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Commentary that has not been published elsewhere.

Dr. Ali Ahmida

~ Randy Seaver ~ Leave a comment

Just a few months after the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks, Ahmida discusses what it’s like to be a Muslim and an American.

Dr. Ali Ahmida sees himself as a bridge builder. As the chair of the Department of Political Science at the University of New England, Ahmida weaves a globalized, multi-cultural view into his classes, asking his students to see the similarities, rather than the differences in people of different cultures.

“I consider myself a bridge builder,” Ahmida said. “I am a Muslim and an American, I am both, and I look for the similarities in people. I think it’s unfortunate that we are taught to first see the differences because there are so many things that bind us together.”

The founder of UNE’s political science department, Ahmida was honored this year as the 17th recipient of the Kenneally Cup, an annual award given to one of the school’s faculty or staff members for distinguished academic service.

Ahmida is proud of the silver-plated award that sits on a shelf in his small office on the third floor of Marcil Hall. “Look at it,” he points. “It looks like the Stanley Cup.” But the award is only a small part of his success, Ahmida says. In large part, he credits UNE for having the vision to strengthen its humanities programs and for allowing its faculty the flexibility necessary to be innovative in their teaching approaches.

“UNE has a nice, civil atmosphere,” says Ahmida, relaxing in front of a window that overlooks an easterly portion of the school’s Biddeford Campus near the lower end of the SacoRiver. “You don’t find the elitism here that you do at other schools. We have great potential, and we’re not hampered by an overbearing bureaucracy. UNE trusted my knowledge to build a program. ”

Ahmida teaches several undergraduate courses at the university, ranging from Globalization: Origins, Cultures and Politics to European Fascism and Egypt through the Eyes of Mahfouz.

 In all of his classes, Ahmida says, students can expect to work hard and have their traditional viewpoints challenged.

 An opportunity to learn

Raised in a small town in southern Libya, Ahmida was a voracious reader and an outstanding scholar. Shortly after graduating from high school, he earned a scholarship to study at CairoUniversity in Egypt.

“That was quite an experience,” he laughed. “It’s like taking a kid from Saco and sending him to New York City.” Although his time in Cairo was troubled; he was labeled a student activist and blacklisted by the government, he was able to earn a bachelor’s degree and a small scholarship to further his education in the United States.

Ahmida says his time in Cairo allowed him to overcome his “parochialized view of the world” and exposed to him to many new veins of thought and culture.

“I read many American novels,” he said. “I watched American movies and listened to American music, but it wasn’t an easy choice to leave. My family was still in Libya, but I was becoming a problem for them. It wasn’t an easy decision. They talk here about Catholic guilt and Jewish guilt, but believe me — Muslim guilt is much worse.”

Upon arriving in the United States, Ahmida began his graduate work at the University of Washington in Seattle. “I told my father that God needed to fix the roof here,” he laughs. “Because it was always leaking.”

Part of a community

Today, Ahmida and his wife, Beth Flora, a former Olympic figure skater, are raising their children in Saco, where he says the community has become an integral part of his life.

“This community has been very good to us,” Ahmida says. “It was tough in the beginning because I felt as if we were starting from scratch. It’s true what they say; it takes New Englanders a while to open up, but once they do the process is over and you’re accepted.”

Until it was destroyed by fire last month, Ahmida was a regular at the Lily Moon Café in Pepperell Square. “I feel very much a part of this community,” he said.

But on Sept. 11, 2001, Ali Ahmida’s sense of security and acceptance in his adopted hometown seemed to shatter, if only briefly. While many Muslims around the country were taunted, beaten and ostracized in the days and weeks following the terrorist attacks on New York and Washington, D.C, Ahmida’s life seemed to stay on track.

Only a few days after the attacks, Ahmida found himself grocery shopping at Hannaford in Saco — and he’ll never forget the face he saw staring back at him.

“It never happened to me in Maine before,” Ahmida explained. “Sure, people have gazed at me, but I always chalked that up to curiosity. They were probably trying to figure out my nationality . . . is he Muslim? An Indian? An African? But this one man was looking at me in a very nasty way. It really bothered me, and I was unable to finish my shopping because I was so shaken.”

Ahmida, who is constantly traveling these days to lecture in Rome, Canada and Africa, said he fully supports stepped-up security efforts at U.S. airports and other anti-terrorist measures.

