Trump protestors face much bigger problems than Trump

Earlier today — on the occasion of President Donald Trump’s 79th birthday – millions of Americans took to the streets to participate in hundreds of “No Kings” protests and events all across the country.

From where I sit, those protestors were wasting their time and accomplishing little more than barking at the moon – a theatrical circle-jerk of self-righteous indignation.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not a fan of Donald J. Trump – not by a longshot, but I have some very bad news for the Democrats and all the others who can’t stomach the thought of Trump sitting in the Oval Office:

You have much bigger and much more significant problems than Donald Trump.

This may be hard for you to hear, but Trump is not a king nor a dictator. He is the duly elected president of the United States.

And that fact should scare the bejesus out of all of us.

But no matter how shocked we are, no matter how angry or stunned we may feel about this nightmarish Administration, it is time for the Democrats to accept a very harsh – yet simple — reality. Trump won and you lost.

Instead of carrying cardboard signs and shouting at passing traffic from the side of the road, you should be working to fix what went so terribly wrong on November 5, 2024.

You should also be more concerned about a much bigger – much more frightening – threat to our democracy.

Screaming in the rain may have sort of therapeutic benefit, it may make you feel better; it may even help you believe that you are doing your civic duty – but as my therapist always reminds me: feelings are not facts.

Based upon only statistical data regarding life expectancy, Donald Trump is not going to be with us much longer. Today he turns 79. He’s not in the best of shape. The life expectancy for an American man is 77.4 years. Trump is already on borrowed time.

But when Trump finally does shuffle off his mortal coil, will things then go back to normal? Hardly. Why? Because the bigger threat will still be here.

In fact, do you really believe that things were more normal before Trump returned to the White House? Maybe, but that was only because so many of us were not really paying attention.

The boogeyman is real

During his farewell address from the White House in 1961, President Dwight D. Eisenhower – a Republican — warned us all about the potential dangers of a “Military Industrial Complex.”

Eisenhower specifically cautioned us regarding “the acquisition of unwarranted influence” by this complex within the government.

He also said this ‘complex’ could lead to the “disastrous rise of misplaced power” and potentially undermine our cherished democratic processes.

Ironically, Eisenhower’s successor was assassinated only a little more than two years later; and so was his brother a few years later during his own campaign for the presidency and so were civil rights leaders Dr. Martin Luther King and Malcom X . . . but I digress.

For the most part — despite the escalation of the Vietnam War, Watergate and the Iran Contra Affair – Americans basically let their eyes glaze over, rushing to embrace color televisions, cordless phones and so many other trinkets of distraction.

“The eagle has landed,” . . . about nine months ahead of National Guard troops slaughtering four unarmed college students who were protesting on the campus of Kent State University in Ohio.

Tin soldiers and Nixon’s coming  . . .

Any of this starting to sound familiar?

Sure, it’s easy and much more convenient to focus our rage and indignation on Donald Trump, but he’s really nothing more than a placeholder, a puppet for a well-oiled machine that has repeatedly proven its effectiveness in eroding our civil liberties.

Trump is little more than a narcissistic, not-very-bright ego maniac. The bad news? He holds the nuclear launch codes.

If nothing else, Donald Trump
is the perfect distraction
to what is really wrong in our country.

What is the real threat?

According to the Southern Poverty Law Center and so many others, hate groups are on the rise in America.

According to the Wall Street Journal (hardly a bastion of liberalism), far-right groups were sharing violent messages ahead of the “No Kings” protests this weekend.

The WSJ also reported that accounts associated with extremist groups are “also sharing detailed information about protest organizers, including names and where protestors work.”

And then? Surprise. Minnesota lawmakers are killed and attacked early Saturday morning because of their political views. Coincidence? Yeah, right?

Sadly, hate groups are nothing new in America. These days, the Klan stays mostly hidden – but not inactive.

While Democrats are growing hoarse, screaming “No Kings,” they seem somewhat reticent to admit that more American voters chose Trump than Harris.

The Democrats also failed to gain back control of the House and lost control of the Senate. Despite the current make-up of the Supreme Court, eroding civil rights, infringements on women’s reproductive rights and the general rise of corporate welfare, the left basically screwed the pooch.

Why?

Well, lots of people much smarter than me have offered their own theories about what went wrong in the last election. But here are some factors that seem painfully obvious (in retrospect).

Democrats lost a big portion of their base leading up to the election. Many people say the party basically abandoned some of its key supporters: from younger men to non-white voters and a middle-class that values labor unions.

