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. <

Andy Young: The frugal gourmet shares his secrets

By Andy Young

All of us are works in progress.

However, not everyone progresses at the same rate. For example, I still can’t tie a necktie, although I’ve compensated for that imperfection by not wearing one for the past three decades. And while my parallel parking skills remain sub-standard, I did recently squeeze my Prius into a parking place that was no more than two and a half Lincoln Continentals long.

But one ability that’s improved by leaps and bounds over the past few years has been my culinary skills.

Unlike formally trained chefs, I cannot claim expertise in any particular ethnic fare, like Italian, Chinese, or French cuisine. My specialty is based on finances and availability of ingredients, rather than on more traditional epicurean arts.

Even though I’m still a work in progress, I’m confident I’ve mastered the WNWN (waste not, want not) school of meal preparation. That’s why I’m using this space to generously share some of my most-enjoyed recipes.

LEFTOVER CEREAL SOUP

Empty every box of cereal in your pantry that isn’t quite finished but still has a few odd flakes (or similar dregs) left, into a standard cereal bowl. Crumbs from Cheerios, Rice Krispies, Corn Chex, Mini Shredded Wheat, Bran Flakes, and similar cereals are all acceptable. Then sprinkle leftover blueberries and strawberries onto the pile, slice up your oldest banana, pour milk (or leftover Greek yogurt) atop the mixture, and enjoy. Serves one.

VEGETABLE RICE PILAF

Read directions on the oldest box of Rice Pilaf mix you own. Then boil appropriate amount of water. Toss in box’s contents, stir, then add in any and all leftover spinach, onions, carrots, red and/or green peppers, celery, zucchini, and/or any other elderly produce that’s seen better days. Adding leftover frozen veggies to flesh things out (corn, beans, peas, etc.) is fine as well. Cover, simmer for amount of time recommended on box’s side. Serves four. Or two, if one of the two is a growing child with a healthy appetite. Or one, if the one is an aspiring competitive eater.

SALMON RICE PILAF

Follow the directions for making VEGETABLE RICE PILAF (above). Then prepare a modest-sized salmon fillet. When the Rice Pilaf is done, cut the cooked salmon into small pieces and then mix them into the Rice Pilaf. Serves four or one if your three guests all hate salmon.

EVERYTHING-BUT-THE-KITCHEN-SINK VEGETARIAN PASTA

Prepare your preferred pasta (spaghetti, linguine, orzo, rotini, or similar product), following the instructions on the side of the package. Pour a thin covering of olive oil into a large frying pan. Cut up every elderly mold-free onion, pepper (green or red), mushroom, carrot, zucchini, eggplant, or celery stalk in your produce drawer. Saute for 1 to 2 minutes. Add spinach, Swiss chard, or whatever other withering greens are handy. Continue to saute, and stir frequently, for another minute or so. Drain fully cooked pasta, then put it into a large microwave-safe bowl. Pour last week’s leftover generic marinara sauce on the pasta, then top it with the sauteed vegetables. Microwave for 3 minutes; then remove and stir. Microwave for another 3 minutes; stir again. Microwave for a final minute, and…voila! It’s ready to enjoy. Serves 1 to 6, depending on amount of pasta prepared, and how many guests are confirmed gluttons.

EVERYTHING-BUT-THE-KITCHEN-SINK VEGETABLE CHICKAGHETTI

Prepare spaghetti according to instructions. Then follow instructions for preparing EVERYTHING-BUT-THE-KITCHEN-SINK VEGETARIAN PASTA (above). Subsequently add chicken or, if your guests are vegetarians, veggie-based chicken.

Having prepared each of these dishes on numerous occasions, I can personally guarantee that each one is delicious, and a nutritional bonanza.

Except for Leftover Cereal Soup. That’s still a work in progress. <

Insight: Born to be branded

By Ed Pierce
Managing Editor

Janet Robinson, the former Chief Executive Officer of the New York Times, thinks that there is a significant difference between customers who purchase for convenience and those who are highly loyal to certain products.

“Repeat business or behavior can be bribed. Loyalty has to be earned," Robinson once said.

I’m not entirely sure that’s the case and taking a closer look into my upbringing shows that not all brand loyalty is passed down from parents to children. That’s a process marketing agencies call consumer socialization, where family habits, emotional rituals, and shared identities shape long-term product choices.

Those who subscribe to that theory say that the routine of everyday domestic life can embed certain product brands deep into the emotional framework of our childhood. They can cite studies showing that a parent's passion for certain brands may transfer directly to their children through shared experiences and nostalgic association later in life.

