Insight: Kung Fu Fighting, Mr. Bojangles and Brandy

By Ed Pierce
Managing Editor

What would you pay to own the soundtrack of a significant decade of your life? For me, the answer to that question launched a special quest unlike any other I have undertaken.

Ed Pierce has just completed acquiring all 25 music CDs
in the 1990 series issued by Rhino Records called
'Super Hits of the 70s Have a Nice Day.'
COURTESY PHOTO
 

It all began sometime in the mid-1990s at a music store in Melbourne, Florida. I had the day off from work and went to this store to purchase some CDs for my home stereo system. There were many fascinating bands and recording artists to choose from but an odd-looking CD in a bargain bin caught my eye and it was part of series of CDs issues by Rhino Records to salute the 1970s.

That decade was when I truly came of age. It was the time in which I graduated from high school, went to college, got married, started my career and joined the U.S. Air Force. I purchased my first car in 1972, met David Bowie in 1975, traveled to Europe in 1977, and became the owner of a pet cat in 1978.

As far as music goes, I collected what I could afford based upon my earnings at the time and the vinyl record albums I purchased were a luxury after paying the rent, buying groceries and writing a check for my auto loan every month.

But 20 years-plus after the 1970s, here I stood in awe of a CD I was holding called “Super Hits of the 70s Have A Nice Day.” The front of the CD was a photo collage of cultural icons of the decade including depictions of Elton John, Richard Nixon, Richard Pryor, Lindsay Wagner, Richard Roundtree, Rod Stewart, and characters from the 1970 film “Beneath the Planet of the Apes.”

Inside the CD, I discovered a compilation of 12 different 1970s tunes sounding just like they did when they aired on the AM radio in my 1974 Mercury Capri. Buying the CD and taking it home, it was indeed like turning the dial and finding a radio station playing the top hits of that era.

The playlist for the “Super Hits of the 70s Have A Nice Day Vol. 2” was like a time travel adventure. There was “Love Grows (Where My Rosemary Goes)” by Edison Lighthouse; “Ma Belle Ami” by the Tee Set; “Spirit in the Sky” by Norman Greenbaum; and “Reflections of My Life” by Marmalade. There were two tracks I had never heard of before called “For the Love of Him” by Bobbi Martin and “Little Green Bag” by the George Baker Selection.

Also featured on this CD were “Which Way You Goin’ Billy” by The Poppy Family; “My Baby Loves Lovin’” by White Plains; “Hitchin’ A Ride” by Vanity Fare; “United We Stand” by The Brotherhood of Man; and “Everything is Beautiful” by Ray Stevens. The CD tracks on this edition closed with “Lay a Little Lovin’ on Me” by Robin McNamara.

After a few months I stored the CD with others in my collection and hoped that someday I could find others in the series. Months turned into years and then into decades and I got busy with life and stopped looking.

Last summer when I rebuilt my stereo system, I was thrilled to own a turntable again and started to collect vinyl albums once more. As part of my stereo system, I own a 5-disc CD changer and brought a box of CDs up from the basement to my music room. Inside, I rediscovered the “Super Hits of the 70s Have A Nice Day Vol. 2” CD and it sounded fantastic when I played it.

That got me to thinking that perhaps someone might have other CDs in the “Super Hits of the 70s Have A Nice Day” series for sale. I first looked at two different locations of the Bull Moose music store without luck. Then I saw some CDs in the set listed on both Amazon and eBay.

Ordering one or two at a time at a reasonable cost online, I started in May on a quest to collect all 25 CDs in the series. I soon found out that some of these CDs are more valuable than the others.

For instance, Vol. 24 and Vol. 25 CDs are genuine collectors’ items because they were the final ones issued in the set in 1990. And for some strange reason, Vol. 11 and Vol. 14 are also hard to find and priced extravagantly.

My wife thought I was slightly insane over the past few months to be frequently checking the mailbox to see if any packages containing CDs had arrived for me on any given day. I was on a mission and would not be deterred.

Finally on July 3, I am happy to report that the last “Super Hits of the 70s Have A Nice Day” CD that I was seeking arrived via Fed Ex. It was the Vol. 11 edition, and I paid more than $10 extra for it than the other CDs. Not sure what the fuss was about for that one as none of the tracks on it are spectacular, unless you like “Playground in my Mind” by Clint Holmes or “Dueling Banjos” from the “Deliverance” film soundtrack.

Now I’m on to another obsession. <

40 X 15 = 600

By Andy Young

I never really know what I’m going to write each week for The Windham Eagle.

Sometimes I start with one idea but then head off in an entirely different direction.

Often life presents a topic, like last winter when a snowplow hit my car.

At other times a random thought will cross my mind, and it’ll get me started.

The ability to play with words and/or numbers helps when producing a cogent 600-word column.

Over the years I’ve gotten plenty of writing advice from a variety of distinguished mentors.

For example, a veteran editor told me to never write essays of over 800 words.

“Nobody wants to read more than 800 words about anything you can name,” she said.

And after many years of experience, I have to say I believe she was right.

Although given the attention spans of current readers, 400 words might be more like it.

Or, thanks to soulless social media influencers and avaricious cellphone purveyors, perhaps 200 would suffice.

After thoughtful consideration I decided to write exactly 600 words for The Windham Eagle each week.

And that’s what I’ve done for the past five years, week in and week out.

But what is the most effective method of writing thoughtful, meaningful, amusing, or inspiring essays?

Some folks say the best way of learning to do something is actually doing it.

And for the most part I agree, although obviously there are exceptions to every rule.

I have heard that for some people, formal education is more important than hands-on experience.

My best guess is that people who maintain that belief are most likely professional educators.

Or “educated idiots,” as my supervisor at the apple orchard, an 8th-grade dropout, enjoyed saying.

I wasn’t exactly the greatest at academics, but some random lessons somehow stuck with me.

Today a kid like me would be diagnosed with “oppositional-defiant disorder,” or some such thing.

But that wouldn’t have been entirely accurate in my case, since I wasn’t ever defiant.

Oppositional maybe, but defiance most definitely wasn’t a viable option when I went to school.

However, I may have shown a bit of passive-aggressive oppositional behavior from time to time.

If adults told me I couldn’t accomplish something, I’d do it just to spite them.

A well-meaning teacher once told me to vary the length of the sentences I wrote.

“Too many short sentences make your writing sound too simple, and too boring,” she intoned.

She also cautioned me against constructing overly lengthy sentences that contained too many multisyllabic words.

“Overlong sentences and pretentious verbiage turn readers off,” she sagely advised, and naturally I agreed.

I should have listened more carefully to most of the teachers I had back then.

But because I was an immature adolescent boy as a high schooler, I did not.

Funny, because now that I think of it, “immature adolescent boy” is a classic redundancy.

There were only three boys in my entire high school class who weren’t immature adolescents.

And naturally those three exceptions were unfairly (and unmercifully) tormented by the rest of us.

However, that was then, this is now, and the subject at hand is essay writing.

Nobody would recommend authoring an essay where every sentence contained the same number of words.

Or even worse, a 40-paragraph, 40-sentence essay, with each sentence consisting of exactly 15 words.

“Writing something like that is impossible!” they’d insist, adding, “Besides, who’d want to read it?”

I admit, I’m not quite sure who’d really want to read 40 consecutive 15-word sentences.

But after finishing this column, I know for certain that writing one is indeed possible! <

The Rookie Mama - Don’t sweep chores under the rug: A tale of summer structure and Lucky Charms

By Michelle Cote
The Rookie Mama

Parenting in the summer is like a firehose to the face that sends you backward down a giant slip-and-slide and lands you somewhere in a splashpad wild wilderness world if you so much as blink, when your kiddos are on three-month hiatus, but alas, your full-time work schedule hasn’t changed.

Splish-splash, don’t jump back in the bath – When it’s peak summer-lovin’ time in Maine, a bit of structure can go a long way to ensure smooth sailing for your whole crew.