Instead, Democrats chased a platform of identity politics and a far-left political ideology that doesn’t match current polling. Their messages were blurred and inconsistent. They simply thought the threat of Trump was enough.

They were wrong.

Despite the fact that many Americans say the Biden Administration was weak on immigration issues, Trump and his allies were able to effectively torpedo a bi-partisan bill that would strengthen and enforce immigration policies just weeks before the election.

And there were lots of other things, namely the failure of Democratic leaders to acknowledge what everyone else already knew: President Joe Biden was mentally failing. They tried to keep it a secret until it became painfully obvious to millions of television viewers in the first debate of 2024.

Jake Tapper, an award-winning journalist and the lead Washington anchor for CNN, recently co-wrote a book about the Biden cover-up: Original Sin.

In a recent episode of Bill Maher’s Real Time talk show, Tapper said the Democrats lost a lot of trust by covering for Biden.

Does any of this really matter? I don’t know. Can it be fixed? I don’t know. Maybe.

But the fact remains that the bigger threats to our democracy go way beyond Donald Trump. Despite whatever batshit thing he says or does, millions of his supporters joyously cheer him on.

That is what should keep you awake at night. If nothing else, Donald Trump is the perfect distraction to what is really wrong in our country.

Randy Seaver is a cranky, nearly insufferable malcontent living in Biddeford. He may be contacted by email: randy@randyseaver.com

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Is Santa Claus real? Just ask him

He’s known by many names. Some call him Father Christmas; others call him St. Nicholas or Kris Kringle. But here in North America, he is best known as Santa Claus.

Just two days before Christmas, Santa made time to sit down with me for an exclusive one-on-one interview.

Although well known for his “jolly” disposition, Santa was a tad grumpy during our meeting. It’s understandable. He has a lot of pressure this time of year. Billions of boys and girls all over the world are waiting anxiously for his delivery of toys and treats.

I decided to let other people come up with the questions for this interview.

The legend of Santa Claus goes back hundreds of years. Kelley B. wants to know what you view as major changes to your mission, specifically your annual stop at the Island of Misfit toys that started in 1964?

“Well, let’s get real. In my view, that was a very recent change, and I really owe a debt of gratitude to Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer for tipping me off about that place. Honestly, we are all misfits – every one of us, even me. We are all different. None of us is perfect. We are not defined by our flaws. We are defined by our capacity to love one another.”

A rare photo of Santa and Mrs. Claus at the Run of the Mill in Saco

Mark J. wants to know if Hermey the Elf is still practicing dentistry.

“Oh sure. His practice is thriving. In fact, he offers an advanced dental graduate program here at the North Pole. He’s always up my butt about the importance of flossing; as if I need another thing to worry about. (Laughs).

Celeste T. wants to know why she didn’t get an Easy Bake oven when she was a little girl.

“I get that question a lot.”

About Easy Bake ovens?

“No, silly. Lots of people wake up disappointed by something on Christmas morning. I remember when Celeste asked for that toy oven. It sort of broke my heart to see her disappointed that morning. That was a tough year for Easy Bake ovens. There was a huge demand, and unfortunately my elves just could not keep pace.

“But you know what? Today, Celeste has a wonderful oven that she uses to cook her meals and to make treats for her family and friends.

“Many people all around the world do not have an oven. In fact, many people don’t even have a home. I’m just super pleased that Celeste is still willing to be nice to other people, even though she didn’t get exactly what she wanted on one particular Christmas morning.”

 Deborah P. wants to know what kind of cookies are your favorite. She also wants to know whether she should leave carrots or sugar out for the reindeer.

“Well, she’s a very thoughtful young lady. I like all kinds of cookies. Dude, look at me. I didn’t get to be this size by licking icicles. There’s no such thing as a bad cookie, in my humble opinion.

“As for the reindeer, they prefer carrots. Carrots are rich in both calcium and Vitamin K. They promote good bone density and help with your vision, something that is very important if you’re flying all over the world at night.”

Suzanne C. wants to know more about Mrs. Claus and whether she helps you?

“There is no way I could do what I do without lots of love, help and support. Mrs. Claus and I have been married a long time. A very long time. I mean like centuries . . . you get my gist?

“Like most wives, Mrs. Claus is always willing to give advice. Over the years, I have learned that it’s best to listen to your partner. Sometimes, the most loving thing you can do is to listen when they or anyone else is speaking to you.”

Jeff R. wants to know your favorite Christmas movie.

“I like all of them, but let’s get real. Die Hard is not a Christmas movie. I suppose, my favorite Christmas movie is “It’s A Wonderful Life.” That movie really underscores the true meaning of this holiday.