“The terrorists were nothing but ignorant bigots,” Ahmida said. “They couldn’t control their hatred or find a point of dialogue to discuss their grievances. For the vast and overwhelming majority of Muslims, that was a day when their religion was hijacked from them.”

In his classes, Ahmida teaches his students about humanity’s common threads: the struggles of class, the pressures of family life and about the internal battles with one’s own ego. “My courses are not conventional,” he said. “I want to push my students forward into a new way of thinking. To be exposed to a larger world view.”

As part of that mission, Ahmida established UNE’s Core Connections program that has attracted dozens of notable guest speakers, such as feminist Betty Friedan, to the school’s Biddeford campus.

“It’s all about expanding our learning horizons,” Ahmida says. “I am building the bridges. It’s up to my students to cross them.”

Takin’ Care of Business

~ Randy Seaver ~ 1 Comment

This is the final installment of the five-part Biddeford After Dark Series I wrote for the Biddeford Saco Courier in October 2001. This installment focuses on third-shift workers in downtown Biddeford.

The city’s streets are unearthly quiet during the pre-dawn darkness. Save for the steady stream of cars on the turnpike, and the occasional customer at Dunkin’ Donuts — there is little activity taking place at 3:40 a.m. on Sunday.

I traverse crooked and uneven sidewalks, noticing the patch jobs and the crumbling pieces of concrete. And I wonder who walked these streets before. Not before the sun set today, but before the sun set more than 100 years ago.

How much different was Biddeford after dark back then? What happened during the night when the city was a bustling hub of commerce in post-Civil War southern Maine?

As I walk along Lincoln Street — past a tired wrought-iron fence that is leaning and lurching in places — I can almost hear the ghosts of the past. They call to each other, unloading bales of cotton, smoking cigarettes and wiping the sweat from their brows.

I can almost see the women lined along the mill’s wooden floors, carefully inspecting the weaving process on the giant iron looms that were manufactured by the Saco-Lowell shops. There is the sound of steam and the rhythms of belt-driven engines roaring along the banks of the Saco River. The smell of gas lamps and late autumn winds flutters and hovers over the city.

During the daytime of that yesteryear, I see children playing on the cannon that faces City Hall from across the street. I think of old politicians and of the back-door deals they struck. The river may have provided the power, but the energy came from the workers. The men unloading hides at the tannery. Driving carriages and loading trains; they kept the city moving and the bankers happy.

But the night, quiet as it may seem, is not only the playground of reminiscent spirits and tortured souls. The night also belongs to the living. The living who work. The men and women who work to keep living.

Welcome back to Biddeford After Dark.

Time to make the donuts —

Joe Duran arrives to work each day at approximately 3:30 p.m. He punches a time card and then ties an apron around his back. The knot is pulled tight.

For Duran, 37, it’s time to make the donuts, and he settles into a familiar rhythm, knowing that he has to mix enough dough in order to make more than 2,800 donuts.

Joe is a baker for Dunkin’ Donuts and tonight — throughout the next eight or nine hours — he will make enough donuts to satisfy the morning rush of bleary-eyed customers at each of his company’s two Biddeford locations.

“I’d rather work days,” Duran admits quickly, pausing from his routine for a short break, his hands covered with flour. “I have a wife and three kids. I think I could have a better life if I worked when most other people are working.”

Being a night baker at Dunkin’ Donuts is not Duran’s only job, however. Tonight, shortly after midnight, Duran will make his way to his Saco home and sleep for only a few hours. The alarm clock will ring, and Duran will rise, shower and head back to work. This time, for his day job — as a mover. Sometimes, in fact, Duran works at his day job right up to the time when he needs to arrive at his night job.

“This can be a pretty stressful job,” he says, leaning against a screen door in the back of the restaurant. “But I’ve been doing it for a while, and I can get done what I need to do pretty quickly. I’m faster than a lot of the other guys.”

Some donuts are easier to prepare than others, Duran explains. For example, the blueberry donuts get done pretty easily. There is no creme filling. It’s simply a matter of mixing the dough, cutting the donuts, proofing the product in a vertical steam proofer, which helps the yeast to rise and then taking the donuts to the fryers. A few minutes of cooling, and those donuts are finished.

Now, it’s time for the next batch.

“Usually, there’s two of us here,” Duran explains. “A baker and a finisher. Tonight, I’m the baker.”

From inside the restaurant’s lobby, I watch Duran work behind a sheet of Plexiglas. He leans over the trays, moving to a rhythm only he knows — one that has been developed over a period of more than two years.

