Insight: A Trip Through Time

By Ed Pierce
Managing Editor

It’s funny how hearing a song can bring me back to experiences in my life from years ago and open a floodgate of memories, but that’s what happened to me last week.

A snowstorm rolls across the Texas Panhandle plains near
Amarillo in 1972. COURTESY PHOTO

I was driving my car back home from the mechanic’s shop where it had received a new state inspection sticker and was impressed at how smooth it was handling after $450 worth of repair work. I turned on the Sirius XM radio in the car and the song “You’re So Vain” by Carly Simon was playing.

Suddenly, I found myself sitting in the passenger seat of my friend Craig Podosek’s Volkswagen Beetle driving across the Panhandle of Texas on New Year’s Day in 1973 bound for another semester of college classes in New Mexico.

Craig was from New York state like I was and both of us had traveled home over the Christmas break from New Mexico to spend the holidays with our families. We had spoken by phone before Christmas Day, and he asked if I wanted to drive across the country and share expenses with him.

The two of us had become friends a year earlier when we were pledges for Tau Kappa Epsilon fraternity. For three months Craig and I were part of a pledge class that put in a lot of late-night walking after being dropped off a few miles outside of town as a gag or spent time dragging a fraternity cannon to football games. The pledges met a few times every week to study the fraternity’s pledge manual prior to our initiation test.

I learned that Craig had transferred to our college after attending a community college in New York state and was studying to become an accountant. Somehow, all the pledges in our class passed the initiation test and we were inducted into the fraternity in November 1971.

Four days after Christmas in 1972, Craig arrived at my parents’ home in Rochester, New York, and we started off for college. The two of us drove the Volkswagen that first day all the way to Dayton, Ohio. We spent the night there at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base where his brother was stationed.

The next morning, we got up and drove all the way to Joplin, Missouri where we found affordable motel rooms for the night. Along the way we talked about school, interesting college classes that we had taken, friends and family, and our career plans and hopes. We also tuned in to radio stations that discussed weather conditions, trying to find the best route to take to avoid being caught in a storm.

On New Year’s Eve 1972, we pulled into the driveway of our fraternity brother Jerry Joyner in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, who was preparing a huge meal for us before his beloved Oklahoma Sooners were to play Penn State in the Sugar Bowl game. Oklahoma beat Penn State, 14-0, as the Nittany Lions played without leading rusher and future Heisman Trophy winner John Cappelletti, who had the flu.

We not only celebrated Oklahoma’s Sugar Bowl victory but also watched the ball drop on television in Times Square in New York City marking the arrival of 1973.

The next morning on New Year’s Day, Craig and I set out for New Mexico in the Volkswagen except this time we were tired and slightly hung over from all the New Year’s Eve festivities just hours before.

As we drove along I-40, most of the radio stations we were listening to kept mentioning that a massive storm was headed south into the Texas Panhandle with limited visibility and drifting snow. Both of us looked out to the north across the plains and could see the snow coming straight for us. We hoped that we could outrun the blizzard heading in our direction.

Since we knew what we were up against weather-wise, Craig suggested that we listen to some music and found a radio station from Amarillo playing popular hits. The station’s playlist coming out of commercials that day started with “Crocodile Rock” by Elton John and was followed “I Wanna Be With You” by the Raspberries and “Oh Girl” by the Ch-Lites. The fourth song, though, was brand-new and was the first time I had ever heard Carly Simon sing “You’re So Vain.” 

I turned to Craig when the song was over and told him I thought it was a hit song if I ever heard one. As it turns out, “You’re So Vain” became the top song in America for three weeks later that month and went on to capture “Song of the Year,” “Record of the Year,” and “Best Female Pop Vocal Performance” at the Grammy Awards.

Fortunately for us, the Volkswagen was great on gas, and we didn’t have to stop again for fuel in Texas. We were able to outrun the blizzard, making it all the way across the state line to Tucumcari, New Mexico before having to fill up again. We eventually arrived back at the fraternity house at our college about 5 p.m. and were relieved to have completed the trip safely.