No matter if it’s a cleaning product, a brand of juice, a type of car, or a breakfast cereal, marketers believe that children start identifying brand names as early as 24 months old, and many have developed favorite specific brands by the time they reach first grade.

As for me, I grew up in the 1960s and would accompany my mother on her shopping trips to the neighborhood grocery store. Having grown up in poverty during the Great Depression, she was set in her ways and fiercely loyal to her chosen products and brands.

She did most of the cooking for our family and would also make the lunches that my brother and I would take to school. We grew up eating the products she would select, and she had come to rely on as an adult.

Among her favorite products and brand names were Chicken of the Sea tuna fish in vegetable oil; Campbell’s Pork and Beans, Campbell’s condensed soups, Hellmann’s mayonnaise, Heinz ketchup, French’s mustard, Archway cookies and Del Monte canned fruit and vegetables. She also would bring home Peter Pan peanut butter, Mister Salty pretzels, Welch’s grape jelly, Chase & Sanborn coffee, Lipton teabags, cartons of Sealtest milk, Swanson TV dinners, Dream Whip powdered topping, Minute Rice, cans of Franco American Spaghetti and Meatballs, and Chef Boyardee Beefaroni.

My mother didn’t bake very much and instead would purchase Hostess snowballs, cupcakes and Twinkies to put in our lunchbox. Sandwiches were made with Wonder Bread and cans of Hershey's Syrup were purchased for making chocolate milk. She’d buy Pepsodent toothpaste to brush out teeth with, Breck shampoo, Brylcreem hair cream, Oxydol laundry soap, Comet cleanser, Ivory soap for the bathroom, and Joy dish soap.

Purchases made by my father were usually something sweet to be shared with the kids like Fruit Stripe chewing gum, a tub of orange sherbet, boxes of Cracker Jack, bottles of Hires Root Beer or Grape Nehi soda pop.

In all the time that I lived with my parents growing up, they never wavered in the products and brands they were loyal to and were steadfast in their choices.

My own personal picks for products and certain brands came not from the theory of consumer socialization passed down by my parents, but from the reality of higher living expenses and inflation of the 1970s and new technology such as the invention of the microwave oven in the 1980s.

While still in college and making $2.50 an hour, I shopped for groceries based upon the most affordable price and value. A few years later, I was earning a regular paycheck while serving in the U.S. Air Force and my priorities changed. I could afford more brand-name products and a few of the products I grew up with became regular items in my food pantry.

An inspection of my kitchen shelves and refrigerator in the 1970s and 1980s would reveal new products created in the 1960s such as Pop Tarts, Shake 'n Bake coating mix for chicken and pork, Cool Whip whipped topping, Bugles snacks, and jars of Tang instant orange-flavored drink mix made popular by TV commercials with astronauts. I also developed a liking for crunchy peanut butter, but my brand of choice became Skippy or Jif. I brushed my teeth with Closeup toothpaste and sometimes every now and then, I would buy a package of Freshen Up cinnamon liquid center chewing gum.

One Thanksgiving Day around 2008 my mother was our guest, and she looked in our cupboard and spotted several cans of Campbell’s Bean and Bacon soup, a jar of Hellmann’s mayonnaise and a small can of Campbell’s Pork and Beans. She mentioned to my wife Nancy that she always fed me Campbell’s Bean and Bacon soup for lunch in the winter and she was happy that it was still a favorite of mine.

Maybe there’s some truth to her embedding product brands deep into the emotional framework of my childhood, although now I purchase canned tuna fish in water, haven’t bought Wonder Bread in decades and Swansons stopped selling TV dinners in America years ago.

Hires Root Beer is long extinct and so is Freshen Up chewing gum. Franco American is no more, and the Mister Salty pretzel brand was phased out in the 1990s.

Time marches on. <

Andy Young: Got milk?

By Andy Young

Some decades ago, my mother informed me in no uncertain terms that my habit of having a daily after-school bowl of cereal needed to change. Our family’s milk consumption rate was becoming excessive, and my choice of midafternoon refreshment was a big reason for it.

My initial reaction was outrage. How did this heartless woman expect her growing son to subsist on a mere three meals a day? It quickly became clear to me that a viable and economically feasible substitute for milk was needed.

When a crisis occurs, being willing to think differently and/or defy convention is paramount. Fortunately, I have that ability. It occurred to me that no one actually tasted the cold liquid they poured over their breakfast, and/or their afternoon snack. Milk had no perceivable flavor; it was the cereal we were savoring.

