1.) The post urges us to “please search for the LePage 2014 website on your computer.”
Oh, I’m not supposed to search under the table or between the seat cushions?
How about this? How about posting a link to your site? You can do that on Facebook.
Instead, the governor’s social media gurus are worried about unintended “filters” that could accompany an embedded link. So, instead they strongly suggest that you use your computer, hunt down the link and then donate.
In fact, donating must be important because they ask you to donate twice in the same paragraph, which almost looks like one giant sentence, considering the absence of punctuation.
2.) The campaign’s post is horrendously long.
Facebook is not Twitter, which requires abbreviated posts. That said, you should not use Facebook to “cut and paste” an entire speech.
A better strategy would be to hook your social media audience into your website. Use social media to tease your message and direct readers back to your website.
3.) If you must go long, give your post some space.
If you insist on your using Facebook like a blog, at least be considerate and allow readers a visual experience that doesn’t look like a bucket of spilled nails.
Insert a line space between paragraphs. Remember, if you want more people reading your posts, make your posts easier to read.
So here’s a primer for Governor LePage and his re-election team:
It’s that time of year again, and I still want to ignore it. I still want to wish it away, block it from my reality.
But this will be the fifth consecutive year of having family and friends gather for a walk in nearby Kennebunkport.
Maybe that’s not such a bad thing. After all, what would we be doing on Saturday if Laura didn’t have this fucking disease, this disease I try to ignore?
So instead of yard work, shopping excursions or puttering around the homestead, a group of us will drive –caravan style — to the Consolidated School and register for the annual MS Walk.
On that day, I am surrounded by people with MS, and it is impossible for me to deny that the disease is also eating away at Laura, my wife . . .my best friend, my advocate.
Laura has her own system of denial. She is not as good as me, but she does a pretty good job of keeping the disease hidden from public view.
You almost can’t tell… unless you watch a climb a set of stairs.
Right here, right now
According to the National MS Society, more than 2.1 million people have been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis.
We are luckier than most of these people. We have good health insurance, and Laura still has most of her mobility. She is not in a wheelchair.
Not yet.
And that’s the part that gets me: knowing that it’s just going to get worse; knowing that every day I lose just a little bit more of the person I love most in the world.
We generally don’t talk about MS or the way it impacts our boys, our marriage . . . our lives.
But each year — even if it’s for just one day — we tackle this disease head on by participating in the annual MS walk, an event that raises funding for continued research and the ongoing search for improved treatments or maybe a cure for MS.
Laura was diagnosed with MS a little more than five years ago, and each year we have been blessed by watching Team Seaver grow in number and spirit. It is encouraging to see other families living with MS; to witness their courage and determination.
But it is also haunting to see so many other people dealing with MS in their own families, especially when their loved one’s illness has progressed so much more. It’s sort of like seeing your own life 10, 20 or 30 years into the future.
I cannot afford to worry about the future, nor mourn the past. Thus, I have to focus on what can be done today . . . right here, right now.
So, at the risk of annoying friends, acquaintances and colleagues, I offer this link to the Team Seaver page. Here, you can make a small donation to help fund ongoing research and support for people with MS.
No gift is too small, and all are very much appreciated. Thank you.
I don’t know what metric you use to measure your life, but I learned something valuable last night as the hours counted down toward my 50th birthday.
Despite all the material benchmarks and the conventional wisdom about what a man should accomplish in the first 50 years of his life, there is no better metric to determine success than to experience the love and companionship of friends and family.
Apparently, when you celebrate the silver anniversary of your life, you are rewarded with bundles of gold.
Given my self-destructive tendencies, the Vegas line on my getting to 50 has always been a bit dicey. But the payoff when I got there was beyond compare.
How incredibly blessed am I?
As the clock refused to slow, I was surrounded by the most incredible (and diverse) group of people. If I ever doubted my success, I no longer have the luxury of doubt.
We are reckless in our use of the lovely word, friend, said Romain Rollard; and I agree.
How do you measure success in your career? when former and current colleagues are willing to drive more than 100 miles just to sip beers and eat pizza in celebration of your birthday. When former and current professional competitors walk into that same room with smiles and a warm embrace.
How do you measure your success as a husband and a father? When your teenage sons voluntarily give up a Saturday night just to hang with you and other “old people.” When your wife spends weeks coordinating and planning a party to celebrate your birthday, baking cupcakes into the late hours of a work night.
