creating frenzy.

     Given the interest the rest of the world has shown which brought the Soup's website to its knees, I see a great economic opportunity here, which combines the upcoming Toboggan Nationals, the chili taste contest and an unnamed future event associated with the chili taste contest that could be huge. This could bring people with special talents from all over the world to Camden to compete for bragging rights if not prizes in several different categories. I can see categories like "Most creative use of chili in an audible event." "Best conversion of chili to alternative energy."

     But then again. If nothing ever happened. . .

     I don't remember a day that I've picked up the paper and not seen an article about how high taxes are in the State of Maine. Today's Bangor was no exception. The business community, of which I'm a member, is concerned that the State may add or increase fees or taxes on businesses to balance the budget. The article states that the Legislature considers businesses an easy target. Hold that thought.

     There also isn't a day that goes by that there isn't an article about the need to preserve open space, our way of life, whatever. There is a huge push and almost every time there is an election, there is a bond issue to buy more land for the future of Maine. And it's approved every single time.

     Can you see the connection here, or do I need to connect the dots? If I assume that everyone gets it, there would be no column and the Beast would be upset, so I'll ramble on here for awhile and make both him and me happy. So, here we go.

     Somewhere north of Augusta, there's an imaginary line that people draw in their minds. North of that line, pretty much nothing can be developed. Now, Bangor/Brewer is an exception, but they've always been the poor stepchild of Portland for as long as I can remember. If we turn the State, or half the State into a park, who will pay the bills for all the services that the people who moved here from away demand? I'm just asking.

     One of the big reasons we are the highest taxed state in the country is because we don't have enough business to contribute to the tax base. I'm not that bright and if I can see it, seems like legislators and smart people that have moved here ought to be able to see it, too. It seems like a neat concept for private land to be made available for public use.

     We taxpayers don't have to buy it, but we get to use it. What the Hell is wrong with that concept? Instead, we're taxing the residents and businesses of Maine to raise money to buy this very same land and hire people to manage it. I doubt that a bond issue to purchase the Maine Mall and turn the area into a park would have much success because those of us that would vote in favor of it, saying "Put you money where your mouth is" would be outnumbered by the elite from the south who would explain what a stupid idea that is. LURC just had a hearing about Plum Creek's proposal for the Moosehead area, and they had it in Portland. Maybe the next time they want to develop land in the Portland area, we could have a hearing in Union so that we could have a say.

     If you ask me, (which you didn't, but since you're reading this I'm going to take advantage of you) all the hearings for the Plum Creek proposal should be in Greenville or some other place around Moosehead Lake. Maybe a hunting camp lodge, or the Grange Hall. When you move your hearing to Portland so the opponents don't have to drive too far from their comfy subdivision houses, you skew the results. The people from the Moosehead area can't afford to drive to Portland with gas over $3 a gallon and stuff to be done at home. I don't think a lot of people that live in southern Maine or have recently moved to Maine realize just how much of a full time 24/7 job it is for many Mainers just to make a living and pay the bills. I'm convinced the Legislature has no idea.

     You can't have it both ways, people. I don't vote for the Land for Maine's Future bonds, nor will I ever. Every time the taxpayers of this state do that, it costs us more to live here, and we're buying land that we have been using at no cost. Some would make the argument that private landowners are taking away access to previously public land. I don't blame them. People have no respect for property ownership and trash the land to the point that the landowner has little recourse but to restrict public access. So then, we (the State) buy the land, make it a park, pay people to clean up and pay the bill with tax dollars.

     Maine is a beautiful state, but we have to be able to make a living here. Is that too much to ask? Think about this for a minute. Say, you live on a lake in Union. Your taxes are pretty high because the land is valuable. Your neighbor who has raw land decides he or she wants to turn the land into a park. They've been paying the same rate as you for the land because it's buildable land. Now they turn it into a park, by town vote or whatever. Who do you think is going to pay the taxes that the landowner used to pay on that land? And who is going to pay at the lakefront property rate as apposed to the rest of us? You are, Bucky. If we'd just left everything alone and respected the land, it wouldn't have cost any of us anything.

     When Maine becomes the State Park of the United States of America, all that will be left will be service jobs to serve the visitors to the Park of the United States. The very same service jobs that people complain about all the time. We should be inviting people here to build businesses and to work. If people come for vacation, we'll be sure they have a good time, but if all we're doing is inviting people here for vacation or retirement, we're doomed.

I've always said that life is funny. It's strange how things happen. Several years ago, the Vietnam War Replica Wall made a stop in Belfast. I wrote about the events and what the feelings were as the Wall was put together and came to life on the Belfast waterfront. The Replica Wall is hauled around the country in a trailer truck and the guy that drives the truck has all the details about setting it up, what panel goes where and how it all should look. Someone takes care of the lights and groundwork so that it's a really moving site. At least it was to me.

I didn't go to Vietnam. I was in the Seabees and lots of battalions went to Vietnam, but I went to the middle of the Indian Ocean. Still, the whole Vietnam War protest spilled over to all the military and even though I didn't serve in Vietnam, I was a recipient of the hatred for the military that the public shared on a day to day basis during that time. I'm not going to paint myself as a patriot. I was a scared kid, screwing up in college and blowing my only chance to keep from getting drafted. The way I saw things at the time was you either found a way out, or you were going to Vietnam. I didn't see a lot of patriotism back then. Nobody liked what was going on, but people did what they were asked to do because that's what we did back then. Yes, there were heroes. But they were reluctant heroes. I don't think anybody that served during Vietnam felt that they were doing anything other than what their Country asked them to do. They didn't understand what was going on, and they didn't know where it was going. But they did what they did because that's the way it was. If they were lucky enough to come back alive, they were treated horribly. When I was home ported in Rhode Island, we were told not to stop off the base in our uniform because it might cause a protest incident, so as members of the U.S. military it wasn't safe for us to stop on the way home from work to put some gas in the car and pick up a quart of milk. I'm not going to go on and on, but I hope I can give you a sense of how things were back then.

The wall was coming to Belfast. I was excited. It was important to me, but I didn’t serve in country so I felt some guilt as well. The whole Vietnam thing is so complicated and the feelings that go along with it are so complex that I don’t want to go any further down that road. The wall arrived on schedule and there was a small army of people that were there to unload the panels and erect them in their proper place. It was a very emotional weekend for me, and I guess it’s memorable because when emotions sneak up on you they make a bigger impression than when you know they’re coming.

I'm working out in my garage tonight and CMT has the Trick my Truck show on, and they're reworking a truck owned by Harry Joe Hooper, the guy that hauls The Wall around the country. This guy volunteers to drive The Wall all across the Country to honor the people that served in Vietnam. I thought he was part of some foundation or something, but Harry and his wife haul the wall from place to place as their contribution to the people that served and died in Vietnam. The Chrome Shop Mafia did a Hell of job on Harry's truck. It was a plain black tractor when it was in Belfast, but they turned it into an incredibly sharp tractor with superb paint and graphics.