“We don’t leave until the job gets done,” he smiles. “The donuts have to be ready or a lot of people are going to be very unhappy.”

After spending so much time with the donuts, Duran says he doesn’t often indulge in his own work. “It’s like any other job, you know? When I get done moving other people’s stuff all day, the last thing I want to do is go home and move my own furniture.”

According to Duran, Friday and Saturday nights are the busiest shifts for the bakers at Dunkin’ Donuts. “People like their donuts and coffee on the weekends,” he grins. His shift runs Tuesday through Saturday. “What can you do for fun on a Sunday night?” he adds. “Everyone else is at home, getting ready to go to work in the morning.”

Although Duran earns more than his daytime counterparts, that is about the only good thing he can say about working nights. “Sometimes, I get grumpy,” he says. “But I basically can get six or seven hours of sleep each night. I just wish I had more time with my family.”

Taking care of business—

Beyond the politics and the controversy, there is still work to do and the workers at the Maine Energy Recovery Company (MERC) are on the job seven days a week, 24 hours a day, making sure that their waste-incineration plant is running as efficiently as possible.

The work shifts at Maine Energy involve a rotating 24-hour schedule. Two weeks of working 12-hours at night, and then two weeks of working 12 hours during the day.

Sometimes, the workers forget which is which because they work inside of a building without windows.

Eric Lagerstrom is the control room operator. He sits in a swivel chair, surrounded by a plethora of closed-circuit monitors and computer terminals. The room is lit by stark fluorescent lights, and Eric offers me a Swiss roll and a cup of coffee: “Hey, we have to have our perks at night, you know.”

Including the shift supervisor, the plant is run during the 6 p.m. to 6 a.m. shift by nine people, significantly fewer than the dozens who work during the day shift. The difference between the shifts is remarkable. There are no administrators or cleaners working at night.

“Things are generally quieter at night,” Lagerstrom says. “But the basic process remains the same. We process trash, we then burn it and generate electricity with steam.”

This is Lagerstom’s long week. He will work Tuesday and Wednesday and then Saturday and Sunday for a total of 48 hours this week. Next week, he will work on Monday, Thursday and Friday evenings. At the end of a 28-day cycle, he will switch back over to the day shift.

So, how does he adjust to changing sleep patterns?

“I don’t find it difficult,” he says. “I’m one of those people who can sleep during the day. For those who can’t, I don’t recommend working this job.”

Lagerstrom says working nights requires a good support system, such as an understanding spouse and an environment that can remain reasonably quiet when the sun is shining.

“You have to remain sensible,” Lagerstrom says. “Whatever system works for you, stick to it. Don’t try to burn the candle at both ends.”

As Lagerstrom and I chat, I glance over at the rows of monitors. The black and white screens depict an image of a fiery hell, where conveyors feed monstrous and insatiable boilers. There are dozens of switches, gauges and dials.

The control room, in fact, resembles the cockpit of something like the USS Starship Enterprise. Any moment now, I half expect Captain James T. Kirk to walk inside, asking Spock for a readout about some unknown planet.

My daydream (or rather nightdream) is interrupted. Jeff walks into the control room, removing his hard hat and taking a seat nearby. He is in his mid-40s and he looks tired. His blue coveralls are dirty and his hands are calloused.

Are things more relaxed at night? After all, the boss is at home and sleeping. So, can employees goof off a bit? Can they get away with things they could not during the day shift?

“I think most people can be more productive at night,” Lagerstrom counters. “I think with all of the daytime distractions missing, most people can be more productive.”

Jeff nods his head in agreement, sipping from a cup of coffee.

But still, the night takes its toll.

Even as I talk with these workers, the winter solstice is drawing closer — that time when the earth is further away from the sun than at any other time. During this time of year, it becomes especially difficult for this crew of workers, who both arrive and leave their workplace under the cover of darkened skies.

“I know people who have gone through divorces because of working at night,” Jeff says. “Your relationship has to be solid if you are going to work different shifts. It’s easy to become depressed or lose energy. There’s good camaraderie here, and that helps a lot.”

The darkness before dawn

So, this is the conclusion of Biddeford After Dark; a closer and more intimate look at the nighttime activities of the city. A southbound train rattles over the Elm Street trestle. A hunched-over woman is pushing an abandoned shopping cart that is stuffed with plastic bags along Pine Street.