That’s why, after thinking outside the (milk) box, I theorized that tap water could serve the same purpose as milk did, and at a 100 percent reduction in cost!

Most ordinary people think only an idiot would consider consuming cereal soaking in room temperature water, and I agree. But it takes a true visionary to discern that water which has been refrigerated overnight isn’t lukewarm any longer; it becomes chilled water, which I brilliantly conjectured could be the perfect cold liquid to immerse one’s breakfast cereal in.

Back then orange juice came in one-quart glass bottles which were far too valuable to throw away, so before retiring on the night of my life-altering epiphany I filled an ex-Tropicana container to the top with water. That night’s dreams consisted solely of what I knew for certain would be the revolutionary, delicious, and significantly less expensive breakfast I’d be consuming the following morning.

A few short hours later I leaped out of bed, crept quietly into the kitchen, and poured myself a generous bowl of Rice Chex. Then I opened the refrigerator where the bottle of water I’d prepared the previous evening was waiting. It was cold enough to the touch to provide me with both literal, and figurative chills. Preparing to savor the fruits of my ingenuity, I unscrewed the cap, and poured a modest amount of the clear cold liquid atop the cereal. Quickly grabbing a spoon, I energetically dug in, knowing that soggy cereal is no way to start one’s day, regardless of whatever liquid it is that renders it that way.

The first mouthful of Rice Chex was reasonably crisp, but it was obvious something was lacking. Considering the possibility that the first bit of water wasn’t watery enough, I chewed, swallowed, and inserted a second spoonful. The taste didn’t improve. A third mouthful was similarly underwhelming.

Wondering if I hadn’t used enough water, I added another few ounces.

The taste didn’t change.

Rice Chex with water was disgusting. But like other bold innovators, I wasn’t discouraged. Shrugging off the disappointing first trial, I disposed of the sodden Rice Chex, filled a fresh bowl with Cheerios, and subsequently added cold H2O.

Disappointingly, Cheerios were no better with cold water on them than Rice Chex were.

In retrospect, I probably should have admitted defeat at that point. But like many ambitious young trendsetters before and since, I couldn’t bring myself to capitulate without making one more try at finding a more affordable liquid cereal enhancer.

Corn Flakes with orange juice on them were even more revolting than the first two combinations I’d tried. But my humiliation wasn’t over. Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, fate poured salt into my wound.

Orange juice, it turned out, was even more expensive than milk! <

Insight: We rise by lifting others

By Ed Pierce
Managing Editor

Even though we all share space on this planet, I’ve found that truly knowing what others carry around inside them is never easy.

That fact was evident for me this past weekend when I accompanied my wife Nancy to a funeral service in St. Albans, Vermont for our sister-in-law Millie Boyd. She had been married for 34 years to Nancy’s oldest brother Will, and they lived in St. Albans.

Over the years we saw Millie when we visited them on trips to Vermont, and she came across to me as a talented artist who was warm and welcoming to us. She wanted to know about us and our lives, and we were never there long enough to carry on long conversations with her about her own life.

On the drive over to Vermont, I asked Nancy how Will and Millie met and I had forgotten that they had met while struggling through issues with alcohol. Nancy told me that both Will and Millie had devoted their lives after overcoming alcohol problems to helping others, serving as sponsors, listening to people struggling as they had, and serving as their mentors.

Until we had arrived at the funeral home though, I was not aware of the full extent of Millie’s life. She was a mother of three daughters, a loving grandmother who taught her grandchildren gardening, and had completed nursing school.

During her eulogy, I heard that in 1988, she fulfilled a lifelong dream and earned a degree from Trinity College in Burlington, Vermont. The speaker said Millie was proud that she and her three daughters all attended college full-time at the same time and graduated by birth order.

I did not know that Millie enjoyed singing classical acapella music with Gigi Scriggins' Morning Glory Singers, and later, the Side Effects barbershop quartet. She had great fun performing for Cardiac Capers, a hospital benefit show, and at other venues in Vermont. I learned that Millie was also involved with The Aphasia Choir of Vermont, a community group founded by her daughter Karen McFeeters Leary, a former speech-language pathologist who is a gifted singer and songwriter. The choir is for stroke and traumatic brain injury survivors with speech difficulties so they can communicate fluently through music.

Millie also was an avid reader and in later years, she discovered a passion for watercolor painting. She belonged to numerous artists' groups, especially enjoying painting and learning with the "Tuesday morning gals." She exhibited her work in Franklin and Chittenden Counties in Vermont.

