Insight: A change of perspective

By Ed Pierce
Managing Editor

U.S. Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth’s claim last fall that new military fitness standards may exclude women from certain combat roles to ensure every combat position “returns to the highest male standard” made me think of something from my own military past and why I eventually decided to put it behind me.

Ed Pierce, left, is congratulated by retired U.S. Air Force 
General Jimmy Doolittle, a Medal of Honor recipient, for
winning the 1981 Airman of Year Award at The Pentagon
in Washington, D.C.  COURTESY PHOTO 

During an assignment to Germany in 1978 while serving in the U.S. Air Force, my unit received its first-ever female airman to be stationed with us. Many of our unit’s members were opposed to this because we were on call to deploy immediately to the front lines in the event of war. My colleagues thought that to have to make special accommodations for a female airman was wrong and made us weaker from a combat readiness standpoint.

This female airman was nice to everyone and had been through a similar experience at her previous unit. Male airmen were resentful of her and wouldn’t talk to her unless it was for official Air Force duties. Behind her back, airmen in my unit made fun of her, told jokes about her, and did everything possible to make her time with us as miserable as possible.

Initially I fell in with that group, I’m sorry to say. And as pleasant a person as she was to work with, I would barely say a word to her when I was assigned a shift beside her. This resentful treatment by members of our unit toward her went on for months, even when we were deployed to the field for a major military exercise called “Reforger.” Along the border from where our encampment was, members of our unit could see Russian tanks lined up and you could sense what we were doing mattered to ensure peace.

One afternoon I was working with a Tech Sergeant from our unit who was my supervisor. We stopped to take a break for lunch, and I asked him to tell me about his military career.

As it turns out, he was from the area around Memphis, Tennessee and was one of 11 children whose parents were sharecroppers. The family was very poor, and their home didn’t even have electricity or an indoor bathroom. To escape that life, he joined the U.S. Air Force and in the early 1960s became the first black member of his unit assigned to a base in Virginia.

While there he endured prejudice on and off the job. Members of his unit wouldn’t speak to him unless they had to because of his race and went out of their way to do everything possible to make his time with them as miserable as possible. He told me that one summer night, he returned to his dorm room in the barracks on base to find that someone had spray painted the word “Boy” on his door.

It became an unbearable situation for him, but he made it through to the end of that assignment and said he was glad when he was reassigned to Tan Son Nhut Air Base in Vietnam during the Vietnam War. As the social climate in America changed during the late 1960s and the Civil Rights movement slowly gained acceptance, his Air Force service focused on his ability to perform his job and less about his race.

By the time that I had enlisted in the Air Force in 1977, race had little impact upon a military career and the opportunity for advancement was abundant.

My conversation with this Tech Sergeant was enlightening to me and made me realize I was seeking the same thing from my military career as the female airman assigned to my unit. We both sought tolerance and to be measured solely by our abilities to do the job. I was embarrassed by my previous interactions involving her and vowed never to treat her as an object again and apologized for my behavior.

In 1981, I was nominated for “Airman of the Year” while serving at The Pentagon in Washington, D.C. and was given a time a week or so later to appear before a board interviewing candidates for this honor.

During this interview, I was asked my thoughts by a member of the interview board about women serving in combat. I answered that if there is only one military pay structure and women are paid the same military salary as men, I saw no reason why women should be excluded from duty in combat. I said women are physically equal and as capable of flying combat missions as pilots as men are and that applies to every military position I could imagine.

Several weeks later. I was informed I would be receiving the “Airman of the Year” award and my answer about women in combat is what separated me from the other candidates for the honor. I attended a luncheon where the honor was presented to me by retired Air Force General Jimmy Doolittle, a Medal of Honor recipient for leading the first U.S. raid on Japan during World War II.

My military service ended in 1985 and much of it is just a memory to me now. But one thing I learned during that experience is that a person’s capabilities cannot be limited because they are a man or a woman and treating someone otherwise is myopic and dismissive. <

Tim Nangle: Focusing on the costs Mainers feel every day

By State Senator Tim Nangle

As the 132nd Maine Legislature begins its second session, many of the conversations I’ve had with constituents center on the same concern: the cost of everyday life. From housing and health care to energy bills and groceries, rising costs are making it harder for families, seniors and working people to get by.

State Senator Tim Nangle

This session is shorter than the first, but it comes at an important moment. With the federal government increasingly abdicating its responsibility on issues families depend on, Maine people are bearing the brunt of those decisions. That makes it essential for state lawmakers to step in with practical solutions that help people afford everyday life and stay in their communities.

Earlier this month, Senate and House Democrats came together to lay out a shared set of priorities for the session ahead. We’re calling that effort “Lower Costs, Stronger Communities,” and it reflects a simple reality: rising costs touch many parts of daily life and addressing them takes more than a single solution.

The proposals include bills to protect families from medical debt by preventing wage garnishment and liens on primary residences, stabilizing health coverage for children and seniors and improving access to affordable medication. Other measures focus on lowering energy costs, including additional relief for households struggling with utility bills and protection for vulnerable Mainers who rely on electricity for medical needs. On housing, the package includes efforts to expand affordable housing opportunities and preserve existing communities, including manufactured housing, which remains one of Maine’s most important sources of naturally affordable homes.

Together, these proposals aim to ease the financial pressure on Maine people while strengthening the foundations that allow communities to thrive.

My work in this session is closely connected to those priorities. I serve as chair of the Legislature’s Transportation Committee and as a member of the Health and Human Services Committee, where many of the issues affecting affordability come into focus. Transportation infrastructure and access to quality care both shape daily life, household budgets and local economies.