Whether your little ones are summer camp bound or home with caregivers, be sure to begin every morning and end each day with a little routine and chores for all.

My husband and I have four young boys, ranging in age from 4 to 13. Each is able to contribute meaningfully to our home’s everyday upkeep, and as we all know, many hands make light work.

And in our home of six, we’ve sure got many a hand.

Kiddos kicking in with chores not only contributes greatly to our daily function, but teaching responsibility gives our little guys a sense of pride and accomplishment.

It’s a family affair.

Our youngest ones help pick up, whether sorting and properly stashing toy trains, Hot Wheels cars and Duplos from whence they came, or clearing the table – be it storing away art supplies or scooping up accidentally spilled bowls of Lucky Charms.

They’re also learning to help our older boys fold laundry.

After all, we all wear clothes – A whole lot of it – Folding should also be the team effort.

The folds may not be perfect, and socks may not always be exquisitely matched, not to mention the shirts that may be inadvertently placed in wrong piles.

We don’t expect perfection.

After all, I’ve never even met an adult who can fold a fitted sheet.

Among our older circuit, our boys help clean the house, do dishes, take out trash and recycling and mow our hilly lawn among other tasks.

When our kids are really deep in chore zone, they get music or background movie choice to make it fun and truly nurture that autonomy.

Rise-and-shines and bedtimes are still enforced, albeit with more flexibility than school nights and golden rule days. This keeps us on routine and ready to take on the day.

Peppered between daily tasks is lots of fun in the sun and the reward feels all the more magnificent after each doing our part.

But that’s precisely what it is – Each does our fraction; together we’re made whole.

When we teach responsibility – with patience, grace, and some great tunes in the mix – we all benefit, and our littles ones learn these life skills.

According to Parent.com, children who do chores grow up to be successful. A Harvard study that followed people for 75 years were able to connect their physical and emotional health as well as professional success to whether they did chores as kiddos.

And so it goes – To participate in life, one must contribute to it.

Chores also allow little ones to learn how things work.

So cleaning up those Hot Wheels cars and washing dishes regularly go a long way, so it seems.

Even Harvard says so.

Even if no one will ever know how to fold a fitted sheet.

So keep calm and carry on all summer long – Just don’t forget to keep kid chores top of mind along with sunscreen, and you’ll all have a well-deserved summer to remember.

­­– 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!

Insight: Buck and The Cro

By Ed Pierce
Managing Editor

Several famous people I have met under different circumstances exhibited an uncommon trait called kindness.

Joe Crozier, left, befriended Ed Pierce when he was the
coach of the Rochester Americans in the American
Hockey League in the 1960s. Pierce met recording artist
B.W. Stevenson before a concert in 1973.
COURTESY PHOTOS     

As a representative of the Student Entertainment Committee at New Mexico Highlands University in October 1973, my mission was to ensure the bands we booked to appear in concert had suitable hotel accommodations and their equipment was on site and available for their performance. It also meant making sure the electricity and microphones worked and that band members were fed before each of the concerts.

One of the first performers I got to meet in person was a musician by the name of B.W. Stevenson. He and his band were touring the county promoting his new album. “My Maria” and his hit single of the same name from the album. Our committee had booked him earlier that summer, when his fee to perform was reasonable enough before his hit song rose to reach the Top 10 nationally.

I hadn’t listened very much to his music, but I had noticed his first album with his photo wearing a stovepipe hat the year before. I met his bus when it arrived on campus and told the band that once they looked over the gym where they were playing, we could get them checked into the hotel and then return for early afternoon sound checks and rehearsal.

Stevenson was slightly older than I was, in fact, he shared with me that this day of the concert was in fact his 24th birthday. He wasn’t very tall but was rather stocky and quiet. He told me that he was from Dallas, Texas and learned to play the guitar as a teenager.

When I asked him what the B.W. initials stood for, he laughed and said, “It’s Buckwheat, but you can call me Buck if you’d like.”

After dinner, Stevenson pulled me aside and asked what was going on in town after the concert. I mentioned to him that our fraternity was having a party with a keg of beer afterward and that he was welcome to come by our fraternity house with his band.

The concert was successful, and my job was done as other committee members made sure everything got packed up and stored on the band’s bus.

To my surprise, Stevenson showed up at the party with some band members and thanked me for inviting him. He shared a beer with us and some stories from the road and his life as a musician. I found him to be genuine and a regular guy despite his celebrity status.

While attending a professional hockey game in Rochester, New York in 1965, I asked my father if I could walk down to the player’s bench and see if one of them would give me a hockey stick. Most of the players were out on the ice warming up before the game started and so there was just one man standing by the bench and he was dressed in a business suit, so I decided that he wasn’t a hockey player.

I introduced myself to the man in the suit and he told me his name was Joe “The Cro” Crozier and that he was the coach of the Rochester Americans. He asked how old I was, and I told him I was 11. He pointed out onto the ice to a player warming up for the Hershey Bears wearing a jersey with the numeral 8 on it. He said the player’s nickname was “The Big Bear” and that his real name was Mike Nykoluk, pronounced Nik-O-Luck.

Crozier said that if I shouted “You Stink” at Nykoluk when he skated by and if he reacted to it, that he would make sure I received a hockey stick.

Sure enough, Nykoluk skated past where I was standing and I screamed at him, “Hey Nykoluk, you stink like a skunk.” Nykoluk stopped, turned around and smiled at me, shaking his stick at me first, and then at Crozier, who was laughing hysterically.

I returned to my seat but before the game ended, Crozier motioned to the usher to bring me and my brother to the bench where he presented us both with broken hockey sticks. Crozier told me, “Someday when you are grown up, you’ll remember this moment.”

Crozier went on as a coach to lead the Rochester Americans to three Calder Cup American Hockey League championships. He later served as the coach of the Buffalo Sabres and the Toronto Maple Leafs in the National Hockey League. Ironically, when Crozier was fired as the Leafs’ coach in 1981, he was replaced by none other than Mike Nykoluk. In 2012, Crozier was inducted into the AHL Hall of Fame and died at the age of 93 in 2022.

B.W. Stevenson continued to sing and perform nationally until 1988. In April of that year, he went into the hospital to have a heart valve repaired. Following the surgery, he soon developed a staph infection and died at age 38. Brooks and Dunn later had a Number 1 country hit with their version of Stevenson's "My Maria." 

Years later, when I think about meeting Joe Crozier and B.W. Stevenson, and that they each chose to be friendly to me when I was a total stranger to them, I am humbled. Their kindness is not something I will soon forget. <

Andy Young: Celebrating the 3rd 83rd

By Andy Young

Historians have an inexplicable love for round numbers. That’s why next year (MMXXVI for Roman numeral users), Americans can expect a bombardment of pomp and ceremony when the United States marks its semiquincentennial, sestercentennial, bisesquicentennial, or, for people who struggle with pronouncing words containing more than five syllables, its 250th anniversary.

Harriet Lane was the niece of U.S President
James Buchanan and because he was not 
married, she served as First Lady for
the president in 1859. COURTESY PHOTO

Far be it from me to rain on next year’s extravagant parade(s), but what’s wrong with celebrating every July 4th equally? Just because this year’s Independence Day is the country’s 249th doesn’t make the occasion any less meaningful. In fact, I think this year’s July 4 is even more significant than next year’s will be, since it marks America’s third 83rd birthday.

And what was so special about the first two 83rd anniversaries of the founding of the United States? In a word, plenty.

Four score and three years after the Declaration of Independence marked the penultimate (an easily pronounced four-syllable word) year of James Buchanan’s one-term presidency. And while his indecisiveness likely led to the Civil War, the lifelong bachelor should also be remembered as the only president to ever have his niece (Harriet Lane, for those keeping score at home) serve as America’s First Lady.