How do you measure success among your peers? When you can count friends you have known since the Carter Administration, and newer friends who would gladly answer the phone at 4 a.m. if you really needed them.
That so many people wanted to be there, and so many others — limited by geography and the other constraints — sent warm greetings, affection and regret.
As I fell asleep, it occurred to me that I have exceeded my own expectations; that I am wealthier than I could possibly imagine; that I am fortunate beyond belief.
As a species we celebrate our common benchmarks (weddings, funerals, anniversaries and birthdays) because it is the stuff that makes the day-to-day drudgery worthwhile. We are all in this together, and it’s always so much better with companionship and the gift of friends.
The beginning of the end? Is the middle-class evaporating or did it ever exist?
I remember when we got our first color television. It was 1973. My parents purchased the house two years prior, and that television was a refurbished Zenith console model.
I was the remote control.
From his favorite chair, my father would bark at me: “Turn to Channel 13! I want to see Walter Cronkite.”
Growing up in that house of Franklin Street in Saco with my sister and our dog, Kelly, I was positive we were a middle class family.
My father was a teacher. My mom worked part-time at Canal Bank. I was a Cub Scout and took clarinet lessons. My sister took ballet and tap lessons. We ate dinner at the table, and put on our good clothes for church on Sunday.
Shit, I was an altar boy. Life was good. Right?
Maybe, but it was certainly more a perception of reality than a hard fact.
What is the middle class? Who can define it? Is it disappearing or was it always a myth?
Defenders of the Myth
Politicians, pundits and just about everyone else loves to “stand up” for the middle class, but what are they defending?
Few politicians dare define the middle class because they fear what will happen if the economy tanks, and more people feel left out of the so-called American Dream.
Just look at Mitt Romney’s blunder when he attempted to define the middle class (“Those earning $200,000 to $250,000 and less’)
According to an April 14 story in USA Today: “President Obama mentioned the middle class a half-dozen times in his State of the Union address this year, and House Speaker John Boehner told Obama to “stand up for middle-class jobs.”
Google says [the middle class] has been called the “backbone of the country” at least 2.3 million times.
From gridlocked Washington to cities and town everywhere, the middle class is far and away America’s favorite socioeconomic group.
Yet no one can agree on what, exactly, the middle class is.
Economists and sociologists say that’s a big deal. Decisions are made, laws are written and elections are won or lost based on people’s beliefs about the middle class and what it means to the country. A nation that so values the middle class, they say, really should be better at defining it.”
Perception or reality?
According to numerous polls, most Americans define themselves as “middle-class,” despite ample statistical evidence to the contrary. It would appear that we prefer the middle. A short drive on the Maine Turnpike will back-up my anecdotal observation, watching drivers hug the center lane.
By definition, the “middle” is wedged halfway between lower and upper, between large and small, equidistant between left and right.
Go to the grocery store and try to buy “small” eggs. You can’t. The smallest eggs you can buy are “medium-sized” Try to buy a small soft drink at McDonald’s. You can’t. The cashier will offer you a medium. It’s ridiculous how we play these games of perception that have no basis in logic.
We don’t like to talk about the lower-class, the lower rungs of our socio-economic ladder. Nor are most people comfortable contemplating the rungs above.
Politically, we tend to generalize and demonize both the lower and upper class. Poor people have made bad choices and are inherently lazy. Rich people are greedy bastards who only care about themselves.
We puff ourselves full of self-righteous indignation, armed with little more than anecdotal evidence.
What is middle class? Are you middle class?
It appears that few things are more subjective than determining where you fit on America’s socio-economic scale. But let’s look at some data.
Using 2012 data from the U.S. Census Bureau, it’s easy to see that median annual household income in the United States is $51,371. The median is halfway between the top figure and the bottom figure (not an average). This means that half of all households in the U.S. earn less than $51, 371 per year; and that half of all households earn more than $51, 371.
Now let’s look at the state of Maine, where the median household income is lower, estimated at $46,709 per year. Remember, this includes all income from everyone in your household, regardless of whether they are related to you.
So what should be the margin for determining middle income in Maine? For argument’s sake, let’s say +/- 10 points, so now we have determined the middle household income range based on data ($42,000 -$51,380).
Are you still in the middle class?