One area I am focused on this session is housing stability for Maine veterans. Too many veterans who served our country with honor still struggle to find or keep safe, stable housing. That is why I have introduced LD 2135, “An Act to Provide Funding to Keep Maine Veterans Housed.” The bill builds on the success of the Veterans Flex Fund, a partnership led by Preble Street and the Maine Homeless Veterans Action Committee. The Flex Fund provides small but critical assistance – such as help with unexpected rental costs or landlord incentives – that can keep veterans housed and connected to their communities. LD 2135 strengthens a program that has already proven effective.

Through the Transportation Committee, I will continue working to support infrastructure investments that reduce long-term costs for communities and taxpayers. Well-maintained roads and bridges, safe transportation systems and resilient infrastructure support local economies and help municipalities avoid more expensive repairs over time. On the Health and Human Services Committee, I will remain engaged in efforts to protect access to care and ensure that federal changes do not leave Maine families without the support they need.

Much of this work happens through committee hearings, public input and collaboration among legislators. Careful policy development takes time, but it produces durable results that reflect the needs and experiences of the people affected. As always, my priorities are guided by the voices and concerns of the people I represent.

Lowering costs and strengthening communities won’t happen through sound bites. It will take hard work, thoughtful decision-making and participation from community members like you. This session, my focus remains on advancing policies that help Maine people afford everyday life and build a secure future in this beautiful state we are lucky to call home.

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

Andy Young: Sweet dreams are made of riz

By Andy Young

Midyear exams and foul weather made last week even busier than usual at the school where I ply my trade assuming one considers imparting literacy skills as a trade which can be plied.

Evaluating midterm essays and all the overdue assignments that suddenly earnest students handed in on the marking period’s last day left little time for everyday chores, including meal preparation. Fortunately, I was prepared, thanks to a recent impromptu stop at a dollar store where, on a whim, I purchased an 8.8-ounce envelope labeled “Spanish Style Rice,” and, in smaller letters “Espagnol Riz,” since apparently Francophones also enjoy eating cheap rice.

Incidentally, “Dollar Store” is actually a misnomer. Everything there now costs a buck and a quarter. They just haven’t gotten around to changing the sign outside yet, I guess.

Some people won’t eat a food product with an expiration date more than two years in the future, but I haven’t heard of any dollar-store-related deaths by food poisoning lately. More importantly, there weren’t any unpronounceable ingredients listed on the package, which I consider a good sign. But the real reason I bought that BPA-Free pouch of gluten-free, plant-based, non-GMO, certified Halal and Kosher, artificial-flavor-and-color-free Spanish Style Rice was its directions. Microwave for 90 seconds, let cool for another 90, then eat.

What could be more convenient when food preparation time is limited?

After a 12-hour day at school last Wednesday I went straight for the “Spanish Style Rice” packet. Dutifully following the English-language instructions I heated it, let it cool, then ate every last grain of it.

It tasted exactly like rice.

Even better, I didn’t experience even one symptom of botulism, salmonella, E. Coli, or ptomaine poisoning after I had finished.

Another exhausting hour of essay-reading later, I brushed my teeth, set my alarm, and went to bed.

What seemed like seconds later I was cutting the grass on my Easton, Connecticut front lawn when my son reminded me it was time to go to school and give my literature exam.

Pausing to appreciate the fact I had fathered such a cute and responsible 6-year-old, I went inside to change into school clothes, but then disaster struck. My closet contained only left shoes! There wasn’t a single right-footed sneaker, moccasin, boot, or loafer to be found! I also couldn’t locate my car keys. Panicked, I began walking (barefoot) to school. Thankfully a passing colleague picked me up, driving until the road ended at a sandy beach. At that point the two of us climbed, hand over hand, across a length of chain suspended high over a body of water that took us to an island restaurant being run by a former Portland Sea Dog outfielder. We ate quickly, not wanting to be any later than we already were. Then the pay phone on the wall rang; it was the principal’s secretary, wondering if and when we were planning on showing up that morning.

Then I rolled over, saw “3:33 AM” displayed on my digital alarm clock, and realized everything I had just experienced was imaginary. I don’t live (or cut grass) in Connecticut anymore, my cute 6-year-old son is actually 25, and the two rivers I cross to get to school each morning are spanned by bridges.

I’ve had troubling dreams about being tardy for important appointments in the past, but none as bizarre, fanciful and enjoyable as this one. I’ve earmarked $5 for my next four envelopes of Espagnol Riz. But I won’t be going to the Dollar Store until after the school day is over.

That way there’s no chance I’ll be late. <

Insight: A life to admire

By Ed Pierce
Managing Editor

When I was young there was always someone I could count on when times were tough.

Ed Pierce Sr. served in the U.S. Army
during World War II and later earned
a college degree in mechanical
engineering. COURTESY PHOTO

He wasn’t athletic but he knew sports inside and out. He wasn’t photogenic but he knew how to fix a movie projector and splice together a broken film. He wasn’t a singer, yet he knew all the words to a Ray Charles song when it came on the radio.

He was my father, gone for a while, but still the smartest and funniest person I have ever known.

His outlook on life was forged during the Great Depression and World War II. Born in 1925 in Fairport, New York as the youngest of nine children, his early life was spent growing up on a farm and tending to chickens and geese. He started working at a tin can factory at age 9 to help his family survive.

Math and science were his favorite subjects in school, and he dreamed of possibly becoming a physician as an adult, but that was set aside when the United States entered World War II in December 1941. He was a sophomore in high school and uncertain if there would even be a future as war broke out in nearly every corner of the planet.

Following his high school graduation ceremony in June 1943, a letter arrived informing him he was being drafted into the U.S. Army. Upon completion of training in Texas, my father joined thousands of other soldiers in boarding a troop ship bound for Morocco and Northern Africa and military service in the U.S. Army’s Seventh Corps.