“Mrs. Claus likes all those Hallmark Christmas movies. Let’s just say I’m quite grateful that we have two televisions and a Netflix subscription.”

Larry M. wants to know how you leave presents at homes without a chimney or fireplace.

“It’s magic.”

Magic? What do you mean magic?

“Listen, Jimmy Olsen. There’s a lot you don’t know about magic. Magic is real as the nose on your face. Magic is simply the proper combination of love, faith and hope.

“Imagine a world without magic. A world where every single thing has to be analyzed, studied and proven? What a sad world that would be. Childhood is often described as ‘magical’ because children are willing to believe in things they don’t necessarily understand.

“Whenever you get on a plane or whenever you get in your car, you have faith. At least enough faith that you are going to arrive at your destination. You don’t have to understand aeronautics or how an engine works. You just need faith and a bit of hope. Magic is all around us if we focus on love. If we open our hearts and our eyes, each of us can see unlimited potential in each other and in ourselves.”

Who am I? Take a look in the mirror, sonny. I am you; if you choose to be me. I am your neighbor. I am your co-worker, your classmate, your friend and your enemy.

— Santa Claus

So, I suppose you’re going to say that magic makes the reindeer able to fly or that you can visit every country in the world in just one night?

“Absolutely. Magic is a wonderful gift. Every time you smile at a stranger, you are spreading love. Every time you pet a dog or hold the door for an elderly person, you are acting out your love. Everyone – – and I mean every one of us – has the power to love. Love does not require anything. It costs nothing but is the most valuable thing in the world.”

Some people say you’re not real.

“Those people are right, but they are also wrong. I am as real as you want me to be. I don’t care if you’re four years old or 40, you can believe in me if you choose. Again, love is a choice. That’s the whole meaning of presents, a practice of showing love. You can’t buy love at the store; it lies within each of us.

“Look; I gotta run. The elves are working overtime, and I need to get ready for a very, very busy night.”

But I have so many more questions. Who are you? And why do you do this?

“Who am I? Take a look in the mirror, sonny. I am you; if you choose to be me. I am your neighbor. I am your co-worker, your classmate, your friend and your enemy.

“I am the guy you are argue with on Facebook. I am your grandfather, your favorite aunt. I am a man, and I am a woman. I am very young and very old. I am simply the personification of love. That’s why I exist.

“Why do I do this? Because I can. Because I choose to love. Because this day – no matter what you call it – no matter your religion, culture or education – – it’s all about hope. About the possibility of a new start, about the potential of unconditional love. Today is a call for us to love one another.

“Now, if you will excuse me, I need to put some fresh batteries in Rudolph’s nose. Ho, ho, ho . . . I’m almost ready to go.”

Angels and Demons: The best lie I ever told

I think Stephen King would probably agree with me when I say that the very best horror stories are the ones that are based on a true story.

Despite my childhood proclivity for lying, the story you are about to read is, unfortunately, true.

It happened on a very hot day in the summer of 1976, almost 50 years ago. I was 12 years old, and I told a whopper of a lie that ended up on the front page of the daily newspaper.

Let’s pause here for a moment. Please allow me to explain why I am publicly sharing this story for the first time.

Two guys having a hissy fit

Ed Pierce, now the managing editor of the weekly Windham Eagle, got upset with me about something I posted on Facebook regarding Biddeford City Manager James Bennett a few days ago.

Pierce publicly questioned my “journalistic ethics” in posting the story about Bennett. I replied that I am no longer a “professional journalist,” despite the fact that I occasionally write puff pieces for Saco Bay News as a freelancer. My days of covering Biddeford City Hall are behind me.

To make a long story a bit shorter, Ed Pierce and I began trading barbs on social media. We were each very snarky with our slings and arrows.

Fun stuff — two, white middle-aged newspaper guys who both live in Biddeford – going at it like a couple of high school girls arguing about who gets to be prom queen.

Pierce got especially pissed when I brought up an unfortunate incident that happened in 2018 while he was the editor of the now closed Journal Tribune in Biddeford.

Maine media critic Al Diamon — who writes a column in several publications throughout Maine – had a field day with Pierce, who was duped into writing a news story about something that never happened.  [Read Diamon’s blistering column here.]

Pierce was getting angrier by the second until he somehow found an equally damming story about me.

Here’s the difference: While I was going after Pierce for a silly mistake he made as a newspaper editor, he decided to come back at me with an embarrassing story from my childhood, when I was 12 years old.