It’s a small snapshot from my life but hearing “You’re So Vain” instantly returns me to that time 54 years ago. <

Barbara Bagshaw: Your Voice Matters – Why Showing Up at the Polls Strengthens Our Community

By State Rep. Barbara Bagshaw

As your State Representative for District 106 in Windham, I have the privilege of listening to neighbors every day, at the grocery store, at local meetings, and through the messages you send. One theme comes through clearly: people care deeply about the direction of our town, our schools, our costs of living, and the future we are building together. That care only translates into results when citizens participate.

State Rep. Barbara Bagshaw

Voting is one of the most direct ways we exercise self-government. It is not about any single candidate or party. It is about ensuring that the people who make decisions in Augusta and beyond hear from the full range of voices in our community. When turnout is high, elected officials of every background receive a clearer signal about what matters most to families here in Windham: property taxes, education quality, energy costs, public safety, and the everyday expenses that shape household budgets.

Maine makes it relatively straightforward to cast a ballot. You can vote early, request an absentee ballot, or go to the polls on Election Day. Confirm your registration, find your polling place, and mark your calendar. Local clerks and the Secretary of State’s office provide the practical details; taking a few minutes to check them removes last-minute uncertainty. Bring a neighbor if it helps. Talk with young people in your household about why the process exists. These small acts reinforce the habit of participation.

High participation also strengthens accountability. When more residents vote, representatives know they must answer to a broad cross-section of the district, rather than a narrow slice. That dynamic encourages careful listening and practical problem-solving over rigid ideology. It reminds everyone in public office that government derives its legitimacy from the consent of the governed—an idea as old as our founding documents and still essential today.

I have spent years in classrooms and community service. I have seen how engaged citizens improve outcomes in schools, local projects, and neighbor-to-neighbor support. The same principle applies at the ballot box. Your single vote may feel small, yet together those votes set priorities, fund programs, and shape the rules under which we all live.

Whatever your views on the issues of the day, the most important step is to make them known through the formal process our system provides. Mark the date. Plan how you will vote. Encourage others to do the same. A community that turns out in strong numbers is a community that keeps its government responsive.

It remains an honor to represent part of Windham. If you have questions about state services or need assistance navigating available resources, my office is here to help. Contact me at [email protected] or 207-310-0051. Thank you for caring about Windham and for taking the time to participate.

State Rep. Barbara Bagshaw represents part of Windham in District 106.

The opinions in this column are those of the author. They do not necessarily reflect the opinions or views of The Windham Eagle newspaper ownership or its staff. <

Andy Young: The mail bonanza that wasn’t

By Andy Young

I loved getting mail when I was young. “Mad Magazine” and “The Sporting News,” two publications I pored over at great length during my extended childhood, arrived periodically (pun intended) in the mailbox, as did the junk I’d sent for after collecting the appropriate number of box tops from whichever cereal was offering cool (and free) stuff to loyal box-top-accumulators.

These days my mail consists primarily of junk, including periodic “special offers” from, among others, insurance companies, credit card purveyors, loan providers, landscapers, exterminators, and window-replacement companies, plus ads from local supermarkets and appeals from various donation seekers, a few of whom might not be scammers looking for new suckers to bilk.

Last Wednesday afternoon the first thing I saw when I opened my mailbox was, predictably, weekly circulars from three local grocery stores. But underneath them were a postcard and three envelopes, two of which were actual letters written by actual people, with actual stamps on them! The third envelope contained a bill from Portland Water District, but that didn’t lessen my elation. I rarely get three pieces of real mail in a month, so getting three in one day was like winning the lottery!

Energized, I tossed the ads into the recycling bin and donned a pair of reading glasses so I could fully enjoy the unexpected mother lode of personal correspondence. I began with the postcard, which had a photo of Paris’s Arc de Triomphe on it. On the back was my friend Kevin’s entertaining and informative handwritten description of watching, from his observation post atop the Arc, traffic from 12 different avenues trying to merge onto (and exit from) France’s most dangerous traffic circle.

The postcard describing Europe’s foremost demolition derby training ground was merely the appetizer. Shifting my attention to the main course (the two letters), I prepared to tear one open when I noticed it wasn’t addressed to me, but to my son, who currently attends the University of Maine. Closer examination revealed something more troubling: a yellow sticker on the envelope’s lower right, which read, “RETURN TO SENDER; UNABLE TO FORWARD.” Utterly deflated, I saw it had been postmarked 18 February 2026, meaning a letter I wrote to my son which he never received had just spent the previous seven months in postal limbo.

