I also suck at football, basketball, hockey, golf, bowling or pretty much anything that involves hand-eye coordination.
Although publicly admitting that I am the last guy you want on your sports team does not threaten my masculinity, I do hesitate to offer the next line:
I don’t like sports. That, dear readers, is a much bigger threat to my masculinity. Do you have any idea how many Monday mornings I have had to bluff my way through the proverbial water-cooler conversation at the workplace?
Yeah, yeah that was a hell of a game last night; brutal interception. Tom Brady seemed a little off, don’t ya think? Sometimes, when I am deep in the midst of this dishonest parade of masculinity I scratch my balls for good measure and look around for a beer to swig.
The really sad part? I am the only man in my particular department. I work with a team comprised of all women. They all know much more about sports than me.
In fact, most of my gay friends are much better athletes and far more passionate about sports. Even they shun me when it comes to choosing sides for competition on the turf or court.
So it was almost ridiculous that the only “writing” job I could land when I returned to Maine in 1996 was a part-time sports reporter for the American Journal in Westbrook. How hard could it be, I reasoned. I needed the job, and I got my foot in the door with a newspaper near my home.
For the first time in my life, I started avidly reading the sports pages of other publications. I read everything that Tom Chard or Steve Solloway from the Portland Press Herald wrote, right down to their shopping lists. I subscribed to Sports Illustrated. I even tried watching ESPN but there was always the lure of some old Bette Davis movie on another channel.
But my masculinity was about to be redeemed. I was a sports writer. I should have no problems getting a date now, right? Not exactly.
That fantasy ended about six months later while conducting an interview with a girls’ softball coach. He told me that Heather struck out the side in the second inning. Struck out the side?
The coach had to explain what striking out the side means. That was it. I was done. I went to my editor (almost in tears). I can’t do this, I said.
My editor either took pity on me (or punished me) by re-assigning me to cover the general assignment news beat for the towns of Windham and Standish.
It wasn’t so bad. At least I didn’t have to go to any more football games. I no longer got paid to watch basketball tournaments. Instead, I had the pleasure of attending Zoning Board of Appeals meetings in Standish. I was in my zone (so to speak).
In today’s politically correct world, where self-esteem is more important than reality, even kids like me make the Little League team. Every player seems to get a trophy. We bend over backward to include everyone in everything. I’m not so sure that’s a good thing.
For three summers in a row, I tried out for Little League. For three years in a row, I was never included on the team. My neighborhood chums (Ricky Johnson, Scott Lettelier, Ron Mapes, Doug Murray et al) all made their respective teams: Maremont, Shaw’s, Hunt’s, etc.
Trust me. It felt awful. But is also served me well. I learned pretty early on to focus my efforts elsewhere. While Ricky and Scott were sweating it out on the diamond, I wrote my first book at age 10. I’m pretty sure I also illustrated that literary masterpiece, entitled “Hurricane,” a gripping, fast-paced story about a family that refuses to evacuate their home during a killer storm.
My parents both knew that I would never make the team, but they let me try. More importantly, they allowed me to fail. They allowed me to experience pain, rejection and humiliation; experience which came in pretty handy only a few years later when Cheryl Ridolfi actually laughed at me for asking her to “go out” with me.
Flash forward 25 years, and you find me married to a beautiful woman and “coaching” a T-ball team. One of the parents scolded me for congratulating my team on winning on our second game. “Randy, in T-Ball, we don’t keep score.”
My response? “Well, maybe you don’t keep score, but they do,” I said, pointing to the kids on the field.
Lessons about losing, rejection and coming in second place are hugely valuable. Let’s not rob our children of those wonderful educational opportunities.
Her essay in today’s Bangor Daily News is perhaps one of the clearest and most concise pieces that dares to tackle the soft and fuzzy slush associated with “politically correct” speech.
An excerpt:
Politically correct linguistic gymnastics is part of our everyday conversation. As panderers promote victimhood, multiculturalism and identity politics we’ve had to become excruciatingly careful how words trip off the tongue. It’s exhausting. After all, a little slip-up, and bam — you could find yourself on the unpleasant receiving end of a sermon, a scolding or even a lawsuit.
I remember it like it happened yesterday, but actually it took place a little more than two years ago.
I was standing in my back yard, practically screaming into my cell phone and more than annoyed with the obnoxious punk on the other end of the line.