By 1944, Seventh Corps had moved on from North Africa and was heavily involved in fighting the Germans in Italy. At one of those skirmishes, a German sniper hiding in a church bell tower shot my father in the back while he was on a mission to repair and secure an essential communications line. As night fell, the sniper climbed down from the tower and attempted to search my father’s body for paperwork. But he wasn’t dead and rolled over and shot the sniper. For his actions, my father was awarded the Bronze Star medal by the U.S. Army.

When the war ended, my father was discharged from the Army and enrolled at Manhattan College in New York City to study engineering. He didn’t like being so far away from his family, so he transferred to the Rochester Institute of Technology about 17 miles away from Fairport.

While attending RIT, he noticed an advertisement in the daily newspaper for a part-time job as a private detective. He applied and was hired and trained to be part of investigations and cases undertaken by the company. On one of those cases he was assigned to, he met a divorced woman with a child who was looking to receive child support from her ex-husband. The court had ordered the ex-husband to pay $10 a month but he had failed to do that, claiming that he had no money and wasn’t working.

My father tailed the ex-husband and discovered he was working and that evidence was used when the case was re-opened in court.

A year or so later, the divorced woman ran into my father at a department store, and they struck up a conversation. A year later they were married in 1951, and I came along two years after that, followed by my brother in 1957. My father had earned a three-year engineering degree from RIT by then and he was part of the team at AC Delco in Rochester that created the Bernzomatic portable torch used in welding.

During his career as a mechanical engineer, he also worked in satellite imagery and detection for ITEK Corporation in the early 1960s and then helped design a practical copier for Xerox in the late 1960s and received a patent for a portable water carrier that attached to the frame of a 10-speed bicycle in the early 1970s for Nalgene Plastics. In his final job, he helped design tactical handheld combat radios for U.S. soldiers for Harris Corporation.

Despite his important work, he remained jovial and would seek opportunities to inject humor into situations whenever he could. Once during an intense discussion in the 1960s with relatives, when it was his turn to speak, he got out of his chair and made everyone laugh when he attempted to sing “Fever” by Peggy Lee.

Another time I was in high school and asked him the best way to ask a girl out on a date. He responded in a high-pitched, squeaky voice with the nonsense lyrics from the song “Witch Doctor” singing "Oo-ee-oo-ah-ah, ting-tang, walla-walla-bing-bang."

His humor could be unexpected and disarming and eased many a tense family dinner. He was able to perform perfect impressions of Ozzie Nelson, Bullwinkle the Moose and Milton Berle. My favorite was his Joe the Bartender "Crazy Guggenheim" sketch by Frank Fontaine from the Jackie Gleason TV show.

He had been retired for two full days when a drunk driver swerved into his station wagon on a Sunday night as he was returning from visiting his sister in May 1991 in Florida.

It’s been nearly 35 years, but I miss him still. <

Barbara Bagshaw: Skyrocketing taxes and energy costs are the price of one-party rule

By State Rep. Barbara Bagshaw

I’m honored to be serving my second term in the House of Representatives, and my favorite part of the job remains the same: meeting with constituents and hearing directly from the people I work for. Lately, what I'm hearing most often is deep concern about affordability. Families and seniors are struggling to stay in their homes amid skyrocketing electricity prices, persistent inflation, and ever-rising property taxes – all exacerbated by prolonged single-party control in Augusta.

State Rep. Barbara Bagshaw

Maine's electricity costs remain volatile. Expanding reliable, in-state hydroelectric power offers a common-sense path to lower and stabilize rates for residents. Yet, under the current majority, such proposals face significant resistance. I will continue to advocate for hydro as a practical solution, but the ruling party sets the agenda.

Property taxes hit hardest on fixed-income seniors. I supported restructuring the senior property tax stabilization program rather than eliminating it, but the majority prevailed. Next session, I plan to introduce a bill – collaborating with a constituent from across the aisle – to revive and strengthen similar protections. My parents were lifelong Kennedy Democrats, and I've come to realize our shared values on fiscal responsibility transcend party lines. When constituents reach out, I don't ask about their registration; I help because that's the job they hired me to do.

As a 25-year teacher and member of the Education and Cultural Affairs Committee, I'm deeply troubled by Maine's failing student performance. Recent NAEP results show Maine fourth- and eighth-graders posting some of the lowest scores in three decades in reading and math, with little meaningful recovery from pandemic disruptions. Despite this crisis, committee priorities remain dominated by majority-party bills.

On our first day back this session, I requested to address these declining test scores seriously – sadly, I have little confidence it will happen. No minority proposals advance through the Legislative Council, and many education initiatives originate from the Department of Education itself, rather than the committee directing the department as intended. We need balance: a renewed focus on basics – reading, math, core academics – over an overemphasis on equity, inclusion, and social justice issues. As a childless taxpayer who has always supported schools through property taxes (a significant portion of which funds education), I want a better return on that investment.

The majority party's decisions to lift municipal tax increase caps have fueled these rising property taxes, threatening long-term affordability in communities like Windham. Supplemental budgets loom because of unchecked spending, often with minimal input from the minority. I've voted against otherwise good bills when they included tax hikes I couldn't support.

The majority votes as a bloc, rarely breaking ranks – a discipline that serves party unity but often overlooks Maine taxpayers. We must prioritize struggling residents over policies that divert resources to economic migrants here unlawfully, without the consent of the governed. Government derives its power from the people; when that consent is ignored, trust erodes.

Single-party rule has persisted too long in Augusta, contributing to higher costs and neglected priorities. Change is needed – not just rhetoric or press conferences, but real action to lower electricity bills, cap taxes, and refocus schools on fundamentals. I've been grateful for constituents who thank me for simply returning calls or emails. I take seriously that the people of Windham hired me to serve them, not an agenda or power structure. Too many in Augusta – and Washington – have forgotten they work for the people, not the other way around.

It's time to restore balance, accountability, and focus on what matters most: helping Maine families afford to stay here and building a brighter future for our children.

