Yesterday was “Career Day” at the Biddeford Intermediate School, an annual event that gives third, fourth and fifth-graders an opportunity to explore various career fields.
I was asked to be one of the many presenters, but I knew that I was in trouble as soon as I walked through the front-door, clutching a stack of old newspapers, a reporter’s notebook and two pens (always two).
The other presenters were so much cooler and interesting. The police K-9 officer and her dog showed up, a firefighter arrived wearing his helmet with a large oxygen tank on his back. There was a nurse with a stethoscope draped around her neck.
For Pete’s sake, Graig Morin of Brown Dog Trucking even brought one of his 18-wheeler trucks for the kids to explore.
Admittedly, I was a bit nervous as I waited for my first of three-groups of students to arrive in my designated classroom. It’s been a while since I have been grilled by a group of nine and ten-year-olds.
If you’re not careful, they can really get into your psyche and throw off your whole game. For example, during one of the Q & A sessions, one young lady asked me if I was afraid of heights. I quickly admitted that I am terrified of heights.
“What about snakes?” was her follow-up question. “Yes,” I responded, I am also very afraid of snakes.”
A quarter century? Really?
On the night before the event, I ventured into my basement and hauled out an old-cargo chest that holds scores of old copies of the weekly Biddeford-Saco-OOB Courier. I was in a rush, so I just reached in and grabbed five copies, paying no particular attention to the dates or the stories.
I have worked for several newspapers, but most people ‘round here equate me to my fun-filled days as the Courier’s editor (1997-2006) and my infamous weekly column, All Along the Watchtower.
As I was waiting for the kids to arrive, I started flipping through the old papers. Yes, I know that all past issues of the Courier are available on microfiche at the McArthur Library, but this seemed like a more practical way to make my presentation.
As luck would have it, the papers I grabbed were all from April of 2000, exactly 25 years ago. It seems like yesterday, but it was a quarter-century ago. A quarter century.
Just a few weeks ago, the Courier’s new owners (the Portland Press Herald’s parent company) abruptly announced that they will no longer offer print versions of the paper that had been delivered to every household in the Biddeford-Saco area since 1989.
When I heard that news, I didn’t realize how deeply that weekly paper was connected to the community. A wave of nostalgia washed over me as I flipped through the pages of yesteryear.
Time may change me. But I can’t trace time.
The kids were eager to pore through old copies of the Courier. Sure, I still write news and opinion, but I can’t imagine 25 years from now that a bunch of kids would be so excited about reviewing a web site.
It was interesting to see what caught their eyes and their imagination. Each of the newspapers had a full back-page ad from Marc Motors. Apparently, in April of 2000, you could buy a 1998 Pontiac Sunfire for $10,995 or a weekly payment of $38. Or you could get a 1997 Ford F-150 for $17,995 (or $65 per week).
In April 2025, we ran a contest: Find the Mistakes in the Courier. The person who found the most verifiable mistakes each week got a free lunch at the Wonderbar. We were all glad when that contest ended.
A lot of the names have changed, but the news back then was not much different than it is today. Ironically, one of the headlines told readers that Biddeford voters may soon be asked to approve construction of a new school to address overcrowding. That school? Yup, the Biddeford Intermediate School, where I was sitting yesterday morning.
The Old Orchard Beach School budget was up $500,000. There was an explosion of a propane tank at the former Maine Energy trash incinerator in downtown Biddeford. Another story explained how Biddeford’s tax rate would increase $1.50 if MERC left town. The top five taxpayers then were MERC, IBC (Nissen Bakeries), Central Maine Power, Walmart and D.K. Associates Limited.
Saco residents were faced with a possible pay-per-bag trash disposal fee, a downtown landlord in Biddeford found himself in hot water with the city’s code enforcement office.
On and on. Into infinity and beyond.
I asked the kids if any of them remember the Yellow Pages. They were stumped; their brows furrowed with intrigue. It’s quite likely that someday the same fate will finally overcome print newspapers.
Last night, I watched President Trump’s address to Congress.
For those of you complaining about the boorish behavior of some Democrats:
1.) You are right. Several members of Congress acted like six-year-olds in a playground.
2.) You have very short memories. Do you not remember Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene screaming at Biden; or when Rep. Joe Wilson (R-South Carolina) shouted “You lie!” during one of President Obama’s State of the Union addresses?
3.) Look up the word hypocrisy. There is no way for you to claim the moral high ground when it comes to foolish behavior during presidential addresses.