I’ll get more into the substance of that conversation in just a bit, but here’s the kicker: the young man I was arguing with was incredibly mature and polite, best evidenced by how he responded to my venting anger about his arrogance.
“Mr. Seaver, I simply disagree with you,” he said more than once during that 15-minute call. He called me “Mr. Seaver,” a sign of respect offered by a much younger person. It was both jarring and nostalgic.
My parents insisted that we always refer to adults (even their close friends who frequently visited our home) as Mr. So and So or Mrs. Smith . . .
It’s been almost 40 years since I was in the fifth grade, but I still call my fifth-grade teacher Mr. Flaherty, despite the fact that he is a Facebook friend. I know many of my peers do the same. It’s how we were raised. You know, back in the good ol’ days.
The good ol’ days weren’t always so good
Lately, I have heard what appears to be an increasing amount of complaints about Generation Y, those born between 1982 and the early 2000’s.
Of course, the criticism reached a crescendo recently in reaction to the performance by Miley Cyrus at this year’s MTV awards show.
A few days later, a good friend shared a link on his Facebook page about Generation Y, pointing to a familiar narrative about what is supposedly the most self-absorbed, narcissistic and generally lazy generation of all time.
It occurs to me that sociology experts said a lot of the same things about the generations that preceded those Generation Y twerps, Gen X and the so-called Baby Boomers (those born in the years following World War II).
In fact, no one seems to enjoy writing about and analyzing the societal impacts of Baby Boomers quite so much as other Baby Boomers.
For disclosure, I was born at the tail end of the Baby Boomer generation; and I often wonder about the real differences between Baby Boomers, Gen X, Generation Y or even the group that Tom Brokaw so famously dubbed “The Greatest Generation.”
With all due respect to Mr. Brokaw and to those amazing people he wrote about, I think we too often view history through rose-colored glasses.
Tomorrow’s not as bad as it seems
Kids today could not survive in the world I grew up in. Kids today are so disrespectful. Parents no longer teach manners. Kids today are so lazy, self-absorbed, belligerent, spoiled, blah, blah, blah . . .
Sure, I have caught myself yelling at a teenager to “turn down that awful music!” And every time I see a boy with his blue jeans hanging on the bottom of his ass, I have to work really hard not to slap him up side the head.
Within five or ten years, there is absolutely no doubt that I will be screaming: “Hey, kid! Get off my lawn!”
But are kids today really worse than they were in the 1980s, the 1960s, the ’50s, during the Depression . . .?
It seem as if many of us are more than happy to be armchair sociologists. We extract an abundance of anecdotal evidence over time, recognize a trend and react with a combination of resentment, anger, nostalgia and a sense that the world is going to hell in a handbasket.
What we see scares the living shit out of us. These kids are about to inherit the reins. Some day, they will be running this country. We need to do something, and quick.
Not necessarily.
Exception to the rule?
Remember that young punk I was talking to a couple of years ago? His name is Ryan Gavin, and he came to my house on Sunday to interview me for a radio show he produces in Bangor.
A little more than two years ago this young punk took out nomination papers to be the mayor of Biddeford. Other than serving as an appointed student representative on the school board, this punk had zero political experience. He never owned a company or worked to support a family. He was a college student who had yet to finish his educational career. How friggin’ arrogant can one person be? How could he possibly think he was ready to lead an entire city or oversee development of a mult-million dollar budget?
But I was annoyed because I was supporting another candidate. I knew the perils of what could happen in a three-way race. I wanted a two-way race: my guy versus the incumbent, a clear, easy and obvious choice for every voter, regardless of their affiliation. A third candidate, I reasoned, would only muddy the waters. This arrogant punk was about to rain on my parade.
Other volunteers on Alan Casavant’s campaign thought I was overreacting. They did not see this young punk as a threat. I knew they were wrong. Ryan Gavin was no ordinary kid. Eventually, he dropped out of the race and joined our team, heading up the campaign’s social media efforts.
When he came to my house, he was prepared for the interview. He had done his research. He asked tough questions, and caught me off guard more than once. Just the two of us in that room. One of us was a pro, but it was not me.
So here’s my own anecdotal observation. There are just as many Richie Cunninghams in the world today as there were in the 1950s. There are also just as many Fonzies, and Fonzie was actually (beneath the surface) a pretty good kid.
