Insight: Into the Deep Freeze

By Ed Pierce
Managing Editor

Stepping outdoors at this time of year can be a chilling experience but for me, the coldest conditions that I have ever been in happened to be when I covered sled dog racing in Laconia, New Hampshire for the daily newspaper there.

A musher guides a team of sled dogs during the World
Championship Sled Dog Derby in Laconia, New
Hampshire in 2015. COURTESY PHOTO 

In a tradition that harkens back to 1929, sled dog teams and mushers gather in Laconia every winter to compete in a three-day race in various classes on a 15-mile course around Lake Opechee and Paugus Bay. Some of the top sled dog racing teams from across the globe compete in what is billed as the “World Championship Sled Dog Derby.”

The first year I worked for the newspaper in Laconia the event was scrubbed because of a lack of snow and ice but by the time the second year rolled around, temperatures dropped below zero and there was plenty of snow to hold the races.

As the editor of the newspaper, I could have assigned a reporter to provide coverage of the sled dog races, but it was something I wanted to do myself. Being a longtime sportswriter, I had watched televised reporting of the 1,000-mile Iditarod sled dog race in Alaska through the years and thought it would be interesting to attend this race in New Hampshire and write about it.

On the day that the Laconia races were to be held, the thermometer started dropping and fell 13 degrees overnight. When I started my car in the newspaper parking lot to drive to the event, it was minus 18 degrees and sunny at 10 a.m.

I had been forewarned to dress warmly and so I was wearing thermal underwear, a heavy sweater, a wool cap, a scarf, gloves, and an insulated parka. But even that combination did not prepare me for spending time interviewing racing participants in that sort of cold.

In under 10 minutes outside, I was told by a race administrator to go back to my car to warm up. He suggested that I conduct interviews and photography for the newspaper in 10-minute stretches, and in the meantime, he told me to leave my car running with the heat turned on and to retreat back there when I needed to warm up.

First off, I decided to interview a racing team musher from Syracuse, New York. He and his wife and son had brought their six-dog team to Laconia for the event. It was the second time they had competed there. He told me that all his dogs were Siberian Huskies, and they had recently replaced the team’s dog harnesses.

He told me that racing sled dogs each wear individual harnesses and then what are called tuglines are attached to those forming a loop which connects to a master gangline for the musher to guide the team. To keep each dog in the proper position, they can also be attached to a neckline for maximum control by the team’s musher.

Not every dog racing team was made up of huskies. I found out that some teams had Samoyeds or Malamutes, while other had Chinooks or German Shorthaired Pointers. All the dogs competing on the Syracuse team weighed between 35 and 65 pounds and their lead dog, a huskie named “Bo,” was placed in front because he was the oldest and the strongest of the entire team.

According to the musher, the team had practiced on their farm over the summer and fall. Each of the dogs’ meals were calculated and maintained by a veterinarian to keep their weight under control and to provide the dogs with plenty of power and energy for the racing circuit. This particular team from New York state would travel to events in Illinois and Ohio and throughout New England and Canada every winter to compete in sled dog racing and in six years had won eight different trophies and cash prizes.

They drove to the events each winter in a pickup truck pulling a camper which housed their dogs in crates when they weren’t racing. He said that his dogs weren’t bothered by the cold because they were accustomed to sub-zero temperatures.

I also interviewed a race official who monitored the start of the races. He told me that there were two categories for racing teams with one being for six-dog sleds and the other being “unlimited,” containing between 14 and 16 dogs in each team. Because each race was 15 miles and compiled over three days, he said the winning team was trying to log the best aggregate time accumulated in that time frame.

By the time those interviews were finished, I was absolutely freezing. Despite the layers of clothing I was wearing, the cold still penetrated and each trip back to the car to warm up took longer and longer. I stepped to a position on a snowbank near the starting line and got photographs of dog teams and mushers beginning that day’s race.

Being outside in minus 18-degree weather was not something I would prefer to do again, and it was the coldest I have ever been in my lifetime, but experiencing the sled dog races and writing about it is something I can say can be checked off my bucket list.<

Insight: Instrumental to my happiness

By Ed Pierce
Managing Editor

Music is such an integral part of our daily lives that it’s hard to imagine what the world would be like without it.

Nancy Pierce, left, and her school principal Mary Jane Cooney,
right, meet singer Peter Noone before the Herman's Hermits
concert in Laconia, New Hampshire in September 2016.
PHOTO BY ED PIERCE

The people who create, compose and play music are observers of life, of possibilities, of tragedies and of joy. They inspire us and provide the soundtrack for each of our lives.

Here are a couple of stories about how I met several musicians whose songs are still remembered today.