Paul Easton, replete with his “Buchannan For President” signs and banners, is searching the dumpsters for returnable bottles. Joe Duran is making donuts. Eric Lagerstrom is watching the trash burn. Peter Schimek is patrolling the city’s streets. Karen Stewart is sweeping the tiled floors at the 7-Eleven store.

The parties are over, and a truck lumbers along Jefferson Street, waiting to pick up its next load of trash. The waves are crashing at Fortunes Rocks, but the beach is empty. A toll booth worker offers a friendly smile and change for a $5 bill. Rick and Jo Bernier are just arriving to work at the Palace Diner.

The coffee begins to drip, and the eggs are stacked and waiting. Slowly, but surely, the city rises from its slumber, wiping the proverbial seeds of sleep from its eyes.

A new day has dawned, and the city faces this morning like it has faced the others before this particular sunrise. The city is ready, and the first glimpse of sunlight appears over Wood Island.

Bring on the daylight. For me, it’s time to go to bed.

Thank you for reading Biddeford After Dark. I’ve learned a lot, and I hope you enjoyed a different perspective of our community.

The Thin Blue Line

~ Randy Seaver ~ 1 Comment

This is the fourth installment of the Biddeford After Dark series that wrote for the Biddeford-Saco Courier in October 2001. This installment focuses on my ride-along with a third-shift police officer.

While the city sleeps, lost in its innocent slumber, the bad element is most likely to stir. Those who prefer the cover of darkness for their activities rise from their slumber and prowl, looking for a fight, drugs or a camera left behind in a parked vehicle.

It is the time of day when people are most likely to get behind the wheel after having a few drinks. It is a time when tempers flare, and when a jealous rage is most likely to escalate. The moon lingers over the city, and the night whispers are more audible without the hustle and bustle of daytime activities.

But while the city’s leaders sleep, another group takes over. They are the watchers of the night, the defenders of the law; and the guardians of what the rest of us so often take for granted.

Welcome back to Biddeford after Dark, and our report on the proverbial boys in blue: the men and women of the Biddeford Police Department.

Bad boys, bad boys —

As I sit in Peter Schimek’s patrol car, parked in the police department’s parking lot on Alfred Street, I watch in silence as Schimek checks his equipment. Then a song begins to echo in my head.

“Bad boys, bad boys — whatcha ya gonna do? Watcha ya gonna do, when they come for you?”

It’s a few minutes before 11 o’clock, and the downtown bars are packed. There is a kinetic energy on the streets tonight; a restless feeling that throbs only to the rhythms of the early autumn winds.

Like many other young boys, I once dreamed of being a police officer. The thrills and the excitement. The guns, a badge and the image of being the defender of truth, justice and the American Way — whatever that means.

The night’s opportunities are not lost on Schimek or his colleagues. They know that the streets are restless. And they know that they are short-staffed tonight. It’s not a good combination.

Schimek has been a patrol officer in Biddeford for more than three years, previously working as an officer in Old Orchard Beach.

Schimek, 35, is not exactly what I expected from a third-shift patrol officer. He is soft-spoken, almost a bit philosophical about his job and what he sees each night while making his rounds. He talks candidly about the city, his job and the personalities that are drawn to the call of the moon.

Absolutely serious when he needs to be, Schimek is also easy-going and relaxed, revealing a deft sense of humor and a non-cynical view about the people he encounters while working between 11 p.m. and 7 a.m.

Et porquois pas?

“You see all sorts of things during third shift,” Schimek says. “You see it all, and hear it all. Just bragging rights for anything: ‘those are my chips.’ ‘I’m stronger than you.’ ‘You spilled my beer.’ ‘This is my place to stand.’ ‘I don’t like you because you hang out with those kids.’”

Tonight, Schimek and I are covering traffic patrol, looking for burned-out headlights, speeders and drunk-drivers. There isn’t much traffic on the street, but Schimek knows that the night is still young.

It’s not long, however, before we get our first call. A bartender at Le Club Voltigeur, on Elm Street, (et porquois pas?) has called for an escort. Allegedly, according to the bartender, one of the club’s officers has had too much to drink and is now insinuating threats. Our car is the second unit to respond to the scene.

As soon as we pull into the parking lot, the bartender approaches our car. Nearby, a group of five or six men stand together, hands in pockets, trying to look inconspicuous.