Ryan Gavin is much more Richie Cunningham than Fonzie. He was a stand-out student at Biddeford High School. He made older people feel comfortable. He is articulate, polite and wears his jeans on his hips. My wife served with him on the school board and often remarked about how we was always the most prepared, the most earnest of school board members.
In January 2009, Ryan founded WildbrookMedia, and now serves as its executive director, overseeing the creative process for some of the most recognizable content on the air and on social media in Maine. In 2008, Ryan attended the American Legion’s Dirigo Boys State program, and joined the staff in 2009, currently serving as Media Coordinator. Ryan ran for Mayor of Biddeford in 2011, before endorsing Mayor Alan Casavant in the general election. He represented Maine at the 47th Annual United States Senate Youth Program, and is a member of the United States Senate Youth Alumni Association.
In summary, this young punk offers a lot of hope for the future, and so do the majority of his peers. It’s just that we spend a lot more time talking about people like Miley Cyrus instead of people like Ryan Gavin.
Sure, this is just one piece of anecdotal evidence, but you don’t have to look very far to figure out that the only thing us old farts have to fear is fear itself.
I don’t always agree with Oralndo Delogu, but when I do – – – I shout it from the rooftop.
Delogu is an emeritus professor of law at the University of Maine School of Law and a well-known policy wonk. He is also a frequent contributor to the Forecaster group of weekly newspapers in southern Maine.
With the increasingly controversial Affordable Health Care law looming on the near horizon, Delogu’s most recent column raises a point that has been buried beneath the mounds of political rhetoric and stunning complexity of the new law.
In a nutshell, how do we make health care more “affordable” without addressing the skyrocketing cost of healthcare — even in the non-profit sector?
The first half of Delogu’s column focuses upon the fading memories of the Occupy Wall Street movement and all of its garbled rage toward corporate profits. But the second half focuses like a laser on the growing income disparity found in one of Maine’s largest non-profit health care providers. Delogu shares data he uncovered by Mainebiz about Maine Medical Center.
The state’s largest hospital, which is also Maine’s fourth largest employer, recently announced that it would be cutting more than 200 jobs. The hospital blames the usual suspects: uncompensated care, lower insurance payouts, etc.
But Delogu sniffs something else in the air.
According to Mainebiz, Maine Medical Center is the second largest nonprofit corporate entity in the state, with more than $1 billion in assets.
But here’s where it gets interesting: Of the 27 highest paid health-care professionals in the state, 25 were associated with a “non-profit” hospital and seven of them are or were employed by Maine Med.
Delogu writes: “Based on 2010 salary data, the average annual salary of these seven physicians or executives was just under $1 million . . . one might ask how many hundreds of employees (at these 13 Maine non-profit hospitals) have annual salaries between $636,000 and say, $300,000? “
Although there is plenty of evidence to suggest some outrageous behavior in the private-sector world of corporate America, it’s refreshing to see some analysis that is willing to examine other pieces of the puzzle.
Every voice matters. Even the voices that have a hard time crafting their message.
As my hometown of Biddeford braces for another political season, one of our city’s mayoral candidates has opted to take his message to cyberspace by starting a blog. The blog seems intended as a platform to champion the plight of the under-served and to highlight this candidate’s economic development plan: a push to “legalize weed.”
If nothing else, Karl Reed, Jr. has a unique strategy for ousting the incumbent:
He’s running a write-in campaign, otherwise known as a sure-fire way to place fourth in a three-way race.
Okay, so once you get past the horrid sentence structure, the author’s inability to spell or the grammar that would cause a third-grade English teacher to set herself on fire, Reed’s intent should not be ignored by those who serve their community. See: Game Over, The Rent is too high.
In his initial post, Reed paints a sympathetic tale of those who are often ignored at the monthly Rotary Club breakfast meeting or the Chamber of Commerce “after hours” event.
He is speaking from the heart, a place more politicians should visit. He is a self-appointed champion of those without a voice, those who are too often discounted . . . those whom many of us ignore blissfully.
Karl worries that our public education system too often fails the kids on the edge of society. He worries that the people he encounters every day on the street may no longer be able to cope under the weight of a dismal economy and a lack of jobs.
These are important messages, an amateur-hour version of the Occupy Wall Street theme: full of sound and fury, completely aimless and an unyielding rage against “the man.”