You live your life doing what you think is right. Just doing the right thing because it's just the right thing to do. Most people get pounded on because most of the population wants to bitch, but they don't want to back it up. Harry's son contacted the Chrome Shop Mafia, and they were eager to do something special for Harry. This is a great County we live in and great things happen. Harry's new ride is really special to him, and what he does is special to America. It's what makes us what we are.

I could have been doing something else tonight and never seen the show about Harry Joe Hooper. That wasn't meant to be. I needed to see the show on CMT to bring closure to that weekend in Belfast.

Things that happen every day, but make no sense at all are troubling me today. You see the ads on TV for HD or plasma or some other kind of TV. They show you a picture which I guess they think is somehow sharper and clearer than your TV is capable of, but it's still coming across the same signal that brings you your picture. Sometimes the picture is accompanied by a line on the screen that reads "Simulated Picture". Makes no sense. They're showing me a simulated picture of what I would see if I spent several thousand dollars to buy this new TV and they're showing it to me on my TV which I already own and the picture isn't going to be one bit better than what my TV can deliver. What kind of advertising sense does that make? They talk about how clear and detailed their picture is, but they show it to me on me TV which has the same picture clearness and detail all the time.

I wrote awhile ago about the medical ads, specifically the ones for products that improve your sex life and how all the side effects they talked about didn't seem to make it worthwhile, but now they're advertising products that are not suitable if you have certain conditions going on. "Tell your doctor if you have high blood pressure." Excuse me? Isn't that the doctor's part? I used to go to Dr. Millington in Camden when I was growing up and he'd greet me with, "Tell me what's wrong with you." I always thought he wanted me to tell him how I felt, not give him a detailed diagnosis. If you know for instance that you have high blood pressure, how did you find out? Probably your doctor told you. Am I the only person on the planet that doesn't get this? "Tell your doctor if you're taking medication for diabetes." Where'd you get the prescription? You have a file and the doctor has it in front of him or her. Seems like it should say somewhere in there that the doctor prescribed something for you. None of this makes any sense, but then medicine in general is a little out of whack. Many years ago I went for a routine DOT physical. Because of my age, but family doctor recommended some tests. I had the tests and the results were fine, so I took my paper to the office window. The paper had numbers with dollar amounts associated with them. A couple or three were checked and the nice person at the window totaled up my bill and I wrote a check. As I was getting my coat another person asked, I swear "Did you have a pregnancy test?" Excuse me? I looked at her and she looked at me. I always try to be on my best behavior when I'm interacting with people with needles and other things that could hurt, but in a fit of crazyness, I challenged her with "What do you think?" She replied she doubted it and I agreed. Seems it was checked off on my sheet and I'd paid for it. Of course I only had one check, and they had to cancel the whole transaction and bill me for the total, but they "expect payment in full when services are completed" so we had to get approval for the billing and it was just way over reacting for a pregnancy test that came back negative. By the way, those signs always get me. We all expect payment in full when the services we deliver are completed. The fact that most of us don't get that is at the root of a lot of problems.

The last thing that bothers me is skunks. If a car hits a skunk outside your house, you smell it. You look out in the road and there is the body. What about when you're driving your car, though? You're tooling down the road and there is absolutely no odor. You spy the carcass in the road. Just the minute you pass the body the smell overtakes you. It lasts so long that you're sure that something is attached to your car. Now, find a safe place and turn around. As you approach the skunk from the other direction, there is no smell, but when you pass the skunk going the other way, all of a sudden you're overwhelmed by the smell again on the other side of the body which gave off no odor when you approached it the opposite direction. I posed this question at coffee the other morning and everyone looked sideways at me, but nobody had an explanation. The crowd I have coffee with has an explanation for everything and when they were baffled, I felt I just had to write about it. So if you're watching a fancy HD flat screen TV with a picture so real you think you can reach out and touch it and they're showing a skunk who sprays you just as you're leaving for a doctor's appointment be sure to tell your doctor what happened to explain the smell.

     Community spirit is alive and well in Union. Always has been. From William Pullen to the person who donated the flags on Common Road, there is a long history of people giving back to the town. William Pullen left a large amount of money to the town many years ago to be used to support the high school or if that ceased to exist, to be used for the good of the town. The municipal building was funded with proceeds from that fund, and scholarships are awarded every year from that fund as well. A generous donation that year after year gives back to the community.

     The flags on Common Road are the most recent example of giving back. Someone gave the flags to the town. There are twenty one of them and they will fly every year from Memorial Day until Veteran's Day. Another generous donation that year after year gives back to the community. Some folks that volunteered to put the flags up thought that September 11th would be an appropriate date and on the sixth anniversary of that event, the flags were installed. Not the 14th of September or October 3rd. We thought we should pick a special date to put the flags up. Unfortunately, for various reasons, the assumption was made that the flags were connected to September 11, 2001. That's not the case at all. This is a generous donation that every summer will add to the special feeling that people get when they drive down Common Road. It's my hope that other people will consider donating just one flag. If we get enough, we can go down Depot Street and up Townhouse Road. The effect is stunning and I think carrying it further would be great. That also would show how a great idea can be built upon. I certainly can't donate 21 flags, but I can donate one.

     I believe people want to give back to their communities, but they often don't know how. The possibilities are endless. We have boards with vacancies. The library, the historical society, scouts, the Thompson Center. Just the tip of the iceberg. Communities should encourage giving back. People don't know how good it feels until they do it. Once you get that satisfaction, you can't stop.

     A couple of folks come to mind. Austin Jones. You see him and often Norma weeding, watering and generally tending to the Common. That's his thing, and we're very fortunate to have him. He oversees things with meticulous care and it doesn't cost the town a penny. We don't have enough money to pay someone to do that job with the kind of dedication and commitment that Austin has. And he's been doing it for a long time. A recent arrival is Greg Grotton. He was really interested in getting a Veteran's Memorial on the Common, but once he got the volunteering bug, he's become a force. He helped put up the flags, but he also carries a stick in his truck so that when the flags become tangled, he can straighten them out. Nobody knew that until now, but the flags fly the way they do because Greg straightens them out when they need it. (Greg was away for a few days, so if you noticed a tangled flag or two, that's why.)

     The people that do these things don't do them hoping that someone will write about their efforts or draw attention to them. They do it because they like to give back. That giving back is very much alive in Union, but we need to be always vigilant. It's easy to hire people to do things. It's easy to say that people need to be paid to serve on the fire department or ambulance, because otherwise they won't do it. That's not the case. There are lots of people that have lots to give the town of Union. All we need to do is ask. Then, when they say yes, treat them with respect and say "Thank You" every chance we get.

     The flags look great and I hope we can add to them. Thanks so much to the person that donated them. While it's appropriate to take the flags down on Veteran's Day, Common Road will be missing something very special. We can all look forward to next Memorial Day when they go up again and remind us how much it means to give back to the community that means so much to you. There's a well known ad on TV with the catch line, "What's in your wallet?" I'd change that to read, "What have you done for you community?" Well? What's your answer?