What’s the frequency, Kenneth?

As I said, it was a hot day in July 1976. I was getting ready to head out on my paper route. Ironically, I delivered the Journal Tribune in my neighborhood in Saco, near the armory on Franklin Street.

I got into an argument with my younger sister. Our fracas woke our father from a mid-day nap. He was enraged. He came flying out of the house and almost literally beat the shit out of me.

I was both angry and hurt, I took off running and stayed away for a few hours. I made it as far as the Five Points Shopping Center in Biddeford before getting hungry and tired.

I started to walk home, but I was still angry. Only a few hundred yards away from my home, I threw away my wristwatch and my belt near Don’s Variety, a small corner store that was located at the corner of Maple and Bradley streets in Saco.

Don’t ask me why I threw away my watch and belt. It’s been almost 50 years. Who knows what I was thinking?

My parents had called the Saco Police Department and reported me missing. It was now evening as I began my way back up Franklin Street to return home. A patrol officer spotted me only a few yards away from my home.

My face and shirt were covered with dried blood. My parents came running over to the now parked police cruiser. The officer asked me what happened. I glanced at my parents and then back at the officer.

I then did something I would regret for many years to come. I lied.

I told the officer that I was attacked by a big, fat bald man wearing a red tee-shirt and blue jeans.

You can probably guess what happened next.

The city of Saco basically went into lockdown. The story swept across the city like a wildfire. A child molester was on the loose in Saco.

At the officer’s advice, my parents brought me to the Webber Hospital in Biddeford. The ER doctor was concerned about damage to my right eye. I was transferred by ambulance and admitted for overnight observation at Maine Medical Center in Portland.

My lie had worked, but not for long.

Extra! Extra! Read all about it!

The next day, the Journal Tribune ran a front-page story about the attack. I was the victim, so they used my name, despite the fact that I was 12.

Then my lie began to unravel.

A friend of my parents told police that she had seen me at Five Points and was concerned because I had blood on my face and clothes.

Now the Biddeford Police Department got involved. Detective Gagne questioned me. I offered up a new story. I said that I was beaten by a group of teenagers near Mayfield Park.

Gagne wasn’t buying what I was selling. My tissue of lies disintegrated.

Finally, after being threatened with juvenile detention, I told the “truth.” I said I “fell down” in my backyard.

Of course, I was once again lying but everybody bought it. Hook, line and sinker. The police, my parents and even the local newspaper.

The very next day, the Journal Tribune ran a front-page story above the fold: “Youth Admits Lie.”

They had to do the story to quell panicked and concerned citizens. They were just doing their job. But again, my name was included in the story. I went from victim to outcast in less than 48 hours.

The owner of Don’s Variety was understandably pissed. He kicked me out of the store a few days later.

The first few weeks of seventh-grade sort of sucked.

All in all, I had told three lies. The first about a fat, bald man. The second, about a gang of kids on May Street, but it was the last one that everyone seemed to believe for nearly five decades. I fell down. Okay. Sure. Whatever.

That last lie held up right until Ed Pierce decided to use that story as leverage in order to publicly embarrass and hurt me.

Near the end of our Facebook exchange, Mr. Pierce made a not-so-subtle reference to wristwatches that could be found at the long-since closed Don’s Variety.

When confronted by me and some others, he quickly deleted his comments.

What Ed Pierce probably doesn’t know is that he actually did me a huge favor. I’ve been carrying that shame around for almost 50 years. It was a relief to finally let go. To finally tell the truth; to finally reconcile something that should have never happened.

The angels wanna wear my red shoes

My father passed away a little more than four years ago. They say you should never speak ill of the dead, and that’s probably good advice.

One of the earliest photos of me and my dad; Circa 1964.

Did my father act like a monster? Yup. Did he physically and emotionally abuse me and my younger sister? Yup. For many years, he routinely referred to me as “queer boy.” My sister struggled with her weight, beginning around age 9. He routinely referred to her as “baby elephant.”

It would be easy and quite convenient to simply label my father as a monster, but to do so would be telling a much bigger lie.

Yes, he was abusive . . . to me, my sister and my mother, but here’s the hard part: He was also a loving and generous father. He sometimes worked three jobs so that my sister and I would want for nothing.

My father worked his ass off to make us middle-class. Clarinet lessons and Boy Scouts for me. Ballet and tap lessons for my sister. Every Christmas was magical. In many ways, we were spoiled kids.