Plenty of American history was being made outside Washington, D.C. in 1859 as well. Indian Head pennies were minted for the first time. Oregon was admitted as the nation’s 33rd state, and the city of Olympia was incorporated in the territory of Washington. A lot of Americans seemed to be in a hurry that year, since MDCCCLIX was the year of the Colorado Gold Rush, the Comstock Lode Silver Rush, and the Pennsylvania Oil Rush.

On June 30, Charles Blondin became the first person to cross Niagara Falls on a tightrope. The first-ever intercollegiate baseball game was played the next day, with Amherst besting Williams (and their notoriously weak bullpen) 73-32. Cass Gilbert, the architect who designed the Supreme Court building, the Woolworth building, and three different state capitals, was born in 1859. So were educator John Dewey and outlaw William H. “Billy the Kid” Bonney.

America’s second 83rd birthday occurred in 1942 (MCMXLII), when the country was embroiled in World War II. Food, sugar, and gasoline were just three items that Americans had to ration, and the conflict was coming uncomfortably close to United States shores. On May 12, a Nazi U-boat sunk an American cargo ship near the Mississippi River delta, and a month later a Japanese submarine fired on Fort Stevens, Oregon, at the mouth of the Columbia River. On June 27, the FBI nabbed eight Nazi saboteurs off the coast of Long Island, New York, so it wasn’t surprising that the nation’s minimum draft age was lowered from 21 to 18 in November.

However, in June the war’s tide began turning the allies’ way when the Battle of Midway marked the first decisive defeat of the Japanese in the Pacific theater.

Not all of American History in 1942 involved war, though. Bing Crosby recorded “White Christmas” and “Silent Night” that year. Glenn Miller and his orchestra were awarded the first-ever Gold Record after a million copies of their rendition of “Chattanooga Choo-Choo” were sold, and Walt Disney’s animated version of Bambi was released in late August. The St. Louis Cardinals won a five-game World Series over the New York Yankees, and the Heisman Trophy went to Georgia halfback Frank Sinkwich.

There’s still half of 2025 remaining, so there’s no telling what significant history will be made this year.

That established, it goes without saying there’s no way to accurately forecast where America will be on its next 83rd birthday, in MMCVIII. <

Insight: Seven things I’ll never do again

By Ed Pierce
Managing Editor

Don’t bother to ask me because the answer will always be no.

Here’s a list of seven things that I have done in my life previously that I simply will say I will never, ever do again and a brief explanation as to why not.

#1. Remove the gas pedal from an automobile. On a Saturday morning when I was about 8, my father asked me if I wanted to ride along with him when he went shopping at a nearby five-and-dime store. When he went into the store, I stayed behind in the car. Crawling along on the floorboard, I went to get up and grabbed the gas medal by mistake. It broke off, and as much as I tried, I couldn’t reattach it. I propped it up as if nothing had happened but when my father returned and tried to start the car, he noticed what had happened. He told me that if I ever did that again, he wouldn’t ask me to ride with him anymore.

#2. Handle a snake. When I was a member of the U.S. Air Force, I went to a party at a friend’s house, and he showed me several of his pet snakes. He insisted that I hold one of them and to not show fear in front of the other party guests, I held it briefly and the entire time that it was happening my knees were shaking, and I was trembling deep down inside with fright. I swore thereafter to never do that again and I’ve kept that vow for more than four decades now and counting.

#3. Arrive at a fire scene before the fire department while covering it for the newspaper. Once while working in the newsroom for a daily newspaper in New Hampshire, I listened to a radio call for firefighters to respond to a house fire. I knew exactly where the fire was and drove there quickly, arriving at least a minute before the fire trucks got there. A fire truck parked behind me and a firefighter laid two 6-inch fire hoses up the middle of the street, making it impossible for me to leave once the fire department had extinguished the fire. I had to wait for 45 minutes afterward until the fire hoses had been drained and reeled up before I could drive away.

#4. Eat lima beans, parsnips, artichokes or Brussels sprouts. When I was growing up, my mother was a stay-at-home mom and instituted a “Vegetable of the Day” program for our household. She said she did it to introduce us to the taste of as many different types of vegetables as possible. Through that experience, I came to loathe lima beans, parsnips, artichokes and Brussels sprouts and made myself a promise that I would try to avoid eating them in the future. I can honestly say I have never willingly ordered any of those vegetables throughout my adult life.

#5. Wear waist Size 32 or 34 pants. For at least 10 years when I was in my 30s, I only purchased trousers which were waist size 32. At age 41, that increased to waist size 34. But by the time I turned 45, my waist expanded again to a size 36 and I’ve pretty much stayed there ever since. It’s reassuring to know that I cannot fit into Size 32 or Size 34 pants, so I don’t even try to.

#6. Report at the scene of a fire without checking with firefighters. When I was a newspaper reporter in the 1980s, my editor sent me to cover a massive mobile home blaze. I got there and ran up the driveway while starting to take photos. Suddenly I heard a fireman behind me shouting for me to stop and not take another step. I looked down at my feet and noticed a live electric wire wriggling around and snapping just inches from my shoes. They never taught us this in journalism classes in college, but I have made it a point since then that if I am out covering a fire somewhere, I always ask firefighters where they advise is a place that I can stand and observe things safely.

#7. Pick up a stack of lumber without checking what’s underneath it first. Living on a farm in New Mexico in the 1970s, I was gathering small pieces of wood to use as kindling for the fireplace. We had a pile of old lumber behind a barn on the property, and I thought I’d grab a few pieces from there for kindling. I didn’t realize it but underneath the first few pieces there, hornets had decided to make a nest for the winter, and I ended up getting stung 44 times on my arms, on the top of my head and all over my back. Forced to drive myself to the urgent care clinic, I watched the physician carefully remove as many of the stingers as he could find over the course of the next hour. After that painful incident, I vowed that I would never reach blindly into a pile of wood without examining the wood pile first and I’ve zealously kept that promise. <

Andy Young: Exploring uncharted gourmet waters

By Andy Young

It’s ironic I’ve ended up living near what’s considered one of America’s premier “foodie” cities, because as a kid I spent less time at restaurants than Abraham Lincoln passed surfing the web.

Our family never went out for dinner, aside from stopping at a Howard Johnson’s when we traveled to Montreal the year after the World’s Fair there. The closest we came to dining out was when our mother would, on rare occasions, pick up a bucket of chicken from the Drumstick Bar-B-Q on her way home from work.

The first time I remember eating in an actual dining establishment was during my senior year of high school. When the place where I worked closed for the summer, Barney, our boss, decided to reward his half-dozen high-school-aged employees with a trip to a local restaurant. Since the community where we lived was completely devoid of eateries, our dining out experience would take place in an adjacent town.

Due to my inexperience in the sort of surroundings I’d be visiting, or perhaps because I was something of a picky eater, my mom gave me a pre-night-out talk about proper restaurant etiquette. She encouraged me to have an open mind, and to try a little bit of everything. She also stressed the importance of saying “Please” and “Thank you” to the people who’d be serving us, and to Barney for his kindness.

Our destination, it turned out, was the Golden House, which on the outside looked something like a pagoda. Never mind Asian food; the closest thing I’d experienced to any ethnic cuisine was my mom’s meat-and-vegetable sauce poured over La Rosa spaghetti. Barney announced he’d do all the ordering and began by requesting a Pu Pu platter. For obvious reasons I didn’t want any part of anything with “Poo-Poo” in it, but remembering my mother’s pre-dinner instructions, I gritted my teeth and accepted the first item sent my way, something called an “egg roll.” I had always hated eggs, but there was no dog under the table to surreptitiously pass it to, so, water glass at the ready to provide a chaser, I braved a tentative nibble from the suspicious-looking golden-brown object.

