Insight: Another edition of ‘Believe it or Not’

Journalists with longevity can point to one story that stands out as the oddest or perhaps the strangest in their careers. Mine happens to involve a Civil War soldier, lightning, an 83-year disappearance and an unbelievable recovery.

The bronze plaque for a Civil War veteran's
statue from New Hampshire went missing for
83 years before it was discovered in an old
cellar hole 51 miles away and returned. 
PHOTO BY ED PIERCE  

In 2014, I was writing for a daily newspaper ine Laconia, New Hampshire and had the great fortune to tell this tale.

Loammi Bean was a 37-year-old farmer serving in the 8th New Hampshire Volunteer Regiment on Oct. 27, 1862 when his unit confronted Confederate forces near a site called Georgia Landing, close to an abandoned sugar refinery in Tigonsville, Louisiana. Bean was a private with less than a year of military experience when he was killed in action that day and his remains were buried in an unmarked grave near the battlefield.

His daughter, Nellie Bean Zebley, was about 14 when her father Loammi died and she grew up in very humble circumstances. Zebley married a wealthy banker from New York City but chose to live in Laconia, New Hampshire. She deeply missed her father and in 1894, Zebley paid to have an elaborate cast iron statue with a fountain and bronze memorial plaque at its base dedicated to her late father and installed at a prominent location near Lake Winnipesaukee close to where Civil War veterans’ groups would gather every summer for reunions.

Nellie’s health began to decline by the time she was in her late 70s, and she hired a private nurse by the name of Josie Swain of Warren, New Hampshire to care for her in her home in Laconia until she passed away at the age of 80 in 1928.

Now here’s where the story gets weird.

In the early evening of July 24, 1931, violent thunderstorms ripped through Laconia and a bolt of lightning struck the Loammi Bean statue, shattering it and sending pieces of it flying nearby. When Laconia residents realized what had happened, they ran to the statue site and started gathering up and collecting pieces of the demolished statue as souvenirs. The next day’s edition of the daily newspaper in Laconia reported that people were seen carrying off the statue’s arms, hands, legs and whatever else they could find, including the memorial plaque for Loammi Bean.

The statue was not rebuilt, but some members of the town government sought to recover the bronze plaque and give it to Nellie’s surviving family. That never happened and after a few years during the Great Depression, the mystery of the missing plaque faded slowly into history.

Some 47 years later in 1978, Robert and Sylvia Newton discovered a burned-out old farmhouse cellar on their property in Warren, New Hampshire. Robert had spotted something shiny when he attempted to illuminate down the cellar hole with a flashlight. He was able to reach down and grab the shiny object. Once the dust was cleared away, that object turned out to be a bronze plaque dedicated to a Civil War soldier, Loammi Bean of Laconia.

The Newtons then sat down and wrote a letter to the City of Laconia describing the object they had found on their property. They included a scroll etching of the plaque, put the letter and the scroll in a large manila envelope and mailed it off, hoping to receive a reply right away.

Once the envelope was received by the city, apparently nobody there knew what to do with the information inside and the city clerk’s office set it aside in a filing cabinet. It sat there for another 36 years when it was placed into a box and given to the city’s historical society. 

The historical society’s executive director looked over the letter and the etched scroll and quickly realized it was about the missing Loammi Bean plaque. She set out to find out if the Newtons still lived in Warren and if they still had the plaque.

The answer she found was that they were indeed still alive and still living at the same home in Warren, New Hampshire. And yes, they still had the plaque.

The best guess put forward to solve the mystery by the historical society’s executive director was that sometime after lightning struck the Loammi Bean statue in 1931, someone tried to return the plaque to the Zebley and the Bean family, but she was dead and they were unable to do that. So, the person who recovered the plaque gave it to Zebley’s nurse Swain before she had moved back to Warren from Laconia.

But how the plaque wound up in the cellar hole prior to its discovery by the Newtons is also an enigma. The Newtons lived more than four miles away from where Swain lived with her family before her death in 1947.

In 2014, the Newtons loaned the plaque to the City of Laconia where it was displayed at the public library in an exhibition dedicated to military veterans. Descendants of Zebley living in Laconia were able to hold the plaque and said they were grateful to be able to do that because it linked a relic of the past with their own family’s history.

I’ve covered many unusual stories during my career, but this ranks right up there. <

Andy Young: Some numbers don’t add up

By Andy Young

Maine’s recent U.S. Senate election involved some seemingly counterintuitive math, while simultaneously providing significant food for thought.