It is an honor to represent part of Windham in the Legislature. If there is any way that I can be of assistance, please contact me at [email protected] .My office phone number is 207-287-1440. You can find me on Facebook. To receive regular updates, sign up for my e-newsletter at https://mainehousegop.org/

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

Andy Young: Progressing or regressing?

By Andy Young

Not every problem has an easy solution. After all, if it did, it wouldn’t be a problem.

Similarly, not every question has an easy answer. However, some do.

Not long ago a female student in a 10th Grade English class I teach asked me if I’d give her a ride home after school. No bus goes through her neighborhood, meaning she makes her daily commute of slightly less than a mile on foot. The already gray skies were darkening that afternoon, and the wind was picking up, so it was perfectly understandable why she didn’t want to walk.

The girl’s request was earnest and reasonable. But responding to her appeal in the negative was easy.

In the kindest tone of voice I could muster, I clearly and firmly told her I wouldn’t give her a ride home. That particular altruistic act is frowned upon by our school district’s administration. Taking a female student for a ride in one’s car isn’t, strictly speaking, the quickest way for a male high school teacher over the age of 60 to lose his job, since hitting students, hitting on students, or dealing drugs to them would all likely result in more rapid termination of employment.

That established, even educators with the best of intentions need to employ good judgment, which means doing risk assessment before opting for any specific course(s) of action. In today’s world an adult faculty member being alone in a car with a student, regardless of the genders of those involved, is not a good idea. Considering all possible consequences of any decision is paramount. In this particular case, the only possible non-negative outcome of giving a student a ride home is the child getting where he or she needs to be without incident.

Unfortunately, the number of potentially non-positive consequences that could result from such an encounter is far greater. These include, but aren’t limited to, inappropriate behavior (or perceived inappropriate behavior) by either party, credible (or false) accusations of bad behavior from one or both involved parties, a fender bender, a more serious traffic accident, or some combination of those things.

This particular story has a happy ending. The girl I didn’t give a ride to obviously got home safely, because she was back in class the next day, looking none the worse for wear.

Ironically, the actual reason I couldn’t provide this student with a ride home was the timing of her birth. Had she been born a half-century or so earlier I know for sure I’d have taken her home, because that’s exactly what I was doing when, as my high school’s boys freshman basketball coach, I took two 15-year-old gymnasts home after practice every single weekday of the winter sports season of 1982. A younger colleague was horrified when I told her that story recently.

“Why would you ever do that?” she asked incredulously.

The simple (and accurate) answer is that I did it because their parents asked me to. We all lived in the same neighborhood, and my bringing their daughters home saved someone’s mom or dad a 15-mile round trip to school every afternoon.

No one had laptop computers in 1982. Social media didn’t exist, nor did the internet. Telephones needed dialing and weren’t even remotely mobile. Music videos hadn’t been invented. Dogs could roam freely, without leashes. There weren’t organized soccer or basketball leagues for 8-year-olds. People laughed at the ethnic jokes their friends told, even those aimed at their own particular ethnicity.

I’m not qualified to say whether things were better back then or are better now.

I just know they’re different. <

Insight: Pho Pho Phobia

By Ed Pierce

Managing Editor

No matter who you are, everybody is afraid of something.

It’s part of being human and persistent, excessive, or unrealistic fears of an object, person, animal, activity, or situation are called a phobia.

When I first met my wife Nancy, she invited me to her apartment for dinner and I laughed at a note some of her students had written describing her phobias, including her fear of traveling over a train trestle bridge or of cockroaches.

Just the other day she mentioned to me that dealing with anything blood-related happens to be one of my phobias and I added roller coasters and unusual foods to that list.

Over the years, I’ve known individuals with phobias ranging from shaking hands to climbing ladders to a fear of otters.

Traumatic experiences or negative events in one’s past can often lead to developing a phobia. Being bitten by a dog as a child could make an adult fearful about dogs or not able to keep a dog as a pet.

When I was in the Air Force, I knew someone who had a phobia about listening to music by Phil Collins and would break out in a rash when hearing a Phil Collins song on the radio.

Celebrities are not immune to phobias and some of the weirdest ones I’ve heard of are those of famous people.

British actor Martin Freeman, who portrayed young Bilbo Baggins in “The Hobbit” film trilogy, says he is terrified by avocados and is afraid that he might accidentally swallow an avocado pit. Academy Award-winning actor Matthew McConaughey has an aversion to revolving doors and avoids them when possible.

Former U.S President Benjamin Harrison told staff members in 1891 that he was afraid to turn on newly installed light switches at the White House in Washington D.C. because he was afraid of electricity.

Television personality Oprah Winfrey has described a phobia she has about chewing gum and banned its use in her TV studio while filming. British singer Adele is fearful of seagulls and avoids going to the beach so not to encounter any. Singer Madonna has given interviews in which she says that she has an intense fear of thunder and lightning and will not go anywhere outside during a storm. Actress Christina Ricci is supposedly afraid of indoor houseplants. Former U.S. President Calvin Coolidge would have the Secret Service search every foot of the pathway he would walk when fishing to ensure there were no snakes as he feared them.

The late Steve Jobs is said to have had koumpounophobia, the fear of buttons, stemming from a negative childhood experience. Because of that Jobs, the co-founder of Apple Inc., disliked buttons on computer hardware and chose to wear turtleneck shirts instead of shirts containing buttons. Following his death from pancreatic cancer in 2011, members of his family speculated that this fear influenced him to prefer touchscreens when designing Apple devices such as the iMac and iPhone.

Mental health professionals report that the most common phobias are those of people who are afraid of heights or animals, but other unusual phobias include a fear of looking at images in a mirror (Eisoptrophobia); a fear of someone dressed as a clown (Coulrophobia); a fear of cheese (Turophobia); a fear of smells (Osmophobia); or the fear of dancing (Chorophobia).