It’s too easy to ignore it unless you have lived it.
Despite my sympathy and appreciation of his perspective, his rage and angst give me serious pause. Thus, I have no problem confessing that I will sleep better tonight, knowing his name will not be on the ballot in November.
It’s taken almost five years to get to this point – – and try as I might — I can no longer ignore the impact that MS is taking on her body, her spirit.
Worse yet, there is not a goddamn thing I can do to stop it or even slow its progress.
Against this disease, I am useless.
Despite the lies that the boys and I tell ourselves, despite all the distractions: the self-inflicted chaos, the thousand other natural shocks that flesh is heir to, the disease has a one-up on us tough guys.
Every day, in just the smallest, almost invisible of ways, I lose a tiny sliver of the woman I adore; and she loses little pieces of a still vibrant and blessed life during a steady creep toward loss of mobility.
By now you think I would have developed better coping skills, that I would be better equipped to face the reality. You would be wrong.
I talk about it because it warrants conversation. Because I have to publicly own my shitty performance in dealing with my wife’s MS.
Laura is stronger, smarter and far more courageous than me. She once jumped out an airplane. She is more spontaneous, easier to get along with: daring, loving, funny and kind.
Some days are better than others. Yesterday was a good day: Yeah, she bought the cane but we also laughed during a wonderful dinner with friends in Portland.
We all have our crosses to bear. I just wish sometimes I could ignore it a little while longer.
To learn more about MS and how you can help fight the disease, check this.
Spend just a few moments on the blogosphere and you will find a lot of stories just like mine.
On Google, Facebook and Twitter, these dark tales of woe, deceit and theft abound.
But my story is a tad different. And this, my friends, is the first warning shot across the bow of a corporate giant aircraft carrier that likely will pay little attention.
I am talking about AT&T, one of the nation’s largest and most well-known corporations.
AT&T (NYSE:T) is a Fortune 500 company and of the 30 stocks that make up the Dow Jones Industrial Average. Their reported consolidated revenue for the 2011 reporting period was $126.7 billion. Randall L. Stephenson is the chairman and CEO of AT&T.
So now you know what I’m up against, but don’t count me out just yet.
Allow me to back up and offer some context.
I have been a loyal AT&T customer for more than 7 years. I have a Family Plan that is also used by my wife and two teenage step-sons. I have a data bundle, unlimited text and 1,500 minutes of monthly talk time. My average monthly bill runs approximately $200 every month.
I have upgraded my phones over the last few years. I have never said an unkind word about AT&T in the public realm, despite their rather dismal coverage and the fact that my cell phone is essentially useless in my own home. But I am hooked into everlasting contracts, and until now it seemed like a giant pain in the ass to leave.
But then this happened:
Last evening, I received an automated call from AT&T, suggesting that I should consider a new plan. Curious, I went to view my account online and almost had a massive coronary. According to AT&T, I owe them $1,016.21.
I spoke with at least two representatives, including a young man named Rico, a “customer satisfaction specialists,” who didn’t seem to know the first thing about customers or service. In summary, AT&T refused to budge.
Somehow, I was able to get Rico to set down his scripted talking points and listen to me for just a few seconds. And this is what I said.
I don’t know who you are. I don’t know what you want. If you are looking for me to pay this bill, I can tell you I don’t have money. But what I do have are a very particular set of skills; skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you. If you adjust this bill now, that’ll be the end of it. I will not look for you, I will not pursue you. But if you don’t, I will look for you, I will find you, and I will kill your company’s reputation.
I am going to haunt AT&T’s Facebook page and chase them on Twitter. I am going to call their customer service line every day, multiple times a day. I am going to shout my story from the rooftops, call every member of the Legislature, file formal complaints and talk to my friends in the media.
I am going to buy AT&T stock so that I can participate in shareholder conference calls and stay updated on their corporate affairs. I am going to e-mail Randall Stephenson daily, sometimes two or three times a day. I am going to create a Facebook page and make sure that Verizon, Sprint and T-Mobile know about it.
Strangely, there are several fun URL domains available, i.e. attsukz.com; attblows.com, etc.
But in the end, AT&T has me over a barrel. They can impact my credit report if I don’t pay on time. They have me locked in a contract.