In fairness, middle class is more than just income. There are numerous other factors: home ownership, profession, level of education, marital status, etc.
But what about debt load? Even with a good income, those with high debt loads may be struggling and not feeling like the middle class.
Feelings are not facts
How we feel about our situation makes up a large part of our subjective analysis regarding whether we are middle class or not middle class.
A friend of mine recently stated that the middle class is evaporating. He bemoaned the good ol’ days of his youth and the opportunities his father had in the booming years following World War II.
Let’s think about that for a minute. In fact, I challenge you to get up from your computer and take a quick walk around your home. Is your standard of living higher now than when you grew up?
I’ll share my own observations.
I started by stepping outside for a cigarette break. I have a snowblower. My parents had shovels. I have a boat, a camper. Not my parents. My truck was purchased brand-new; my wife’s car is fully loaded with tinted windows and a retractable moon-roof. My parents bought used cars.
Our houses are somewhat similar except my parents’ home had one bath. Mine? Two bathrooms and enough space for a home office. My parents didn’t have a cell-phone bill. They did not pay for internet. If you had blue-tooth, you needed to see the dentist. There were no home theater systems, no stainless-steel appliances and no one could imagine having a “personal” computer.
My father was able to finish college not thanks to a federal student loan but because my mother worked third-shift, painting little lines on resistors and capacitors at Components. We washed dishes by hand. We never needed a new printer. We had three television channels. No one in my neighborhood had granite countertops. No one had a Jacuzzi in their bathroom. We didn’t have microwaves.
The more I think about it, the more it feels like I am George Jetson, son of Fred Flintstone.
We have moved the bar on “living comfortably.” We have raised the standard of living to keep up with the Joneses.
I have some dueling feelings, and would like to know what you are doing today?
Are you headed to the Maine Mall for some holiday shopping? Putting up your Christmas tree? Football game? Browse social media and offer your political opinions?
How are you making the world around you a better place?
I am not trying to shame you because any of those activities above could dominate a big part of my own day. I just want to offer my observations of the last 24 hours; a mixture of blessings and loss.
Earlier this week, our community lost a tremendous leader; a man who embodied community spirit. I only met him a couple of times, only briefly. I did not know him as well as I should have. I didn’t even know he died until I saw the obituary that his daughter posted on her Facebook timeline.
Richard “Dick” Potvin was the embodiment of living in community. He was from the tail end of that “greatest generation:” men and women who didn’t talk about community service or brag about it. They just did it. And Mr. Potvin did that better than most people.
He was an ordinary man who lived an extraordinary life.
He was a standout athlete in high school and held the Amateur Maine State Golden Glove Welterweight Championship, undefeated until he was drafted into the U.S. Army during the Korean War. He served as a forward observer for an artillery unit and sustained a bullet wound to the head by a sniper. He was awarded a Purple Heart and honorably discharged.
That would be more than enough “service” for most people. But not for Dick.
He came home to Biddeford and worked for York Bottling Company and married Doris Cote at St. Andre’s Church. After changing jobs, he and his wife moved several times over the next two decades before becoming the Public Works Director in Biddeford. A couple of years later, the couple opened Potvin’s Market in Old Orchard Beach.
For a couple raising three children, you would think their plates were full. Running a convenience store does not offer much in the way of “down time.”
But Dick kept serving his community, serving nine terms on the city council and was appointed to serve on numerous city committees. He was also a stalwart of the Maine Democratic Party, and according to his obituary, was invited to the White House for breakfast as a thank you for his support of President Jimmy Carter. He and his wife hosted Walter Mondale in their home during Mondale’s 1984 presidential campaign.
Enough, right? Wrong.
Dick was appointed as Maine State Athletic Commissioner and served under two governors, and was a member of the Elks, Knights of Columbus, AMVETS, VFW, and Fraternal Order of Eagles.
But wait. There’s more. Beyond his own three children, Dick was a mentor, coach and a steadying influence to countless children in Biddeford. Facing retirement, he founded the Southern Maine Boxing Club with the mission to promote positive youth activity through the art of boxing. His son, Jay, continues to successfully run the club.
Speaking of his children, Laura and I have the privilege and honor of knowing his daughter, Renee and her husband Jim, counting them among our friends.
Renee and her brothers are following their father’s footsteps in community service. Renee serves with Laura on the City Council’s Policy Committee. Renee also, stubbornly and nearly single-handedly led the effort to restore the city’s historical downtown opera house, City Theater.