I support the idea of greater government efficiency. I support plans to lower tax burdens on working Americans, but Trump’s credibility is overshadowed when he slips into unchecked egomania.
(Photo by Win McNamee/Getty Images)
Last night, the President of the United States claimed to have one of the biggest “landslides” ever when it came to both the popular and Electoral College totals. That’s just fantasy. In November, Trump won the popular vote by a margin of 1.48 percent.
Hardly historic, in fact, not even close. Check out some other totals: Teddy Roosevelt (18.8 percent) Calvin Coolidge (25.2 percent) FDR (24.6 percent in 1936) LBJ (22.5 percent) Nixon 23.15 percent in 1972. Heck, even Jimmy Carter beat Trump with 2.06 percent.
In fact, Trump had one of the lowest percentages of winning popular votes in history.
Trump’s tendency to inflate or distort his accomplishments is to be expected. All narcissists act that way. But here was the deal breaker for me:
When the President of the United States taunts and makes fun of a U.S. Senator as “Pocahontas.” and Vice President J.D. Vance breaks out in laughter. Decorum? Are you serious? I know fourth graders who exhibit greater maturity.
Mr. President, the United States deserves a leader who is not so insecure that he feels the need to denigrate anyone who has the temerity to disagree with his point of view.
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Lots of people asked me today what I am doing to celebrate my birthday. The following is not made up or me trying to be funny, in fact just the opposite.
I made brunch this morning for Laura and myself. We took a quick drive along a small part of southern Maine’s coastline. Got home. Started a load of laundry.
Tonight, I will have the pleasure of enjoying a bucket of KFC chicken (my favorite) while watching a cheesy 1970s Japanese movie about Godzilla curled up on the couch with my beautiful wife. I predict I will be in bed by 10 and snoring 20 minutes later.
Each week, I read through all the obituaries. And every week, there are death notices for people younger than me. And that is a real and rather brutal wake-up call.
We all have an expiration date. Most of us have no idea when we will take our last breath. Every day is a gift, cherish each of them.
Laura is in the kitchen making me a cake. Screw the diet. I’m having two pieces. Celebrate every day as if it’s your last . . . because one day it will be.
Thank you so much to all who reached out to wish me a happy birthday! I begin my next trek around the sun with confidence and optimism.
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If you think about it, it’s a really sad story. Pathetic, even.
Ted Cohen – once a highly respected veteran reporter for Maine’s largest newspaper – is today reduced to freelance writing for a handful of irrelevant websites.
Cohen has become “that character.” You know — that overweight, balding 58-year-old guy, sitting alone at the bar in an Applebee’s, nursing a Budweiser during happy-hour so that he can enjoy a half-off platter of chicken wings.
That guy at Applebee’s can’t handle the fact that his “glory days” are well behind him. He keeps talking to anyone who will listen about that high-school football championship game when he scored the winning touchdown.
Of course, the Applebee’s guy stays permanently stuck in that memory — because he can’t handle the reality that he is now divorced and the assistant manager at Wendy’s.
Over the past few days, Cohen – for reasons unknown – has decided to take some wide swipes at me and my coverage of local news in Biddeford.
Ted Cohen/ Facebook photo
Back in the old days — when we were both somewhat relevant in the news game – Cohen and I got along pretty well, especially considering that we were competing journalists.
I really admired Cohen. I liked his style and his dogged approach to getting a story. I tried to learn from him.
I am now sincerely puzzled by his animosity, and the fact that he is basically unwilling to return my calls or text messages.
What went wrong?
Ted Cohen’s biggest claim to fame was a story he uncovered about former President George W. Bush back in 2001.
Cohen was assigned to cover the town of Kennebunkport, where the Bush family spent their summers. Cohen learned that the former president was once charged with an OUI when he was a teenager.
Today – all these years later – it remains a bit murky about why Cohen’s story was never published. Cohen has written a book about the incident.
Back then, Cohen said the Portland Press Herald gave him the boot. When asked by other media outlets why Cohen was shown the door, the newspaper’s publishers said Cohen had quit and was acting like a toddler in need of a time-out.
That was all more than two decades ago. I heard that Cohen left the news business and became a truck driver, but I’m not sure if that’s true.
What I do know is that Mr. Cohen seems somewhat fixated on his former employer and relentlessly criticizes them every chance he gets with snide comments on social media.
I can certainly understand why he is still upset with the Portland Press Herald, but what puzzles me is why his is now trolling my social media accounts.