     Man, there's a lot going on in the world. It's hard to keep up. Today's paper said that golf has decided to adopt an anti-doping policy. I read the headline again. Then I had to read the story. It seems that golf has decided that even though they don't feel that they have a problem, they're going to have a policy. I thought, this is golf for heaven's sake. What kind of advantage would one have if they were on drugs? Now, I'm not a golfer. In my youth, I caddied one summer at Megunticook Golf Course in Rockport and was treated so badly by the players that I didn't want anything to do with the sport. Now as I approach 60. nearly everyone I know plays golf, but it does nothing for me. But I've watched golf and understand it, so I'm sitting here thinking, "A professional golfer on drugs." How would that work?

     Based on what I see, it should be obvious. Golf looks slow and dull. Somebody on performance enhancing drugs should stand out. Like if they drive the ball to the next green instead of the one they're playing. A good slice from a druggie would probably end up in the next county. Of course I'm talking steroids here, but what about amphetamines? That cat on amphetamines would stick out wouldn't he? "Can I play through? I need to play through. Are you done? Do you mind? Gotta go. I've already played 81 holes this morning, but I've got a lot of daylight ahead. I guess there's other drugs that numb you up, but they probably won't be a problem for the PGA. That person will be the one asleep in the grass. So it seems to me that golf is the only sport that should be able to identify dopers without a test, but they're going to be testing. I don't see that it will affect the recreational golfer unless they start testing for beer.

     The other thing that happened today was at the supermarket. Yes, I do the shopping from time to time and I really don't mind. As I'm getting my cart and heading into the store I notice a station with sanitary wipes to swab my cart. Never heard of such a thing before. My best guess is that I've been pushing shopping carts in supermarkets for fifty some years and never thought of disinfecting the handle. I stopped right there for a minute just to be sure I understood the whole deal and then started my shopping. Produce was first, of course, and I wondered who had touched my potatoes. I decided to be safe and purchase five pounds in a plastic bag. As I pushed my cart along, I realized that I had no idea who had touched my potatoes before they went into the plastic bag. The more I shopped, the more upset I became because I couldn't verify who had touched what before I had. What about the soup? Yes, it's sealed in a can, but what if someone afflicted with who knows what had picked up my can and decided to put it back? Now I've been exposed to what they've got. The longer it went, the worse it got. Who had touched the butter before it was sealed up in those little sticks? What dreaded disease did the person have that opened my eggs and decided to put them back? I was so fixed on all the stuff in the supermarket that I forgot all about the cart until it was almost time to check out.

     Fortunately for me, the checkout person at aisle 7 was just opening up and took my discomfort for impatience. "I can take you on aisle 7, sir." Everything checked out fine. I have no idea whose hands are on my cart right now, but I can assure them that I have nothing to pass on to them. Driving home, I did a mental checklist of all my purchases and determined that the Coors beer I bought was the only thing I felt really safe abou consuming. I'll eat and drink all the rest of the stuff, but my life has been changed forever. And to think that I used to drink from a garden hose.

     Writing is funny. Funny odd, not funny hah hah. Not my writing is funny, just writing in general. Sometimes, it comes so easily that it's almost like the tide. You can't hold it back. No matter what, it keeps coming and coming. Other times, it refuses to show itself. You look and look for something to write about and there's nothing. That's the way this summer has been. I tried and tried. I've got about five pieces that I started but they didn't go anywhere. I revisited every one of them several times, but still nothing. Even when there's a blockage, certain things can happen that make me feel I need to go to the keyboard.

     It's sad to say, but the last two times I felt compled to write, someone had died. First Paul Emery, and then Bob Whittier. Actually my death was the first event that I felt compeled to write something about. If you missed it, several years ago, I was made a life member of the Union Fire Department, but when there was a vote about the future of the department recently, I was not allowed to vote, so the only way I figured a life member of something could be excluded from a vote was to pass away. I wrote an announcement of my death and it got some great exposure. Friends? of mine(I have a lot of friends.) sent it everywhere on the web. Something's happened. I'm back. I can see material in the newspaper every day and the things people do day after day.

    That's the key. For a long time, I carried a pad of paper so that I could write down ideas. One Christmas, Kathy gave me a note pad with a light so that I could write down things that came to me in the night. Haven't used that in awhile. I'm going to start with a follow up to "How to behave."

      I was talking about people from away in that piece and how we need to educate those folks on how to behave so that they know what we expect. After all, if we don't explain how things are around here, how can we be upset with them for how they behave? Which brings me to Beth's Farm Market, in Warren. Beth's is great! I go for strawberries, first. Then it's time for corn!!! Corn in Maine in the summer is as good as it gets and the corn at Beth's is the absolute finest as far as I'm concerned. Now, if you have a farm stand and feel you have exceptional corn, I'd be glad to check it out, but for now, I'm going to Beth's.

      The problem I have with Beth's is the customers. Not all of them, just the ones from away. Now, I don't have a problem with people from away, but I do have a problem with how they behave when they're at Beth's. Corn is the problem. As I said, I go for strawberries and corn, with an occasional assignment to pick up a couple of cucumbers or a tomato or two. Here's what happens. People from away. Let's stop right here and cut to the chase. This is such an issue with me that I've checked out the license plates and so far all the violaters are from New Jersey. My intent is not to offend all the people that come here from New Jersey, but to report that some of your fellow citizens are bunging things up for those of us that just want to buy some produce.

      Here's what the people from New Jersey do. Before I get to them, there's other people from away that act like they've never seen a cucumber before. They hover over the cucumbers and talk to other people about the cucumbers and also the tomatoes so that others can't get close enough to pick out what they want, put the items in the bag and go to the checkout. Corn people are the worst and I don't know where the cucumber people come from. The cucumber people irritate me but no where near as much as the corn people. Beth's has the very best, fresh corn in Knox County. The corn people pull in with their New Jersey plates and examine the corn. Like they are corn experts. I'm fine with that, but they don't seem to realize that directly in front of them are the bags that I need to get to so that I can grab my six or thirteen ears from the cooler, go to the house and cook 'em. No. They need to examine every ear. Every single ear. It's like they've been transformed from New Jersey office worker to Warren, Maine corn examiner. I mean, after all, they are paying $4.95 a dozen for thirteen ears, which is one more than a dozen.

      You can't be too careful when you're up in Maine. Watch out for the locals. They might screw you. Beth has had a sign for years that says she guarantees her produce. Don't they believe it? What's the worst that could happen? The whole dozen ears could suck and you'ld be out five bucks. About the cost to drive five miles on the New Jersey Turnpike. What's the better value? I love going to the place and I love the fact that they always deliver the best in produce and service, but he people from New Jersey need to lighten up and think about why they're up here. Soon enough, theyll get to go back to where they have to question everything, but in the meantime, give the rest of us a break. Get your bag, get your produce, take it home, eat your heart out that you can't get this in New Jersey. Enjoy your stay. If there's problem, Beth stands behind the product, That's the way we do things up here.