“We get a lot more alcohol related calls during this shift,” Schimek explains. “Generally, a lot of people have been drinking since the early afternoon. It can make for difficult situations. Otherwise decent people lose some of their judgment and sensibilities. You have to be careful.”

The bartender goes to her car, unscathed — and Schimek talks with the group gathered in the parking lot. His mannerisms are professional, but he keeps his tone friendly, if not direct. He advises the men to head home, also warning them not to drive. The men nod their heads, trying to look casual and Schimek returns to the cruiser.

“Part of crime deterrence is to drive around,” Schimek says. “You’re going up and down streets, and the criminal doesn’t know when the officer is going to come by. You never have a set pattern. You do everything sporadically, just making your presence known.

So much for hanging out at the donut shop, but Schimek does know every establishment where food is sold late at night. “Hey, we have to eat at some point, you know.”

A fisherman’s nightmare —

Schimek and I are riding near Chick’s Hill on outer Rte. 111 in Biddeford. As we approach the Andrew’s Road, Schimek decides to turn back toward the city. Just as we make our way east, Schimek notices a commercial van that is traveling 15 mph over the posted speed limit. We turn around, and Schimek turns on the blue flashing lights. The van pulls to the side of the road quickly.

Schimek calls in the van’s license plate, and then cautiously approaches the now parked vehicle. I wait, wondering what the outcome of this stop will be.

“The two most dangerous situations for a police officer are domestic [violence] calls and motor vehicle stops,” Schimek explains before leaving the cruiser. “You never know what’s going to happen in those situations.”

After returning to the cruiser, Schimek calls in the driver’s license number. Bad news. Although the 34-year-old driver has a relatively clean driving record, he does have an outstanding arrest warrant. In 1988, this married father of two — returning home on this evening from a hard day of work — apparently made the mistake of fishing with a lure in a fly-fishing only area somewhere near Dover-Foxcroft.

Schimek shakes his head. “I have no choice,” he says. “We have to bring him in to the station and process him on the outstanding warrant.”

Thus, this man, who would have otherwise been sent on his way home with a stern warning to watch his speed, now has to be handcuffed, make bail arrangements and leave his vehicle on the side of the road to be towed.

A busted fisherman. Busted for a minor infraction that happened more than 12 years ago — more than 100 miles away, while enjoying a simple day of fishing.

Schimek is less than pleased with the situation, but he has little choice in the matter. Despite being short-staffed this evening, and the constant crackling of the police radio, Schimek and I will now be tied up at the station until the man either makes bail ($90) or is transported to the York County Jail.

Cash and carry

To my surprise, our prisoner is not that upset about the situation. Sitting in the back seat of the cruiser, behind a metal cage, his wrists chained together behind his back, he is astonishingly good-natured.

“Who would have thought?” he says, as Schimek talks with another officer who has been called in for back-up, so that the van can be moved and towed. “I forgot all about that. I thought it was a forgotten thing. I didn’t even know that I wasn’t supposed to be using lures in that area.”

On the way back to the station, our prisoner trades jokes and a casual attitude with Schimek, who has all but apologized for the inconvenience.

Meanwhile, the radio continues to alert us about other things happening in the city. A 15-year-old boy, standing on the South Street overpass, is spotted by an alert and passing state trooper. The boy may be suicidal, and another unit is dispatched to the scene.

A house party on Summer Street is causing some neighbors to complain. Schimek, however, is out of service and now assigned to little more than being a baby-sitter.

Back at the station, the prisoner is searched again, this time even more thoroughly. We find no contraband or weapons, and Schimek opens a locker, grabbing a plastic baggie. The man now must empty his pockets and verify his valuables. He must also remove his shoes. From there, in the station’s garage, our prisoner is escorted into the station. He is finger-printed and photographed, and then taken to one of several empty holding cells.

Schimek, anxious to return to the streets, seems increasingly frustrated. The prisoner calls a friend who agrees to post bail. Now, we all wait for the on-call bail commissioner. Some 20 more minutes go by.

Finally, the prisoner is able to talk with the bail commissioner. The bail is paid in cash. The police, apparently, do not take American Express — or Visa, for that matter. It’s cash or carry when you need to get out of jail. That’s the law.

Back on the streets —

It’s close to 1 a.m., and the natives, as they say, are definitely restless. Schimek parks his cruiser in the corner of the 7-11 parking lot. From this vantage point, we can see the steady stream of munchie-hungry customers pour forth from the downtown taverns.