We went on vacations every summer, and Dad helped us with our homework. That was him. Singing and playing guitar in the church choir while my sister and I were altar servers at Most Holy Trinity. He was a talented musician, well-known for his charm and sense of humor.

My father’s professional career was spent teaching students who were in those days mostly ignored.

He was a teacher at the Cerebral Palsy Center in Portland. He had to help some of his students use the bathroom. He patiently helped them eat their lunch. Day in and day out, he was gentle and kind to those kids. But it took a toll.

It seemed like one of his students died almost every month. It gutted him. He cared so much about them. He was a walking, talking, breathing contradiction of terms.

Dad always had a soft spot for the outcasts and the troubled kids. He was a friend, a dedicated mentor with tons of patience.

Two years after I “fell down,” my mother finally filed for divorce. That was not pretty.

My father was a demon, and he was an angel, and that’s about as fair as I can be.

Life is complicated.

I have forgiven my old man; something that became a lot easier to do once I was confronted with how hard it is to be a father.

This is a sad story, but it is true. If you think I’m exaggerating, you can check the police records or the Journal Tribune archives on microfiche at the McArthur Library in Biddeford.

The next time you a hear a child say that he or she got hurt by “falling down,” please remember that they are likely feeding you a load of baloney.

Thank you, Ed Pierce. It feels good to finally have the truth out there. Now how about some fresh sushi and French Fries?

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Stop Making Sense: the birth and resurrection of a monster in Biddeford

Over the just the past few days, two journalists have reached out to me in order to criticize some things I’ve said on social media.

Ted Cohen, a former and respected reporter from the Portland Press Herald, and Ed Pierce, now the editor of the weekly Windham Eagle, both think I need some guidance.

Cohen was sincere and well-meaning with his criticism. We’ve known each other for more than 25 years. He raised some valuable points for me to consider. Pierce, however, was much less than cordial. He really, really does not like me.

In fact, during our back-and-forth exchange – while we were both hurling insults and snarky comments at each other on Facebook — Pierce decided to bring out the big guns and tried to publicly shame me about something I did when I was 12 years old, an incident that was on the front page of the Journal Tribune in 1976. (You can read about that incident here).

Cohen just thinks I am wasting my time and frittering away my resources as an old-school reporter. He thinks I should just “shut-the-fuck up” on social media and go back to being a full-time journalist covering the city of Biddeford. He does not like my blog posts about my struggles with mental illness, a topic he says “nobody really cares about.”

During a camping trip last weekend, I gave a lot of thought to the criticisms raised by both Cohen and Pierce. Again, I admire and respect Cohen. Pierce? Not so much. But I realized both men provided a glimpse into the viewpoints of many other people, especially in the Biddeford-Saco area.

Although I generally get a lot of positive feedback from readers, there are, apparently, a lot of people who are annoyed by what I write. Several people think I suck at journalism. Many others are bent out of shape and hate the fact that I am an administrator of the Biddeford-Saco Community Facebook page.

If you think my ego is hyper-inflated, and if you think that I have too much influence in the city of Biddeford and elsewhere, don’t blame me.

Put the blame where the blame belongs.

Blame David Flood. It’s all his fault.

It was David Flood who set this unfortunate series of events into motion. He created the monster that some of you despise.

David Flood Press Herald photo

Let’s pause and back up a bit for context.

A bad seed is planted

It was October 1998. I was sitting in my parked car (a 1987 rusting Subaru) on Washington Street in Biddeford, not far from the former Wonderbar Restaurant.

My stomach was in knots, and I was just starting my second pack of cigarettes that day. I really wanted this job. I really needed this job.

My life at that time was a giant, hot mess. I was basically broke, living in a studio apartment in Westbrook and had a credit score somewhere near the 300 mark.

I was 34 years old and considered myself a complete failure. No close family connections. Few friends, and not even a bank account.

I was working for another weekly newspaper when I interviewed for the job at the Biddeford-Saco-OOB Courier, a weekly publication that was then owned by David and Carolyn Flood.

The job appealed to me to me for two reasons. First, it seemed more interesting than the job I had covering the towns of Windham and Standish. I had grown up in the Biddeford-Saco area. My family had deep roots in both communities.

Secondly, the Courier position would pay roughly 50 cents an hour more than my current gig. That’s a difference of about $20 per week. When you’re flat broke, an extra $20 per week sounds really good.

I think David was impressed by my enthusiasm and the fact that I had experience. But I think what clinched the deal was that he recognized the value of hiring a reporter who had a basic understanding of the community he would be covering.

We shook hands, and I was set to start in two weeks so that I could give my current employer notice.