I believe that my stepson Danny has entomophobia, which is a fear of insects. Once when I returned home from work, he told me to avoid going in the garage for the next week because he had set off multiple bug bombs there when he saw a spider in the corner. Another time, I stopped him from poking a wasp’s nest on the back corner of our home’s roof with a sharp pointed stick. He said he didn’t want the wasps to bother our 3-year-old granddaughter when she came to visit us from Connecticut.

In my own family, I believe that my mother had mysophobia, also known as germophobia, as she had an intense and irrational fear of contamination, dirt, and bacteria, leading to excessive cleaning. Well into her 80s, she got up at 5 a.m. every day and scrubbed the tile on her bathroom shower and used a toothbrush to remove grit that she said accumulated on the tile on her bathroom floor. Every weekend she emptied her refrigerator and wiped down the interior with Clorox to kill germs.

She nearly had a heart attack when she visited my apartment in the 1990s and ran her hand across the top of my refrigerator and found dust. The look on her face was priceless, but I never heard the end of it at family dinners and gatherings afterward.

Last summer I was talking with a friend who said that he would never visit a Vietnamese restaurant because he had a phobia about pho, a Vietnamese dish of slow-simmered broth, which is prepared with beef bones, served with rice noodles, a protein such as beef, chicken or plants and other toppings. Pho is the national dish of Vietnam and a beloved comfort food that evokes nostalgia for many Vietnamese people.

I have the tune “Sussidio" by Phil Collins in mind when I suppose that unique phobia could be called “Pho Pho Phobia.” <

Andy Young: What would Martin think?

By Andy Young

President Ronald Reagan signed legislation designating the third Monday in January as Martin Luther King Jr. Day on Nov. 2, 1983. However, the new national holiday wasn’t actually observed until 1986, and it took nearly a decade and a half for it to be recognized in all 50 states.

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s birthday was
first observed as a national holiday in
1986 and in all 50 states by 2000.
FILE PHOTO

Arizona’s governor used an executive order to cancel its existence in 1987, claiming his predecessor had created it illegally. It wasn’t until 1992 that Arizona’s citizens voted to reinstate the holiday, perhaps swayed by a nationwide boycott of the state. This included the National Football League stripping Phoenix of the 1993 Super Bowl, costing the state an estimated $200 million to $250 million worth of revenue. Stevie Wonder, the Doobie Brothers, and Public Enemy were among those cancelling scheduled appearances as well.

Arizona wasn’t the only holdout; MLK Day didn’t become law in New Hampshire until 1999, and it wasn’t until the following year that South Carolina and Utah officially followed suit.

This coming Monday will be the day’s 41st observation, meaning the holiday honoring Dr. King is now two years older than he himself was when an assassin ended his life on April 4, 1968.

It’s worth considering what MLK Day’s namesake would make of present-day America if he were around to mark what would have been his 97th birthday on Jan. 15. Of course, there’s no way to know. Besides, it’s a moot question, since if Dr. King were still alive there wouldn’t be a federal holiday celebrating his life and accomplishments.

Nearly 70 percent of today’s Americans hadn’t yet been born when Dr. King was gunned down nearly 58 years ago in Memphis, Tennessee. Consequently, it’s not surprising that few young people today know much about him, aside from the sanitized, all-too-brief portrayals presented in many current history texts. These often contain little more than a reference to his “I Have a Dream” speech in August 1963 and his assassination five years later.

Dr. King is characterized today similarly to the way George Washington and Abraham Lincoln were presented to schoolchildren getting their first exposure to American history 60 or so years ago as flawless giants whose idealized portrayals were designed to maintain their status in the pantheon of America’s national mythology.

In reality, Dr. King, like President Lincoln before him, was reviled by large segments of the population during his life. Many Americans opposed to changing the status quo (or to put it more succinctly, many white Americans) in the early 1960’s saw him as a dangerous Communist collaborator determined to undermine America. That view was inspired by FBI director J. Edgar Hoover, who spent years compiling a dossier of the civil rights leader’s alleged sins, portraying him as an un-American subversive bent on destroying democracy. In retrospect, America’s lionization of Hoover at the time is nearly as puzzling as its collective demonization of Dr. King was.

Reducing Americans like Martin Luther King, Jr. to caricatures isn’t just lazy and dishonest. Laundering and/or embellishing the lives of historically significant figures disserves both those being portrayed and the nation. Such oversimplifications render American history trivial to future generations needing to study (and learn from) it. Too many current Americans are already victims of an epidemic of incuriosity, one fueled by, among other things, a toxic combination of technological amusements and the greed of those creating them.

Martin Luther King, Jr. was about far more than one speech. His commitment to equal rights for all and his courageous non-violent opposition to racial inequality, unfair labor practices, illegal wars and other forms of injustice make him one American historical figure truly worthy of annual commemoration. <

Insight: I believe that the hot dogs go on

By Ed Pierce
Managing Editor

I recently watched a performance by British comedian Peter Kay where he described his frustration with certain songs on the radio and in trying to understand what the song lyrics were.

Celine Dion

Kay mentioned Pat Benatar’s “Hit Me With Your Best Shot” and said for many years he always thought he heard her sing “Hit Me With Your Pet Shark” instead of the actual lyrics to that tune. And he had me laughing hysterically when he told of thinking that in Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On” she really sang “I believe that the hot dogs go on.”

It got me to thinking about songs that for years I misinterpreted the lyrics that the performer was singing.

The Swedish group Abba was all the rage in the 1970s and I have always liked their song “Dancing Queen.” But the song came on the radio as I was driving with the line I thought I heard them sing in that song was “See that girl, watch her steam, digging the dancing queen.”

A few years ago, I discovered that the actual lyric should be “See that girl, watch the scene, digging the dancing queen.”

And in that same song my ears hear “feel the beat of the tangerine” when it should be “feel the beat of the tambourine.”