It wasn’t too bad, so I took another bite. Then I devoured the whole thing, along with the remains of one the kid next to me had foolishly placed on a napkin that was within my reach. When the main dishes (several of which were aflame) arrived, I heeded my mother’s counsel, trying a little bit of everything. For openers I sampled the pork fried rice and vegetable lo mein. Then I took some moo goo gai pan. After my third helping of pepper steak, I loosened my belt a notch, then removed it entirely a few moments later, after dispatching yet another steamed dumpling. I’m not sure my mom would have approved of having her son take his belt off in public and stick it in his pocket, but by the time I did so, I was confident that my pants were in no danger of falling down. Besides, I needed to breathe. The meal concluded with a fortune cookie, although I’m still waiting for the good financial news that the paper inside it promised was right around the corner.

When it was all over, I couldn’t believe I had let 18 whole years go by without knowing of the existence of Chinese cuisine.

I’d love to go back to the Golden House sometime, assuming it’s still in existence. Now if only I can find a boss willing to pick up the tab for me and five age-alike friends! <

Andy Young: Looking forward … and back

By Andy Young

“You have the power to change the world, whether through grand gestures, or quiet moments of compassion,” RSU 21 Superintendent of Schools Dr. Terri Cooper told Kennebunk High School’s Class of 2025 at the school’s sesquicentennial (150th) graduation ceremony earlier this month. She later added that the day was “not an ending, but a beginning.”

For me her message rang both true and eerily familiar, because the previous day I had attended the reunion of my own high school class on the 50th anniversary of our graduation.

When I heard several months ago that the Class of 1975 was going to get together, I wasn’t sure I’d attend, particularly when I learned the date was the day before the commencement ceremony at the school where I’ve taught for the past 23 years. It’s a lengthy drive to where I grew up, so I’d have had a reasonable excuse for begging off. But after learning attendees would be coming from, among other places, North Carolina, Texas, Virginia, Colorado, Missouri, and California, well, being reluctant to make a mere 470-mile round trip from Maine sounded pretty weak.

Thankfully name tags had been provided, which was fortunate, since most of my erstwhile classmates had been frozen in my mind’s eye as 18-year-olds. Five decades of living can radically change a person’s outer shell; they’ve definitely altered mine. There have been other less noticeable physical changes in our chronological peers as well. I quickly lost count of our class’s collective number of joint replacement surgeries.

At one point I found myself renewing acquaintances with a circle of six people I had ridden the morning kindergarten bus with – in 1962!

There wasn’t nearly enough time to touch base with everyone I wanted to, even if I hadn’t gotten lost on some local back roads and arrived 45 minutes late. Each attending alumnus has lived (and is living) a unique and remarkable life.

I heard about personal and professional successes and setbacks from teachers, bankers, social workers, lawyers, and accountants. I visited with widows, widowers, divorcees, couples who’ve been wed for 40-plus years, and individuals who’ve never married. A significant number of attendees still reside around where we grew up; including at least one who lives in the house he was raised in.

Some Class of 75er’s have children nearing 50 years old; others have multiple grandchildren, and at least one has three children still attending college. Nearly all have lost parents, although I did learn of two still-extant mothers-of-classmates (ages 99 and 98), along with a 95-year-old dad. An unlucky few have experienced the excruciating pain of losing a child, but in the face of that unimaginable tragedy discovered strength and resilience they were previously unaware that they possessed.

The level of energy in the room that afternoon was high, although maybe that was to be expected, since those living less happily most likely passed on coming to the event. Perhaps another reason for the positive vibes: not one person, or at least no one I interacted with, uttered a word about politics.

I found myself counting my blessings the next afternoon. Not everyone gets to go to a festive high school graduation and a 50th class reunion on the same weekend.

The Class of 2025 is full of eager young people who can’t wait to start making their mark on the world, be it through grand gestures or quiet moments of compassion. Which, oddly enough, is exactly what the remaining members of the Class of 1975 are still aspiring to do as well. We’ve just got a little less time remaining to make our impactful contribution(s). <

Insight: ‘Illusion-grams’ and utter nonsense

By Ed Pierce
Managing Editor

I recently saw a post on a popular social media platform mentioning that American soldiers who fought in Europe during World War II were misguided and it wasn’t all that bad, in fact it was merely a tool concocted to help lift Americans out of the poverty of the Great Depression.

Ed Pierce, Sr. graduated from
high school in 1943 and was 
drafted into the U.S. Army,
serving in combat in North
Africa and Italy during
World War II.
COURTESY PHOTO 

The person posting that nonsense has no idea what he is talking about and is certainly a good reason for me to stay off social media. My father, who would have turned 100 this year if he was still alive, would have refuted that post and would shake his head at some of the misinformation and untruths which pop up often on social media these days.

Yes, my father and his family did experience abject poverty in the Great Depression. He was the youngest of nine children and over the years, he related to me what it was like to be poor and how it shaped his life growing up.

While other students at Fairport High School outside of Rochester, New York were playing sports or participating in other after-school activities, my father worked two jobs. On Saturday mornings he received a penny for every bowling pin he placed upright on a lane as a pinspotter at a bowling alley. When classes in school finished on weekdays, he then went to his job at a company that made tin cans for businesses and paid him just 13 cents an hour.

There wasn’t money for anyone in the family to go to the movies, buy new clothes, or purchase groceries regularly. No one in his family owned a car, and he walked six miles into town for school and then back home again every single day.

My father had thought about attending college after high school but wondered how he could ever pay for it. On the same day that he graduated from Fairport High School, his draft notice arrived in the mail and those plans were put on hold. He trained as an infantryman at Camp Fannin in Texas and soon thereafter he departed the U.S. on a troop ship bound for Libya in North Africa.

He told me that although he considered his family to be poor, he witnessed seeing real extreme poverty in Libya as families would raid the soldiers’ trash dump and convert discarded burlap bags into clothing worn by their children. In Morocco, he saw residents scrounging for potato peelings from the Army dump to make a meal.

Leaving North Africa, my father was part of the U.S. contingent of troops landing at Anzio Beach, Italy in January 1944. In one of the bloodiest battles of the war, with Nazi troops holding the high ground overlooking the landing beach. He watched many of his friends die as Germans rained down machine gun fire and launched deadly mortars upon Americans on the beach.

A few months later, as my father’s unit was advancing on the town of Cisterna in Italy, he was shot in the back by a sniper while trying to repair a broken communications line. He survived his wounds and was discharged from his military service in 1946. He enrolled at Manhattan College in New York City and used the GI Bill to study mechanical engineering, finishing his degree after transferring to the Rochester Institute of Technology and working a series of part-time jobs in addition to his college studies to pay for his textbooks.

I constantly would ask my father to tell me about his wartime experiences. We would watch a television show called “Combat” in the 1960s and he told me that program came close to what it was like to serve on the front lines during the war. He eventually shared a few stories with me when I was in high school and they were gruesome and disturbing.

He told me about being part of an exploratory mission in Italy after surviving the landing at Anzio Beach and stopping to rest briefly under a tree with several other soldiers. They heard rifle shots and suddenly, two soldiers that were sitting next to my father keeled over dead having been shot in the head. On another occasion, my father said he witnessed the remnants of a German unit in Italy who were burned alive in a bunker after being torched by an American flamethrower.

More than 30 years later, I enlisted in the U.S. Air Force and saw the results of World War II in Europe for myself. There was still extensive damage to some buildings and infrastructure in Germany and cemeteries were filled with soldiers killed in the war.

In the Frankfurt, Germany town square, I saw a memorial dedicated to Jewish residents who were rounded up in that city and taken to concentration camps or sent for extermination in Nazi gas chambers. I spoke with German and Dutch families who lost loved ones in the war and never recovered afterward.

To say that World War II wasn’t all that bad and was nothing more than a tool to lift Americans out of Great Depression era poverty is ludicrous and a propagation of misinformation.

As Phineas T. Barnum is known for saying, “There’s a sucker born every minute.” <

Insight: If love is blind can marriage be game show fodder?

By Ed Pierce
Managing Editor

Growing up in the 1960s, spending Saturday evenings at home with my parents was tough when I was a teenager, especially when they controlled what our family watched on television.