But I am motivated, and unlike the foolishness and aimlessness of the Occupy fiasco, I have a clear objective: AT&T is going to spend at least 10 times more than what they are charging me for international calls that I never made.
Companies like AT&T spend millions every year to attract customers in a competitive market. They spend millions more on lobbyists and on PR professionals like me.
Go ahead and laugh, who could blame you? But consider this: social media helped bring down the Egyptian president. Lech Walesa, a Polish Factory worker, brought the Soviet Union to its knees in a matter of weeks. David beat Goliath and elephants are terrified of mice.
I invite you to join me in my crusade. I am going to have fun, and you can follow my progress with regular updates here.
Meanwhile, I will wrap it up here with a wonderful quote from Margaret Mead: “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed, citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”
Hey, AT&T: can you hear me now? You guys may want to rethink possible.
AT&T customers are welcome to join the fight. Tell me your story here
Don’t laugh. It’s now a question being asked in Somerville, Mass., another city that struggled to overcome negative stereotypes, according to a story from the Boston Globe.
After almost three decades working the counter at Capone Foods in Somerville’s Union Square,
Albert Capone has become a stranger in his own city.
“It’s gone from townies to hipsters,” he said on a recent evening. “The hats, the tattoos, the tight skinny jeans — on the guys. It’s like they’re trying to out-hip each other.”
Once again, we are on the verge of another election cycle in the fair city of Biddeford, where local political maneuvering is a blood sport.
According to the City Clerk’s office, some very familiar faces have taken out nomination papers for a variety of elected positions.
But wait, that’s not all.
Once again, a few dime-store strategists are enjoying some late summer shenanigans: several candidates have taken out various and multiple forms of nominating papers. One candidate, in fact, can’t decide if he should run for an “at-large” seat on the council, run as a candidate for his own Ward or serve on the school committee.
This strategy is meant to confuse the opposition and observers like yours truly. They will wait until the final moments before the filing deadline to turn in their papers, hopefully scaring off would-be challengers and leaving them with few options at the filing deadline.
Of course, former Mayor Joanne Twomey is looking for revenge. After being trounced two years ago by Mayor Alan Casavant (68-32 percent), Twomey is determined to get her old seat back.
Despite also losing a Democratic primary bid last year to replace State Rep. Paulette Beaudoin, Twomey is convinced that she is somehow still relevant.
She’ll have a hard time beating her last showing of 38 percent, especially if some of the declared mayoral candidates follow-through with filing their 125 signatures of registered voters.
Joining Twomey in the race for the mayor’s seat is former city councilor Perry Aberle and Karl Reed, Jr. Casavant is expected to take out nomination papers later today.
Thus, in a four-way race, Casavant would need to lose big numbers, which will then likely be divided by his three challengers.
But Twomey isn’t the only familiar face looking for a comeback.
Former city councilor and one-time mayoral candidate Marc Lessard is apparently thinking about returning to the council either for an at-large seat or representing Ward 6. Lessard, an early favorite in the 2003 mayoral race, ended up last in that three-way race. He hasn’t been heard from since.
Until now.
But wait, there’s still more.
Former city councilor Ron Peaker, who also serves as commander-in-chief of Peakers Squeakers ( a vocal group of three old white guys from coastal Biddeford who consistently oppose the school budget), is also thinking about a return to either the council or the school committee.
Peaker is joined by his pal, John McCurry, another former city councilor who was aligned with Lessard, Peaker and former mayor James Grattelo back in the good ol’ days. McCurry is considering a run for either the council or the school committee.
On the other side of the political spectrum, Jim Emerson, a former councilor and school committee member, is thinking about an at-large seat or a return to the school committee. Current councilors Mike Swanton, David Bourque, Bobby Mills, Brad Cote, Rick Laverierre and Mike Ready all seem dumb enough to endure another two years on the council.
But back to the mayor’s race for a second. Does Perry Aberle, a one-time staunch Twomey supporter, stand a shot?
Sure, anything is possible. The sun may also not rise in the east tomorrow, but don’t bet on it. Aberele got slapped hard when he tried a bid to replace Paulette Beaudoin last year.
What about Karl Reed, Junior? Little Karl will have to do a lot better than his old man did in 2009. Big Karl sank like an anchor in his first local political bid, a four-way mayoral race in 2009 (the last time Twomey won an election).
Big Karl earned 170 votes. Sounds impressive, right? Wrong.