In 1973, I was fortunate to be nominated to work for the Student Entertainment Committee at New Mexico Highlands University. The committee’s mission was to use fees appropriated during student registration to bring nationally known musicians and entertainers to perform on our campus. We booked bands and selected available dates for their performances.

After the dates were booked and confirmed, and once the performers arrived in town for their shows, committee members would assist them with transportation to and from the shows or locate area restaurants or other activities they requested.

Being a fan of progressive country in the early 1970s, I had both of B.W. Stevenson’s first two albums, once self-titled and the other called “Lead Free.” His music was powerful and ranged from singing about heartbreak to understanding the human condition. When I learned that the committee had booked him to perform a concert at our school, I volunteered to assist him and his band while they were in town.

They arrived by tour bus late in the evening the day before their show. I met Stevenson, who promptly instructed me to call him “Buck,” short for his nickname, Buckwheat. We made sure that the hotel suite he had chosen for his band was satisfactory and the next day I guided Stevenson and the band to the auditorium for a sound check prior to the concert.

While waiting backstage to be introduced, Stevenson pulled me aside and asked me if I knew of any parties or things to do in town after the concert. I told him that my fraternity was having a party with a keg of beer later and I invited him and the band to stop by. During the concert, Stevenson performed songs from his latest album, and I really liked one of them called “My Maria.” It was a smash hit for him and is the song he is most remembered for today.

After the concert, Stevenson and his band did indeed drop by our fraternity house and I had him autograph his albums in my collection. I found it incredible that I was standing and talking with someone whose music was all over the radio and it’s a memory that I cherish to this day. I was saddened to learn 14 years later that Stevenson had died at the age of 38 following open-heart surgery in Texas.

In 2016, I was the Editor of the daily newspaper in Laconia, New Hampshire and wanted to write about an upcoming concert there featuring Peter Noone of the 1960s band Herman’s Hermits. Event organizers gave me his cell phone number and I called him in California and did a phone interview with him while he was waiting to board a plane for the East Coast.

I asked him lots of questions about his career and his music and by the time that lengthy phone conversation ended, I felt like I understood Peter better and it was evident that his charisma, personality and talent were a major factor in his success. He had first started with the band as a 15-year-old lead singer and said he was proud of what he had accomplished in his career. He mentioned a fact I didn’t know that in 1965, Herman’s Hermits had sold more records worldwide than The Beatles did.

To me, Noone came across as down to earth, candid and humorous. I told him that I could recall dancing to one of his songs called "Listen People" with one of my classmates, Janet McGraw Howland, at a dance at Carlton Webster Junior High School in Henrietta, New York and he laughed and said, “Don’t we all wish we were young again?”

Before ending our conversation, I asked Noone if I could bring my wife Nancy backstage before the show to meet him and take a photo. He agreed to do so, and we got to his concert early and met up with my wife’s boss, Mary Jane Cooney, who was also attending the show. She was the principal of the Holy Trinity Catholic School in Laconia and when I told her we were going backstage to meet Peter Noone, she asked if she could go with us.

The three of us then met Peter and he graciously let us take photographs with him. He thanked me for writing about his concert for the newspaper and we returned to our seats. During the show, he dazzled the audience with some of Herman's Hermits' biggest hits such as “Mrs. Brown You’ve Got a Lovely Daughter,” or “Can’t You Hear My Heartbeat,” "I'm Henry the VIII, I Am," and “I’m Into Something Good.”

A week or so later, Noone sent me an autographed photo and a CD of Herman’s Hermits’ greatest hits. Without reservation, I can say he’s as genuine as they get and remains one of my all-time favorite entertainers.

As a journalist, through the years I’ve met and interviewed many singers, but these two really stand out. <

Insight: An epiphany that should resonate with all ages

A piece of the World Trade Center is on display
in front of the Laconia Police Department in
Laconia, New Hampshire to pay tribute to the
victims of that tragic terrorist attack.
PHOTO BY TRISH BEAUCHESNE

By Ed Pierce

Managing Editor

I recently watched the six-part TV series on Hulu called “9/11: One Day in America” and a flood of memories came rushing back to me about that fateful day in American history and my own connections to the attacks that day.

For those who haven’t seen that series, it was created by National Geographic and includes unseen footage from the events of Sept. 11, 2001, and interviews with firefighters, survivors, loved ones of victims, civilian rescuers, police officers and helicopter pilots. What I watched was stories of incredible courage, the will to endure and to embrace life, tragic circumstances and above all, the indomitable human spirit.

There are portions of the series that choked me up and brought tears to my eyes 20 years afterward, and unbelievable tales I had never heard before on the evening news or read about in newspapers or magazines.