But the disappointment was just beginning. The second letter, also intended for my son, sported a “RETURN TO SENDER” label, too. The difference: this one was postmarked 9 September 2025, so it had spent more than a year in parts unknown prior to returning to its point of origin!

The United States Postal Service probably isn’t to blame for this snafu, since both envelopes containing the returned letters were unopened, and in perfect condition. I suspect the mix-up took place in the University of Maine’s mailroom, since my son was living in a dormitory there when I sent them to him. But at least I’ll have two interesting (and now historical) documents to give him the next time he’s home.

I cannot say enough good things about the University of Maine. One of my offspring earned his degree there, and another is scheduled to obtain his in just over a year. Both have gained a great deal from their experiences in Orono, although perhaps significantly, neither ever took a course in postal studies there.

I’ve written a check to pay the Portland Water District bill. I’m not sure where I’ll mail it from but I definitely won’t drop it in a mailbox where there’s even the slightest chance the contents will be routed through the University of Maine’s mailroom. <

Insight: Oktoberfest remains a Bavarian tradition in September

By Ed Pierce
Managing Editor

Yes, it’s true, the real authentic Oktoberfest celebration in Munich, Germany takes place every year in September.

Kegs of beer arrive at the Lowenbrau Pavilion after being
pulled there by a horse-drawn wagon during Oktoberfest
in 1978.  PHOTO BY ED PIERCE 

In 1872, municipal officials staging the annual fall festival moved it up a month to take advantage of September’s longer days and warmer weather. Therefore, a famous event celebrating October has started in September ever since and traditionally ends on the first Sunday in October.

The only reason I happen to know this is because back in 1978 while stationed in the U.S. Air Force in Germany, I joined a dozen members of my unit attending Oktoberfest. We went on a Saturday because of work duties and chartered a bus to take us back and forth to the event.

While driving down the Autobahn to get there from our duty station near Frankfurt, I read about the history of Oktoberfest and why it means so much to Germans.

It seems that on Oct. 12, 1810, Prince Ludwig I of Bavaria, the grandfather of the castle-building Bavarian King Ludwig II, married Princess Theresa in their own version of a royal wedding. The public was invited to celebrate the wedding afterward and the Munich fairgrounds were designated as the site where the wedding reception was to be held.

There was an abundance of food, music and King Maximillian I of Bavaria, the father of Prince Ludwig I, issued royal charters to six different Munich breweries to produce beer for the wedding party.

Those six breweries continue to supply beer for the Oktoberfest festivities to this day and include Augustiner, Hacker-Pschorr, Löwenbräu, Paulaner, Spaten and Hofbräu-München. Each brewery has its own house and pavilion at Oktoberfest and are packed with long tables and waitresses wearing traditional Dirndl (a traditional Alpine dress consisting of a bodice, blouse, full skirt and apron).

I observed that to become an Oktoberfest waitress, you must be strong and resilient. They are expected to carry a minimum of four heavy glass steins of beer by hand while holding the stein handles to each table and to not spill any beer along the way.

Along with finding beer houses and beer tents on the Oktoberfest grounds, visitors can also enjoy traditional oompah bands strolling the grounds playing Bavarian folk tunes and polka music using deep brass instruments and accordions and wearing lederhosen, traditional short or knee-length leather trousers worn by workers.

Food is everywhere and showcases different kinds of German sausages called wursts. Weisswurst is popular during Oktoberfest and is a mild wurst made of minced veal and sweet mustard. Then there’s Brezn, giant twisted and salted Bavarian pretzels and Hendl, which is rotisserie chicken crispy and seasoned.

I passed on eating Schweinshaxe (roasted pork knuckles) but did try the Wiener Schnitzel, a cut of veal pounded nice and thin, breaded, and pan-fried in butter. For a side dish, I had Spaetzle (small egg noodles).

Going to Oktoberfest is like attending a state fair here in America. There are rides such as the Ferris Wheel and Oktoberfest-themed merry-go-rounds.