That was it. That was the moment when my entire life changed.

If not for David’s decision to hire me, I would not have met Laura who had decided several years ago to run for a seat on the Old Orchard Beach School Board. I would not have had the opportunity to help raise my kids, Tim and Matt.

If not for that job as a reporter covering Biddeford and Saco, it is quite likely that you would have never heard my name. More than 99 percent of the people I interact with on social media only know me because David Flood hired me as a reporter.

If not for David Flood’s decision, I would have never been hired a few years later by Barton & Gingold, one of Maine’s most respected political and public relations consulting firms. I would have never bought a house in Biddeford.

Had David Flood not hired me, it is more than likely that you and I would not know each other. So, if you find me insufferable or just plain annoying, blame David Flood. It’s all his fault.

Jumping in feet first

Just a few days before Halloween 1998, I hit the streets as the newest reporter covering Biddeford and Saco. Other than a couple of family members, I basically knew no one in the area.

The few friends I had at that time all lived near Portland. I grabbed a reporter’s notebook, a pen and an old camera on my quest to find a news story. I walked less than 20-feet when I bumped into a man wearing the costume of a deranged chef. He was holding a rubber chicken and a meat cleaver.

It was a Friday afternoon, and downtown merchants were participating in a Halloween trick-or-treat event. I asked the man with the rubber chicken if I could take his picture for the newspaper.

That man’s name was Brian Keely, the son of Vincent Keely who owned the Wonderbar Restaurant on the other side of Washington Street. Five years later, Brian Keely was the best man at my wedding.

Brian’s father sort of adopted me. Vincent always had a sly grin and had a mannerism that was both charming and subdued. Because the Wonderbar was near City Hall, it was a popular place for city councilors and other politicians to hang out after long, tedious meetings.

I spent a lot of time at the Wonderbar. Vincent Keely pointed me to some great stories. He knew almost everyone. He seemed to like me. Brian and I became good friends.

Back then, there was always a lot of drama at City Hall. The stories were easy to come by, but the competition was stiff. Every meeting was also attended by a reporter from both the Portland Press Herald and the Journal Tribune.

I was trying to establish myself and pushing to make the weekly Courier the paper of record in Biddeford and Saco.

I worked my ass off. We gave the Journal and Press Herald a run for their money. A few months later, David gave me the first of several pay raises. It was February 1999, and I received a notice from Northern Utilities that my heat was going to be turned off.

Without me asking them, David and Carolyn paid my overdue heating bill. They never asked for repayment. You never forget things like that. I was battling with some severe depression back then. David and Carolyn basically saved my life.

It was there and then that I decided I would treat the Courier as if I were its owner. I didn’t work 40 hours a week. I worked, 60, 80 hours a week. Sometimes more. It didn’t matter. The Courier was not my job.

The Courier was my life.

The beginning of the end

Eventually, I became the Courier’s editor. David and Carolyn were kept busy as their company grew by leaps and bounds. They soon added the South Portland Sentry and the Kennebunk Post to their existing publications, which included the Courier and the Scarborough Leader.

It was at about this time that I approached David and asked permission to begin a weekly opinion column, which would focus on statewide politics. He agreed. The name of that column was called All Along The Watchtower.

To this very day, people routinely tell me how much they loved that column, which had morphed into a catch-all of snarky local political commentary.

Doug Sanford offered me an apartment on the third floor above the Happy Dragon restaurant on Main Street in Biddeford. I now lived and worked on Main Street. I was immersed into Biddeford’s culture.

I became a fixture at City Hall and regularly annoyed local politicians including former mayor and city councilor Jim Grattelo, who repeatedly asked David to fire me.

Brian Keely and I started a live call-in television program on the public access channel. The name of the show, of course, was called Along the Watchtower, and it was a live, no-holds barred hour-long program about local politics.

I could keep going and going, but that’s basically it. That’s how it started. The staff at the Journal Tribune didn’t much care for me. Their days were numbered, and they knew it. Reporters at the Press Herald’s Biddeford bureau respected my work ethic but kept their distance.

David promoted me to become managing editor of all his publications.

I left the newspaper business in 2006 to pursue a career in political consulting. A few years later, in 2011, former Biddeford city councilor Alan Casavant asked me to be his campaign manager. He wanted to oust incumbent mayor Joanne Twomey.

We won that campaign by a margin of more than 65 percent. I repeated my role in Casavant’s re-election in 2013; and I helped with his next four campaigns.