'The Newlywed Game' was created by Chuck Barris and
featured newly married couples predicting answers by
their spouses to win a 'Grand Prize. It aired on Saturday
evenings on ABC Television in the 1960s and 1970s.
COURTESY PHOTO  

“The Newlywed Game” was a staple of not only Saturday night viewing in our household but my mother never missed an episode when it aired weekdays. The show was hosted by Bob Eubanks, a popular young disc jockey and promoter of Beatles concerts and later the manager of country performers such as Dolly Parton, Barbara Mandrell, Marty Robbins and Merle Haggard.

Each “Newlywed” show followed the same format with four couples married under two years competing in three rounds for a grand prize. The first set of four questions was posed to the husbands or wives with their spouses isolated offstage. They were asked by Eubanks to predict how their spouse would answer the questions.

If their answers matched the ones their spouse gave, they were awarded a series of points, starting with five points for each correct question in Round 1, ten points for Round 2 answers and a 25-point bonus question for the final round. The game show sets were sparsely decorated with a podium on the side of the stage for the host, eight seats for the contestants, sheer curtains at the back of the stage and an electronic scoreboard for each couple in front of their seats.

The concept for “The Newlywed Game” came from the mind of Chuck Barris and was intended as a companion series to “The Dating Game,” also created by Barris. The banter between Eubanks, who was just 28 when “The Newlywed Game” launched in 1966, and the couples, was supposed to prompt embarrassing answers.

The formula worked among viewers as “The Newlywed Game” program was ranked as one of the top three daytime game shows for five consecutive seasons between 1968 and 1973. It also scored big with primetime television ratings, ranking among the top three primetime game shows for five consecutive years between 1966 and 1971.

Barris chose to end the nighttime version of “The Newlywed Game” in 1974 but continued to promote the show in television syndication with editions airing on TV screens across America from 1977 to 1980, 1985 to 1988, and again from 1997 to 1999. Cable television’s Game Show Network started showing reruns of “The Newlywed Game” in 2009 with Eubanks hosting special original episodes in both 2009 and 2010, making him the only television personality to host a game show in six consecutive decades – 1960s, 1970s, 1980s, 1990s, 2000s and 2010s.

But for me, the version I recall the most was the one airing in the 1960s. Some of the crazy beehive hairstyles, outlandish clothing and just plain corny answers among the participants were sheer torture for my teenage angst having to sit and watch the show with my mother and father every Saturday evening.

Questions asked of the couples competing for the Grand Prize were not only silly but embarrassing.

Samples of typical questions included:

** What would you say is your husband’s weirdest quirk?

** What is your wife’s worst habit?

** What is your husband’s pet name for you?

** What is something that your wife is most likely to end up in jail for?

** What is the first movie that you saw together?

** Would your spouse rather spend an evening at home with you, or a night out with you?

** What are you most likely to argue about?

** If your spouse could only eat one food for the rest of their life, what would it be?

** What is your spouse's most prized possession, or the item they'd save in a fire apart from you?

** Who has more exes, you or your spouse?

** Who is a better driver, your spouse or you?

Petty arguments would often arise when contestants would differ on answers and spouses thought the other should have answered correctly but missed. Correct answers usually were rewarded with a smooch by the couples. The host was prone to provoking ridiculous arguments by pressing couples who differed on their answers on the game show.

Eubanks himself became known to many viewers for his catch-phrase questions regarding “Makin Whoopee,” on “The Newlywed Game.” Every other show seemed to include a question about it, and I found it highly disturbing that my parents would always laugh loudly or shrug it off when one of those questions was asked of the contestant couples. I suppose they came from a generation where innuendo and witty banter about the subject was humorous, but as a teenager, I found it all to be silly and preposterous.

At the end of each episode, following the reveal of the Bonus Question, the winner was the couple with the most points. The winner received a special Grand Prize selected “just for them.” Typical Grand Prizes were “all new living room furniture from Broyhill” or “a full-size camping tent and matching his and her motorcycles” or even “a shiny chrome and Formica dinette set and a new Hotpoint electric dishwasher.”

To this day, I wonder how many contestants divorced after the show aired. <

Andy Young: How many Months in a month?

By Andy Young

June is an utterly unique month. None of the other eleven months begins on the same day of the week as June does.

Ever.

Not only that, March and June always end on the same day of the week, even in a leap year.

A surprising number of June’s 30 days have been designated as special ones, including Father’s Day, Juneteenth, Flag Day, and, in just about every high school in the state, Graduation Day. But that’s just scratching the surface.

June is also National Rose Month, National Safety Month, National Adopt a cat Month, National Country Cooking Month, National Zoo and Aquarium Month, National Dairy Month, and National Fruit and Vegetables Month. In addition, June is Caribbean-American Heritage Month, Men’s Health Month, African-American Music Appreciation Month, Aphasia Awareness Month, and Rebuild Your Life Month.

Far be it from me to criticize the folks running the DMD (Department of Month Designation), but how can anyone possibly cram so many Months into just one month, let alone one with only 30 days in it? I’d happily commemorate each Month within the month of June, but I’m not sure I’d have the time or the wherewithal.

Ever.

Some of June’s Months won’t be a problem. I already eat plenty of fruits and vegetables, and between that and refraining from tobacco use, skateboarding, helmetless motorcycle riding and social media, I’m doing my part to observe Men's Health Month. The milk I pour on my cereal each morning covers National Dairy Month, and I’d like to think buckling up before I start my car qualifies me as an active observer of National Safety Month.

I’m perfectly willing to visit a zoo and/or an aquarium, and since I’m a big fan of diversity and learning, I’m all for taking part in any or all activities celebrating Pride, National Caribbean American History, and African-American Music Appreciation, even though strictly speaking I don’t fit into any of the specific demographic groups those particular Months are designed to celebrate. Apparently I could also use a refresher course on Aphasia Awareness, because until I looked it up I thought Aphasia was the hair loss condition that afflicts Jada Pinkett Smith, and moved her husband, Will Smith, to angrily stalk out of the audience at the Oscars and slap Chris Rock, the ceremony’s host, after Mr. Rock’s unscripted wisecrack that alluded to Ms. Pinkett Smith’s shaved head a few years back. Oops. That’s alopecia, not aphasia. My bad.

I’d happily celebrate as many of June’s Months as possible, but I’m drawing the line at adopting a cat. The money I’d spend on cat food, kitty litter, and veterinarian fees would make it fiscally unfeasible for me to buy anyone a dozen roses. Or any roses, for that matter.

Ever.

As difficult as it would be to properly observe each of June’s Months, commemorating each of its special “Days” would be even harder. National Iced Tea Day, World Bicycle Day, National Bubbly Day, World Oceans Day, National Donut Day, World Environment Day, International Day of Family Remittances, World Milk Day, and Fresh Veggies Day are just some of this month’s designated “Days.”

June 1 alone is National Nail Polish Day, National Game Show Day, National Olive Day, National Hazelnut Cake Day, National Go Barefoot Day, National Pen Pal Day, National Heimlich Maneuver Day, and National Say Something Nice Day.

Here’s what I’ll say that’s nice: I’m glad no one is required to wear Nail Polish on National Nail Polish Day.

And I sincerely hope that no one reading this needs to give (or receive) the Heimlich Maneuver this month.

Or ever. <

Insight: Exploring the age of English words

By Ed Pierce
Managing Editor

Sometime in the 1970s, I recall watching a television show on PBS about English language words and how you could tell a verb’s age by the way it is conjugated.

For example, if the past tense of some verbs in English end in a “t” it is likely an older word than the past tense of one ending in “ed.”

The university professor who was giving this presentation said that words such as keep, sweep, leap and send are derivatives of older Celtic words which remain to this day in modern English. The past tense of keep is kept, for sweep it is swept, feel becomes felt and send is sent.