That is 170 votes out of 7,876 votes cast. I guess you could feel good about less than 3 percent, unless you consider that nearly four times as many people left the ballot blank on the mayor’s race.
Maybe, Little Karl will bring some respect back to the family, but again . . . don’t bet on it. If he breaks the 10 percent mark, I’ll be surprised and Twomey will be in trouble.
Updated for corrections, August 21. Apologies to the city clerk’s office.
Which Hollywood film better describes the city of Biddeford’s ongoing struggle with issues such as “the creative economy,” “cultural diversity” and elitism: Mr. Holland’s Opus or Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome?
In Thunderdome, a community barely surviving in a post-apocalyptic world is wary of strangers and outsiders. To avoid another global war, all disputes are settled by a bizarre cage match contest in which “two men enter and one man leaves,” a fight to the death.
By contrast, the 1995 film Mr. Holland’s Opus examines the career of a musician who reluctantly becomes a high school music teacher. Mr. Holland becomes passionate about exposing his students to the value of music and arts, but a political reality sets in near the end of the film.
The school board is struggling with its budget. A decision is made to eliminate the arts and music programs in order to preserve the “more important” functions of teaching reading and writing. Mr. Holland tries to fight back. “if you keep cutting arts and music, pretty soon these kids will have nothing to write or read about,” he quips on the day he receives his pink slip.
Take me to the other side
Sarah Beanland is a Massachusetts resident who summers in Biddeford Pool. I met her and her husband last week on Main Street. They had just purchased a couple of paintings.
Renee and Jim O’Neil: Stop complaining and get involved.
She was puzzled and dismayed to learn that some community members have reacted negatively to a recent push for the creation of a creative economy in the downtown area. Although she quickly conceded that she did not have the benefit of a local, historical perspective, she was forceful in her opinion about the benefits of a creative economy and how it can elevate any community.
“Arts and education are the great equalizers,” she said. “But we must make sure that everyone has access to those things. Access to both arts and education is the key.”
Renee O’Neil, a lifelong resident, has been a leading downtown advocate for more than two decades. O’Neil championed and led the efforts to restore and renovate City Theater, a historic Opera House on Main Street.
“I don’t get why anyone would feel offended in any way by efforts to build a creative economy here,” she said, conceding that there has been a historical resentment about the perceptions of class warfare in Biddeford.
Renee said a lot of people told her she would never be able to generate enough community interest to successfully renovate City Theater. She proved those detractors wrong, and today the facility serves a broad array of community functions, ranging from theatrical functions to a venue for community meetings and events.
Renee recalls growing up in a working-class family and says community concerns about elitism are becoming a distant part of Biddeford’s past. “There was a time and a place when that all may have been true, but not now,” she said. “I guess I don’t see the social boundaries because I have always crossed them. My dad would talk to everyone. There was never this idea that we weren’t all part of the same community.”
Renee’s husband, Jim agrees. “All this talk about elitism seems strange,” he said. “People were not happy with the fact that nothing much was happening [in downtown,]” he said. “Now something positive is happening, and these very same people are upset. Go figure.”
For many years, Renee and Jim operated a small and popular convenience store near the western border of the city. They said they learned much from that experience, including how initial impressions are often inaccurate and that all people share much more in common than the things that seem to divide them.
“People would come into the store, and when we took the time to know them, we found ourselves connecting on a personal level,” Renee said. “Too many people don’t seem to take the time to listen or consider things beyond their own comfort level.”
The Rubberband Man
Pete Lamontagne examines a historical photo of mill workers who toiled in the same buildings where he and his father worked.
If any one person is revered as the spokesman of Biddeford’s working class population, it is George “Pete” Lamontagne, a former city councilor, mill worker and former president of the labor union that represented the city’s mill workers back when the mills were producing blankets and other textiles.
Today, those same mill buildings that once drove Biddeford’s economy and provided steady employment for generations of immigrants are being renovated and converted into numerous uses, from up-scale housing units to a small business incubator that features dozens of small businesses.
There is even talk of a hotel, a conference center and many other exciting opportunities for a community that has struggled to move beyond its mill town heritage.
As the renovation and reinvigoration of the formerly dormant mill complex continues, a new tension has been created. That renovation process is primarily being led by “people from away,” the folks I describe as Biddeford’s most recent immigrants.