In two recent blog posts, Cohen writes that I am “masquerading as a journalist.” He also describes me as a “two-bit blogger”
“For example, when you blog about your anxieties and your mental illness, the first thought that comes to my mind is STFU, no one cares,”
–Ted Cohen
Who pissed in his Cheerios?
What’s up with this rather creepy Fatal Attraction thing?
Because it was Ted Cohen offering advice, I gave it serious attention. After all, Cohen had befriended me and was a valuable and trusted mentor.
“You’re a great reporter, and I think it’s criminal that you were taken off the Biddeford beat,” Cohen wrote, somehow missing the fact that I voluntarily gave up being a reporter so I could focus on ousting Biddeford’s controversial city manager.
Cohen was upset that I would no longer cover Biddeford City Hall.
“You can’t be a credible reporter while you are at the same time blogging your personal beliefs about the state of this world and also your personal life,” Cohen wrote, somehow missing the fact that I had given up covering City Hall as a neutral journalist.
“Stop sharing every unspoken thought you have with the public,” Cohen advised. “Stick to straight reporting. Enough already with the commentating.
“For example, when you blog about your anxieties and your mental illness the first thought that comes to my mind is STFU, no one cares,” Cohen added.
I thanked Cohen for his honest remarks, but told him I was going to continue my efforts to remove Bennett. Once completed, I could easily go back to journalism.
And then? Silence . . . right up until earlier this week.
The wrath of Khan?
With no advance notice, Cohen pounced on me just hours after I broke the news story about the abrupt departure of Biddeford City Manager Jim Bennett.
In a recent blog post, Cohen wrote: “Seaver’s political activism masquerading as journalism [resulted in him] either pulled off the city beat or resigned while writing for Liz Gotthelf, who runs Saco Bay News.
I was like a deer frozen in the headlights.
You would think that someone like Cohen – an old-fashioned reporter – would maybe check a few facts before releasing a screed?
First off, he should have called Liz, the publisher of Saco Bay News, to inquire why I stopped writing about Biddeford politics for a few weeks.
Liz would have told him that I approached her in July and told her (during a conversation at Garside’s Ice Cream stand) that I wanted to focus on ousting Bennett and could no longer ethically cover City Hall until Bennett was gone.
Cohen said I then “started my own on-line gig.”
Sorry, Ted. That’s strike two. Reporters should really check facts. I started my blog – Lessons in Mediocrity – in 2011, 14 years ago. I formally launched the Biddeford Gazette in January well after Bennett announced his resignation.
According to his bio on the National Writers Union, “Cohen was born in Burlington, Vermont in 1951, and got his degree in journalism from the University of Vermont.
Cohen is a member of the National Writers Union and a past president of the Vermont Associated Press Broadcasters Association. He is also a contributing writer to The Forecaster, a (weekly) Maine newspaper, as well as a notary public.”
So, if you need something notarized, give Ted a call.
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I understand that tensions are high, and that feelings are raw on the national political stage, but I still think we can engage in robust discussion and debate without marginalizing millions of Americans who suffer daily with varying degrees of mental illness.
Reading some of the social media commentary regarding the U.S. Senate confirmation hearings for Robert F. Kennedy, Jr., yesterday I was struck by the sheer delight that so many people were showing in joking about Kennedy’s rather obvious illness and his past behavior that can only be described as somewhat bizarre.
I also found it strange and somewhat sad that the majority of these pejorative comments were coming from those who generally hang out on the left side of the political aisle.
Generally speaking, Democrats will typically trip over themselves to use words like ‘diversity’ and “inclusion” at every given opportunity, eagerly patting themselves on the back for their moral leadership, always sensitive to use the right pronouns and to advance the cause of those marginalized by society for a variety of reasons.
Make no mistake, the progressive left is not wrong in its ongoing push to break down barriers and advance the cause of civil rights for all Americans. But it seems there is still a lot of work to do.
Photo: Pittsburg Post-Gazette
We should all – Democrats, Republicans, Independents — be striving to treat one another with respect and dignity, regardless of political affiliation.
In just my lifetime, our nation has made incredible strides to break down barriers and to advance opportunities for all Americans, regardless of their race, ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation or religion.
The Civil Rights Act of 1964 was a watershed moment, yet more than 60 years later racism remains pervasive in our culture. And, consider this, it was only 30 years ago when we adopted a policy of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.”