By this logic, the professor concluded that other old English verbs include sleep and creep, with the past tense of sleep being slept and creep becoming crept. Weep’s past tense is wept, lend becomes lent, spend’s past tense is spent, while the past tense of lose is lost and for leave, it’s left.

He went on to say that bend is an older English word because it’s past tense is bent, while the past tense of mean is meant, deal is dealt, and build is built.

Other older English verbs by his definition then would include buy (bought), catch (caught), bring (brought), seek (sought), teach (taught) and think (thought).

Because some newer verbs were introduced later to the English language and were first conjugated with a “t” but can also be conjugated in the past tense with an “ed,” the professor suggested these words were newer in origin.

These verbs include burn, dream, kneel, leap, learn, smell, spell, spill and spoil. Using very old English, some authors may say burnt, but nowadays the preferred term in modern English is burned. Same thing holds true for dreamt (dreamed), knelt (kneeled), learnt (learned), smelt (smelled), spelt (spelled), spilt (spilled), and spoilt (spoiled).

Through time, several other older English verbs conjugated in past tense can have two different words meaning the same thing, such as pass, pen, and bereave. The past tense of pass can either be past or passed, while pen’s past tense can be pent or penned, and bereave’s past tense can be bereft or bereaved.

In his presentation, the professor said some of the older Celtic verbs are thought to have been spoken by the Angles, Saxons, and Jutes, originating from northwest Germany, southern Denmark, and the Netherlands. They brought their Germanic-based dialects to England and these dialects combined with Celtic languages already being used set the cornerstone for the old English language. That became modified with infusions of older Norse as Viking invaders raided parts of early Britain and were further shaped by the Norman conquest of England in 1066 which introduced some French influences into the English dialect.

Old English words thought to have come from Vikings are knife, freckle, berserk, window, sky, husband, aloft, awkward, bag, blunder, and droop.

Some examples of newer English words with French influences, the professor said, contain “ch” and “que” and “ou” such as machine, unique, antique and boutique or youth and soup. Other newer verbs of French influence in English that came after the Norman invasion can be conjugated in the past tense with “ed” instead of “t” and include waste (wasted), and taste (tasted).

The Renaissance during the 16th century was yet another period when new words were added to the English language, the professor said. Some came from Latin origins and were introduced by scholars of that time such as atrocity, debilitate, ferrous, naïve and stipend while others derived from Greek origins including duo, pneumonia, and gravity.

Back in 2009, a study conducted by Reading University in England found that the oldest words in the English language include “I”, “we”, “who”, “two” and “three,” all dating back to at least in common use prior to the Norman invasion. The discovery was made by tracking the divergence of ancestral words into different languages including old English using a supercomputer and before the introduction of AI technology.

Many older English words commonly used centuries ago never quite made it into the modern English language and the list is lengthy.

Here’s a sampling of few old English words no longer used today and their meanings:

“Afeared” or “Afeardt,” meaning frightened.

“Bodkin,” meaning a dagger.

“Contumely” meaning insulting behavior.

“Cumberground” meaning a totally useless person or a total waste of space.

“Demesne” meaning domain, realm or territory.

“Doxy” meaning a mistress.

“Elflock” meaning wavy or tangled hair.

“Frore” meaning extremely cold.

“Jargogle” meaning jumbled.

“Lollop” meaning a drunken or foolish person.

“Maegth” meaning family.

“Recreant” meaning cowardly.

“Sluberdegullion” meaning slovenly.

“Varlet” meaning a crook or a conman.

“Wamblecropt” meaning someone who is overcome with indigestion.

“Wundorlic” meaning a feeling of wonder mixed with fear or the awe experienced when seeing something both marvelous and unsettling.

Taking a deeper dive into the English language can be both fascinating or frustrating and yet with everything else going on in our lives these days, examining the origins of certain words and conjugations may not appear near the top of many people’s lists of things to do.

But it can be interesting to learn the age of some commonly used words today. <

Level up and make your bed: Hugelkultur drives our frugal culture

By Michelle Cote
The Rookie Mama

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, gardening is a solid metaphor for raising kiddos. You plan, you plot, and once your sweet sturdy seedlings are firmly planted, ready to take on this world, you can only hope the fruits of your labor thrive on up despite unpredictable elements and cautions thrown to wind that comes their way.

And – it’s a dirty business.

My husband and I have exponentially upped our vegetable gardening game since becoming parents a teenaged handful of years ago, and though we do this in part for the unbridled joy and satisfaction it brings, and sunshine felt, growing our own greens is also an absolute necessity in order to feed our large by today’s standards family.

We’ve built a series of raised beds in recent years to be kind to our future backs. And though we function as a DIY compost family operation, the truth is we don’t produce quite enough to fill enormous beds when they are newly built from scratch.

Enter the centuries-old Hugelkultur – pronounced ‘hoo-gul-culture’ – which leads our frugal culture. If you have access to logs, branches, other organic materials and kiddos with helping hands, this German gardening technique – literally translating to ‘mound bed’ – is a fun workout for the entire family.

Move over, Peleton.

Hugelkultur is a foundation of large logs or other woody debris layered up compost, leaves, grass clippings and organic matter, then topped with garden soil. As these materials decompose, water is retained, weeds suppressed, nutrients released, and the stage is set for a well-drained growing extravaganza.

And because these logs and branches are literally found items around the property, that’s where the frugal part comes in.

Debris – It’s free!

Yet having so much of it for this purpose helps us feel rich.

A few weeks ago, our older children dragged over some cut logs we’d recently chopped, and we stacked and organized them in the bottoms of our two newest beds.

My husband chopped larger logs in half to fit.

Like building a fire, that same excitement, that anticipation filled us. We’d recently pruned our orchard trees and other plants and saved the trimmings just for this purpose. Even our littlest was in on the action and tossed those branches and boughs into helpful heaps.

Before we knew it, we beheld a beautiful lasagna rich with organic materials – just no ricotta cheese.

We’ve since topped each bed with gorgeous compost in the top third and planted our seeds and seedlings.

The invaluable strength of simple logs and branches – Did I mention it’s free?

This past Sunday morning we toted our boys to a salvage store and our 4-year-old asked for a metal rake and shovel set just his size so he could help in the garden.

Help he did, as he assisted in transplanting strawberries, kale, potatoes, melon, asparagus, beans, cukes, and more yummy favorites.

We can only hope to feast on what grows of it in the future and preserve for winter.

We made our beds, so to speak, and so now we lie.

And I’d be lying if I said getting my littlest involved was a straightforward, easy breeze.

Eventually he scampered off to play with toy tractors.

But I must remind myself to grow patient while growing greens, that these are teachable moments and life skills for next-generation gardeners while their attention is rapt.

Laying solid foundations and weaving in frugal living skills – We can do this.

And so we wait.

For harvest, for fruits of labor built on that free debris.

And in the meantime, I’ve now worked up an appetite for lasagna.

With all the ricotta cheese.

­­– 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!

Tim Nangle: Strong communities start at the ballot box

By Senator Tim Nangle

One of the most important things we can do as citizens is vote — not just every two or four years, but also in the local elections that shape our day-to-day lives. On Tuesday, June 10, all five towns in our district — Casco, Frye Island, Raymond, Westbrook and Windham — will hold municipal elections. These ballots will include a range of items, such as town and school budgets, races for the select and school board, and other important local questions.

State Senator
Tim Nangle

It might not always make headlines, but what happens in local government matters deeply. Decisions about school funding, road repairs, emergency services and property taxes all start at the municipal level. These are the issues that most directly affect our kids’ classrooms, the quality of our drinking water and the conditions of the streets we drive on every day.

In the Senate, I’ve been proud to vote for legislation that delivers funding to our municipalities and schools, supporting them in crafting their budgets. But before I was elected to the Maine Senate, I served as a town councilor in Windham. My experience there taught me just how much local decisions and the people who make them rely on input from engaged residents. When more people participate in these elections, we create stronger communities and a more accountable government. Your vote helps shape the direction of your town, whether it's by considering a school budget or selecting someone to sit on the board that oversees it.