Serving as master of ceremonies at Alan Casavant’s inauguration in 2011

In 2001, a woman named Laura Kidman Hayes sent me a curt e-mail, pointing out that I screwed up in my coverage of the pending election in Old Orchard Beach. I responded with a pithy and sarcastic retort.

She lost that election, and we were married less than two years later. The next year, we bought our home in Biddeford. A few years later, she won a seat as an at-large representative on the Biddeford City Council. She easily won reelection for a second term.

I missed writing about Biddeford politics and started this blog. A couple of years ago, I agreed to do some freelance writing for Saco Bay News. I had to step away from writing about Biddeford news a few months ago, however, because of a conflict of interest. I also can no longer write about Saco politics because my stepsister is now that city’s mayor.

So today, I continue to run my own, very small consulting business and write this blog and occasionally write puff pieces and feature stories for Saco Bay News.

A moment of clarity

Let’s get something straight right now. I no longer consider myself to be a professional journalist. I share personal opinions and observations on social media. I am basically a semi-retired consultant. That’s it.

You should also know that I am not very bright as I outlined in a prior blog post from two years ago.

I do enjoy public feedback — the good, the bad and the ugly. You can find samples of that criticism on this site. Maybe your criticisms can someday make that list.

To Mr. Cohen, I say, thanks, but no thanks. I’d rather be a free-wheeling blogger than a full-time journalist.

To Mr. Pierce, I would say . . . dude, you have a serious anger management problem, and you should really get some professional help.

To Jim Grattelo, I would say: remember what Obi-Wan Kenobi said to Darth Vader, if you strike me down, I will only become more powerful.

To the rest of you, thank you so much for taking the time to read my stuff. It means the world to me. To think that you give up even a few minutes of your day to engage with me is almost beyond my comprehension.

Finally, to David and Carolyn Flood, you guys not only saved my life, but you gave it meaning. I know I that I often drove you guys nuts, but please never doubt how grateful I will always be.

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Radio Free Europe

With each passing day, I am becoming further convinced that the United States is inching closer and closer to another civil war.

It just seems inevitable.

But this time around, I don’t think the lines of demarcation will be so neatly drawn or conveniently labeled.

In 1861, it was easy to identify “the enemy.” Geography was the name of the game. North versus South. We even had a rather convenient and mutually acceptable dividing point: the Mason-Dixon Line.

Jan. 6, 2021 Capitol Riots. Photo: Pew Research Center

As you probably recall from your sixth-grade social studies class, the Mason Dixon Line ran between Pennsylvania and Maryland, separating the good guys from the bad guys. Defining who were the good guys was purely subjective, depending solely upon which side of the line you found yourself.

To this day — more than 150 years after the first Civil War started — many southerners still adamantly deny that it was about slavery.

While living in Nashville during the early 1990s, I had a good friend who vigorously tried to convince me (a Yankee) that the war was simply about state’s rights. That the south was simply trying to defend itself from “northern aggression.”

He was right, of course. The southern states wanted the “right” to own slaves. Everything else was (and remains) a smokescreen.

The practice of slavery was essential for the economic survival of the southern states that lagged behind the economic bustle and prosperity of their northern neighbors.

In short, it was about money. But isn’t it always?

While the north was humming along with mills and factories, the south was mainly dependent on an agriculture economy that required lots of manpower.

Today, however, the lines of dissension are much less clear and are muddled across a constantly shifting variety of social and political boundaries. Reproductive rights, gun rights, climate change, LGBTQ+ issues and so much more.

Sure, it’s easy and somewhat convenient to say it’s about Democrats versus Republicans, or about red states versus blue states, but I think it’s a lot more complex than that.

I don’t think it’s going to be that easy to spot the enemy in the next Civil War.

I think in this next civil war – and it is coming – it will be more of a neighbor versus neighbor thing.

A cold wind is blowing

We know that our country is divided. We know that there is an increasingly apparent undercurrent of rage brewing just beneath the surface of our political infrastructure.

We saw a hint of it on January 6, 2021.

But that was just a glimpse. The Democrats seized upon that event, pointing to all that was wrong with Republicans.

Many Republicans downplayed the incident and tried to shift blame onto people like Nancy Pelosi for “allowing it to happen.” They pointed to inner city riots that had happened only months earlier when mostly minority residents were enraged about examples of police brutality.

The Democrats miscalculated the incident. Many of them mistakenly thought that event would “seal the deal” and would be the long awaited and much anticipated death knell of Donald J. Trump’s political career.

The American people would be horrified, the Democrats reasoned. The people would be galvanized by what they witnessed on their flat-screen televisions and smart phones.