America’s Declaration of Independence includes a preamble stating, among other things, "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” If any or all of the 56 signers of that document were alive today, hopefully they’d have long since extended those inalienable rights to all people, regardless of gender, race, or pigmentation. But perhaps that’s wishful thinking, since 85 percent of the wealthy white male landowners who endorsed the Declaration in 1776 owned slaves, or profited from slavery.

The inalienable rights the founders were referring to don’t apply to less tangible things, though. Unlike human beings, all numbers are not created equal, and that was bad news for Maine’s soon-to-be ex-Senator Susan Collins.

Ballots in the just-completed election were cast in approximately 448 different municipalities. Ms. Collins, who was poised to become the longest-serving U.S. senator in Maine’s 206-year United States history, received a majority of the votes in 336 of those places. Winning the state’s voting precincts by a three-to-one ratio suggests the veteran legislator should have breezed to a sixth term. The opponent she routed? He’d most likely head back to the oblivion of his northern Maine roots, perhaps returning to work logging in the same forests where he’d toiled for years prior to his entering politics.

But when it comes to election-related numbers, size matters.

While Troy Jackson won only a third of the number of Maine locales Collins did, he carried the day in Portland, South Portland, Lewiston, Scarborough, Brunswick, Bangor, Saco, Auburn, Windham, Gorham, Biddeford, Westbrook, Sanford, York, Falmouth, Augusta, Kennebunk, Wells, Cape Elizabeth, Waterville, Topsham, Cumberland, Yarmouth, Freeport, Kittery, and Old Orchard Beach. And not coincidentally, those places are, in that order, the 26 Maine communities where voting was the heaviest. The largest Maine electoral district in which Collins outpolled Jackson was the town of Standish, where 5,319 votes were cast.

According to results posted in the New York Times, Collins outpolled Jackson by 63 percent in Maxfield (population 89), 69 percent in Willimantic (population 134), and a staggering 78 percent in Moose River (population 188). Unfortunately for the outgoing senator, the total number of ballots in those three communities was 243. That’s less than 10 percent of the 2,550 that were cast in Kennebunkport, which Jackson won by 21 percent. Collins actually got 100 percent of the votes in two Maine communities, but a total of just six people in total voted in Square Lake unorganized territory (three) and T15 R6 WELS (the other three). Collins won 45 of the 47 Maine municipalities where fewer than 100 people voted, but the combined number of votes in all those communities (2,642), was less than the small towns of Raymond (2,840), Gardiner (2,874), and North Yarmouth (2,875), each of which was carried by Jackson. 

Winning an election while carrying just a quarter of a state’s municipalities seems implausible. But then, so does having a legislative body like the U.S. Senate. America’s least-populated state gets the same representation as California does, even though there are 66 Golden Staters for every resident of Wyoming. There are 49 times as many Texans as Vermonters, and 32 times as many Floridians as Alaskans, yet each of those states gets the same complement of U.S. Senators – two.

America’s government is far from perfect. But it still beats the heck out of autocracy, theocracy, plutocracy, kleptocracy, and any other currently available ocracies. <

Insight: An inseparable bond

By Ed Pierce
Managing Editor

For many Americans, Veterans Day is a day when groups of old guys march around carrying the flag or cash in a promotional card for a free haircut or a dinner entrée at their favorite restaurant.

Airman First Class Ed Pierce, left, receives the
Air Force Communications Command's 'Gold
Quill Award' for newswriting from Lt. Col.
Frank Hill at The Pentagon in Washington,
D.C. in 1980. COURTESY PHOTO 
   

Some might even post photos of themselves on social media while trying to fit into their old military uniform from 25 years ago. Others attend a gathering of veterans and sit around telling old war stories.

For the first 23 years of my life, I observed such behavior from afar and then that all changed on June 10, 1977, when I raised my right hand and pledged that I would support and defend the U.S. Constitution as a new member of the United States Air Force.

My military journey took me from Albuquerque, New Mexico to Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio, Texas to Sheppard Air Force Base in Wichita Falls, Texas. From there I went on to Maurice Rose Army Air Field near Bonames, West Germany, The Pentagon in Washington, D.C., and finally to Luke Air Force Base in Glendale, Arizona.

At each one of those stops, I became close friends with others serving in my unit and some of those friendships endure to this very day.