Clearly, we are making tremendous progress, and there is no doubt that Democrats are generally the ones leading that charge, continually pushing and reminding us that there are still barriers and challenges we must face when it comes to inclusion, equity and respect.
However, it is apparently still okay to make jokes about those who struggle with mental illness.
It is apparently still okay to make jokes about those who struggle with mental illness.
I am in no way advocating for the confirmation of Mr. Kennedy. I am convinced – beyond a shadow of a doubt – that he is not qualified for the position.
But — as someone who lives day in and day out with a rather pronounced and significant mental illness, I cringe every time I hear terms such as “nutjob,” “whacko,” “psycho” and “Looney Tunes.”
Even Hollywood elites still – today — refer to psychiatrists as “shrinks.”
We fly rainbow flags — and for good reason — but yet we casually gloss over the stigma and shame that is still a very big fact of life for those battling an often-hidden illness that is no different than any other illness.
From a political party that gleefully accepts a mantra of “F%ck Your Feelings,” I have learned to almost accept and expect their callous disregard for minorities. I cringe. I shake my head and let out a deep sigh.
But when that same discrimination comes from the political party that is all about ending discrimination, I wonder if I will live long enough to see an end to mental illness stigma. I wonder if we will ever get to a place where mental illness is treated with parity in both treatment and insurance reimbursement in the United States.
If I told you that I developed brain cancer, your reaction would likely be one filled with immediate empathy and support.
Many times, when I do work up the courage to tell someone that I am struggling, people will tell me to try being more positive and to stop feeling sorry for myself.
Really? Do you not realize that my brain does not work properly?
A few months ago, a veteran journalist who I greatly respect told me I should stop writing blog posts about my struggles with mental illness. “Nobody really cares about that,” he said.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe nobody does care. But I am going to keep writing about it, because I have heard from scores of people who are grateful that I am willing to talk publicly about depression, anxiety and yes—even my bouts with schizophrenia.
My writing about it, apparently helps these people feel safe and not so alone in the world. Many people have family members suffering from varying forms of mental illness. If I can help just one person by talking about it; well then, I’m going to keep talking and writing about it.
Am I being overly sensitive? Just feeling sorry for myself?
Everybody gets depressed sometimes, it’s natural. Shake it off, people say.
Allow me to give you a few examples to point out why clinical depression and anxiety are very different than normal grief and worry.
I am relatively well known in my small hometown of Biddeford. Some people see me as someone who is connected to the community’s power structure, as someone who is outspoken, brash and sarcastic – – a thick-skinned egomaniac in love with the sound of his own voice and always happy to bloviate and share his opinion about local news.
I am also one of the admins for a community Facebook page of more than 18,000 members, and a few of them somehow believe that I control all communication in the city of Biddeford, and that I am nothing more than a happy-go-lucky Biddeford sycophant.
Sure, okay. Some of that may be true. I do tend to be a snarky loudmouth. But I am not connected to any “power structure.” Most mornings, I have a hard time finding my slippers. I struggle with math and puzzles, so I’m not that bright.
Writing is what I hold onto. I enjoy it, and it helps me relax and stay focused.
But there is also a dark side of my life that I rarely show to anyone, including friends and family.
Just a few weeks ago, while Laura was still at work, I went down to the basement of my home and huddled while crying because I was absolutely convinced that the “government” was trying to covertly beam information into my brain, and I wanted to be surrounded by concrete.
If someone doesn’t immediately return my call or text, I start to spiral, becoming paranoid and will often assume that person must now hate me and is now talking about me behind my back.
I generally live in almost constant fear. It has been that way since I can remember. I was a shy kid with few friends and lived in a pretend world of fantasy of my own creation, but I was always scared. Always scared.
I was scared of other kids, scared that an airplane would crash into my home. Terrified about changes in weather.
Today, as an adult, if something breaks – the toilet flapper, a leaky faucet or broken light switch, I panic.
I refuse to use my CPAP for treating my sleep apnea, because sometimes (not always) I become somewhat concerned about what information is being transmitted while I sleep. Is this the way the CIA plants messages in my brain?
I generally live in almost constant fear. It has been that way since I can remember.
If I have to drive more than 10 miles, I start to feel anxious. Someone is probably going to cross the center line and kill me. What will I do when my dog dies? While driving, I keep my racing thoughts in check by continually calculating the distance and time I have yet to travel.
It’s friggin’ exhausting.
I am almost always afraid. Fear consumes almost every single day.