This morning, I cannot fathom the emptiness that Renee and her family are experiencing. When men like Dick leave us behind, the void is huge, almost unimaginable.
So while we remember them in our prayers and thoughts, I want to do better. I want to be more like Dick Potvin. I want to be more like Renee O’Neil. I want to spend less time fretting about my own little problems and focus more on the world around me. I want to be more like the next person I am going to mention.
Never enough
Heroes are not reserved for comic books. They walk amongst us everyday. And I am so lucky to know so many of them by name.
One of our community’s shining heroes is actually a heroine. Over the last several years, Vassie Fowler has redefined the words “personal sacrifice in her efforts to make the world a brighter place for those among us who are less fortunate.
If you know Vassie and her husband, Jack, then consider yourself lucky. They are the owners of Union House Pub and Pizza in Biddeford. Every Thanksgiving, Vassie coordinates an epic turkey drive to help provide holiday meals to more than 100 less fortunate families.
Last night, Vassie and Jack hosted their fifth annual Toys for Tots fundraiser and dinner. The event started modestly, a small affair at their own business, attended by only a handful of guests. Last night, the conference facility at the Ramada Inn was packed with people opening their wallets and their hearts for children.
Vassie is a relentless giver. She gives, gives and then gives some more. She invests hundreds of hours every year making life better for other people. She works her fingers to the bone and pulls off grand events on shoestring budgets because of a work ethic that is beyond words.
It’s hard to match Vassie’s commitment to her community, but it can be done. Take, for example, another one of the people I am honored to call my friend, Pam Payeur.
Pam is the executive director of the Wounded Heroes Program of Southern Maine.
Every day, Pam can be found working in our community, raising awareness about the plight of our nation’s wounded heroes. Her work, dedication and passion for helping veterans is off the charts. Not just on Veteran’s Day or helping coordinate the annual Wreaths Across America event, but on a hot August day when a local veteran needs a ride to a medical appointment; or in September when she seeks volunteers to help move a veteran and his belongings to a new residential facility.
She is on the front-lines every day. Based on her Facebook wall, I strongly suspect she never sleeps. There is always something more that needs to be done. Always another opportunity to help a charity, raise awareness and champion the forgotten and discarded.
So allow me to ask you this. How is it that people like me get to live in a world among heroes like these? What are we going to do today to make our world a better place?
I don’t think you have to receive a Purple Heart, have breakfast at the White House or collect 200 turkeys for the less fortunate. But maybe we could just try to treat one another with little more kindness, a little more respect.
Maybe we can just carve out five minutes of each day or an hour each week dedicated to something beyond our own world. Maybe that is enough. Maybe not, but it seems like a good place to start.
In about 24 hours, I will have the privilege and honor of being the first to introduce members of my community to the new members of the Biddeford City Council.
I will be the master of ceremonies at the inauguration of Mayor Alan Casavant, the nine members of the city council and the seven members of the school committee.
Many of these “new” councilors have previously served on the council, but some of them have been out of the public eye for a few years.
So, what can we expect from this new council?
For starters, I think Biddeford voters knew exactly what they were doing when they chose Clement Fleurent, Roger Hurtubise, John McCurry and Marc Lessard for a return to the council.
Each of these men are proven commodities. Each cares deeply about their community. We will all benefit from their previous service, their years of experience and their own, unique connections to the city we call home.
They are fiscally conservative and generally politically conservative. McCurry and Lessard have both previously served as council president; and both men made unsuccessful bids for the mayor’s seat (McCurry in 2007; Lessard in 2003).
While McCurry and Lessard have much in common and often see eye-to-eye on major policy issues, there is a not-so-subtle difference between the two men, at least based on my observations of their past civic performance.
McCurry is a stickler for process and he makes no bones about his priorities during annual budget battles. What you see is what you get. McCurry can be outspoken, but not for the sake of being outspoken. He has strong opinions, but he’s also a good listener. He can be stubborn, like a dog with a bone, once he has made up his mind.
McCurry is secure and confident without being arrogant. If he tells you he is going to vote for Plan A, he is going to vote for Plan A, not use his prior statement as either a political tool of manipulation; nor subject his opinion to the ranging barometer of public opinion.