In fact, I had forgotten that on one of our trips to Vermont to see Nancy’s family, she had given us a painting completed by Nancy’s mother, who was a professional artist. The painting had been hanging on a wall in Will and Millie’s home. It shows Nancy at about the age of 14 and her mother at the lake and now is one of the centerpiece paintings in our living room in Maine.

That led me to remember that Will and Millie were frequent visitors to the nursing home in St. Albans where Nancy’s mother was cared for until her death in 2005.

But the most humbling thing that happened to me during Millie’s funeral came during the “Community Remembrance” portion of her service. 

One by one, people from all walks of life stepped forward to say how Millie had been someone who truly cared about them and had been instrumental in helping them forego dependence upon alcohol and change their lives for the better.

Each one talked about how tough and strict Millie and Will were as their sponsors and yet they felt that the couple always treated them with respect and dignity and most of all with kindness.

I was moved when a man discussed how he had “burned his life to the ground” because of alcohol and walked away from his children when they needed him. He said he saw no point in going on, but it was Millie who had convinced him that he could overcome his problems and start again.

Another speaker discussed how many lives Millie had touched and through her faith in humanity and using her own example as inspiration, had transformed hundreds of lives through her willingness to volunteer on behalf of others struggling with sobriety.

A woman who worked as the only female on a construction crew talked about how kind Millie had been to her and that she continually told her to smile.

Many other speakers mentioned that smiling was the cornerstone that Millie used to calm people’s fears of talking with her and how she felt no matter how hard a day someone might have had that a simple smile showed kindness to them.

Driving home that evening, I told Nancy that it was very humbling to hear all of those speakers talk about what Millie had done for them, how her persistence had led them to turn their lives around, and why they felt they needed to be there to express their love for her.

I carried one big question away from that entire experience that day. When my time comes, as it does for everyone, what do I expect my friends and family to say about me? <

Rookie Mama: Here’s a salute to the snowsuit re-boot

By Michelle Cote
The Rookie Mama

Fiery red leaves sound the red alarm for the clothing reality check in our home, and I want to take a moment to share my textile-themed PSA, which as you can imagine does not stand for “pants, shirts, accessories.”

Octobers are as multicolored outdoors in Maine as they are in my kiddos’ clothing drawers, because we’re wild-eyed with clothing overlapping seasons that truly must be addressed.

Our mudroom is still lined with the boys’ brand new-ish school shoes buddied up next to summer’s muddy Crocs – brightly marked signs of outdoor play all season long.

As we phase through a shoulder season that shoulders burden of many garments – Seriously, we will need more coat hooks – we must take that seasonal self-eval and determine what stays and what goes to the leaf-pile-looking mound of a donation pile stuffed tight in Chewy boxes ready for a Goodwill drop?

Full disclosure, my children really do own more than three pairs of clothing.

Their jam-packed hand-me-down dresser drawers are proof positive of being stuffed to the gills with hand-me-down attire of all sorts.

But as all four boys are creatures of habit, they love to keep a couple of outfits on repeat, so much that if we go one day without running the washer, they’re running wildly and convinced that they have no more clothes to wear.

Oh wear, oh wear, are their clothes indeed?

It really strikes a friendly reminder that perhaps we should sift through it all and pull garments not worn for a long time. This is always rough going – Pulling out forgotten clothes from the backs of closets are like pulling off a Band-aid, but unlike a Band-aid, the pain’s not forgotten quickly afterward.

I’ll gently fold away the clothes they no longer wear and quietly add to a size-marked bin in our basement so they’re ready to be once again loved, worn and torn as boy clothes go, for the next kiddo down the line.

And because ‘tis the season, it’s critical to have your little ones try one last year’s boots, winter coats and snow pants.

The littler the kid, the probably more likely it is that they’re ready to size up.

Like many other things I’ve learned in parenting, I know this because I’ve learned the hard way – the Rookie Mama way, so to speak. 

In my early mama-ing years, I’d wait for snow to fly, run down to get a kid’s pair of boots, only for them not to fit and I’d be the one booting out to the nearest store only to find winter wear no longer on shelves, nor available online in right sizes.

You know how it is; in a culture of oversaturated back-to-school shopping sales in June, it’s no surprise that by the time snow hits the fan, store shelves have already replaced winter gear with Valentine’s hearts and Easter eggs.

And Easter eggs are the only thing I ever want to hunt.

As for boots for kids, shop now for best options – this I kid you not.

Try on the winter coats, and have your kiddos do the sleeve test by reaching up high to see whether those sleeves ride up.

To each his own, but when I see too much wrist, I know it’s time to park what I’m doing and find a parka.