Another band’s lyrics that have always confused me in the past are those of Nirvana and it seems that I have always had trouble understanding Nirvana’s lead singer Kurt Cobain since he was prone to mumbling when singing.

In Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” I always hear this line: “Here we are now, in restrainers” when it really should be “Here we are now, entertain us.”

The song “Philadelphia Freedom” by Elton John is another one I have had a hard time with over the years.

When I first heard that song, I thought I heard Elton John singing “I used to be a hard-beatin’ photon one” and I wondered what that could possibly mean. As it turns out, the actual lyric is “I used to be a heart beating for someone.”

I was in Germany eating breakfast in the mess hall when I heard “Lucille” by Kenny Rogers for the first time in the 1970s and I thought he sang “and 400 children with the crop in the field.”

I am not alone apparently in mishearing song lyrics. Over Christmas, my wife Nancy, who helps young students with reading, was singing “Rudolph the Red-Nose Reindeer” with a young girl during a tutoring session. The girl sang “You know Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen, Connor and Cupid and Donner and Blitzen,” and insisted that a reindeer’s name mentioned in the tune was Connor and not Comet.

For decades, I’ve heard certain songs and wondered if I’m missing out on the joke.

On "We Will Rock You” by Queen, I have heard the late Freddie Mercury singing “kicking your cat all over the place” instead of “can” and in “Rock the Casbah” by The Clash, I still hear “Rock the Cat Box” instead of “Casbah.”

It has even happened to me with tunes by The Beatles. On their “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” song, I have heard “the girl with colitis goes by” when the correct line is “the girl with kaleidoscope eyes.”

In the Beach Boys’ “Good Vibrations” I hear “I’m pickin’ up good vibrations, she’s giving me her citations” instead of “I’m pickin’ up good vibrations, she’s giving me excitations.”

Of all the singers that I have had trouble deciphering lyrics that they are singing, the late Michael Jackson remains at the forefront of my list.

Take his “Man in the Mirror” for example.

I clearly hear “I'm starting with the man in the mirror. I'm asking him to change his ways. And no mustache could have been any cleaner…”

Or in “Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough,” I continue to hear “Keep On with the post box, don't stop ‘til you get enough.”

Then there is Jackson’s “Smooth Criminal.” Where do I start with this one?

At times I have heard “And you rotate, And you rotate, And you rotate, And you rotate right in” instead of ‘Annie are you ok, Annie are you ok, Annie are you ok, Will you tell us that you're ok?”

My friend Travis McGibney thought the lyrics were “Annie don't you want cake, Don't you want cake, Don't you want cake, Annie?”

After years of hearing a song on my car radio and singing along to it with what I thought were the lyrics, it can be tough to break the habit.

Back in the 1980s, I had Paul Young’s “Every Time You Go Away” cassette tape and when the title song played in my car, I always sang along to it except that I thought I heard the lyric, “Every time you go away, you take a piece of meat with you.” I was in a record store in Melbourne, Florida in the mid-1990s and saw the lyrics in a Paul Young poster hanging on the wall. The real lyrics are “Every time you go away you take a piece of me with you.”

Perhaps I should schedule a hearing test. <

Andy Young: Rufus moves on

By Andy Young

Any family would be lucky to have Rufus as a member. Mine is extraordinarily fortunate that he’s been a part of ours.

Rufus T. Bear will be moving to a new home
very soon. PHOTO BY ANDY YOUNG 

This isn’t to say Rufus is without flaws. He’s not terribly articulate, and his perpetual slouch suggests to outsiders that he’s not terribly ambitious. He rarely makes eye contact with anyone and often sits alone in a closed bedroom when the rest of us are socializing.

But he’s spent the past quarter-century ready, willing and able to give (or receive) hugs at moments when they’re most appreciated and/or needed.

Rufus was there 25 years ago this week, when we brought our first-born child home from the hospital. Tommy and Rufus were virtually the same size, so it’s tempting to say they grew up together. Tempting, but not accurate, since Rufus never got any larger physically than he was back in 2001.

I never did find out exactly where Rufus T. Bear was born or learn anything about his life prior to the day he came to live with us. It’s a fair bet his origins were in China, but that’s hard to verify, since he came without any label. His physical appearance defied any traditional characterization. He displayed something of a backwoods southern drawl on those occasions when he chose to talk to the children, but that probably had more to do with the person he was channeling his voice through (me) than it did with any ethnic, social, or geographic background.

Rufus was easy to outfit; the most he ever wore was a baseball hat. It became apparent early on that he was somewhat sensitive to the sun, since he rarely ventured outdoors, even when weather conditions were ideal.

As my three children grew older, they became curious about their ursine sibling. They asked how I knew his name was Rufus T. Bear. I told them the truth: it was how he introduced himself when we first met. When they asked what his middle initial signified, I told them what he told me: that it stood for “The.”

Today my now-grown-up offspring all live elsewhere, but I still speak with Rufus when the spirit moves one or both of us. Currently he spends most of his time in Tommy’s old bedroom, reminiscing with some of my children’s other childhood friends, like Bud, Eddie, Leonard, Rocky, Wolfie, Sasky, the Paligator, and others who value their privacy and prefer to remain anonymous. These days Rufus and his colleagues are remarkably undemanding; all they request are occasional visits, and I’m happy to oblige. After all the joy he and his pals shared with my children during their formative years, it’s the least I can do.

I feel badly for those who cannot understand how rational people can personify (and regularly converse with) a nominally inanimate object like Rufus. “If it has a name, it has a soul,” a wise person told me some time ago, and I have never forgotten (nor stopped appreciating the truth of) those words.

Our last chat, which we both knew was coming, was bittersweet. “My work is done here, amigo,” my brown-furred friend drawled, and I acknowledged that he was right. Left unsaid: he’s still in great shape and has lots more love to give. Next week Rufus will be relocating to the home of a young fellow who is just 2 months old, and he can’t wait.