But Lessard was a much different character on the council. I honestly hope that his brutal loss for the mayor’s seat a decade ago forced him to take an extra dose of humility. I will opt for optimism. It’s been 10 years. We’ve all grown and matured over the past decade.
Lessard is a political animal. Taken under the wing of former Mayor James Grattelo many years ago, Lessard often mistook his public service role as some sort of baseball game, complete with strategy, secret signals, orchestrated deals and plenty of red meat rhetoric for the spectators to gnaw upon.
He loved to quote articles from USA Today, demonstrating his vast knowledge of the nation’s economy and why Biddeford should be thankful to just be alive. He delighted in being coy and mischievous. He grinned slyly when he won; but his temper was rarely hidden on those rare occasions when he lost.
He once told me: “Randy, you could say a zebra is black with white stripes; or white with black stripes,” as a way to defend one of his positions.
I wasn’t buying it. “No,” I responded. “A zebra is just a zebra.”
Marc had a tendency to exaggerate and was no doubt frustrated that I routinely called him out about those distortions during my newspaper days.
But my newspaper days are over.
Marc and I were never best friends, but I have admiration for his zeal, his passion and his belief in his own ideas. He has never been anything less than polite and cordial with me. He is a hardworking man. By all accounts, he is a good husband and father and plays a mean game of baseball.
Conventional wisdom holds that a leopard cannot change his spots, but I still believe in Marc Lessard’s potential as a city leader. I think the people of Biddeford can be well-served by his firebrand style and his fiscally conservative approach. I think he can provide a good counterweight to some of Mayor Casavant’s idealistic leanings.
I strongly suspect that Marc has not given up on his dream of being the city’s mayor. If he asked me for my political advice, I would urge him to be a lot more like his friend John McCurry and a lot less like that guy who finished third in a three-way race 10 years ago.
Can a leopard change his spots? Let’s hope so because this council has the potential to be the best city council Biddeford has seen in a long, long time.
During the last official meeting of the 2011-2013 Biddeford City Council, Mayor Alan Casavant said, ” . . . history will look favorably upon this council.”
I think he was right, but that may be a hard pill to swallow for the four councilors who lost their re-election bids: Roch Angers, David Bourque, Rick Laverriere and Richard Rhames.
Similar to what Dorothy said to the scarecrow just before waking from her dream, I think I will miss Councilor Richard Rhames the most.
You may be shaking your head, especially since I did not encourage people to vote for Rhames in the last election; and because I have previously (and rigorously) criticized his positions on a variety of policy issues.
Roughly two years ago, I ranked Rhames as ninth of the 25 most influential public policy masters in Biddeford-Saco politics.
From that previous post: Rhames began his political career by driving a grassroots effort to stop a planned expansion of the Biddeford Airport in the late 1970s. He then became one of the most outspoken opponents of the Maine Energy Recovery Company. Even his most ardent detractors concede that Richard is extraordinarily intelligent and that he commands a core following of people with similar political persuasions. He despises pragmatism and often rails against a “political class” that seems way too cozy with business interests. He is an unapologetic FDR Democrat, who believes the power of government should be reserved for those who are otherwise powerless.
Richard’s strength is his ability to point out the hypocrisy and greased skids tactics of the politically well-connected. He does not want to “get along” simply for the sake of “getting along.” His frequent and long-winded monologues follow predictable themes: opposing corporate influence, raising awareness about labor issues and the sorry-state of media (local, national and global).
Richard is the real deal. An authentic rabble rouser, who is arguably one of the best known people in Biddeford.
During my stint as the editor of the Biddeford-Saco Courier, I often poked fun at Richard in my weekly opinion column. Admittedly, I often crossed the lines of good taste and always cringe when I recall those rants about his “pony-tail politics.” Richard, however, was fair game, despite my sophomoric criticisms. He consistently injects himself — without hesitation — into the city’s political arena, and he could never be accused of being a shrinking violet. He also knows a thing or two about taking swipes.
But over the last 15 years of closely observing Biddeford’s political theater, I have developed a genuine respect for Rhames.
Although I am sometimes vexed by his approach and still disagree with some of his positions, he consistently (although indirectly) forced me to pause and question my own political bent. I admire his honesty and his consistency. There are no games with Richard. He is who he is. He says what he means and means what he says. Unfortunately, that makes him a rare breed among elected officials.