I suppose that if you ask anyone who served in the military, they’ll tell you that it was the people that you served with that helped to make the work different from nearly every other occupation. Each member of the units I was assigned to or on the air bases I was stationed at raised their right hand like I did and affirmed that they were willing to put their lives on the line to defend this nation.

From basic training all along the way as I rose up through the ranks in the Air Force, there was a sense of camaraderie and a realization that at any given time we could all be sent into harm’s way and yet, every military member I knew was willing to make that sacrifice to defend those back home.

Once you experience that, it kind of forms an inseparable bond between friends that survives anything thrown your way like hostile weather, sudden transfers to new duty locations, or helping others in your unit who need assistance.

I can recall our unit being sent on a military exercise in the middle of winter in Germany. We pitched tents on thick sheets of ice in sub-zero temperatures and set up diesel stoves to try and keep warm. For meals while on that excursion we ate C-Rations, canned food left over from the Viet Nam war. Those who got to pick what meal they wanted were considered lucky and usually selected pork and beans or spaghetti and meatballs instead of tuna noodle casserole. C-Rations also included a stale cracker, a decade-old candy bar, an instant coffee packet, a four-pack of old Winston cigarettes and a P-38 can opener tool to open the C-Ration cans.

It always felt like I had just arrived at my new unit and just made good friends when one of us was transferred elsewhere. I lost touch with my buddy Airman First Class James Smith from Los Angeles, California when he was reassigned stateside from Germany. I never saw him again after 1979 and with as many James Smiths as there are in Los Angeles, I decided I probably never will.

Then there was the time we were ordered to take a marksmanship test, and no one could leave until everyone passed the M-16 rifle test. Because of my poor eyesight, I tried and failed three times, scoring less than 30 each time out of 100 shots at the target. With darkness nearing, on my fourth try, two Air Force captains stepped forward and requested to shoot on each side of me to "boost my confidence." It worked because I somehow achieved the impossible and scored 89 out of 100, while both of those officers, who each had scored 95 or better earlier on the test, suddenly hit less than 40 apiece while trying to inspire me to a greater achievement. 

Those are memories I can’t ever forget and gave me a greater understanding of the reasons that people choose to join the military. You see, I believe each American generation possesses individuals willing to defend America and who cherish the possibilities that this nation holds for all of us.

For me, Veterans Day isn’t just about thanking those who have worn the uniform of the United States, it’s understanding that not everyone is cut out for that job and that it takes all kinds of people to ensure America’s continued freedom, both in and out of uniform. Many step forward every day to volunteer as school crossing guards, visit elderly neighbors, donate to a food drive or simply hold a door for a total stranger.

Now as a military veteran myself, I am grateful that Veterans Day pays tribute to all American veterans, those still with us or others who have made the ultimate sacrifice on behalf of future generations.

More than anything, Veterans Day to me has come to symbolize the choices each veteran made in raising their right hand and pledging to support and defend the Constitution. <

Andy Young: Blessed with good fortune(s)

By Andy Young

It was two months before I graduated from high school that I first saw the inside of a Chinese restaurant. After the apple barn where I worked had closed for the season, our boss took a bunch of his youthful employees out for dinner as a reward for all our hard work.

I wasn’t accustomed to eating out, and seeing the exotic Asian decor inside an ordinary-looking building was a real eye-opener. It was also somewhat intimidating, particularly since some items on the menu sounded dreadful. I wanted to run for the hills when the boss ordered a Pu Pu Platter.

But an hour later I couldn’t believe I had squandered 18 years of my life before learning of this heavenly variety of cuisine. Everything, from the wonton soup to the egg rolls to the steamed dumplings to the pepper steak to the vegetable lo mein to the pork fried rice to the Egg Foo Young to the Moo Goo Gai Pan, was indescribably delicious.

But the evening’s exclamation point was dessert. I can’t remember what specific fortune was in my cookie that night, but it was probably something generic, like, “A wise person will give you some advice,” “A new friendship brings unexpected joy” or “A smile will change your destiny today.”

I’ve got a theory about fortune cookies. If you have faith or at least believe there’s a possibility your fortune will become reality, well, there is indeed a chance it’ll come to fruition.