Bob Whittier

     Bob hasn't been at coffee for the last couple of days. Coffee's different without him. The middle of haying season. Busy on the farm. A lot of stress to keep a business successful that has so many things working against it. Those might be the reasons Bob's not at coffee any more, but they're indirect reasons. Bob got up one morning, just like every other morning, and died. Just like that. The universal reaction to the news was the same. "You've got to be s**ttin me!" Everybody said the same thing. People die. That's what happens. Some young, some old. That's what is going to happen to all of us. Most people just exist, but a very, very few have a presence. Bobby had a presence. When you lose a person like that, it hits you in your gut. Everything stops as you process the news. You forget what you were doing. That's what I think happened all over Union and beyond last Thursday when people got the news that Bobby Whittier had died. " You've got to be s**ttin me!"

     The person that told me said, "I know you and Bobby were friends and I thought you'ld want to know," Yeah. We were. Not always though. Bob and I went to school together in Camden, but he was 4 years ahead of me so I was just a kid, but we knew each other. He moved to Union long before me and after I'd been here awhile, there was a situation, just politics, that Bob didn't like the outcome of. And he made no bones about how he felt. For a long time after that, anything I did was wrong. I knew why Bob felt the way he did and I just let it be.

     As time went on, things mellowed and we began to talk. Here and there. Just in passing. Bob never took back how he felt about me back then, but time changed things, just like it always does. He was proud of his participation in the Dale Carnegie Course and I would agree with him that we disagreed without being disagreeable. That was important to Bob. And we were friends. Not like Frank, John Mike and Skip, but I had my place, and I was glad for it. Bobby was a giver. I suppose if you were the service or parts manager at the local tractor dealer in the middle of haying season and he was broke down, you might not see it that way, but he was. We used to kid him that the people he knew put more miles and hours on his equipment than he did because whenever anybody had a breakdown, Bob was always there to offer his pickup, tractor, or whatever to get the person out of a bind. Whenever he heard that somebody in town needed something, he was just there, like it was an obligation. Whatever you need. That was Bobby's offer.

     His standards were high. I knew his Mom and guess that's where a lot of that came from. I know his sisters, too and they're the same way so I'm sure they learned it at an early age. Because he set the bar so high for himself, that's why he could be difficult if you were the above mentioned service or parts manager at the local tractor dealer. There was work to be done and it had to be done right. A tractor or implement that was not working right just wasn't acceptable to Bob. Just driving by, you could tell which fields Bob mowed because they all looked neat as a pin, almost like some had used a lawnmover on them. That's the way it was with Bob. He took great pride in the appearance of his property, his equipment, his animals and his work.

     Union was a town that Bobby was very proud of. He served the town in various positions, but his passion for the town and doing the right thing went way beyond any board or committee. People who saw him as a pain in the rear didn't look deep enough to see that he was passionate about his town and just like everything else in his life, he would do whatever it took to make things right. There was no shortage of things that people did that Bob didn't approve of, but he had a clear line between not liking what someone did and not liking the person. I never heard him say that he didn't like anybody. Looking around at the funeral, there were farmers, laborers, State Senators and County Commissioners, and a former vice president of a fortune 500 company. All people that had felt and understood the presence that Bobby Whittier had.

     I'm guessing he was pretty pleased with the turnout, while a little uncomfortable with all the fuss. He was there, that afternoon. Oh, he definitely was there. Even in death, his presence was felt. Winterwind Farm will always be known as Bobby and Gail's place. Everything they did, they did together and Bob was very proud of that. In death, as in life, Bob's high standards were there that afternoon. Buried on the land he loved so much, Bob is still keeping an eye on everything and everybody, and he expects each and every one of you to do the very best you can in all you do. Just like he did. Don't disappoint him.

HOW TO BEHAVE

    A couple of times when I started writing, I really fired up some people. They were downright namecalling angry. It may happen again. I've been thinking lately about how things are going here in Midcoast Maine, and it's starting to scare me.

     A lot of really great things are happening here. More employment, better jobs, strong retail growth. All good stuff. But something else is going on. We're giving in to the rest of the world. I'm not one of those "people from away vs natives" cats. I'm really not. We all came from somewhere. I moved to Union from that awful "Camden place" 30 years ago. So many people who moved to this area have contributed so much to our well being that it can't really be measured. I'm thinking that might be part of the problem. We see the benefits that some people from away have shown us so we buy into all the ideas that come into the area. Examples work for me, so let me give you a few.

      Time. Everything today is based on time. Texaco was the first I think, to introduce "Quick Lube". A servicing of your car for a flat rate price in a certain period of time. The price part is fine, but the time thing is dangerous. It used to be that when you needed your car serviced, you took it to a dependable mechanic that would do a competent job. Now you go to the place that promises to do the job the quickest and the people you meet that you entrust your vehicle to are different every 3000 miles. Now, I'm not saying any of these people don't do a good job, and I only mentioned Texaco because they were the first to offer the quick lube deal.. What troubles me is that we are starting to do things for the wrong reasons. Used to be, you entrusted your car to somebody with a reputation for looking out for your safety and making sure your vehicle was dependable. Someone like Harry French, down in Rockland. He's out of business and now you go where you can get it done the quickest, and if you can get it done the cheapest too, you feel like a hero. In case it's not clear, this peace is aimed at the natives and people that have lived here a long time, not the people from away. We're the ones that are screwing things up. You can't blame people from away for offering ideas. They didn't force anything on us, we surrendered.

     Here's another innocent example of our lives slipping away from us. Roads; and this time of year plowing and sanding. We would all be fine with less money spent on plowing and sanding. We could watch the weather, plan ahead, properly equip our vehicles and accept a lower level of service for our roads in the winter. The burden of safety could be shifted back on to us as it used to be and we could save some serious money and be just as safe. Not happening. We expect to hit the road any time day or night and have excellent driving conditions. To make matters worse, we set a standard that is impossible to meet and then demand that our towns and the State meet that standard. The standard is that whenever I want to go, and wherever I want to go, I expect perfect driving conditions. The fact that you may or may not expect the same thing means nothing to me. Convenience Stores. These were the beginning of the end for the Midcoast Maine that I knew. Open Early, Open Late. That wasn't good enough. Now we need 24 hour stores. We need stores open on Memorial Day, Fourth of July, Thanksgiving, Christmas and even Labor Day, so that we won't be inconvenienced. We used to have inconvenient stores. They opened at 7 or 8 or 9 in the morning, and closed around 5 or 6 at night. We knew it and planned around it. They weren't open on holidays, you needed to plan ahead. I think it was better for everyone. One more recent example is the traffic report. The radio reports there's a backup at the light in Skowhegan, but after that it's clear sailing up 201 to the Canadian border. Come on. Who needs a traffic report in Maine? We have it because people from away had it and we let them bring it here. So what if the traffic is backed up at the stop light in Skowhegan? What are you going to do if you want to go north on 201? You've got to sit at the light.. There's no other way to go unless you're a local and if you are you'ld do it anyway without the traffic report. It's easy for those of us who have lived a good number of years here to lament what the people from away have done to us and our lifestyle. I'd say we've done it to ourselves. We've let it happen, and we've encouraged it. Maybe we feel we've missed something. Most everyone that has moved here is operating at wide open speed. Delivering the kids to private school, going to the gym, meeting this person and that for business or pleasure. We don't need it. Relax. Let that car out from the side street. Wave to the person crossing the street. Calm down. Let's resist the bad stuff and embrace the good. We are so fortunate to have so many intelligent, talented people choose to live in this area, we need to act like responsible people and educate them on how to behave. How else will they know if we don't teach them?