Rhames has always been an outspoken champion for the poor and the powerless. Yes, he can be snarky, condescending and sometimes hypocritical but he never pretended to be anything more than a flawed individual who was at least willing to speak up, even when he knows doing so is not in his own best interest.
Jimmy Carter may not have been a good president, but I am hard pressed to think of a more decent and honest man.
I agree with Mayor Casavant. I think history will look favorably upon this outgoing council, but I think it will look especially favorably upon Councilor Rhames.
Even with the best of intentions, it’s too easy to screw up.
Case in point: The way Biddeford City Councilor Mike Swanton objected to a state law that allows municipalities to share a portion of proceeds seized following the conviction of a drug crime.
On Wednesday, fewer than 24 hours after the election polls closed, Police Chief Roger Beaupre went before the lame-duck City Council with a rather routine request to allocate roughly $2,100 his department received earlier this year from the Maine Attorney General’s Office.
Beaupre told the council that he wanted to use those funds to buy some new equipment for his department, including cameras for his criminal investigators.
Earlier this year, the same city council voted without objection to allow the fire department to use roughly $100,000 of money it received from the sale of an aging fire truck for the purchase of new equipment.
So far; so good, right? Wrong.
Although Chief Beaupre’s request looked like a routine matter, and the council seemed ready to rubber-stamp it, something ugly was about to happen.
Beaupre was sitting in the audience, and said he was “stunned” by what happened next.
Swanton, voice cracking at times, bristled at Beaupre’s request and didn’t hesitate to do a bit of grandstanding, a tactic usually employed – and always expected from Councilor Richard Rhames.
Swanton said the police should not be getting “incentives.” He wanted the state money to go into the city’s general fund.
Let’s pause here for a moment.
A lot of people, including me, can see the logic of Swanton’s objection to directing funds seized from criminal activity to law enforcement agencies. Perhaps there is a slippery slope of ethical concerns that elected officials should consider.
But Swanton took it a step further, by implying that Beaupre, and by extension, the entire Biddeford Police Department is engaging in some sort of shakedown corruption scheme.
“I don’t believe the police department should profit directly from confiscated money or property,” Swanton said during the meeting. “It’s too much like the Detroit shakedown,” he added, referencing the recent conviction of former Detroit Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick on fraud and racketeering charges.
Beaupre said it was hard to swallow what he was hearing.
“I could not believe my own ears,” he said. “I have served this city with pride and integrity for than 40 years. By comparison to the funds the Fire Department was allowed to use, my request was a pittance. I was stunned.”
Four other member of the council supported Swanton’s motion to amend the order (Roch Angers, Melissa Bednarowski, David Bourque and Richard Rhames.)
No one, however, raised any objection to Swanton’s swipe. There was no declaration of conscience on Wednesday.
Swanton’s words were allowed to hang in the air and then archived in the public record without question.
Turn you inside out
Why does the City Council have different standards for the police and fire departments? Does the council have a problem with Chief Beaupre or his department?
Councilor Roch Angers seconded Swanton’s motion to move the funds to the city’s general fund.
I asked Angers why he voted earlier this year to let the fire department keep funds it received, but not the police department.
Angers said it was an oversight. “If I thought about it, I would have probably voted differently on the fire department issue,” Angers said.
On Saturday, Swanton apologized for the way he phrased his motion, but remained unapologetic for his intention. “The city should get the money; it should not be used to let the police go through a wish-list catalog.”
Swanton says he has no problems with the Biddeford Police Department.
“I love the police department,” he said. “I have tremendous respect for Chief Beaupre. I just think it’s a slippery slope. There should not even be the appearance of a quid pro quo.”
Swanton also said he has no plans to address the issue at either the state or federal level. “I just don’t think it’s a good way to do things.”
If Swanton has such an ethical concern, why was he willing to take the money in the first place? A more principled position would be to return the “dirty” money to the state.
But I guess when you’re an elected official in a cash-strapped community, there really is no thing such as “dirty” money.
A foolish consistency?
Before making their final decision, the council asked Beaupre whether it was okay to redirect the money for something other than law enforcement related expenses.
Beaupre explained that seized federal funds must be used for law enforcement. State-seized funds, however, do not come with the same requirement.
A day later, on Thursday, Beaupre received an e-mail from Biddeford High School Principal Jeremie Sirois.