Exhibit A for this hypothesis occurred less than a week after I got a fortune that read, “You will share great news with the people you love.” Not long after that I did indeed get some great news, which of course I immediately shared with the people I loved. On another occasion my fortune read, “Don’t be afraid to seek professional help when needed.” That inspired me to call a plumber, and shortly thereafter my leaky faucet had been fixed.

Since realizing that the words inside fortune cookies are potentially life-altering, I’ve been saving every fortune I get, since there is no known statute of limitation on their effectiveness. Some are deeply thought-provoking. Examples include, “Society prepares the crime; the criminal commits it” and “Luck sometimes visits a fool, but it never sits down with him.”

Fortune cookies are generally sort of bland-tasting, and even the best ones can’t compare with apple pie, carrot cake, or a simple scoop of vanilla ice cream. However, in spite of their unmemorable taste, fortune cookies should remain popular for the foreseeable future or at least until such time as some innovative baker comes up with some sort of competition. But given the implausibility of fortune ginger snaps, fortune snickerdoodles, or fortune whoopie pies, that probably won’t be happening anytime soon.

Like most people I have certain budget constraints which prevent me from dining out on a regular basis. Fortunately (pun intended) a local grocer sells bags of 20 individually wrapped fortune cookies for a mere dollar, meaning I can semi-regularly treat special friends, family, and on occasion myself to potentially life-changing fortunes at an eminently affordable cost. At that price I can purchase approximately 335 fortune cookies for the same money one take-out order of Moo Shu chicken costs, if and/or when I feel the need to do so.

While the vast majority of my fortune-cookie-related experiences have been positive on occasion I’ll get one that’s infuriating, like the one I got this past Sunday which read, “You will have a life-changing experience in October.”

That’s great. But what am I supposed to do for the next 11 months? <

Insight: Going nowhere fast

By Ed Pierce
Managing Editor

Seeing a photo of a hang glider last week jogged my memory of a time in my past I’d rather forget.

Ed Pierce's 1978 Buick LeSabre.
COURTESY PHOTO

It was October 1987 and I was working the 2-11 shift as a reporter at a daily newspaper in Albuquerque, New Mexico. When I left home to drive to work that afternoon, I was low on gas and figured I’d cash my paycheck on my lunch break and fill up. It was also 75 degrees and sunny, so I got into the car without taking a jacket.

Somehow, I got busy at work and never took a lunch break. When I stepped outside to drive home after my shift, the temperature had dropped to 38 degrees and snow flurries were in the air. Starting my car up, I noticed the fuel gauge was close to low but the grocery store where I would cash my paycheck was closed. I decided to drive home and hoped I had enough gas to make it.

About six miles south of Albuquerque on I-25, my car ran out of gas, and it was near some steep hills where I would spot hang gliders taking off from time to time.

I stepped out of my 1978 Buick LeSabre and stuck my thumb out to hitchhike. At about 11:45 p.m., an Army soldier in uniform stopped and offered me a ride. He said he had just attended a Christian concert in Albuquerque, and that it was the Christian thing to do to drive me the remaining 10 miles south to my house in Peralta, New Mexico.

Reaching my home, I thanked the soldier who then drove off. I then grabbed a warm coat, about $8 in quarters, and my gas can. It was a short walk of under a mile back to Highway 47 and the Circle K convenience store. I used $2 to fill the gas can and waited for someone driving north to ask for a ride back to my car on the side of I-95.

At about 12:30 a.m., a rusty old yellow pickup truck pulled into the Circle K lot, and a fellow wearing a cowboy hat got out and pumped $5 of gas into his gas tank. There were two other men in the pickup’s cab and two more bundled up under blankets riding in the pickup truck’s bed.

I approached the driver paying for his gas and asked if he was headed north to I-95 and if so, could I ride with him to where my car was. He smiled and asked me how much it was worth to me. When I offered him my remaining $6 in quarters, he scooped it out of my hand and instructed me to jump in the back.

The guys riding in the truck’s bed with me said they were oil workers heading home after working at an oil rig near Artesia, New Mexico. They had exited I-25 hoping to find a gas station, had become lost, and ended up at the same Circle K where I was. Inside the store, the clerk had told them to head straight up Highway 47 past the Isleta Pueblo reservation as they would reconnect with I-25 in about eight miles.

Riding in the pickup truck bed was brutal. It was now snowing and between that and the wind blowing all around me while driving at 55 mph, I was absolutely freezing. 