If you’ve never voted in a June election before, or if you’re not sure what’s on the ballot this year, I encourage you to take a few minutes to find out. Voting is simple, and your local town office can help answer questions about registration, absentee ballots or what’s on the ballot.

Here’s when and where to vote in each town on June 10:

Windham:

Polling Location: Windham High School's Auxiliary Gym, 406 Gray Road
Polling Hours: 7 a.m. to 8 p.m.
On the Ballot: RSU #14 Budget Validation Referendum

Additionally, Windham’s Annual Town Meeting will be held on June 14 at the Windham Town Hall Gymnasium, at 8 School Road, to adopt the 2025-2026 annual budget.

Raymond:

Polling Location: Jordan-Small Middle School Gym
Polling Hours: 7 a.m. to 8 p.m.
On the Ballot: RSU #14 Budget Validation Referendum; Annual Town Warrant; Two Select Board members; Three Budget-Finance Committee members; One RSU Board of Directors member

Casco:

Polling Location: Crooked River Elementary School, 1437 Poland Spring Road
Polling Hours: 8 a.m. to 8 p.m.
On the Ballot: Selectboard Member; MSAD #61 Board of Directors Member; Open Space Commission Member; Casco Naples Transfer Station Council Member

Frye Island:

Polling Location: Fairway Lane, Frye Island
Polling Hours: 10 a.m. to 8 p.m.
On the Ballot: Four positions for MSAD #6 At-Large School Board Director; MSAD #6 Budget Validation Referendum

Westbrook:

Polling Location: Westbrook Community Center, 426 Bridge St.
Polling Hours: 6 a.m. to 8 p.m.
On the Ballot: Municipal School Budget Validation Referendum

Let’s not take for granted the chance to make our voices heard. Make sure you make a plan to vote on June 10. I hope to see a strong turnout in our district. Local government works best when it reflects the people it serves — and that starts with you.

As always, if you have questions, concerns, or ideas for how state government can work better for you, please don’t hesitate to reach out. You can contact me at Tim.Nangle@legislature.maine.gov or reach the Senate office at 207-287-1515. <

Andy Young: The graduation speech that wasn’t delivered

By Andy Young

I wasn’t asked to speak at my school's graduation ceremony this weekend, but If I had been, here’s what the attendees would have heard.

Congratulations, Class of 2025. You’ve made it!

I commend you honor students for your lofty GPAs, but for all of you: your grades no longer matter, and neither does what team(s) you played for, who you took to the prom, or, for that matter, if you even attended the prom!

College, a good job, or military service are all worthwhile next steps. But for each one of you, the greatest part of leaving high school is getting the chance to reinvent yourself.

An opportunity like this doesn’t come along very often, so don’t waste it, because before you know it, you’ll be surrounded by people who’ll see you primarily in your role as a plumber, hairdresser, doctor, coach, teacher, and/or parent. And when that happens, you’ll find yourself conforming to certain behaviors because, well, that’s what people expect of plumbers, hairdressers, doctors, coaches, teachers, parents, and/or other community members they think they know.

Sooner or later, you’ll acquire a perceived outer persona which, like it or not, will be yours for a long time to come. Many of you have already been pigeonholed into certain identities. Look around you. Admit it: you yourself see many of your peers primarily in their current guise(s): class clown, athlete, burnout, bookworm, artist, snitch, chic dresser, gearhead, suck-up, actor, slacker, trusted confidant, or rebel.

Just like many of them (often inaccurately) see you.

Trust me: you don’t want to be universally perceived in any one particular context no matter how attractive it seems today. And now is one of the few specific junctures in life when you can conveniently initiate meaningful personal alteration.

I myself never considered changing anything after high school. Why would I? I was in the midst of a two-decade adolescence that was my ultimate comfort zone. But at age 30, I found myself training for a new job, 1,000 miles from home in a roomful of people who knew absolutely nothing about me. That’s when I experienced an epiphany that I hope all of you do today. I realized I could be anyone I wanted to be! No one knew if I was an athlete, a musician, or a thespian. Was I an introvert, or the life of the party? Democrat, Republican, Independent, or politically unconcerned? At that moment. I could present myself to these new colleagues however I saw fit. If I were ever going to change others’ perception of me, this was the time.

I listened more and talked less that day, dialed back the jokes, and interacted a bit more cautiously than I did with people who I had known for years.

Ultimately, I didn’t make any radical changes, because for the most part I liked who I was. Thankfully there’s no law requiring you to alter your personality.

But don’t be like me and wait until you’re 30 years old to take advantage of having a clean slate. Understand that starting now, the first day of the rest of your life, you can be whoever and whatever you want to be.

It’s probably not a coincidence that I wasn't asked to be the commencement speaker at the school where I currently teach, or at any of the ones I attended as a student, despite my having amassed 35 years of valuable high school experience.

But I’ll get another fresh start when school reopens in 10 weeks. And that’s more than enough time to undergo some subtle reinvention, if that’s what I feel is necessary. <

Insight: Where do nomads go on vacation?

By Ed Pierce
Managing Editor

When you sign up for military service, as I did, you learn quickly that where you wake up today may not be the same place you wake up tomorrow.

C-Rations were canned prepared meals used by military
members on deployments in the late 1970s.
COURTESY PHOTO      

For me, it could be best described as a nomadic lifestyle, and certainly not something everyone can embrace.

It takes a person to all kinds of places and situations and looking back on that time of my life years later, how I adapted to constantly moving from place to place can only be attributed to my youth and being open to experiencing new things.

I can recall being with my unit on a wintertime deployment in what was then West Germany in February 1978. Our commanding officer was directed to have us establish a camp at the edge of some woods near Fulda, close to the border with East Germany, which at that time was a communist nation under the control of the Soviet Union. We pitched our tents in darkness and set up a diesel stove inside the tent for warmth.

Outside there was snow on the ground and the temperature was hovering at around 5 degrees. Our unit’s tent sat on a massive sheet of ice which never melted, despite keeping the diesel stove going throughout our entire week there.

There was no mess hall for food, so we ate what were called C-Rations, canned prepared food, much of which was left over and recycled by the military following the Vietnam War. I was informed by other unit members that some C-Ration meals were better than others. The meals were stored in drab olive cans and flimsy brown boxes.

Inside each box was a canned entrée, a small package of stale crackers, a packet of ground coffee, packages of salt and sugar, canned pound cake or bread, a chocolate bar or chewing gum, matches and a package of three cigarettes. To open the C-Ration cans, we were issued what was known as a P-38, a tiny aluminum disposable tool.

Sometimes by the time I finally got the C-Ration cans open, I would find that what was inside was rotten or moldy. Because of that, I became a bit more selective in meals that I chose when they were offered. I preferred C-Ration cans of tuna and boned turkey over beef slices with potatoes (we called these ones beef with boulders), chicken chunks and noodles, beans with hot dog chunks (known commonly as beanie weenie) or ham and lima beans.

To this day if I see a can of C-Rations for sale somewhere in an antique store, I gasp, and my stomach turns.

There is very little that compares to sleeping in your clothes for a week in a sleeping bag, waking up on a tiny wooden canvas cot and smelling burned coffee grounds on top of the diesel stove in freezing weather. There were no showers, no running water, and no amenities associated with modern life which we all take for granted such as electricity.

Later in my military career, I was a candidate for a TDY, a temporary duty assignment to another location, along with another E-5 staff sergeant who worked in our office with me. It was not disclosed where this temporary assignment would be, and up until the moment that we received our official orders, we had no idea where that location might be.

We were going to flip a coin to see who had to go, but he said he was supposed to be best man at a wedding that weekend and asked me nicely if I could go and he would then gratefully take the next TDY assignment in the future. I agreed and then was informed that my TDY was to Nellis Air Force Base in Las Vegas, Nevada.