Schimek recognizes many of the faces in the crowd, and he smiles when some tough guys walk past the cruiser, muttering derogatory remarks about the police.

“Not everyone appreciates our presence,” Schimek explains. “Third shift has less calls for service, but we typically have more arrests. I have arrested some of these people before.

“Quite often, people you’ve dealt with earlier in the night, you can see them a few hours later, walking home around 6 a.m.”

The moon is nearly full tonight, and Schimek has his own personal theories about why police and medical calls seem to increase during a full moon.

“During bad weather, calls also increase,” he explains. “My own personal theory is that when there is a low-pressure system, people’s brains swell because there is less pressure upon the body. It’s the only explanation I can think of.”

It’s not long before we have to respond to anther call. Two juveniles have stolen a flag from a residence. The perpetrators are apprehended quickly. Three units converge on the suspects in a quiet and poorly-lit neighborhood near Mason Street. The flag has been recovered, and the young men are arrested on probation violations and then charged with theft.

Another officer handles that arrest, and Schimek drives to the victim’s house to return the stolen flag. He chats briefly with the middle-aged couple, who offer thanks for returning their flag.

Another call, and we’re off again. Now, a deaf woman has accused an acquaintance of stealing things from her front porch.

The woman’s home is cluttered, and this call seems to involve a love triangle that has gone terribly astray. Apparently, the alleged victim was storing some of her boyfriend’s items at her home. The man’s other girlfriend, however, took it upon herself to gather up some of her beloved’s most cherished belongings, all of which are stacked in rotting cardboard boxes.

The man, who is the object of dueling affections, has bigger problems than locating his shaving kit, however. He is apparently spending the next several weeks in a New York City jail cell, awaiting trial on drug trafficking calls.

We’re back on the road in less than 15 minutes, but even as Schimek prepares to drop me off near my office on Main Street, something else suspicious catches his eye.

A white, pickup truck is pulled over to the side of Lincoln Street with its rear right turn signal still flashing. The driver is intoxicated and enjoying a midnight slumber. But not for long. The keys are in the ignition. The truck is in gear, and Schimek reaches for his handcuffs as he awakens the snoozing motorist.

The man seems baffled about what is happening. Before he knows it, he is cuffed and stuffed. The streets are safe again. At least for now.

This is Biddeford after Dark. Sleep well.

Singer/songwriter Anni Clark

~ Randy Seaver ~ Leave a comment

Anni Clark is nearly fanatic when it comes to routine car maintenance. She changes the oil every 3,000 miles and always remembers to rotate her tires. She relies upon the talents and integrity of just one mechanic — a small shop located in Springvale, and she can tell you exactly how many miles are on the odometer of her Subaru Forester.

It’s just another example of how Clark is not your typical artist. She’s organized, confident and ambitious. In one breath, she quickly rattles off the chores necessary to be a full-time musician — promotions, bookings, contract reviews, organizing travel plans — the list goes on and on.

And in the next breath, the right side of her brain seems to take over as she discusses her music and how it is created and why she never gives out her cell phone number.

A native of Yarmouth, Clark now lives in Old Orchard Beach. She doesn’t like to talk about her age, but she’s been performing in front of audiences since the early 1980s. Today, she is preparing to leave for a two-week tour in Florida. She’ll come home for about a week and then head off for another tour in Texas, promoting her newest CD, Big Water.

It would be wrong to lump Clark into the straight folk music category. In a review of her fourth album, A Light for Liza, the Boston Globe wrote, “Clark has created a deeply personal, acoustic folk and jazz-tinged sound.”

While Clark’s music has all the emotional depth and complexity of much better-known singer-songwriters, such as Bonnie Rait, Joan Baez or Rikki Lee Jones — she can just as quickly turn on a dime, suddenly providing whimsical insight into familiar themes without warning.

Clark was named Female Artist of the Year and Folk Artist of the Year in Jam Music Magazine’s 2003 Readers’ Pix Awards.

You describe living in Maine as a personal tug of war.

“Winters are tough in New England. I love living here, being near my family. It’s really not tough to live here, it’s just tough to work here.

“The weather controls a lot of what happens. It’s hard to run a business when you can’t count on a steady revenue stream. Any show can be pulled at any time because of Mother Nature. If it snows that day, you can lose your butt. But between June and Labor Day, I love performing in New England.”

Who are your primary influences?