According to the e-mail, Sirois is hoping to attract Chris Herren, a former NBA player who today tours the country speaking with youth about the dangers of drug addiction, for an appearance at Biddeford High School.
The cost to have Herren speak in Biddeford is $6,000.
Old Orchard Beach is reportedly willing to co-sponsor the event with Biddeford and could kick-in $1,500 from its police department’s drug grant funds.
Beaupre said he could have used the $2,100 he just received from the state, but the city council took the money for its general fund.
Swanton said it was a missed opportunity that could be easily corrected at the next council meeting.
“I think that would be the most appropriate use for those funds,” Swanton said.
It remains to be seen whether the council will reverse its position on the money it received from the Maine Drug Enforcement Agency, but a few things are crystal clear:
1.) Intentionally or not, Councilor Swanton smeared the reputation and dignity of one of the city’s longest serving public servants by connecting Beaupre’s routine request to a criminal conspiracy case in Detroit.
2.) Swanton had ample time to review his council packet prior to the meeting. He could have approached Beaupre privately to raise his questions and concerns.
3.) If Swanton feels so passionately about this issue, he should seek to change the state law or at least return the money to the state.
4.) Roger Beaupre has served the city of Biddeford with distinction and honor for more than 40 years. This is Biddeford, not Detroit.
5.) $2,100 is a piddly amount of money on which to make some half-assed stand on principle, especially if the Fire Department has a separate set of rules.
Mayor Alan Casavant and the rest of the city council screwed up by not objecting to Swanton’s callous remarks. Biddeford voters overwhelmingly opted for professionalism and civility on Tuesday. We didn’t see it on Wednesday.
The city of Biddeford should have a consistent policy on how funds are used by city departments.
When you are elected to public office, you ought to refrain from generalizations, especially when publicly discussing the men and women who serve your community every day to the best of their ability.
We ought to be rewarding our employees who present extra sources of revenue, increased efficiencies or cost savings, not shame or humiliate them in public.
Councilor Swanton owes Chief Beaupre a public apology, and the city council ought to take that $2,100 and direct it to bringing Chris Herren for a speaking engagement at Biddeford High School.
I have a friend — let’s call him Todd — who thinks that the city of Portland, Maine is so hip, so cool and oh so wonderful.
Todd fled the pace and grind of Boston in order to raise his family in place that is consistently ranked as one of the country’s most “livable” cities, whatever that means. Today, Todd has become one of Portland’s biggest fans.
I like Todd. He is a smart guy. He has a law degree. Generally speaking, Todd arrives at his conclusions following a painstaking and multi-layered process of analytical and critical thinking. Todd has jumped into Portland with both feet. He recently bought a home in North Deering. He is a civic volunteer. He is an under-40 professional with a beautiful wife, two small children and a promising life ahead of him.
I admire Todd, but I want to vomit every time he feels compelled to tell me how great it is to live, work and play in Portland.
I know what you’re thinking: Dude, you live in Biddeford. You ought to shut to eff up and call U-Haul before you start dissing Maine’s largest city.
Go ahead and laugh. I can handle it. It’s not exactly an original thought.
Before we proceed any further, let me assure you that I know a thing or two about the city of Portland. I have some street cred when it comes to discussing the city I call pretentious-ville, a city that so transparently and desperately wants to be a mini-Boston.
I’ve lived in a brownstone, I’ve lived in a ghetto
I lived in Portland before it was considered hip; before you thought it was actually possible to bump into Jack Kerouac’s ghost.
I worked in the kitchen at 39 Exchange Street, a restaurant that has since been replaced by a much-needed boutique store in the Old Port. I worked as a janitor at the McDonald’s that was located on the corner of Oak and Congress streets. I made pizzas at The Bag on Free Street. I also had a corner office across the street from Brian Boru.
I lived on “The Hill” (Vesper Street) and the West End (well, sort of the edge . .Walker Street) I lived on the fourth floor of the Trewlawny building and survived on Italian sandwiches from Joe’s Smoke Shop. I remember the State Theater when it showed pornos. Christ, I saw mainstream movies at the Fine Arts Cinema before it decided to give the State a run for its money with John Holmes flicks. I was thrown out of Horsefeathers.