Rufus and I will undoubtedly shed a tear or two when I drop him off at his new digs. But they’ll be joyful ones, as we both imagine what lies ahead for him and his new family. <

Insight: Gazing again into my psychic crystal ball

By Ed Pierce
Managing Editor

I probably don’t follow many traditions about New Year’s Eve, but back in the 1990s I never missed a Dec. 31 episode of ABC’s Nightline television program because that was their annual predictions show.

The Nightline anchor at the time, Ted Koppel, would host a distinguished prognostication panel every year that featured Pulitzer Prize winning columnist and former presidential speechwriter William Safire; economist Arthur Laffer, the so-called “architect of the 1980s supply side economics” movement; and former Sports Illustrated writer Frank Deford, the dean of American sports commentary. Koppel would lead the panel through a discussion of their thoughts about the coming year in various topics and then each panelist would each make three bold predictions for the new year after a review of their previous yearly predictions.

This was always a fast-moving hour of television, and I’ve always appreciated the keen insight of Koppel, who was able to move with ease from topics ranging from politics to religion to business to sports, all while keeping panelist egos in check and discussions clearly focused on what would be in the news in the unknown year ahead.

When Koppel retired as Nightline host in 2005, the annual prediction show came to an end. Safire died of pancreatic cancer in 2009 and Deford passed away at age 78 in 2017 from pneumonia.

On New Year’s Eve in 2021, I revived the spirit of Nightline’s annual predictions show by sharing a few annual predictions of my own right here in the newspaper’s weekly Insight column.

To recap my predictions for 2025 in The Windham Eagle, it’s always interesting to see how accurate or lacking my sixth sense was for the past year.

I predicted that “Conclave” would win the Academy Award for Best Picture with Timothée Chalamet winning Best Actor for “A Complete Unknown,” Kate Winslet winning Best Actress for “Lee” and Ridley Scott winning Best Director for “Gladiator II.” I’m sorry to say that none of those predictions were correct.

In sports, I envisioned Houston beating Mississippi State to win the NCAA men’s college basketball championship, the Baltimore Ravens defeating the Philadelphia Eagles to win the Super Bowl in February, the Atlanta Braves knocking off the Kansas City Royals to win the World Series, and Notre Dame downing Oregon to win the NCAA College Football Championship last January. I was wrong on all four predictions, but Houston and Notre Dame each reached NCAA football and basketball title games, and Philadelphia actually won the Super Bowl.

In another prediction, I foresaw two different hurricanes striking Miami Beach, Florida in September. For the first time since 2015, no hurricanes hit the U.S mainland, so I was wrong with that one.

Here are my new predictions for 2026 and when we revisit this end-of-year column in The Windham Eagle once again a year from now, let’s see how accurate my conjectures turn out to be.

** A magnitude 7.6 earthquake will strike near Blytheville, Arkansas early in the year and leave thousands without food or shelter for weeks as flooding from the Mississippi River will produce treacherous conditions for searchers looking for survivors.

** Violent clashes between the Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF) and the Rapid Support Forces (RSF) in Sudan led to a nationwide conflict that has become one of the world’s largest humanitarian crises. Right now nearly half of Sudan’s population requires some form of humanitarian assistance and the situation shows no signs of improving. An initiative launched by French President Emmanuel Macron will bring lasting peace to Sudan.

** Rhea Seehorn will win the Emmy Award as Best Actress for her role as Carol Sturka in television’s “Pluribus.” In an upset, “Hamnet” will win the Academy Award for Best Picture in March. Ethan Hawke will win the Academy Award for Best Actor for “Blue Moon.” Jessie Buckley will win the Academy Award for Best Actress for “Hamnet.”

** NASA’s Artemis II astronauts Christina Koch, Victor Glover, Reid Wiseman and Jeremy Hansen will successfully complete a 10-day flyby mission to circle the moon and return safely to earth in February, igniting America’s renewed interest in the exploration of space.

** The Seattle Seahawks will defeat the Buffalo Bills in the Super Bowl in February while the Carolina Hurricanes will knock off the Colorado Avalanche to win hockey’s Stanley Cup in June. Iowa State will edge Arizona to win the NCAA men’s college basketball championship in April. The Oklahoma City Thunder will beat the Detroit Pistons to win the NBA title in June. The Detroit Tigers will win baseball’s World Series toppling the San Francisco Giants in October.

** Solar tiles will start to be embedded in public roads and highway surfaces in 2026 and will become a significant improvement for towns and cities across America. The embedded solar tiles will be used to power municipal streetlights, roadway signs and traffic signals, and their use will save communities thousands in monthly electric bills.

While I may not be in the league of Nostradamus or the distinguished celebrity Nightline panel in making predictions for the year ahead, as deep thinker Yogi Berra once said, “The future ain’t what it used to be."

Wishing a Happy New Year in 2026 to one and all. <

Andy Young: Why not 12 instead of 10?

By Andy Young

The United States will mark the 250th anniversary of its nominal founding this July and as you’re reading this, wholesalers, retailers, and aspiring entrepreneurs are busily imagining, manufacturing, preparing, and/or ordering officially licensed semiquincentennial merchandise they hope to peddle for a profit as the celebration approaches.

Recent history suggests those ambitious go-getters might be onto something. After all, who wouldn’t want to find an “America250” hoodie, t-shirt, coffee mug, or refrigerator magnet under the tree next Christmas?