“Oh yes, there is elitism in Biddeford,” Lamontagne said in his usual soft-spoken style. “But it goes both ways and it’s more often about perception than reality.”
Lamontagne serves as a self-appointed emissary between the two sides of this latest clash of personalities and opinions in Biddeford. He was co-curator of a photo exhibit that was displayed at the Engine Gallery on Main Street. That exhibit, The Way We Were, focused on Biddeford’s cultural history.
The mostly black and white images from The Way We Were exhibit were collected from a variety of sources, mostly from individual community members who were eager to share their memories and heritage.
But not everyone appreciated Lamontagne’s efforts to bridge the gap between old and new ideas for Biddeford’s future and its identity.
“A lot of people questioned why I was getting involved,” he recalled. “A lot of people said, ‘Pete, how can someone like you spend so much time with those people.'”
Lamontagne says he understands the mistrust and suspicion raised by some of his peers. He agrees with my assertion that the passionate push for developing a creative economy in downtown Biddeford sometimes seems too aggressive without fully understanding the city’s history.
Together, Lamontagne and I recant a long litany of real elitism and class warfare in Biddeford: Attempts by coastal neighborhoods to secede from the city in the 1990s; a move to ban public use of the beaches at Biddeford Pool and Fortunes Rocks in the 1970s, and of course, the long history of enduring the weight of criticisms from those who live across the river in Saco.
But we also talked about more recent examples, including the tensions and controversy created by the opening of Fatboys Saloon and the 800-pound gorilla issue that created an even deeper divide in the community: a plan in 2011 to open a casino-resort complex on the outskirts of the city.
“No doubt, the casino issue left a bad taste in a lot of mouths,” Lamontagne said. “On one side were supporters, many of whom saw the casino as a way to create much-needed blue-collar jobs and put Biddeford back on the map. On the other side were people who worried about the image of a casino, about how it would impact our quality of place.”
Lamontagne, like most Biddeford voters, supported the idea of opening a casino. But Maine voters rejected the city’s proposal, despite narrowly approving a similar facility in Oxford the year before.
“A lot of people were upset and are still upset about that,” Lamontagne said. “We’ve lost a lot of our traditional jobs, and people are worried. Many of them don’t see how art exhibits and music performances will help us get back to where we were.”
City Councilor Roch Angers agrees with Lamontagne. Angers grew up in a working-class neighborhood on South Street, where his family operated a small grocery store.
“You know what I hate?” Angers said. “The word Biddo. That’s not the name of our community. We have three consonants in the name of our city. Deal with it and show some respect for our heritage.”
Fatboy Slim
David Bourque: A man and his bar
Biddeford City Councilor David Bourque found himself at the center of a storming controversy earlier this year.
His plan to open Fatboys Saloon on Main Street erupted into a full-scale public policy nightmare that once again raised concerns about elitism and a lingering sense of class warfare.
When the Heart of Biddeford, a non-profit downtown business organization, raised their concerns during a city council meeting, former Biddeford mayor Joanne Twomey came off the ropes swinging in defense of Bourque and his proposed establishment. Local newspapers seized on the story.
Heart of Biddeford representatives said they only asked the council whether downtown was the appropriate location for a “biker bar” and whether it met the vision of a Downtown Master Plan that was developed two years prior and included input from a broad array of stakeholders. They worried about noise and impacts to nearby downtown residents and plans to build a hotel nearby.
But Twomey wasn’t buying what the Heart of Biddeford was selling. She described the organization and some of its members as “elitists.” She was full of sound and fury, outraged that a working class community would look down their noses at a bar marketed toward working class citizens.
The liquor license was approved and almost four months have passed since. Twomey has taken out nomination papers and apparently is planning another run at the seat she lost two years ago.
Although the dust may have settled in the Fatboys debate, Bourque said he was taken aback by the reaction to his business.
“I don’t get it,” he told me during a telephone interview. “It came out of nowhere. It was like I was guilty until I could prove myself innocent.”
While Heart of Biddeford members said Bourque should have approached them before aggressively promoting the pending opening of Fatboys, Bourque says no one from the Heart of Biddeford approached him to learn about his vision or plans.
“It was an unprecedented attack on my reputation,” Bourque said. “People should know who I am. I have been on the city council for four years, and I’ve been doing business in this city for more than 30 years.”