My German neighbors in Frankfurt told me that Oktoberfest truly is the heart and soul of Munich and exemplifies the Bavarian way of life devoted to home and hospitality. It is intended to have something for everyone who attends to enjoy and experience.

Every year there is a procession in Munich at the start of Oktoberfest with staff, vendors, brass bands and beer wagons hauling thousands of kegs from breweries to the fairgrounds. The procession is traditionally led by a Bavarian girl dressed in a black and yellow monk’s habit and known as the “Münchner Kindl," or Munich child. This procession is known as the Entry of the Oktoberfest Innkeepers.

Following the procession, the official opening of Oktoberfest takes place at exactly noon. The Mayor of Munich taps the first keg of beer and announces the Bavarian phrase "O'zapft is!" (It is Tapped!). 

No matter where you may be from, something you will hear a lot about during Oktoberfest is “Gemütlichkeit.” That’s a uniquely Bavarian feeling of warmth, welcome, and belonging and it’s something that those who host Oktoberfest want to pass on to all who visit.

Of course that’s not always the case. Just two years after I attended the 1978 Oktoberfest, a far-right terrorist attack using an improvised explosive device detonated at the main Oktoberfest entrance in Munich in 1980, killing 13 (including the bomber) and wounding more than 200 people.

There have been other occasions when the annual festival was called off. It was not held in 1813 as Napoleon was waging war across Europe and for a cholera epidemic in 1854. The Prussian-Austrian War in 1866 halted the festival as did another cholera outbreak in 1873. From 1914 to 1918, no Oktoberfest was held because of World War I. In 1923, a financial crisis in Germany closed the event. From 1939 to 1948, the festival was scrapped thanks to World War II and in 2020 and 2021, the COVID-19 epidemic shut things down.

Unlike in America where marketing agencies try to cash in on the Oktoberfest name offering everything from car sales events to fast food sweepstakes, German citizens remain proud of the legacy of Oktoberfest and do not overly commercialize it. <

Tim Nangle: Helping Maine families stay warm as cooler weather arrives

By Senator Tim Nangle

Cooler mornings remind us that another Maine winter is approaching. For many of us, that means thinking about how to fit the next heating oil delivery into the household budget. Heating oil prices are climbing, and I feel that pinch, too.

State Senator Tim Nangle

The war in Iran is disrupting global oil supplies and driving up heating costs here in Maine. According to the Maine Department of Energy Resources, a Sept. 14 survey put the statewide average at $5.77 per gallon. When groceries, housing and other necessities already cost so much, filling the tank can be a difficult expense to manage.

After spending most of my career in public safety, I know that keeping people safe starts with making sure their basic needs are met. A warm home is one of those needs. Nobody should have to choose between buying heating fuel, refilling a prescription, or putting food on the table.

That is why my colleagues and I worked this year to help Mainers manage energy costs. In the supplemental budget, we invested in electricity assistance for households with low incomes. We also authorized up to $1.5 million from Maine’s “Rainy Day” fund for emergency heating assistance during declared emergencies lasting more than 10 days. This gives Maine another way to provide emergency heating assistance when federal funding is delayed, as it was during the federal government shutdown last fall.

We also passed the Energy Fairness Act, which requires the Maine Public Utilities Commission to consider affordability for residential customers when making decisions. It directs a comprehensive review of electric delivery rates to identify ways to contain costs, reduce unpredictable swings in bills and improve transparency. Mainers deserve to understand what we are paying for and to have our household budgets considered when regulators make decisions that affect us.

These steps will not completely ease the strain of a costly winter, but they reflect a responsibility I take seriously: making it more affordable for people to live here.

As we head into the cooler months, I also want to share resources that may help.

The Home Energy Assistance Program, known as HEAP, helps eligible homeowners and renters pay part of their heating costs. Applications for the 2026-2027 season are open, and I encourage you to apply early. Renters may qualify, even if heat is included in their rent. In Cumberland County, call The Opportunity Alliance at 207-553-5900 to schedule a phone appointment. You can also find the online application by visiting mainehousing.org/HEAP.