Happy Fourth of July

   I've always thought of myself as patriotic. Not off the scale, but I always felt that I got it. Growing up during the Vietnam era challenged my beliefs and after I was in the military and cautioned not to wear my uniform in public, I was really confused. Time moved on and as I aged, my view of patriotism changed. I realized that people display their patriotism in many different ways and flying the flag is just one way that people show their pride in America.

   September 11, 2001 had a profound effect on me. I've written about my personal connection to that event, so there's no need to go there again. After Sept. 11th, amidst the pride and anger, I felt that I hadn't done enough to show my patriotism. I bought a flag and a flagpole. I was a little ashamed that I hadn't been flying the flag all along, but knew that the time was right. I wired in a light because I thought it was important to fly my flag 24 hours a day and have people who drive Route 17 see it. It felt good.

   My feelings of patriotism have been challenged again. I've had to lower the flag to half staff in the last two years many more times than I would like. I'm almost paranoid about it because I don't want to be disrespectful, but it's hard to keep up. Never knowing if today is a funeral day to not. This piece isn't about me and the hassle of lowering the flag. Lowering the flag so many times in the last two years has brought this whole war in Irag home to me. If I write that we should end the war am I less patriotic that I was when I supported going there and making things right? I don't know. This is not another Vietnam. Anyone who says it is either was not alive during that time or has had their head in the sand. But it is a mess. A huge mess. It's a culture clash beyond belief. We don't understand them and they don't understand us. On top of that, they agree with what we believe in.

   So as we approach Independence Day, 2007 I say we declare victory. Why not? We invaded, overthrew the government, captured the bad guy and saw him executed. Isn't that enough? Let's just call it a victory and come home. Hell, I'd be fine with calling it a loss and coming home. Unless we declare it over, it never will be. That's the only connection I see to Vietnam. As long as we were ready to fight, so were they. It's the same thing, here. The situation is different and the reasons for getting involved are very different, but the way out is the same.

   We came. We saw. We conquered. Good enough. I'll fly my flag at full staff for many days to come.

   Happy Fourth of July

Seems that people who study these things and know about them were pretty sure that grass didn't emerge until after all the dinosaurs had died off. Turns out those people were wrong. Other people that evidently worked harder and know more found out by studying dinosaur dung that they had been eating grass between 65 and 71 million years ago. Who would have thought that? I was absolutely flabbergasted! The article says that it was a big surprise for the scientists. Well, I'd think so. I don't know many times I've been sitting around watching The Simpsons, or some other science show when I've said to myself, "Self. Dinosaurs didn't eat grass. There was no grass at the time, 65 or 71 million years ago. I'm sure of it. Turns out I was wrong just like the scientists. At least I'm in good company. I don't know how much it cost for scientists to study dinosaur dung and publish it in the journal Science, but it must have cost a bunch.

And it must have taken a lot of time. And I guess it's probably important, but not to me. What dinosaurs ate 65 million years ago doesn't mean anything to me. I really don't care. What I do care about is all of the things we struggle with today. Our dependency on oil. Children with no parents. Devastation from earthquakes, floods, hurricanes. So much of this stuff seems like it would be relatively easy to mitigate with some effort and money. But there seems to be little of either. When there is a disaster, money does appear as if by magic. There will be an event, that's what they're called now, and the President or Congress will pledge millions of dollars to the victims as if it materialized from thin air. The next day, you read that there is no money for Social Security? How the Hell does that work? The bell on my pickup when I leave the door open drives my son Jesse crazy. Doesn't bother me a bit. Of course on my other truck I unhooked it rather than complain about it. I suspect it's against some law, but that's fine. Now I can leave the door open in peace and quiet. Actually, I guess that what's really happened, is that the things that really irritate me, I fix so they won't. The rest of the stuff, I just let go. But those dinosaurs. They really fooled me. I had no idea.

Sometimes these things sit around for awhile before I feel right about putting them out there. I wrote the draft of this in the winter, but just finished it up. This has been a pretty good winter and I actually don’t mind winter too much. But it’s still winter and the days are short and the sky can get pretty grey. That’s a bad combination for me, because I get to thinking about stuff. Right now, I’m trying to find something.

So I don’t lose you in the first paragraph, go back and read the last sentence and emphasize something instead of find. You with me now? See, I don’t know what something is, but I know I want it. I’m not even sure something exists, and if I can invent it, I could make a fortune. I would just discover or invent it, sell the idea for more money than I can count, and when the sky got too grey for two long some winter, I’d just go away. That going away could be a very important part of my plan because if I make progress discovering something, there are probably a few people in Union that would give me money if they thought that I’d go away. I’ve got potential investors.

Something is what you want in the evening while you’re watching TV, or sitting at your computer, or reading, or whatever you do. Out of the blue, you get a feeling and you either say aloud or to yourself, “I want something.” I’ve tried all kinds of substitutes. Ice cream, popcorn, wheat thins, pepperoni and cheese in a little sandwich type thing. They all miss the mark. The closest thing I’ve found to “something” is pinwheels. I keep them in the fridge and when the urge for something hits, that’s the closest thing I’ve found to something.

What am I looking for? Something that has a creamy, smooth texture. Not too heavy, but heavy enough so that I know I’ve eaten something. No salt. I can get that from chips or popcorn, but they never fill the bill though I use them as a substitute quite often. I don’t need crumbs. That leaves out cookies and crackers. Girl Scout Caramel Delights are a close second to the pinwheels, but they’re still not really something. There’s a real sense of urgency here because I think baby boomers are the target audience.

Kids don’t seem to have this problem. They seem to have lots of options and are able to keep their shelves or refrigerators stocked with lots of somethings. We all know that baby boomers such as myself are constantly faced with the news that everything they ever thought was O.K. is going to kill them any minute, so my window of opportunity is very, very small. I need to discover something, develop it and bring it to a level where I can sell it to a huge corporation for a wicked profit before the watchdogs determine that something is somehow going to kill the world. This concept adds to the challenge, because if I can figure it all out and come up with a really satisfying something, a something that people really latch on to, they’ll still buy it and consume it even if the watchdogs tell them that it will kill them.