Bourque was an outspoken supporter of the casino. Many Heart of Biddeford members opposed the idea of a casino. Was this payback, I asked.
“I don’t think so,” Bourque responded. “I think people just jumped to conclusions. I believe in what the Heart of Biddeford is doing. They deserve a lot of kudos for what they are doing and trying to get done in Biddeford.”
Bourque defended the pre-opening promotion of Fatboys, including a controversial Facebook page that displayed young women in tight-fitting clothes and marketing geared toward bikers. “Sure, we wanted to create a buzz,: he said. “It’s alcohol and female bartenders. What’s wrong with that?”
But some say Bourque simply poked a tiger with a stick by being as provocative as possible during the pre-opening promotion. He should not be surprised that the tiger snarled.
Bourque said he has moved beyond the controversy. He also says he is planning to join the Heart of Biddeford and run for another term on the city council. “I was so humbled during that process,” he said. “I heard from so many people who supported me…people I have not seen or heard from in years. It was very encouraging.”
The mayor weighs in
Mayor Alan Casavant (Sun Chronicle photo)
Before his retirement in 2010, Mayor Alan Casavant spent 35 years teaching American Studies and Psychology at Biddeford High School.
He describes this conversation about elitism, cultural diversity and the creative economy as “fascinating stuff that has always intrigued me.”
“I think we can all be somewhat elitist at times,” he said. “But it’s sort of like racism in that it’s not an easy or comfortable topic for a lot of people.”
Throughout his first term as Biddeford’s mayor, Casavant has consistently pushed for Biddeford to move beyond its own negativity and self-imposed inferiority complex. “Yes, we were a mill town,” he says. “But we are no longer a mill town and we simply must acknowledge that new reality as we all work toward repositioning ourselves for the future.”
Casavant said cultural identity is important, but it should not become a wedge that prevents collaboration between those with different perspectives. “There’s room for everyone in Biddeford,” he says. “We all have a role to play. The question becomes who among us is willing to step up? You can’t just sit back and complain. We all need to look for solutions.”
But Casavant acknowledges that his vision is difficult for some people to embrace. “We are all — to varying degrees — uncomfortable with change, but change is the only constant thing in our lives.”
The mayor understands and empathizes with those who are upset that there is push to transform LaKermesse, the city’s annual Franco American festival, into a celebration of multi-cultural diversity.
Casavant has also heard elitism used as a weapon in other policy debates, including ongoing debate about the city’s municipal airport and accusations that it’s nothing more than “an exclusive country club for rich out-of-towners.”
“I think both sides get too defensive when we attempt to discuss these issues,” Casavant said. “I think we would all be well-served by committing even further to understanding and appreciating different points of view.”
Perception or reality?
Has a sense of cultural elitism taken hold in downtown Biddeford, where a push for creative economy is brushing up against those hoping for more traditional economic development?
Vassie Fowler, a downtown business owner, does not hesitate with her answer. “You betcha.”
In addition to owning and operating Union House Pub and Pizza with her husband Jack, Vassie also runs a catering service that has worked closely with the Heart of Biddeford and the Engine gallery. She was raised by a family of second-generation immigrants from Greece: the Ladakakos family, best known for their outstanding, downtown Italian sandwich shop, George’s Sandwich Shop.
Union House is one of the many small businesses thriving in the renovated North Dam mill building that was redeveloped by Doug Sanford.
Vassie says she is happy that her business can simultaneously be part of Biddeford’s new and old narrative. A pizza pub located in a renovated mill building, a business name that pays homage to the city’s past.
But she also says tension between those pushing for a creative economy and those who want more traditional development is real.
“It feels like you have to be loyal to just one side, and that’s just ridiculous,” she responded in an e-mail. “You can be embraced but then shunned. Like you’re either with us or against us; you’re either part of the clique and follow our rules or you’re not. Give me a break.”
Fowler says there is certainly room for a creative economy in Biddeford, but it should not be the sole focus.
“Biddeford will never improve or grow unless we are honest with who or what we are,” she added. “Flower pots and a fresh coat of paint can not change who we are as a community: the good, the bad and the ugly.”
I also suck at football, basketball, hockey, golf, bowling or pretty much anything that involves hand-eye coordination.
LESSONS IN MEDIOCRITY | OUTLAW JOURNALIST 