For households with an extremely low fuel supply the Energy Crisis Intervention Program may provide emergency assistance. The program opens Nov. 1. If you are running low, call The Opportunity Alliance at 207-553-5900, explain your situation and ask what help is available. Learn more at opportunityalliance.org/ecip.

Also, the town or city you live in has a General Assistance program that may help pay for heating fuel and utilities if you cannot meet your basic needs. Contact your municipal office to apply. This is another place to turn if you need help before seasonal emergency assistance opens. 

If you are unsure where to start, dial 211 or text your ZIP code to 898-211. A specialist can help identify heating assistance and other local resources.

When applying for HEAP, ask about other programs like electricity assistance, weatherization and heating system repairs, too. Depending on eligibility, these programs may help with other energy expenses and make your home more energy efficient.

I know these bills add up and asking for help isn’t always easy. We have more work to do to make energy affordable, but support is available now. If you need help finding the right program or navigating an application, contact me at [email protected] or 207-287-1515. My office is here to help you find what you need to stay warm in the months ahead.

State Senator Tim Nangle represents District 26 including Windham, Raymond, Casco, Frye Island, and part of Westbrook.

The opinions in this column are those of the author. They do not necessarily reflect the opinions or views of The Windham Eagle newspaper ownership or its staff. <

Andy Young: Making a contribution

By Andy Young

“Time is money,” Ben Franklin wrote in “Advice to a Young Tradesman,” an essay he penned in 1748. I’ve always thought that made a lot of sense, which was why 10 years ago, I decided to make my home television-free.

It’s a choice I’ve never regretted. The thousands (or maybe tens of thousands) of hours I’ve spent doing something other than sitting inertly in front of a video screen have been exceptionally well spent.

One of the many fringe benefits of having no TV is being spared the irritation of the ceaseless (and generally senseless) stream of politically themed hogwash that floods the airwaves during an election year. However, a recent spate of phone calls and text messages originating from area codes I’m unfamiliar with indicate that the lack of a video screen is no longer effective insurance against getting bombarded with campaign ads.

Resourceful political operatives have found new ways to inundate our consciousness with all kinds of propaganda. The text messages and phone calls I’ve gotten in just the past week verify that even for those who don’t do TV or social media, there’s no escaping incessant politically based electronic invasions, the bulk of which are an insult to our collective intelligence.

The upside to the recent spate of junk text messages and robocalls I’ve been receiving is that I’m clearly in high demand, given the frequency with which heavy hitters from both of America’s major political parties are lavishing their attention on me. However, given the tone of their correspondence, it seems these people are less interested in getting my vote this November than they are in obtaining access to my wallet and/or bank account.

Representatives of both candidates for Maine’s U.S. Senate seat have confided in me that they’d really appreciate my fiscal support, although I suspect every adult in Maine is receiving similar appeals.

But it’s not just Maine politicians and their hired guns who are vying for my affection, or more specifically my checkbook.

Somebody from area code 771 messaged me that a historic 13-star flag has been reserved in my name, and they will send it to me for a tax-deductible gift of $35 (or more, if I’d prefer).

The speaker of the United States House of Representatives texted me with, “You’re the key to our success.” I’m not sure why he thinks that, since he represents Louisiana’s 4th congressional district, and I’m not eligible to vote there.

I’ve also heard from the vice-president, several senators, and multiple high-visibility panhandlers from both parties, all of whom use a variety of come-ons to deliver the same basic message: “Give us your money, because if you don’t the bad guys will win, and you, the nation, and the world are doomed.” 

Given the still-rising cost of healthcare, groceries, energy, and just about every other necessity these days, I won’t be contributing money to anyone running for elective office this year. That’s partly because I’m not in a position to, but also because whatever I could afford to give would be dwarfed by the already obscene contributions both Democrats and Republicans are getting from corporations, lobbyists, and other special interest groups already financing the ceaseless attack ads every American who’s not a hermit living off the power grid will be getting swamped with between now and Nov. 3.

But if this army of partisan scroungers (both human and robotic) will take my advice, I’ll give them something of equal or greater value.

Stop pestering people like me for donations. Continuously attempting to shake us down is wasting everyone’s valuable time.