I remember when Dewey’s was located on Fore Street; when DiMillo’s was just a hole in the wall on the other side of Commercial Street. I rented a room on Sherman Street. We used to call that neighborhood “the student slums.” Today, we call it “Parkside.” I lost my virginity on Alba Street in Deering Center. I got picked up by the police on Canco Road, and I was there when the cranes arrived at the Golden Triangle to begin construction of One City Center.
I ate mushrooms in the basement of a friend’s house on Spring Street and then swore I could see telephone poles melting on Winter Street. I worked third shift at the 7-11 on Congress Street; and passed out in the median of the Franklin Arterial. I shared an apartment with a gay roommate on Park Street. I lived on Peaks Island when the Portland ferry terminal was little more than a dilapidated building. I sold pipe, valves and fittings at W.L. Blake, an industrial supply wholesale distributor that is today the Old Port Sea Grill and up-scale office spaces.
I was evicted from an apartment on Preble Street; and fell madly in love with a girl who attended the Portland School of Art (today: Maine College of Art). I rode the escalators at Porteous, Mitchell and Braun. I ate scrambled eggs while hungover at Ye Olde Pancake Shoppe. I bumped into Sammy Hagar at the Sonesta Hotel, which quickly changed its name back to the Eastland.
I remember when WMGX had a studio on Cumberland Avenue and when Frank Fixaris announced high school sports scores on Channel 13 and Fred Nutter did televised editorials on Channel 6. I remember when you could get a great sandwich at Carbur’s or see the Kopterz play at Cayo’s.
Okay; you get the picture.
So, forgive me if I have a different perspective of Portland, Maine. Forgive me if I don’t buy into all the laddi-da crap about how wonderful and “livable” the city is. Forgive me for believing that Portland is the most self-absorbed and obnoxious of Maine’s 457 cities and towns. Livable? Tell that to the people living in my old apartment on the third-floor of a Greenleaf Street triple-decker. Take a walk down Valley Street at 2 a.m. on a Thursday and tell me all about “livable.”
Suffragette City
Ironically, voters in the same city where the Temperance movement got its beginnings recently approved a referendum that allows the use of limited amounts of marijuana.
Neal Dow, the father of Prohibition and a former Portland mayor, must be rolling in his grave.
The referendum’s success was a much celebrated event among the city’s uber liberal progressives who spend their days dreaming about being free of “the man” and his corporate control over their lives; while simultaneously devising new ways to control and restrict the lives of their neighbors with a mountain of nanny-state regulations, from outlawing the use of Styrofoam to forbidding soft drinks on school grounds.
Portland — a once proud, prosperous and industrious community that hosted the North Atlantic Fleet during WWII — has today become the capital of hypocrisy and self-absorption.
I have no problem with legalizing the use or possession of marijuana. I am a Libertarian. But I wonder how a city that wants to celebrate individualism and diversity over everything else can keep a straight face when explaining the tobacco smoking ordinance the city council approved earlier this year.
In a March 6, 2013 Portland Press Herald story, Portland Mayor Michael Brennan said the city’s tobacco ordinance was created to address a serious public health issue: second-hand smoke.
“Secondhand smoke is a dangerous toxin,” Brennan told the newspaper. “Whether it’s children on a swing set or joggers circling the Back Cove or someone walking their dog along the Eastern Prom, we need to make sure we are doing everything we can to reduce the exposure to such a serious health hazard.”
Sure, it’s hard to argue with Brennan on this point, but I wonder if he can answer my next question: Why does the ban also apply to electronic cigarettes, which emit only a water-based vapor while delivering nicotine to the user?
I’m a smoker, so I can’t hold my breath waiting for Brennan to answer the question, but it’s really quite simple: Even the appearance of smoking does not fit with the fluff and pompoms of Maine’s most “livable” city.
Hiding behind the pretense of a public health concern (what is the city doing to control automobile fumes that I am forced to inhale while walking through the Old Port?) is little more than a ruse. Smokers are the ugly people, the less-than people. The NASCAR-watchin’, beer drinkin’ types who probably buy their clothes at Wal-Mart. That doesn’t quite match the image, does it?
And if there’s one thing we know about Portland, it’s that image is everything.
So, go ahead, Portland . . . keep patting yourselves on your collective backs.
Me? I’ll take cities and towns like Lewiston, Rumford, Sanford or Biddeford every day of the week.
There is a right way to use social media in a campaign.
LESSONS IN MEDIOCRITY | OUTLAW JOURNALIST 