So, how do I cope? How do I force myself out of bed each day? Well for starters, I take five different medications. They help me function but they also affect everything from my libido to my weight.
With the meds, I can pretend to be normal, funny, outspoken. When I’m taking my meds, I shower every day and brush my teeth. I see a psychiatrist and a therapist, although sometimes it feels like I’m a dog chasing its tail.
Can you imagine how hard it is to live with me? I honestly don’t know how Laura does it. I don’t know what she sees in me. Almost every day, I ask her if she is upset with me and whether she is thinking of filing for divorce.
My rock and salvation
I am only alive today because I was too stupid to figure out how to properly load the cheap Lorcin .380 handgun I bought on impulse on an especially dark night in October 1993. I put that gun in my mouth and pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened. I sat in the middle of the floor and cried uncontrollably before calling 911. Yep, back to the hospital again.
I have been hospitalized more than 20 times – voluntarily and involuntarily — since being honorably discharged from the U.S. Air Force back in 1982.
I was last hospitalized in 2016. This is the longest stretch of my adult life outside of a psychiatric unit.
I am lucky. I have good health insurance. I have an amazing and supportive spouse. I am not facing food nor housing insecurity. Surprisingly, despite my terrible diet and complete lack of exercise, I am relatively healthy.
I also have several really good friends. I rely on them. Heavily.
With all those things, I can work, function and be a contributing member of society. More often than not, mental illness is an invisible illness.
If you ever wonder why more people don’t seek treatment or get help, just look at some of those Facebook comments that were made about Mr. Kennedy this week.
It’s 2025, and stigma is still a thing. Let’s all try to do better.
Thank you.
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(Please do not make this political. It’s just one of my favorite memories)
Today – once again – the United States of America held an inaugural ceremony for the next president.
I intended to watch, but time got away from me.
I am a political junkie. Not very astute — but what I lack in brains I make up for it with passion, enthusiasm and interest.
Thinking about today’s inauguration ceremony in Washington, D.C reminded me of where I was on this day in 2009 – some 16 years ago.
And my memories are precious to me, especially since so many of them have been wiped clean by years of frequent ECT (Electro Convulsive Treatment) procedures, but I do vividly remember personally attending an inauguration in our nation’s capital.
The wind was bitterly cold, and the crowds were overwhelming, but I could not help feeling excited by what was happening all around me.
(Photo from The Guardian)
I did not vote for President Barack Obama. I voted for McCain. I was a registered Republican.
So why was I there? Why pay for an expensive hotel room and almost get squashed by a massive crowd of enthusiastic Democrats?
For reasons I still do not understand, I had been invited to attend a reception for the new president at the New Zealand embassy on the eve of the next day’s inauguration ceremonies. I’m not making that up.
I’ve never even been to New Zealand.
What are the odds of a Biddeford kid – a Republican, no less – getting invited to a reception for Barack Obama on the eve of his inauguration? I’ll bet that there are not many people who can say that.
I think it’s because one of Maine’s best-known and respected attorneys knew I was a political junkie and wanted to show me some appreciation, especially since we both had family connections to the town of Rumford.
At that time, I was working for one of Maine’s premier political consulting firms, Barton & Gingold, a company that was sold almost a decade ago.
We were working with several other firms on a major project in northern Maine. The law firm of Preti Flaherty was the lead legal firm on that project. Severin Belliveau was a partner at Preti Flaherty, (formerly Preti, Flaherty, Beliveau and Pachios).
In a 2013 article for Down East Magazine, Edgar Allen Beem described Severin Beliveau as “Maine’s most powerful lobbyist.”
Beem wrote: “Severin Beliveau is a familiar figure in Maine’s corridors of power, an affable gentleman always dressed just a little better than everyone else in expensive grey suits, tassel loafers, and brightly colored ties. When it comes to pressing the flesh and twisting arms, Beliveau has few equals.”
After just a few weeks of working on the project, I mentioned to Severin that I attended high school for two years in Rumford and knew his niece, Margaret Beliveau (an exceptional student).
“I knew there was something I liked about you,” Severin grinned.
Because Severin was once chair of the Maine Democratic Party and was connected to just about everybody in Maine, odds are it was him who put me on the guest list for the embassy reception.
Apparently, it is a tradition for foreign embassies (especially those located on “Embassy Row”) to host a reception for the incoming president.
It was one of the most beautiful things I had ever been a part of.
I obviously asked Laura if she wanted to go with me. “No,” she replied. “But you should go. This is right up your alley.”