When it was finished, I came away with a profound sadness for those who lost their lives to such senseless acts and a greater understanding of what happened that day and how ordinary people took extraordinary measures to help their fellow man.

One such individual, Chuck Sereika, I had met in 2009 in Vero Beach, Florida. He was introduced to me as someone who had been at the site of the World Trade Center in 2001, but that was all I knew about him. He operated a home cleaning business and I only spoke to him for a few minutes.

My impression was that Chuck Sereika was a normal guy trying to make a living like everyone else. But in watching this series on Hulu, something clicked, and I then realized what a hero this ordinary man was.

On Sept. 11, Chuck Sereika was in his apartment in New York City and was trying to resume a normal life after giving up his career as a paramedic. The stress of that job fed an addiction and he quit and was not long out of a treatment facility on that tragic day.

A phone call from his sister alerted him to turn on the television and watch the events unfolding live. His sister asked him if he was there and helping and that question prompted him to take his paramedic uniform out of the closet, put in back on and go the World Trade Center site to see if he could be of assistance.

He got there as the darkness of evening fell and walked through the piles of twisted metal and girders with two U.S. Marines trying to find survivors from the collapse of the buildings. Standing on the smoldering metal was so hot that he could feel the rubber on the bottom of his boots melting.

But soon the group followed cries for help to a smoking hole in the ground. Sereika climbed down 20 feet below the surface and found Port Authority policeman Will Jimeno and Sgt. John McLoughlin trapped but alive. It began a massive effort to dig them out and free them from the metal beams pinning them down there. All while Chuck Sereika stayed with them, rendered them whatever assistance he could, and gave them hope that they could survive, which they did.

To think that I had met this man and not known his story at the time left me saddened and appreciative of what ordinary people can do when facing trying times.

When I moved to Laconia, New Hampshire and was working for The Citizen daily newspaper, one of my duties in covering the city of Laconia was to cover the Laconia Police Department. Each time I visited the police station on Fair Street while working on a news story, I passed a modern statue of twisted metal outside at the entrance to the sidewalk.

One day in 2014, I happened to stop and read the inscription and was shocked to learn that it was a piece of the World Trade Center. A foundation gave pieces away to cities across America so its residents would never forget the events of that day and what it means to be an American.

I must have passed by hundreds of times before ever stopping to read the inscription and realizing that part of history was so close by to where I was living and working at the time.   

Ultimately, watching the series about 9/11 left me wondering about what all of the political strife, apprehension of each other, rage and anger and non-stop criticism of each other on social media and on television produces.

We are all Americans and blessed with freedoms other nations and people envy. If the lessons of 9/11 have shown us anything, underneath the politics, the divisive society we live in today and our distrust for our fellow man, it means nothing compared to the common bond and the precious life we as Americans all share. <  

Insight: Looking back at life in seven-year intervals

Ed Pierce at age 7, June 1961

By Ed Pierce

Managing Editor

I recently noticed a Facebook post by a friend that posed a question about what everyone was doing on a summer night in 1976. That got me to thinking about my past and how hard it would be to pinpoint exactly where I was at any given time in my life and what I was doing then.

To make it a bit more challenging and entertaining, I decided to examine my life in seven-year intervals and jot down exactly where I was and what I was up to.

At the age of 7 in June 1961, I had just completed second grade in Miss Weaver’s class at Our Lady of Lourdes School in Brighton, New York. About a month before school was out for the year, I remember the teacher wheeling a portable black and white television on a cart into our classroom so we all could watch coverage of the flight of the first American astronaut to travel into space, Alan Shepard. Later that summer I played in my first season of Little League baseball.

In June 1968 at age 14, I was excited about moving up to the high school that fall after finishing ninth grade at Carlton Webster Junior High School in Henrietta, New York. I also was happy because the band teacher, Mr. Richard Taylor, talked my parents into letting me give up playing the clarinet and the endless hours I had to spend after school practicing that musical instrument. After school I delivered the afternoon newspaper in my neighborhood.

By June 1975, I was 21 and in my second month of working for United Press International in New Mexico as a reporter. That July I was assigned to do an interview and write a story about a future U.S. president, Ronald Reagan, who was visiting Albuquerque. He ordered BLT sandwiches for us from room service and the Boston Red Sox against the Texas Rangers baseball game was on television as we did the interview. I remember him telling me his favorite Red Sox player was Carlton Fisk.

I was 28 in June 1982 and was serving in the U.S. Air Force as the sports editor of the Luke Air Force Base Tallyho weekly newspaper. Later that same year I was promoted to editor of the paper. I was thrilled to see “Star Trek II, The Wrath of Khan” at the theater that summer and marveled at how Ricardo Montalban transitioned from good guy Mr. Roark on TV’s Fantasy Island to portraying the sinister Khan in that film.