Of course I don’t want to discover something that is going to kill people, but the watchdogs need something to continuously send fear into the hearts of consumers. Coffee is bad for you. Coffee is good for you. Alcohol is bad for you. Alcohol is good for you. Eggs are bad for you. Eggs are good for you. I need to position something so that it will be good for you before it will be bad for you.So here I am. I have an article for my new venue on the Union community website, but I’m still no closer to discovering something. I do the grocery shopping so I’ve been up and down the aisles of the grocery stores and I’m pretty sure something isn’t out there on the grocery shelves or in the frozen novelties freezers. Believe me, I’ve looked. I know exactly what I’m looking for. I know exactly how it would taste, but I can’t quite describe the taste. I know exactly how the texture and feel of something would be but I can’t really describe it to you. It’s just “something”. And if I had some of it right now, I’d feel a lot better and probably sleep well tonight. But I don’t. So I keep looking.

I wrote this piece several years ago and it was published in The Soup. The last paragraph is a follow up that has not been published before, but I think is important for people to know.

Last Saturday night, Kathy and I had a date. We’d forgotten what a date was all about . It had been a long, long time. We’ve been tangled up with kids, work, fire department, and house remodeling for a long, long time. Pretty much our whole marriage. Lots of stuff. No dates. Yeah, we’ve been dancing and gone out, but it’s been along time since we’ve had a date. I was out mowing the lawn last fall when some guy pulled up in my drive on a Sunday afternoon. Turns out it was Ray Wooster, former fire chief for Rockland. Seems he’d bought a farm truck out of Uncle Henry’s up near Waterville just hours before, but the deal had gone sour a little east of my house on Rt. 17. The truck had quit. Ray knew why it quit and he wondered if I could help. It seemed like a simple deal. And it was. I got him fixed up and on his way and went back to mowing the lawn. A couple of days later a gift certificate arrived in the mail from Ray. Shortly after that, I heard that Don McLean would be playing at the Strom Auditorium in December. I started planning the date. We’ve received , I don’t know how many gift certificates for dinner. It’s not something that we do. Most of the places we had gift certificates closed before we ever got around to using them. We don’t date.

Last Saturday, we left everything we had pending and went to Rockland for dinner at the Black Bull, courtesy of Ray. Actually, I had to kick in a few bucks, but I’m O.K. with that because Ray’s on a fixed income now and while the certificate wasn’t enough to cover the whole meal and drinks, it was the thought that counted. We had a really nice meal and then went riding around looking at Christmas lights. Rockland was lit up quite nicely with most every neighborhood showing the Christmas spirit. Then it was off to the Strom Auditorium. Don McLean. Sold out concert. I sat next to some folks I’d known for a long time and looked around. Looked to me like a lot of people were there to hear “The Apple Pie Guy.” I was there to hear a songwriter that made an indelible impression on me, many, many years ago. Kathy knew him as just the American Pie guy. The apple pie guy thing is a personal joke and should be left there. I looked around at the crowd and wondered just how many people knew what a special evening they were about to have. While I was sitting there, I remembered a fire alarm at Don McLean’s house and the dispatcher calling the responding units to tell them that the homeowner had called to advise them that they had just polyurethaned the floors and they were still wet. Now there’s someone that is living where they live. Their house may be on fire, but just want you firefighters to know that they’ve just resurfaced the floors. Watch your feet. It doesn’t get any better than that. Part way through the concert, he said that he had traveled the whole world and could live anywhere. He chose to live here. He casually mentioned to people that may not have traveled much, if at all, that they were lucky to live here. What struck me was that he was right. He could live anywhere. Anywhere in the world. But he lives here. Powerful stuff. Call the fire department that’s responding to a fire alarm at your house and ask them not to step on your wet floor. And having a fire department that’s glad to know so that they don’t mess up the new floor. If you’re having trouble following me, here, you need to work harder at enjoying your life. I got what I knew I would get last night. Great songs with words you need to listen to time and time again to get all of it. Two and a half hours of terrific music. And Kathy can’t stop talking about it. Outside, I saw Mort Strom and commented on what a nice auditorium he had, and Kath and I bought the Starry Starry Night CD.

We waited around a little bit because Don had said that he would sign CD’s after the show, but I was there for the music, not a signature, so we left. I had stepped back in time for a while and Kathy got a new appreciation for a songwriter. When we got home, we put the CD on the stereo and danced in the living room with the lights down low. It was one of the nicest dates we’ve had in twenty six years. You never known where life is going to lead you. Thanks, Ray for thinking of us, and thanks Don McLean for giving us an opportunity to realize the importance of the time we have together.

A short time after this was published, I received one of those padded, brown envelopes in the mail from an address in Camden that I didn’t recognize. It was Don Mclean’s new CD, autographed, along with a very nice note from his wife. These are real people who understand and value the existence we have here in Maine and don’t try to change it. That CD is very important to me. Not because it has a signature that has value on EBay, but because it’s represents a time in my life that was very special to me years ago and another time in my life that is even better, today. Having just the slightest personal connection with the artist makes it all the better.

Self Checkout

It's strange how certain things become milestones in your life without you seeing them coming. During the winter, I do the grocery shopping, something that I really don't mind doing alone. Kathy is all business when we grocery shop and it's really not an issue for me to grocery shop with her, but sometimes I'm done before the shopping is done. This creates some tension that I don't feel when I shop alone. When I'm done, I'm done. If there's shopping left to do, it will be done on another day.

On my last shopping trip which was to pick up just a few items, I found myself over the express lane restricted number of items and the regular lanes pretty full. No offense to people with children or old people but there were quite a few of both and historically, they've caused a great deal of stress for me in checkout lines. I've been there, done that with regard to people with children and am actually looking forward to being an old person so that I can pretend to not know what's going on so I can screw with people such as myself who are behind me in checkout lines. I'm also looking forward to retiring to the Orlando Florida area along with my nephew, Steve Brown. We'll be bus drivers at Walt Disney World. We both like to drive and I like to tell stories, so I think it will be an ideal situation.

I can pick a story and tell it over and over on the bus route because there are different people on every trip. Steve and I can go to the beach wearing polyester pants, polo shirts and those big sunglasses and watch the women. This will be a snowbird deal as we'll have to spend our summers in Maine going to pig roasts and drinking beer.

Anyway, back to the grocery store. I went to the self checkout. I know. It's hard to believe, but I did it. The police were not called and it actually was very uneventful. The thing was, I was in awe of the whole process. I guess kids and younger people just accept this kind of technology and I don't think of myself as being techno stupid, but I am just fascinated by what technology can do. Every time I scanned an item, I paused and admired what I and the strange techno machine had done. When I finished, the machine told me how much I owed it. I put the bill in, got my change and pushed my cart out the door, looking back in awe at the machine. We actually had developed a relationship, the machine and I. Going into the situation, I was skeptical, but the machine won me over. It compensated for my shortcomings and between the two of us, we made it happen.

Fresh off that adventure, I found myself in Hartford, Connecticut Kathy had a show down there and we parked the motorhome in the lot of the new civic center. Camping in downtown Hartford was actually quite uneventful and it was neat to be able to walk to visit a firehouse and have a dynamite steak dinner. When I went in, I got a ticket from the short, yellow box with the buttons and lights that we all know. Since I was in oversized parking, upon my departure I was to report to the parking office and pay my fee before being released from the lot. That's what the sign said and I was all over it.