Fifty years ago, America’s bicentennial was all the rage. Those extant at the time remember spectacular fireworks displays over most major cities on July 4th, 1976, tall ships sailing into New York City and Boston harbors, and the 26-car “Freedom Train” full of national memorabilia (including, among other things, a moon rock, Judy Garland’s dress from The Wizard of Oz, and Martin Luther King, Jr.’s pulpit and robes) that traveled nearly 26,000 miles through all 48 of the contiguous states. Some amateur investors began hoarding the bicentennial quarters the treasury department minted that year. And while their foresight hasn’t paid off as handsomely as they might have hoped, no one’s lost money, since at last look each of those now-50-year-old coins is still worth at least 25 cents. Today nostalgic types yearning for keepsakes of those events can occasionally find them at Goodwill stores, where Bicentennial coffee mugs or shot glasses often sell for as little as two dollars, or eight bicentennial quarters.

Human beings seem to have a fixation about numbers that end in zero. How else to explain the significance people associate with birthdays ending with that digit? After all, the difference between turning 29 and 30, 49 or 50, or 69 or 70 is only a year, but good luck finding a Hallmark card that says, “Happy Birthday, 49-year-old.”

Attaching significance to multiples of ten seems pretty random. Why aren’t people hung up on some other number, like 12, for example? Eggs are sold by the dozen; so are roses, bagels, and rolls of toilet paper. Cans of soda or beer are sold in half-dozens, and decent pastry shop owners often send regular patrons home with a baker’s dozen of doughnuts on Sunday mornings. There are 12 numbers on a clock face, and two 12-hour periods of time equals one day. Operating under the duodecimal system makes no less sense than society’s current fixation on Base 10.

Suppose the founding fathers had decided twelve was a more significant number than ten. America wouldn’t have had any centennial, sesquicentennial, or bicentennial celebrations. Instead, there’s have been ceremonies marking the fledgling nation’s first half-duodecade in 1848. But patriotic fervor in the United States would have peaked in 1920, on the occasion of the country’s 144th (Gross?) anniversary. There might be a few crackpot decimal system advocates insisting on referring to it as the Dozentennial, but like today’s Flat Earthers, they’d have been dismissed as lunatic fringers.

A society running on Base 12 would see 2026 as just another year. However, those born in 1954 would be marking a major milestone, the completion of their half-dozenth duodecade.

It’s a good thing the United States doesn’t use the duodecimal system. If it did baby boomers would have no chance to experience the patriotic gala surrounding a Gross National Celebration, because they didn’t exist in 1920, and few of them are likely to still be around in 2064.

Thankfully though, that’s not the case. If it were, the best boomers could do would be to take some commemorative Gross anniversary 1920 quarters down to Goodwill and purchase a vintage 1992 coffee mug, t-shirt, or refrigerator magnet. <

Rookie Mama: We’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet and all the peanut brittle

By Michelle Cote
The Rookie Mama

For all the joy and cheer and merriment that comes with the rise of the holiday season as it peaks toward December’s end, there are little moments that catch me pensive, nostalgic.

As a mom, I can’t be the only one feeling these whirlwind feels during winter’s rapid rise to yuletide shenanigans.

Christmastime shines a star-of-wonder sized spotlight on this true passage of time marked by traditions of old – and some very, very old – that stand in stark contrast to what doesn’t – and 
can’t – remain still (or still, still, still, as the old Christmas choral tune suggests).

Each year, I pull out my hidden trove of vintage-style Santa wrapping paper in anticipation of preparing for that magical work in which many of us parents participate each year.

I’ve had several of these rolls for many years, purchased at one of my many day-after-Christmas sprees at our local surplus and salvage store. At 17¢ a roll, I was on a roll, and despite my appreciation for all things minimalist, I don’t apply this mindset to two things – garden seedlings and Christmas wrapping paper.

I can never have enough – But I digress.

This past year, I snuck in little moments to wrap when I could, and as one of my favorite vintage 
Noel rolls of paper unrolled to its vey last scrap, a bit of sadness washed over me.

That paper had lasted me a few years and embraced many a gift as I often fought with Scotch tape and tidy creases and many a hot ol’ mess.

As I was marking up my kiddos’ names in fancy North Pole-ian script, these gifts were marking passage of time. Same wrap, different contents representing the boys’ evolving interests through the years.

When I first began writing this column, I reflected on my first baby’s first Christmas. That little dude is now 14 years old, and we’ve got three others in tow – four different flavors who share a love for laughing all the way.

Alas, the passage of time.

It’s in the rare, quiet moments that I breathe in this realization that regardless of holiday traditions, wrapping paper, dishes put forth, the boys are gonna grow up.

I can wrap many a gift, but I can’t wrap my mind around just how quickly they’ve been sprouting up before our eyes.

Perhaps that strange time warp between Christmas and New Year’s when everyone seems to forget what day it is as they assemble gifts and eat leftover peanut brittle in their pajamas is a needed break for parents as well as the kiddos.

We need that decompression and time for reflection as much as they need time to test out their new Hot Wheels and Lego sets.

We need time for deep breaths and dust – and tissue paper – to settle as the little ones continue on excitedly, completely unaware that once we box up Christmas magic and decorations and store away in the basement, these won’t come out again until everyone is one year older.

Time marches on.

These reflective, hibernatory moments are truly poignant as we high five our partners and prepare to carry on into a new year. After all, Easter decorations are lining up store shelves – Go look and see, if you don’t believe me.

But in the meantime, our crew started up a new tradition last year which we certainly did not invent and hope you’ll try, too.

An empty jar sits on a counter each January by a small notepad, and each time a memorable moment takes place – be it sentimental, funny, or something in between – one of us jots down the memory and folds it up in the jar. At the end of the year, we’ll open up the notes and read them aloud, reflecting on small memories we may have otherwise forgotten.

Call it a modern-day Auld Lang Syne if you will, filled to the brink of a cup of kindness yet we share to button up the year gone by.

So cheers to 2026 and enjoy your Hot Wheels.

Don’t forget to pick up your holiday wrap for next year at clearance prices.

And enjoy the moments intentionally all year through with loved ones.

Glad tidings, readers!

– 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!