“I describe my music as original folk, pop and blues. So there are the obvious influences: Bonnie Raitt, Joni Mitchell and Rikki Lee Jones. I was an English major in college, and that’s where I got turned on to Joni Mitchell. She was setting the same words to music that I was writing in my journals.

“That’s when I started thinking about the process of putting words to music, about how the words and music flow together.

“I love their vocal flexibility, you know? Bonnie can be so smooth, but she’s got some gravel in her voice, there’s a raspy edge to it. I like that.”

How do you go about writing songs?

“That’s a really good question. For me, it’s not a planned process. I know some people who say, ‘Okay, on Tuesday, I’m going to sit down and write for two hours.’ There are some people who are very structured about it, not me.

“I’m inspired by what’s happening around me or what’s not happening around me. When something trips my trigger, I try to jot it down. I get great ideas while driving in my car, but I’m a good driver. (Laughs)

“I always carry around one of those little, voice-activated tape recorders and I leave it turned on while I’m driving. When I’m in my car, no one can interrupt me. I have a cell phone, but I leave it turned off. I have it so I can call people, but I never give out the number.”

Artists are typically unorganized. You seem to be one of the few exceptions.

 (Laughs) “I know, but I’ve always been that way. A lot of the people I book with will tell me that they’re amazed by how organized I am. This is my full-time job, so I have to treat it that way. I take care of the bookings, lining up promotions, reviewing contracts and putting together press kits for the media.

“Most musicians aren’t like that, but I don’t want to perpetuate the myth.”

Describe the typical audience at an Anni Clark show.

“It really depends on the venue. Sometimes there are small kids and there can be people in their 80s and 90s. Hopefully, there’s something in there for everyone.”

And how would you describe your shows?

“The way I see it, you need to have something that touches everyone. I don’t have to put on a stage persona when I’m performing. I’m still 15, at heart. For me, the best performance is when I’m not the only one performing.

“There’s an obvious synergy with the audience that just takes place. They are as much a part of the show as I am.”

How have your performances changed during the last two decades?

“I cut my teeth doing bar gigs in the ‘80s, but I got a reputation for doing more intimate shows. I love it. I understand that kind of venue and feel connected in those places — coffeehouses and college campuses.”

You’re a big fan of Maine’s new law that bans smoking in bars and taverns.

“Oh, I totally love it. I wish all the states would do it. It’s so much easier to perform in a non-smoking venue. The smoke really takes a toll on my voice. It’s very rare that I find myself in an environment where smoking is allowed these days.”

How do you like living in Old Orchard Beach?

“It’s very convenient and close to the turnpike. I’m close to my family in Yarmouth, and it’s easy to get into Portland, where there’s always so much going on.

“I also like living so close to the beach. I love getting up early and going for walks on the beach. It’s a nice place to live because you can have the best of both worlds.”

General Wallace Nutting: Interview

~ Randy Seaver ~ Leave a comment

In two years, General Wallace Nutting will be able to do what no other Biddeford mayor has done.

By way of tradition, the mayor’s portrait will be hung next to the photographs of all the former mayors in City Hall.

But no other Biddeford mayor’s picture also hangs in Saco’s City Hall.

Born and raised in Saco, Nutting was honored two years ago by Saco Mayor Bill Johnson as an “outstanding and distinguished citizen” because of his extensive military career and accomplishments.

Gen. Wallace Nutting. U.S. Department of Defense Photo

Nutting retired from the United States Army as a four-star general, Commander of U.S. Southern Command and a senior advisor to President Ronald Reagan.

Among his many accomplishments, he coordinated and led U.S. efforts to extract Manuel Noreiga from Panama in 1990.

There was no way then for the retired, four-star general to know that he would someday be leading the neighboring city of Biddeford.

Nutting, 75, was in many ways an unlikely candidate in Biddeford’s traditional political structure. A Republican who lives in Biddeford Pool, Nutting was considered by many people as an “outsider,” when he tossed his hat into the mayoral ring, less than three months before the election.

But Nutting proved his detractors wrong on Election Day. Once the votes had been tallied, Nutting beat-out his two more well-known Democratic opponents with 41 percent of the vote, earning the top spot in six of the city’s seven voting wards and leaving City Council President Marc Lessard, an early favorite, in last place.

It was a much different result than Nutting’s first bid for political office in 1994, when he ran for the State Senate. He lost the Republican primary to John Hathaway of Kennebunk, who later went on to win the seat.