Come Monday afternoon, I went to the office with my cash and the nice lady directed me to a soda machine looking thing with buttons similar to the short, yellow machines that were out by the gate. She showed me where to put the ticket in and in an instant the amount owed was displayed on the screen. I knew it was going to be fifty some dollars so I was prepared. The machine said I owed it $56. I drove three twentys into that baby all at once, thinking I was dealing with a real person. You know. The clerk says "That will be $56." You give them three twentys and they give you $4 back.

This thing spit those three twentys back out so fast neither I nor the lady that was helping me knew what happened. While I was picking up the bills, she said she'd never seen the machine act like that before. Then she asked if I put the bills in all at once. When I answered yes, she took over. She didn't take the money, but she took control. Put one bill in the machine. Put the second bill in the machine. Put the third bill in the machine. Take your change from down there. I'll print out your receipt. The gate is open, take your time.

So while I'm winning sometimes, I' losing others. I don't see the parking garage event as much more than a slight setback, but I see the self checkout as a monumental event in my life. It's my life and I can rate events anyway I want. I may be closer to that bus driving job than I think.

I recycled this piece and updated it because I’m away this weekend, and I have a Sunday night deadline. Being the lazy sloth that I am, I chose to take the easy way out rather than crack down and really put some effort into a biting, journalistic gem. So, sue me.

I know what you’re thinking. You people that read my pieces are expecting me to jump right on the seagull/ fish confisgating bandwagon. Well, Hah, Hah. I’m not falling for that. Sure on the surface it seems like there’s some overreaction here, but that may not be the case. First and foremost you need to remember that everybody needs a job. You may not like what they do, but someone has to do it. What these public servants are doing is educating the public, but they’re so drove up that it takes quite awhile for them to get to the classroom and the pupils.

First, the fish. This cat down in Freeport has had these fish in a tank in his restaurant for 15 years because they are considered good luck in the Vietnamese culture. Turns out they are considered an “invasive species” in Maine, much like people from Massachusetts. Although people from Massachusetts are commonly identified as an “invasive species” we don’t ban them from the state. The fish are different. If they got into the water, they would cause problems. So would diesel fuel. Come to think of it, people from Massachusetts could, too. But after 15 years of the fish being in the tank in the restaurant, and after an exhaustive investigation, the wardens determined that there were fish in the tank in the restaurant and they would have to go. We have a settlement! The restaurant owner gets to keep the fish. He must keep them out of sight because the sight of the fish might drive hoards of Mainers to go get invasive fish of their own and throw the whole state into a panic. So he has to keep them hidden and report if they die, escape, appear to feel badly, basically anything out of the ordinary. So, if they were in the tank in the restaurant everybody could see what they were doing, but now it makes more sense to hide them away and depend on the owner to report suspicious activity. Fish are not stupid. Ask any fisherman. Just look at how much is spent each year to try to catch fish. These fish could take advantage of being in the basement and plan an escape. They could get away unnoticed, something that couldn’t happen if they were in plain sight. Yes, the fish are an invasive species. Yes, it’s against the law to possess the fish, I guess. How about a little common sense? For fifteen years they haven’t gone anywhere. They’ve been right in the tank. Right where the owner wanted them to be. Who keeps a good luck charm in their basement, for heaven’s sake? I wrote this in the heat of the issue and it turns out, now that the guy got his fish back and gets to keep them in his tank and he still loves America, but is more and more convinced every day that we Americans are very strange people.

The bird. How about the bird? Same deal. Been in plain sight for 20 years when the Federal Agents swooped into Cappy’s Chowder House in Camden. According to the law, nobody can possess a gull. Why anyone would want to is beyond me, but anyway, that’s the law. So why didn’t the agents seize the bird, set it up on the sidewalk in front of Cappy’s and shoot it? They were dressed as duck hunters. They should have had shotguns as part of their disguise. Blow the bird to pieces on a Camden sidewalk and do the right thing. Be done with it. Oh no. It’s the same deal as the fish. They rake people over the coals and when all is said and done, nothing happens. The bird takes a trip up Route 1 to Searsport where stuffed seagulls are allowed in the Marine Museum and the bird hangs on the wall there, much less of a threat to society and violating no laws. Very different from when it hung on a wall in Camden. Come to think of it, a lot of stuff is just fine in Searsport that is frowned on in Camden.

have jobs that pay them so that they can buy stuff.But wait! What about the economic impact? We haven’t thought of that, now have we? And Lord knows we need positive economic factors here in Maine. The wardens down in Freeport To keep their jobs they need to fight crime. Same with the Feds, although they probably get paid more than the Maine wardens because we lag behind everyone in that area. Paperwork. Somebody has to file the reports, document the cases, all that stuff. More jobs. They took the fish to New Hampshire for holding. Evidently fish know better than to try escape in New Hampshire. The pet store must be getting paid to store the fish. New Hampshire is way better off financially than we are, but maybe some poor shmuck from Maine is working in the pet store, so that’s another potential job. I’ve saved the best for last. The lawyers. When you’re a victim, you need a lawyer. This is where the big money kicks in. Can you start to see now, the economic boost that these two incidents are giving the State? No, you and I may not feel it, but it’s real. It’s out there. You can ask any economist. And it’s not just the lawyers. Let’s not attack them, O.K.? They have staff that file papers and reports just like the government. More jobs. This sort of economic engine is what you’re not aware of if you don’t read my in depth reporting on a regular basis.

All of these people that have jobs because of things like this have money, and time to spend it. A nice night out, maybe. Dinner, perhaps? How about Cappy’s? Or maybe they prefer Vietnamese cuisine if they’re in Freeport. Just don’t expect to look at any fish or birds while they’re waiting for their meal. Thankfully, I’m above this sort of controversy, but if I chose to comment on these sorts of things, you can bet I’d have a lot to say.

SCOOTER

Growing up in Camden, in the 50’s, TV was a strange and wondrous thing. We got just two channels, 6 & 13. Channel 8 and PBS didn’t count. We got them, but they I didn’t care. Sometimes we got 2 & 5, but being under the mountain, the reception was even worse than the terrible reception we got from the Portland stations. Naturally everything was black and white. The idea that images could come out of a machine in our living rooms was weird enough. If they’d been in color, I don’t know if we could have handled it. But TV was the neatest thing. Today, we expect new technology. We almost demand it. Back then, once we got TV, we thought we were done. I mean, what on earth could anyone think of that could be more complex and exciting than that?

So, as a kid, I was fascinated by TV. The only thing that could possibly screw up the neatest thing in my life was the President of the United States. Even though the person is different, the office is still doing it all these years later. The thing was that he would pre-empt the shows with these speeches. This was the Cold War, remember, and anything could happen at any moment. Nobody seemed to have any details about what might happen, but we all knew it could be serious. We’d have drills in school for what to do in the event of a nuclear attack. They would sound an alarm and we’d all get under our desks. If a nuclear bomb hit the Mary E. Taylor School on Knowlton Street in Camden, all the students would survive because we had assumed the proper defensive position under our desks. I fear that many teachers would have perished as they didn’t seem to dive under their desks with the same enthusiasm we did.