June 1989 found me at age 35 working as a news reporter for the Valencia County News-Bulletin and covering county and city government activities, school board meetings and the chamber of commerce. My wife had me videotape three hours of ABC afternoon soap operas for her and after watching some of the plots of those shows, I became convinced I could write bizarre scripts for TV too.

In June 1996 I was 42 and was a sportswriter living in Florida. I covered many high school football, basketball, soccer and baseball games for Florida Today newspaper and spent a good deal of time traveling throughout Florida. That was the same year I bought a stick shift, six-cylinder 1995 Pontiac Firebird, which was one of the better cars I’ve ever owned.

By June 2003, I was 49 and had survived a bout with cancer. I had accepted a desk position at Florida Today and was laying out and designing pages for some of the newspaper’s weekly publications. I had developed a keen interest in photography and had saved up and purchased my first digital camera by then.

In June 2010, at age 56, I was now the Community Sports Editor for Florida Today and continued to write sports and news articles for the newspaper’s weekly and daily editions. My wife and I had purchased a home and we were planning a trip to visit her family in Vermont later that summer.

June 2017 found me at age 63 in Biddeford, Maine where my company had transferred me from Laconia, New Hampshire to serve as Executive Editor of the daily newspaper there. My wife was hired to teach first grade at the Catholic school nearby and we considered ourselves fortunate to have found a home to buy that featured a garage and a fenced-in backyard after looking at dozens that didn’t.

Not sure where June 2024 will find me, but if the past is any indication, I suppose it will include a few surprises, a few disappointments and much to be proud of. <

Insight: Finding a newspaper editor’s real purpose

It’s surprising that no matter how old you may be, there are still things you can learn about yourself. I bring this up because a while back I discovered my real purpose as a newspaper editor.

I was working as a news reporter for the Laconia Citizen newspaper in Laconia, New Hampshire when I was chosen by the publisher to be that paper’s new editor. After years of leading daily and weekly newspapers previously as an editor, I accepted a reporter’s job in Laconia because it didn’t come with all of the tedious tasks, duties and responsibilities otherwise associated with being an editor.

But when the previous editor had resigned, I was asked to fill the role by the publisher because of my lengthy experience in journalism and skill at organization.

Before the announcement of my promotion had been made public, I attended an early morning committee meeting for a drug-free community coalition where I disclosed to committee members that I was being promoted to serve as editor of the newspaper.

Following the meeting, a friend of mine who also served on that committee, Pastor Shaun Dutile of Laconia, sought me out in the parking lot and posed an interesting question to me.

“Do you know why God has put you in this position as the editor of the newspaper?” Dutile said.

Before I could come up with a reply, he told me that the answer to his question was something that only I could discover through self-introspection and discovery.

“Only you and God will know the reason for you to be put in this position and its purpose is something that you must find out in order to be successful,” he said.

His question got me to thinking about my lengthy career in journalism and what it meant to be placed in charge of supervising the content of a community newspaper.

What I eventually learned -- and it’s pertinent to my new job here as the managing editor at The Windham Eagle -- is that the editor of a community newspaper works diligently on behalf of the readers and not for personal gain.

As the staff member who determines what gets covered in the newspaper and how it is reported, the editor’s role is more than simply correcting typos, choosing photographs to accompany articles and fixing misspelled words in stories.

What I have discovered from first-hand experience is that the editor of a newspaper must always be objective, be a true champion and strong voice for everyone in the community who does not have such an extensive platform that reaches so many people throughout the area. As such, the editor should believe that a student’s Eagle Scout project is as deserving of coverage in the paper as reporting about a late-night town council meeting or the news that a new minister has been appointed to lead a local congregation.

Readers pick up The Windham Eagle with the expectation they will learn something interesting and impactful to their daily lives in every edition of newspaper. And I intend to continue to be as enthusiastic and helpful in doing just that as my predecessor Lorraine Glowczak, was in her time filling the managing editor’s position here.

Before I left New Hampshire to move to Maine in 2016, I had another conversation with Pastor Dutile and I thanked him for posing that question to me when he did. To this very day, I can still hear his words and reflect upon the awesome responsibility placed in me in leading this newspaper, The Windham Eagle.

Through the years, my work as a journalist has taken me to so many different places and I have enjoyed the distinct privilege of meeting and telling the stories of so many different people. But none of those are as important or meaningful to me right now as what you are currently doing in this community, how it affects your lives and those of your neighbors and it’s what makes this such a great place to live and work.

There is a reason I have been placed in this role and what I have learned is that the purpose is to serve you and to champion the Windham and Raymond communities.  <

 —Ed Pierce