Kids today will never know the pure technicolor joy of our ‘90s generation’s Starter jackets, but if they are lucky enough, they may find loose change or a long-forgotten pair of matching winter gloves in an old coat pocket, the jacket color notwithstanding (But oh, how I loved the Charlotte Hornets colors.)

Lastly take a peek at any snow pants while you’re in the neighborhood of winter storage bins. 

Just like the rule of wrist for winter coats, nobody wants snow pants too short or those that ride up in other places, for that matter – Just think of the cold snow on their ankles from a snowdrift step wrongly taken.

It’s still too early for a pot of hot cocoa and peppermint sticks – or is it? – but truly the time to get a foothold on winter boots and downsizing clothes from last season is now.

So that when the cold blasts through, you’ll be the one who’s chill – But you won’t have to worry about getting cold feet.

So re-boot now while you’re in Halloween shopping mode so you aren’t spooked in the months to come.

Out with the Crocs, in with Crocktober!

­­– Michelle Cote lives in southern Maine with her husband and four sons, and enjoys camping, distance running, biking, gardening, road trips to new regions, arts and crafts, soccer, and singing to musical showtunes – often several or more at the same time!

Andy Young: Indigenous Columbus People’s Day

By Andy Young

Americans are guaranteed a minimum of five extended weekends every year. These include the Martin Luther King Day, Presidents Day, Memorial Day and Labor Day holidays, plus the second Monday in October’s one-day vacation from work. In fact, there can be as many as nine three-day weekends in a calendar year, since any time June 19 (Juneteenth), Nov. 11 (Veterans Day), July 4 (Independence Day), or Dec. 25 (Christmas) falls on a Monday or a Friday, it creates another government-approved three-day weekend.

This coming Monday’s day off occurs during what in much of the country is the nicest time of year. Early October in Maine brings pleasant daytime temperatures, cool, crisp evenings, spectacular foliage, slackening traffic, fewer pesky insects, and hardly any signs of the grim five-month winter that lies ahead.

But not everyone is unconditionally enthusiastic about the impending holiday.

The reproachful glance a younger colleague shot at me when I asked if he had anything special planned for Columbus Day weekend was the sort one ordinarily reserves for drug dealers wearing swastika-festooned motorcycle helmets who have just loudly broken wind in church.

“It’s Indigenous Peoples Day,” he huffed in a tone suggesting I had just proposed naming a federal holiday for Osama bin Laden. Actually though, he was right. Multiple states no longer celebrate Columbus Day. Monday is officially Indigenous Peoples Day in Alaska, Hawaii, Louisiana, Iowa, Michigan, Minnesota, New Mexico, Oregon, Vermont, Wisconsin, and Maine, and Native American Day in South Dakota.

School children of my vintage learned that Italian navigator Christopher Columbus was a determined, plucky underdog who had to go to another country (Spain) to get the funding necessary to sail across the Atlantic and discover America.

But subsequent societal changes, including the revolutionary idea that fact should be more important than folklore when it comes to teaching history, have radically changed Columbus’s image. While he may indeed have been an intrepid explorer, he was also guilty of committing and/or tolerating acts including murder, enslavement, human trafficking, and a variety of similar atrocities which shouldn’t entitle someone to have a holiday named for him.

When it comes to a debate of Christopher Columbus’s worthiness, I have no ethnicity-based bias. My lineage contains no connection to any Italians, Spaniards, or indigenous peoples. Then again, maybe it does, since no one in my family seems to know much about the ancestors who preceded us by more than four generations.

But while committing the sorts of atrocities Columbus and his barbarians did is hardly a basis for sainthood, the late 15th and early 16th centuries weren’t marked by good behavior of Caucasians who traveled to other continents seeking new opportunities. While their conduct was far from praiseworthy, it reflected Europe’s status quo at the time. Had the Nina, Pinta, and Santa Maria all somehow ended up in Davy Jones’s locker, it’s unlikely Amerigo Vespucci, Ferdinand Magellan, Vasco da Gama, or whichever European explorer got to North America first would have treated the natives any differently than Columbus and his crew did. They were products of their time, albeit a far less enlightened one.

Most people are resistant to change, which explains why those familiar with Columbus Day are having a hard time transitioning to a newly renamed “Day” that’s got twice as many syllables.

Given the abuse North America’s native denizens have been suffering since the initial plague of European invaders began arriving 534 years ago, I’d say it’s appropriate to change Columbus Day to Indigenous Peoples Day.

But there are limits to political correctness. Don’t hold your breath waiting for lawmakers in the Buckeye State to rename their capital city Indigenous Peoples, Ohio. <