I spent three weeks there and slept in the NCO barracks, getting up early each morning to conduct interviews, gather stories and then produce a newsletter for Air Force air crews participating in an air-to-ground military exercise. Each newsletter was finished and distributed by noon and the rest of my days and evenings were free to see the sights in Las Vegas, go to some shows and enjoy great food served in almost every casino on the Las Vegas Strip.

When it was all over and I had returned to my regular duty station, eight months passed before another TDY assignment arose. The other staff sergeant received orders to travel to a remote jungle location about 75 miles from Tegucigalpa, Honduras. When he got back from his trip, he spoke about living in the utmost primitive conditions there.

He said there wasn’t laundry service at the camp he was assigned to. All their clothing was washed in a large boiling vat, which resulted in most of his military T-shirts turning a shade of light brown. He was also receiving medical care for a mild case of malaria after being bitten by plenty of mosquitoes and hordes of other insects.

I chose not to share with him how different our TDY experiences turned out to be, but I thought to myself how fortunate I was to be sent to Las Vegas, Nevada instead of some remote jungle location in Honduras. <

Andy Young: A bad-weather-induced rant

By Andy Young

Four straight rainy weekends in what should be a beautiful time of year in Maine have me in a foul mood and have forced me to do the unthinkable: release my inner curmudgeon, which will now vent about everything that cries out for ventage.

Cell phones are instruments of the Devil. Having instant gratification at one’s fingertips 24/7 isn’t just an imagination suppressor; it robs serial phone users of interpersonal skills. Younger folks who’ve never lived in a world without phones are often flummoxed on those occasions when circumstances dictate that they must communicate face-to-face with others.

Today more people than ever are considered “on the spectrum.” Is that because more is becoming known about autism? Or is it that increasing numbers of individuals don’t take the time to pick up on social cues because they’re too busy taking selfies, playing video games, or commenting online about the most recent celebrity scandals. There’s no telling how many traffic accidents are caused by people operating a motor vehicle while simultaneously gazing in fascination at their phone’s screen.

And heaven help the technology-dependent when their devices are lost or become disabled. Those unaccustomed to a phoneless existence often have difficulty coping rationally without hand-held technological aid. People relying on phones for everything from waking up to charting their daily exercise are often incapable of independent thought, even when they’re in possession of a fully functional (albeit attention-monopolizing) device.

But perhaps the worst thing about phones is they allow too-convenient access to social media, a term which is an outrageous misnomer. “Anti-social media” would be more accurate, since far too many readily accessible websites offer individuals already short on impulse control the opportunity to impetuously spout ignorant, offensive and/or inflammatory nonsense publicly.

Profit-driven platforms like Twitter, Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook don’t just perpetuate unnecessary drama, or create strife where it needn’t exist; they spread trends that too often virally metastasize into risky social behaviors, not to mention provide the opportunity for potentially horrific online misconduct like cyberbullying. It’s unsurprising that increasing numbers of elected officials (and aspiring elected officials) are textbook narcissists, since social media is grooming Americans to become more vapid, egocentric, and non-thinking with each passing hour.

Today’s high schoolers have every bit as much potential at this point in their lives as teens in past generations did, but greed-fueled social media platforms are leading them into self-centered, exertion-free existences. The only thing more alarming than millions of non-thinking citizens is the prospect of a looming generation content to let ambitious, ethically unconcerned types do their “thinking” for them.

When my then-home state instituted a lottery in 1972, my father characterized it as a “Stupidity Tax.” That harsh but accurate description goes for other forms of gambling as well. Casino operators skillfully market the business of picking their customers’ pockets as a chance to have fun getting rich the quick and easy way. “Gaming” boosters maintain lotteries and other forms of legalized gambling create jobs and generate revenue for the government agencies that regulate them, and in fact they do. But gambling also preys on individuals with obsessive tendencies, and often those who can least afford to pick up the habit. And as is the case with most addictions, betting has ruined far more lives than it has improved.

I’ve got lots more axes to grind, like littering, the monetization of youth sports, the designated hitter rule, and my computer’s spellchecker claiming “ventage” isn’t a word, but it’s best that I stop here. Released inner curmudgeons that stay out too long inevitably become outer curmudgeons, and America already has more than enough of those! <

Insight: Underrated inventions and revelations

By Ed Pierce
Managing Editor

If I were to compile a list of prominent inventions introduced throughout my time on earth that have made my life easier, it would certainly be long and extensive.

Instead, for brevity’s sake, I’ve limited my list to just four and detailed some of them below.

My first automobile was a 1956 Chevy that a student and friend of mine had driven across the country from Vermont to New Mexico. Somehow, when he graduated from college, he sold it to me in 1972, and despite some physical defects – such as a rusted rear driver’s side wheel well that eventually fell off forcing me to stuff a towel in the hole to prevent the back of my head getting sprayed when driving through puddles – the car ran great.

Because power steering for automobiles was a relatively new feature in the 1950s, my Chevy was not equipped with that enhancement and at times it required a good deal of strength to turn the steering wheel.

I suppose I was young and didn’t know differently when I drove the 1956 Chevy, but I was about to be astounded when I purchased a new Mercury Capri in 1974. The Capri came with power steering included and the steering wheel turned so easily that I could steer it using just one of my fingers instead of the two-handed grip required for vehicles without that special feature which we all take for granted these days.

Therefore, my first marvelous invention on my list would be automobile power steering.

When I was 13 in 1967, our family received an invitation from one of my mother’s cousins to visit their home to see something incredible. Color television had been around for a while, but my father didn’t want to spend $500 to purchase one. The cousin made us close our eyes and sit on her living room floor. In opening our eyes, she revealed her own version of “color TV,” which was a tri-colored piece of Saran Wrap stretched across a black and white TV screen. One third was blue, another third was yellow, and the other third was red.

At home we had a black and white console set and a black and white portable that could move from room to room, but each time I asked when we would be getting a color model, I was chastised by my parents for not being frugal and wanting to spend money needlessly. I grew up watching classic TV shows such as Bonanza, Batman, Star Trek and Disney’s Wide World of Color in good old black and white. I was thrilled when my father wheeled the portable TV into the dining room to watch a World Series game in 1963 between the New York Yankees and the Los Angeles Dodgers in black and white, although my mother complained about watching television during Sunday dinner.

For Christmas in 1975, my wife and I pooled our money and bought a color portable television set, and I was finally able to watch shows such as The Price is Right, Baretta, The Captain and the Kings mini-series and the Super Bowl between the Dallas Cowboys and the Pittsburgh Steelers in color.

Item #2 on my great invention list would be color television.

Because my father insisted that being head of the household was his duty and his alone, he never taught me simple tasks such as the proper way to carve the Thanksgiving turkey. He had his own set of specialty carving knives and decades of carving experience behind him for that annual chore. By the time I was grown up, married, and living elsewhere, my knowledge of carving was limited at best and highly primitive. Yet, the job of carving the Thanksgiving bird fell upon my shoulders and no matter how hard that I tried, cutting off turkey legs and slicing portions precisely was not something that I mastered quickly.

Then one year when I worked part-time at a furniture and appliance store, I saw a presentation for a handy inexpensive tool that I knew I had to buy. A manufacturer’s rep at the store I worked at demonstrated an electric knife and after buying one for $19.99, my carving worries were soon behind me.

I’d put the electric knife as my third great invention of my lifetime.

During the summer break between my freshman and sophomore year of high school, my parents insisted that I not waste the summer lying around doing nothing. They insisted that I enroll for a summer school class that taught students how to type. I showed up for the first class and found that all the typewriters in the classroom were manual ones from the 1930s and some were in better condition than others. We were assigned seats, and my typewriter had a carriage return key that would stick. To make it work you had to bang on it hard and having learned to type that way, to this very day, I am told that I strike the return and space keys on the keyboard with force.

Lastly, I’d place the Royal electric typewriter that I received as my high school graduation present in 1971 on my list of the greatest inventions of my lifetime. <