Nearing my car on the opposite side of I-25, I banged on the pickup’s rear window and signaled to the driver that it was where I wanted to get out. He pulled over and I thanked him for the ride. I put the gas in my car, and it started right up.

But before I could leave for home, I noticed one of the oil workers waving his arms and shouting at me from across the highway. He ran across the highway divider and told me that one of the front tires had blown out on the pickup truck and it was now flat all the way to the rim. They apparently didn’t have a spare tire or even a tire jack for emergencies.

The driver asked if I could drive him back south to the Circle K store where he could buy a can of Fix-A-Flat. As a joke, I asked him how much it was worth to him and he said he would give me my $6 in quarters back. I told him that was a deal and I said that I would even bring him back to the truck after he bought the Fix-A-Flat.

We took off in my LeSabre and I waited while he went inside the store. I drove him back to the pickup truck and stood by while they inflated their front tire. I made a U-turn and headed back south for the 10-mile ride home.

I crawled into bed about 2:15 a.m. and the next morning, I called my friends and shared my experiences of the previous evening with them.

Here’s what I learned. First, I always bring a jacket with me in October while driving at night. Second, I always keep plenty of gasoline in the gas tank of my car. Lastly, I always have some cash available in case of an emergency. <

Andy Young: A spooky month for certain Mainers

By Andy Young

This weekend is going to be a real treat.

For the first time since 2020, Halloween falls on a Saturday. And since Daylight Saving Time ends on the first Sunday in November, savvy trick-or-treaters know they’ll have an extra hour to sleep after bobbing for apples, carving pumpkins, and engaging in similar Halloween-themed activities.

This isn’t a trick. Two hours after midnight this coming Sunday morning, clocks in 48 of the 50 states will fall back an hour, making 2 a.m. magically become 1 a.m. That means Americans everywhere outside of Hawaii, Guam, Puerto Rico, American Samoa, the Northern Mariana Islands, the U.S. Virgin Islands, and Arizona (excluding the Navajo nation) will be treated to a 49-hour weekend.

Dedicated Halloweenies had better take advantage of this opportunity though, because their favorite holiday doesn’t fall on a Saturday again until 2037. By that time Congress may have decided to emulate Hawaii, Guam, Puerto Rico, American Samoa, the Northern Mariana Islands, the U.S. Virgin Islands, and Arizona (excluding the Navajo nation) and eliminate DST once and for all. Doing so would finally relieve people in every state not named Arizona or Hawaii of having to re-set their clocks twice a year. Enacting such legislation would permanently eliminate November’s annual 49–hour weekend, but it would also end the tragically short 47-hour weekend that occurs early each March.

Daylight Saving Time isn’t the only thing going away this weekend. Saturday is officially the last day of National Book Month, National Pizza Month, LGBTQ+ History Month and Italian American Heritage Month. It will also mark the end of National Chemistry Week, National Massage Therapy Week, National Lead Poisoning Prevention Week, and National Magic Week.

But some people, specifically those connected with college football in Maine, probably can’t wait to see November arrive. October hasn’t been a particularly good month for our state’s collegiate gridders.

With this Saturday’s games still to be played, Maine’s five oldest college football programs are a combined 0-19 this month. Bates, Bowdoin, Colby, and Maine Maritime have all gone 0-4. The UMaine Black Bears are 0-3, but only because they didn’t have a game scheduled on the weekend of October 10th. The overall record of those five Maine schools so far this season is 1-32; UMaine’s 21-18 win over Towson University on Aug. 27 is, as this is written, the only victory any of that quintet has earned so far this year.

Maine’s two other college football teams, the University of New England and Husson University, are both 2-5 heading into this weekend. But UNE’s two victories came against Husson and Maine Maritime. Husson’s wins over New England College and Western New England University are, aside from UMaine’s long-ago triumph at Towson, the only two victories by a Maine college football team this season over an opponent from out of state.

Has there ever been a calendar month when every college football team in a state lost every game on its schedule? Well, yes. 

It happened in September 2026.

Last month Maine’s seven college-football-playing squads played 21 intercollegiate football games and lost them all, getting outscored 690-258 in the process. UMaine, UNE, and Husson each went 0-4, Maine Maritime lost all three of its games, and Colby, Bowdoin, and Bates were all 0-2.

It’s doubtful that any of the state’s five oldest collegiate football programs have all gone winless for two consecutive calendar months, and thankfully that won’t happen in Maine this year.