I bought a new suit, and there I was — feeling incredibly intimidated at the New Zealand Embassy on a cold January night.
Mr. Obama did not make it to the New Zealand embassy that night. I can only assume he had some other, more pressing engagements.
Still, it was pretty cool to be there even though I knew no one at the event.
I could have easily gone home that night or the next morning. The news was all a flutter about the expected massive crowds that would be attending the inauguration of America’s first Black president.
“This is historic,” I told myself. “To hell with it, I will brace the bitter cold and the massive crowds.”
They say that discretion is the better part of valor, but don’t tell that to an excited political junkie from Biddeford.
Honestly, the crowds were too thick. I could not get close enough to see what was happening, but it was still an exhilarating experience. I was right there when history was being made.
It was very cold, but there was a warmth that permeated from the crowd. I was completely surrounded by people who were basking in this moment, full of optimism about the ‘hope and change’ that was beckoning.
I was in a very distinct minority that morning on the subway headed toward the Capitol Building. Quite suddenly, I got a taste of what it’s like to be surrounded by people who didn’t look like me.
But it didn’t matter. There was no racial tension. Everyone, it seemed, was smiling; joyous, optimistic and filled with hope.
Suddenly, one lady on the train began singing: “This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine . . .”
Within seconds, all of the other passengers (including me) joined while laughing. It was one of the most beautiful things I had ever been a part of.
So today, many years later, when I kicked myself for missing the inauguration as it was happening. I suddenly felt compelled to sing.
This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine.
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For a lot of people, it’s going to be very hard to watch or even acknowledge the inauguration of Donald Trump as America’s next president.
Look, I didn’t vote for the guy either, and it strikes me as almost surrealistic that Mr. Trump was able to get enough votes to put him back in the White House.
But whining and stomping our feet like toddlers having a tantrum will not achieve anything. It’s time for all of us to roll up our sleeves and figure out what we are each going to do to improve our nation.
Those who say things like “He’s not my president,” are dead wrong just as much as those who said Mr. Biden was not their president.
For better or worse, in less than 48 hours, Mr. Trump will again be OUR president. Certainly not the outcome some of us wanted, but reality just the same.
The United States of America is about much, much more than who occupies the Oval Office. It is our duty, our responsibility and our obligation to future generations to not ignore or walk away from what many would describe as an “unfortunate reality.”
Don’t like Trump? Okay. Fine. You are not alone, but what are you going to do about it other than bitch and moan on social media?
In fact, I believe this could be one of our nation’s finest hours. Let your discontent, your rage and sorrow forge you into becoming a better American. This is a prime time to answer President Kennedy’s call to arms, “ask not what you country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country.”
Don’t like Trump? Okay. Fine. You are not alone, but what are you going to do about it other than bitch and moan on social media? Are you going to step up your game as a citizen? Are you going to work to bring better alternatives to the table?
Take back America if you love it. But you can only do that if you get off your ass and stand up. The time for wailing and gnashing of teeth is over.
This is our moment. It’s time to put on the big boy pants. It’s time to be open to new conversations and new ideas. It’s time to fight for what we believe are our core principles.
It’s time to serve. How are you — yes you — going to make this country better?
Whether we like it or not, Donald Trump will be our president, but what’s holding you back from actually doing something? Make Trump’s inauguration become the catalyst for the change you want to see.
Onward, my friends! We wil get through this as long we employ courage, determination and empathy — this could be our finest hour.
Once again, I have some good news and some bad news. Let’s start with the good news.
Roughly 24 hours ago, Laura told me it was time for me to get a bit more serious about the Biddeford Gazette, an online multi-media news source focused on the city of Biddeford.
Instead of trying to run the Gazette as a subpage here — on my personal blog site — I went ahead and purchased a new domain so that the Gazette could stand on its own without all the clutter and distraction of my blog, Lessons in Mediocrity.
Going forward, as time and funding allows, I will be making enhancements to the Biddeford Gazette site to improve its functionality and design.
My goal is to give you an alternative and comprehensive overview of what is happening in the Biddeford area.
Now the bad news.
As I continue working to build the Biddeford Gazette, I am going to need your help. Mainly, I’m hoping you will subscribe (for free) and follow us on social media.
By subscribing, you will get an email update every time a new story is published. Your email address will NOT be shared with anyone else. Go here to subscribe.
I hate to be a pain in the ass, but if you are already a subscriber of my blog, you will need to subscribe separately to the Biddeford Gazette. It’s free and it’s worth it.