And as Ben Franklin sagely pointed out, time is money. <

Insight: Strength through Truth

By Ed Pierce
Managing Editor

Before being reassigned from The Pentagon to a new duty assignment in the U.S. Air Force in 1981, I received word that I would be attending the Defense Information School at Fort Benjamin Harrison in Lawrence, Indiana.

Ed Pierce's class of military journalists gather for a photo
prior to graduation from the Defense Information
School at Fort Benjamin Harrison in Indiana in 1981.
COURTESY PHOTO

It was a Department of Defense training site for enlisted military journalists from the U.S. Army, U.S. Navy, U.S. Air Force, U.S. Marine Corps, DoD civilians and the U.S Coast Guard. Never having been to Indiana before, I drove there in late August and upon arrival, I was assigned a room in the barracks and found out where DINFOS, the acronym for the Defense Information School, could be found nearby.

I quickly made friends in the barracks with three other U.S. Air Force airmen who were in my DINFOS class. Tim Wyatt and Chan Peter were both studying print journalism like me, and Rick Kerns was going to become a broadcast journalist. Tim was from Texas, Chan was from New York and Rick was from Virginia.

Because I had my own transportation, the four of us would make the short drive to Indianapolis to go to the movies, go out for dinner or sometimes just to get away and explore rural Indiana. After two or three road trips to the countryside, I came away convinced that Indiana farmers worked some kind of magic to grow pigs as large as they did. Some seemed as large as Volkswagen Beetles from the highway.

During the first DINFOS class, the instructor asked us all to write a 1,000-word essay about a television show and what we liked or disliked about it. The purpose was to identify the top writers in the group and have them serve as editors for four mock-up class newspapers.

After thinking about it, I chose to write my essay about the TV show “Dynasty,” not because it was my personal favorite, but because I could focus on the conflict between the show’s characters and the complex story plots. After reviewing all the essays from the class, four of us were singled out as editors and the remainder of the class were assigned to four separate teams under the direction of the editors. The teams were balanced out between experienced and novice writers, and I was directed to lead the first team as an editor.

Each weekday as military print journalists, we received training in how to conduct interviews, write articles and headlines and photo captions. DINFOS also provided us with lessons in how to design newspaper pages. Military broadcast journalists had separate DINFOS training for radio and television production.

Some training sessions were combined between print and broadcast journalists when certain topics overlapped, such as journalistic ethics or involving media relations.

Over the next two and a half months, we had extensive training in reporting about military exercises and deployments, fatal military accidents, and military protocol. We practiced gathering details and turning that information into news stories.

As print journalists, each of us had to complete an assignment for the afternoon daily newspaper “The Indianapolis News.” My assignment was to cover a speech on Veteran’s Day in 1981 made by Herbert Allison, 99, one of the last surviving veterans in Indiana of the Spanish-American War. It posed a significant challenge for me. 

As Mr. Allison was helped up to the podium to speak, torrential rain began to fall and his microphone failed. The speech was called off as the crowd gathered for the occasion ran to their cars. Soaking wet from being in the audience, I followed Mr. Allison to a tent nearby and asked someone from the Indiana Veterans Home if I could interview him for the newspaper.

They gave me a quizzical look and introduced me to him. I asked him what he had planned to say during his speech and he leaned in close to me and whispered, “I hope you all have a good day. Have a good supper.”

For the newspaper article, I focused on Mr. Allison’s military service in 1898, and his subsequent life working for a dairy and plugged in his quote at the end of the story. It was published with my byline the next afternoon.

The following week, my DINFOS team wrote enough articles to fill a four-page mock newspaper. Our top story covered a scoreless tie in a flag football game between two Army units assigned to Fort Benjamin Harrison. The most difficult part of this training for me was not being able to write articles for our mock newspaper. As an editor, my work was to edit articles produced by other military journalists, write the headlines and to design the newspaper.

On the next to last day of our training, all the teams attended a review of the mock newspapers by the DINFOS instructors. Our team’s newspaper received low marks for topic selection but was praised for accuracy and overall layout.

Two days before Thanksgiving, we graduated from DINFOS as military journalists, took one last group photo, said our goodbyes and exchanged contact information. I was headed to my new duty station in Arizona after a month off at home on leave.

At DINFOS, I learned that among military journalists, the pen is indeed mightier than the sword. <