But only because college football games can no longer end with a tie. And while the rest of us are trick-or-treating Saturday night, Colby’s football team will be hosting Bates. <

Insight: Smooth criminal steals the show (Shamone)

By Ed Pierce
Managing Editor

Halloween has always been a favorite for me as an adult because I could act silly while wearing creative costumes. Over the years, I’ve been an angry nun, an old woman on a walker, Kosmo Kramer, a pirate, a pregnant bride, Flava Flav, and even O.J. Simpson. But the costume that brought the house down, without question, was Michael Jackson.

Ed Pierce entered a Halloween costume
contest in 2004 while dressed as the late
singer Michael Jackson.
 COURTESY PHOTO

It was 2004 and the daily newspaper that I worked for in Florida would offer a Halloween costume contest for employees on Halloween each year. Staff members would take time to put on a costume and march in a parade around the newspaper building including visiting the newsroom, advertising, circulation, the pressroom and the publisher’s office. At the end of the parade, everyone would gather outside the cafeteria, and prizes would be awarded for the best costume by the Human Resources staff.

That year, I chose to create a costume of Michael Jackson, who spent most of that year appearing in court in California, charged with criminal behavior toward children. Televised coverage of his bizarre courthouse arrivals wearing pajamas or dancing on top of the limousine he rode in for pre-trial activities were borderline comedic in my opinion, so I thought that he would be a great celebrity to lampoon in the newspaper costume contest.

I leaned heavily on my soon-to-be wife Nancy for advice on how to put together the costume. She suggested that we start creating the costume by visiting a nearby thrift shop, and it yielded my first part of the MJ wardrobe, the black fedora hat for $4.

On our next trip to a local flea market, I purchased a pair of used black sunglasses for 50 cents. At a neighborhood garage sale, I found a pair of men’s black pants with my correct waist size, but the length came to about my ankles about two inches above my shoes for just $1.

With two weeks left before Halloween, I revisited the original thrift store and was able to buy a cheap pair of black loafers in my size for $2 and a used black wig for $3.  

My mother contributed to my costume by giving me a leftover painter’s mask from when she had the family room repainted by a contractor at her house earlier that fall following some hurricane damage at her home. I also had a pair of white socks to wear with the MJ apparel.

Nancy’s sister lived on the other side of the state from us and was attending chef school at the time. I had an idea that if she could get me a white chef coat, perhaps Nancy could die it deep red for me in the washing machine for the MJ costume. The weekend before Halloween, Nancy’s sister Diane visited us, and brought with her a white chef coat for me.

Two wash cycles using red RIT dye for the chef coat were a disaster though. The red dye somehow became diluted and left the chef coat a shade of pink. We tried washing it again with a different brand of red dye but no matter how many times we attempted it, the chef coat remained pink, and I had to accept that my MJ costume would include a pink coat. I also abandoned the idea of adding a white sequined glove because stores in Florida seemed to be out of those items that year.

About 10 minutes before the costume contest, I reached under my desk in the newsroom and retrieved the brown paper grocery bag I had stored my costume in. I walked to the men’s restroom in the newspaper lobby and changed into the MJ costume.

The receptionist in the lobby started laughing when I emerged as Michael Jackson and so did other newspaper employees when we lined up near the lobby for the costume parade. I was near the end of the parade line and walking past the offices of the newspaper’s top editors when I noticed that they found my costume to be humorous. Even the ultra-serious managing editor gave me a thumbs up, one of the few times I ever saw him smile in all the years I worked for the paper.

As the parade moved along, just to liven things up, I attempted to moonwalk and I would occasionally belt out a few “hee-hees” for those watching. 

Reaching the judging area, parade participants walked up and down before the judges, and I had a hard time keeping a straight face when I had to reveal my identity by taking off the sunglasses, mask, wig and hat.

When the judging had been completed, I won “Best Costume” and received a restaurant gift certificate for my efforts. I changed back into my street clothes and endured a lot of good-natured Michael Jackson jokes from some of my co-workers for the rest of that afternoon.

Other newspapers that I have worked for during my career have had Halloween costume contests, but none have ever come close to the enthusiasm generated by that event. Each year dozens of employees would plan, create and participate in the contest and they’d have a blast doing it.

A decade ago, I dressed like the character Offred from The Handmaid’s Tale television show in yet another newspaper costume contest in Maine.

Nothing comes close to the MJ costume though. <