Throughout all of this, I will continue my blog on a more personal scale. To learn more about the Biddeford Gazette go here.
If all goes as planned, the city of Biddeford could gain 60 new affordable housing units that would be built near Rotary Park and within walking distance of Biddeford High School.
On Tuesday, the Biddeford City Council heard a presentation from Nathan Bateman, vice president of Bateman Partners, about the Forest Green project.
The proposal would include construction of two three-story buildings near some existing housing on outer Main Street. The two buildings would share a “central atrium space” so that one elevator could service both buildings.
George Gervais, the city’s economic and development director, told the council that he is excited about the proposal and pointed out that it would help meet the city’s goal to create more affordable housing opportunities.
Because the developers are hoping to use state and federal tax credits for construction of the units, the rental costs of the one and two-bedroom apartments would need to meet state guidelines issued by the Maine Housing Authority for those earning at or below 60 percent of the area’s median income.
But the project is still facing some significant hurdles, most notably from the Saco River Corridor Commission (SRCC), which has oversight on any development within proximity of the river.
More than 50 years ago, in 1974, the then newly created Saco River Commission designated the land as part of a 100-year flood plain, preventing any further development of affordable housing on the parcel.
Bateman told the city council that technology has improved exponentially since 1974. Today it is documented that the parcel where the development would be located is actually well outside the 100-year flood zone.
According to Bateman, the Saco River Corridor Commission is willing to consider the project but only if the city first approved a “resolution” to change the current zoning designation, from “limited residential” to “general development.”
The council voted unanimously Tuesday to approve a resolution of support for the project, which will be presented at the next Saco River Corridor Commission meeting on January 22.
Bateman told the council that his firm has conducted significant research, including the use of GIS technology and low-level drones to record and analyze the area and its viewshed. “It’s a very appropriate location for an expansion of the project that’s already there,” he said.
Following the council’s decision, Bateman told the Biddeford Gazette that timing of the project is “critical” because there are limited opportunities for the state and federal tax credits that are administered by the Maine State Housing Authority (MSHA). Each year, affordable housing developers are forced to compete for limited funding.
Bateman acknowledged Tuesday that there is a long road ahead.
If the Saco River Corridor Commission approves the project, the developer will still need to go through the city’s planning board review process, a regulatory review by the Maine Department of Environmental Protection as well as funding from the Maine State Housing Authority in September.
“We certainly have a long path ahead, but we are excited about this project,” Bateman said. “If all goes as planned, we could begin construction in June 2026.”
Today – almost 44 years later – I still enjoy telling the story about the first time something that I wrote was published.
It was 1981. I was 16 and a high school junior. We were required to do a one-week work-study project, exploring a career field that seemed of interest.
I thought I wanted to be a newspaper reporter. So, I called the Journal Tribune —then this region’s daily newspaper – to make an inquiry. The editor (Eric Reiss) agreed to let me shadow a couple of reporters and work in the newsroom.
Back then smoking was allowed in newsrooms. So was coffee, profanity, screaming matches and the constant hum from a chorus of IBM Selectric II typewriters.
A typical newsroom in the 1970s (Chicago Tribune)
It was a marvelous time, especially for an enthusiastic high school kid with dreams of grandeur about becoming the next Bob Woodward.
Near the end of the week, I was allowed to occupy an empty desk that was closest to the cranky city editor, Bob Melville – a man who wore his glasses perched low on his nose.
Mr. Melville would later become a well-known real estate agent and was repeatedly elected to serve on the Biddeford School Board after his retirement. In real-life, Bob had a great sense of humor and was well-regarded as a hard-working, respectable man of intellect and integrity.
But for me, a skinny 16-year-old kid with stubborn acne, Mr. Melville was like the Wizard of Oz, and I was a combination of the Cowardly Lion and The Scarecrow. I had neither brains nor courage.
I was just sitting there at that desk, wondering what I should do. Phones were ringing all around me, but I was not allowed to answer them.
Our deadline was looming. If you have ever worked in a newsroom, you know that editors become increasingly grumpy with each passing second closer to deadline.
Melville, clutching his phone, suddenly turned to me, staring at me over the glasses that remain still perched on the end of his nose.
Mr. Melville was like the Wizard of Oz, and I was a combination of the Cowardly Lion and The Scarecrow. I had neither brains nor courage.
“Kid!” he barked. “Line Two.”