But, of course there was no attack, and the President kept coming on the TV instead of Mr. Ed or I Love Lucy, and it turned me off. I had no interest in news. Any news. I connected news with missing TV, the most exciting thing in my life. As I grew older, though, I started to develop an interest in news. As time has gone on, my interest has grown to the point that I want to really feel that I understand news, not just read it or watch it. For some reason, I feel an urge to dig deep into issues, see both sides and really feel that I understand the issue that the news is reporting. Locally, it’s not too hard to figure out who’s who and what’s what. I know a lot of people in the area and when I read a news article that seems to be missing something, I usually run into someone that I can ask “What’s really up with . . ?” and get the scoop. The national news is another whole animal. How in the world do you figure out who is telling the truth and who is lying?

Take the Scooter Libby thing. I am not going to give you my take on what happened because frankly, I have no idea. Seems like somebody said something about somebody else, but nobody could remember who said what to who and when they said it if in fact they did say it and the whole investigation has been going on and costing who knows how much for so long that they finally found the guilty party, Scooter Libby. I confess that hard as I try, I can’t figure out exactly what Scooter Libby did in the government. I know he had some horsepower. He was somebody, but exactly what his job was is still not clear to me. Just as an aside, I don’t want people in powerful places in my government with a name like Scooter. People named Scooter should bag my groceries, be on the sandlot baseball team, maybe sell four wheelers and snowmobiles, or own a sandwich/pizza shop that bears their name, but not be powerful in the government. Having said that, Friendship has a fine selectman that appears to me to do an excellent job for the town and he is known as “Bubba”. It’s not the nickname thing in general, it’s the particular nickname. Anybody nicknamed “Bubba” has a reputation to live up to. A “Scooter” does not.
Guilty. That was the verdict. I guess he lied or something. Very unlike any other high government official in the history of this country. Guilty, none the less. Here’s where I’ve been heading for 715 words. THEY WANT TO PARDON HIM!!! You have got to be kidding me. They announce the verdict and almost immediately, there is a movement to pardon him. How the Hell does that work? I don’t know for sure that he even did anything, but I sure don’t want to pardon him just minutes after he’s been convicted. Maybe he could at least appeal a couple of times? As a kid in the 50’s, I was irritated when news I had no interest in screwed up my TV. Today, I’m irritated when news I can’t understand makes no sense. I’m suspicious that it goes something like this.

“There’s been a leak and we need to identify a leaker. We don’t think it’s you, Scooter, but we’ve gone through all the names of the possible leakers and yours is the one we think people will identify with the best. This is going to be a felony Scooter, and you’re going to be convicted because we really need someone to take the fall for this, and everyone agrees that you are the person for the job. Jail time and being labeled a convicted felon probably seems somewhat troubling to you Scooter and we can certainly understand how you feel, but you need to trust the government that has been so good to you up until now. What we’ll do is let the judicial branch convict you, and then the executive branch will pardon you. Once we pardon you, it will be just like it never happened. No record, no felony, no nothing. Yes, you will have to spend a little time in a Federal penitentiary, but at least you’ll get off. How many other convicted felons get a deal like that?”

So after all these years of watching the news, I have no idea what the Hell is going on. Scooter almost got pardoned before he was convicted and I can’t figure out what he got convicted of. If Mr. Ed was on TV right now, I’d go sit cross legged on the floor about two feet from the screen and forget about this whole damn thing.

You may not believe this, but I’m actually quite concerned about fashion. I always make sure my shirt doesn’t clash with my jeans and that the bill of my hat is curled enough. I used to wear a tie to work and do all that corporate stuff, but the real me is jeans. I bring this up because of the recent Oscars. All the talk was about who wore what dress and how they looked. Picture after picture of this actress and that with commentary about the designers. Very little mention about what the actress did to be nominated for the Oscar. Now, I realize that if I went to movies or follow that sort of thing, I’d know, but I don’t.

Well, that got me thinking. Fashion quite often overshadows the actual news. People will forget the movie so and so was in that got her the nomination long before they will forget the dress she wore to the awards. There’s an example right here, close to home, that hammers that point home for me. Criminals. Actually, accused criminals. I don’t have any idea what difference it makes or how it’s news, but quite often you read about what a person is wearing when they face a judge. Usually it goes something like this: John Smith (not his real name) was arrested for eluding officers, criminal speed, OUI, theft of an automobile and failure to give his correct name. Then the article will say that at his arraignment, he appeared before judge so and so wearing an orange jumpsuit and jail issued shoes. Well, there’s the problem. Who would grant bail to someone dressed like that? I just don’t get how that is even news, or why they mention what a person is wearing. It gets worse at the trial. By now, most people make bail and they get cleaned up and have an altogether different appearance than they did when they went before the judge in the first place. Here’s where the real fashion news comes in. “The defendant appeared in court wearing a tweed sport coat, light blue dress shirt with an open collar, pressed khaki slacks and wingtip shoes.” How in the world could someone dressed like that commit any crime? I mean, come on. Who cares? The cops can’t wear a uniform because it will influence the jury. Well, that’s what they wear in their job, and it’s supposed to influence people.

Here’s what I think should happen. When the cat is arrested, we should take several pictures of him or her. When the day in court arrives, everybody should be required to dress exactly like they did the day the offense occurred. That would give a jury a real visual. Something they could latch onto. The accused criminal is dressed as an accused criminal would be dressed and the cop would be dressed like a cop would be dressed. Now the ACLU would argue that’s not fair, but I say lets look at the numbers. People are accused of a crime for a reason. I’m pretty sure more accused people are convicted than not. Yes, there are exceptions, but not very often. Here’s another thing. I started out on fashion and now I’m on a different tear. The jury can’t hear anything about a person’s past run ins with the law. So John Doe is accused of something and never, ever in his life has had any involvement with the law. A completely clean record. Jim Smith is accused of the same thing. Ole Jim has been arrested three times and convicted twice previously for the same crime. Seems like good info that the jury ought to have. “One jury out of three screwed up and we’re not going to let that happen again. Is there anything more to discuss?”

I apologize for that little rant, but getting back to reporting fashion as news, where will it stop? “Bystanders pulled Mary Martin from her flaming vehicle after it slammed into a tree. She was transported to the ambulance wearing dark green pumps, a knee length tweed skirt with a matching blazer over a printed, silk blouse. Her injuries were not life threatening.” “Bystanders pulled Mary Martin from her flaming vehicle after it slammed into a tree. She was transported to the ambulance wearing 3” heels, a miniskirt, thong underpants and a Harley Davidson tank top. The extent of her injuries has not been reported.” We haven’t had time to report the injuries, we’re still talking about the outfit. When and if something happens to me that is worth reporting I hope to Hell that I’m dressed appropriately. Cause if I end up dead, and I wasn’t dressed for it, I’m going to be wicked upset.