One political observer said Nutting’s mayoral win was the result of a “perfect political storm,” in which several key issues converged into a mass of voter resentment about politics as usual.

Last year, Nutting was an outspoken critic of a proposal that would have allowed the city council to negotiate for the placement of a casino gambling resort. His two opponents supported the measure, but voters overwhelmingly rejected it by more than a 2-1 margin.

The council was also hammered because of a recent property tax revaluation and for problems associated with a middle school construction referendum, not to mention their controversial decision last year to shut down the city’s public access television studio.

And while Lessard sparred with Daniel Boucher, a member of the school committee, on several of those issues, Nutting seemed to rise above the fray and focused his campaign message upon basic issues of opening up communications and restoring respect to City Hall.

The mayor doesn’t have a lot of political power in Biddeford. Will that be difficult for you?

“Listening to people has always been a part of who I am, and it’s my basic strategy in most every situation. Human beings and organizations work best when they openly communicate. I’m a patient listener, and I find that leadership through persuasion is most effective.”

Last week, you found yourself for the first time on the other side of the council desk. What was it like?

“Let me tell you, it was a very humbling experience. The voters spoke very clearly during the election. Trying to accomplish their will should prove to be a daunting task.”

But in a letter to the editor last week, Richard Rhames pointed out that only one of the 37 candidates in Biddeford received a majority of the votes.

“Mr. Rhames plays a very important role in this town, and I respect that. He is correct with his math, but you also have to look at the number of candidates. So, no — I wouldn’t call it a mandate, but if you look how they voted for the mayor and nine councilors, it becomes pretty clear that people wanted change.”

You have criticized the council’s decision regarding the local public access television station. Are there any big changes on the horizon for that issue?

“The big fear that I hear being voice now is all about pornography being shown on the channel. There are guidelines for other television stations, so I don’t see why we can’t impose some of those same guidelines to protect the public without being overbearing.

“Other than that, there ought to be a free and open discussion of ideas and viewpoints. We live in a nation that honors free speech. Let me just say that I will not be offended if someone opts to criticize me on television or otherwise. If there is a political criticism, so be it.

But as Councilor Raymond Cote says, the mayor proposes and the council disposes.

(Smiles) “Personally, I believe that there can be five votes to move the issue forward. It’s a challenge to lead through persuasion. Sure, I have issued orders in the past, but I know that I can’t issue orders here.

“[Generals] Marshall and Bradley are my heroes. They both accomplished a lot through persuasion.”

You’re the first Republican in nearly 40 years to win the mayor’s seat in Biddeford.

“Being a Republican or a Democrat really doesn’t make much difference. Republicans and Democrats both pick up trash and shovel snow the same way.”

Have you spoken with Gen. Wesley Clark since the election?

“I can’t remember the last time I saw him. Why? Do you think I should give him some campaign advice? (Laughs).

Growing up in Saco, did you ever think you would be the mayor of Biddeford?

“You know, I’m a local boy, too. I went sledding in Clifford Park and jumped into the river with the kids from Biddeford, and flew model airplanes off the runway at the Biddeford Airport.”

You say Biddeford doesn’t get enough credit.

“I think Biddeford is a great place. Some good things have happened here, but we don’t get credit for it and that bothers me.”

What do you attribute to your win?

“People have told me that they feel as if I speak with sincerity, truth . . . I articulated my message positively. You have to radiate integrity. You don’t lead soldiers into battle in a half-assed manner.”

What are your immediate goals?

“My thinking in this regard has not changed since the campaign. Our first priority must be education.

“From there, the job of the council is to wrestle with current problems, but to also lay the foundation for a better future — and that future is through education.

“I believe that this community can become a prototype for the rest of the state when it comes to Gov. Baldacci’s call for regionalized cooperation and cost sharing. A lot of people are still concerned about taxes, and I’m one of them.

“The structure of government that has served us well for the last 200 years is no longer affordable. If I had my way, I would like to see this area become a model for what the governor is proposing. It can be done without losing the identity of our city or our football team.

“Through healthy economic development, we should be able to take our proper place as the principal city of York County.”

 Is your wife going to take an active role in your administration?

“Jane has been my best friend for 62 years, and we just celebrated 53 years of marriage. It’s not clear yet what role she will play. She wasn’t too happy when I told her that I wanted to run. But she became an excellent campaigner.

“She stood with me in the cold on Election Day, and she has always been a positive factor in my life, so in that way she has already played a major role.”