I was shocked, excited and terrified. The city editor was giving me a story. Finally! Something I could actually write! I was on my way now!
Oh, the places you will go
Turns out that the guy on ‘Line 2’ was a local funeral director. He was calling to give me a last-minute obituary for that afternoon’s newspaper.
I took copious notes on a legal pad. I do not remember the name of the gentleman I was writing about. I only remember that he belonged to about every social club you could imagine: The Elks, The Eagles, The Lions, Rotary . . . the list seemed endless.
The deceased also had roughly 250,000 nieces, nephews, cousins and grandchildren.
I hung up the phone and loaded a fresh sheet of paper into my typewriter. I had never written an obituary before, but Mr. Melville gave me a stack of some recent obits as a guide.
I put my very best effort into writing that obituary. I pained over each word, doing my best to avoid split infinitives and ending any sentence with a preposition.
Melville kept glancing at me and then the clock on the wall. I could tell he was becoming impatient.
I tore the copy from my typewriter and proudly placed it in a wire basket on Melville’s desk before returning to my chair.
I watched as he began to read my masterpiece. His brow furrowed and his posture stiffened. He grabbed a red pen and was waving it across my piece with an almost gleeful abandon.
After several painstaking seconds of anticipation, he finally turned to me and asked: “Where do you go to high school?”
Actually, that year I was attending Rumford High School, but I blurted out “Thornton Academy.”
“Well, don’t they teach English at Thornton Academy?” he huffed.
I was humiliated but could barely wait until the first run of that day’s paper was completed. I anxiously turned to the obituaries page but found nothing that remotely resembled my masterpiece.
In the end, the only two things I got right was the man’s name and age. Basically, everything else had been rewritten. No matter, I was proud.
My mother was proud, too. She cut out that obituary and posted that poor bastard’s obituary on our refrigerator – I was now part of an elite clan: a newspaper reporter who had published something in a real newspaper.
In the mood
More than four decades later, and I am now a semi-retired newspaper editor and reporter.
A few weeks ago, I launched a new endeavor, The Biddeford Gazette. The Gazette is a free, online news outlet that focuses on Biddeford news and events.
A lot has changed in the newspaper business over the last 40 years. For example, you can no longer smoke in a newsroom, but profanity among your coworkers is still strongly encouraged.
For better or worse, more and more people are turning to social media for their news and information. Thanks to technology, today’s news consumers can now custom tailor their news feed almost in the same way you create a music playlist on Spotify or YouTube.
Some of the changes are good, but many of the changes – especially AI (Artificial Intelligence) – are not so good.
Launching my own media source was never intended to become a source of income. It’s basically a hobby, a tool to help provide some handrails on the road of life.
Yes, I still do a little political consulting and some public relations work for clients throughout New England, but none in the Biddeford or Saco area.
The Biddeford Gazette allows me to report news on my terms, when I want and how I want. I’m not here to compete with any other traditional publication, including Saco Bay News, the Biddeford-Saco Courier or the Portland Press Herald.
Up until last year, my website was called Randy Seaver Consulting and provided an overview of the services I offered as a public relations consultant.
My lingering mental health issues, however, played a part in me stepping away from the full-time, stress-packed world of political consulting.
Then, as I began shifting my professional career, I renamed the site, Lessons in Mediocrity so that I could basically do whatever I want: serious journalism, political satire, fiction, local news and a diary of coping tools against schizophrenia, anxiety and depression.
Well, how did I get here?
Today is the first day of 2025.
I am no longer that skinny kid with pimples too afraid to look a girl in the eye. I am once again going to rebrand this website as the Biddeford Gazette.
Up until today, the Biddeford Gazette was a sub-page on my blog. Rest assured, my personal blog will continue – but now as a subpage to the Gazette.
Since launching the Biddeford Gazette just six weeks ago, I have been able to break some significant news stories and also have a bit of fun at the expense of local politicians. (Someone needs to keep them on their toes)
And I am pleased to announce that beginning January 6, 2025, the Biddeford Gazette will publish local obituaries that are supplied by local funeral homes.
Traditional media outlets charge significant fees to publish an obituary. The Biddeford Gazette will publish them for free with the help of some social media partners in the Biddeford and Saco area.
Imagine that, 44 years later, and I am going right back to where I started, doing my best to honor and remember those who are no longer with us.
This change just feels right.
Happy New Year!
P.S. This website is currently being reconfigured.
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LESSONS IN MEDIOCRITY | OUTLAW JOURNALIST 