It would be sort of like Sept. 11, when most all Americans would rally behind truth, justice and the laws of our democracy. When we would stand united in the face of evil.

On Sept. 11, 2001, we knew – or at least thought we knew –who the enemy was. We swore vengeance.

But this time was different. The Democrats had miscalculated.

Trump and his supporters did not suffer any meaningful blowback from the Jan. 6 incident. In fact — court cases be damned – the Capitol riots only made Trump and his growing legion of supporters stronger.

Sure, a handful of Republicans condemned the incidents of Jan. 6; but they were almost immediately expunged by a political party that was tipping to an extreme and rather rabid position.

The GOP, it seemed, was ready to eat its young. Chaos descended over the Republican-controlled House of Representatives. The extremists were now in charge.

No one was even pretending to be civil.

Democrats, too, dropped the ball, using the Jan. 6 riots as little more than an endless rallying cry for political purposes, a four-year campaign ad to prevent the GOP from ever again occupying the White House.

Meanwhile – beyond the media frenzy, beyond the ensuing federal indictments and beyond all the talking heads and all the noise – some Americans started quietly making plans.

While living in the south, I once made the mistake of joking with one of my work colleagues who was busting my chops about being a Yankee. “Relax,” I told him. “The Civil War is over.”

“No, it ain’t,” he replied with a grin. “It’s just halftime.”

I remember a chill going down my spine when he said that.

He wasn’t joking.

Pawn Takes Queen

You can already see the ads on the internet and on late-night television. Survival kits and emergency meal rations. We laugh at these “preppers.” A bunch of delusional, paranoid conspiracy theorists.

We dismiss them and their concerns. Our arrogance only fuels their not-so-hidden rage about the “elitists.”

But when the shit hits the fan – and it will — what will be your first move?

Will you take sides or will you sit back and hope that other people – the government – can fix it? The good guys will win, right?

But riddle me this: What if the “government” splinters? More aptly, what if the military splinters?

What happens when you see the “troops” marching through your neighborhood and you’re the only one without a gun?

Or . . . what do you do if you’re the only one on your block with a gun? Are you willing to shoot your neighbor? Someone you know? Will you defend your home or surrender and just hope that things work out for the best?

How will you know the good guys from the bad guys? Who decides? Who will you believe? The news?

Who’s to say that our police department will not be fragmented, same for the fire department. The guys and gals who drive the snow plows and the trash trucks?

Speaking of trucks, what about all the cross-country truckers? The airport personnel? The hospital staff? The reporters and media outlets? Second-shift at Wendy’s?

What happens if all these groups are suddenly fractured?

I am not trying to scare you.

But if you’re not scared by now, then my silly blog post is sure as hell not going to motivate you to consider a rather dark reality.

Will the next civil war bring out the best in us or the worst in us?

Me? I’m not preparing for some kind of half-assed Armageddon. I’m not stocking up on guns, ammo, Hot Pockets or even toilet paper. Nope. I’m just gonna sit back and watch. I refuse to let fear control my life.

I will take each day as it comes – on its own terms.

But when the shit gets real — and it will – just remember, I told you so.

History is written by the winners.

Is it over, or was my former co-worker correct?

Is it only half-time?

It’s happened before. It will happen again. It just won’t be so easy to sort the good guys from the bad guys this time.

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A Campus Set Apart?

Originally published in Saco Bay News August 24, 2024

A Campus Set Apart

George Orwell once wrote “Journalism is printing what somebody else doesn’t want printed. Everything else is public relations.”

Since I have worked as both a journalist and as a public relations professional, I can tell you that quotation from Orwell often rings quite true, especially in a small town where some things are considered off-limits for pesky reporters.

Since this is a column about the city of Saco and Thornton Academy, and since I graduated from T.A., I lifted the title for this column from my senior year yearbook: “A Campus Set Apart.”

Sounds nice, doesn’t it? A Campus Set Apart. A distinguished honor, a trumpeting of high achievement.

But what I want to know is this: A campus set apart from what, exactly?

Let’s pause here for a moment for some very necessary disclosure: I graduated from Thornton Academy in 1982. My sister also graduated from T.A., as did my father and both of my aunts. In fact, my grandfather taught there briefly before teaching at Biddeford High School.

So, I know a little bit about Thornton Academy, its reputation and its history.

More disclosure, since we’re also talking about the city of Saco: My youngest step sister, Jodi MacPhail also graduated from Thornton and is today the mayor of Saco.

A Social Media Firestorm

Last week, just a day before Laura and I were set to leave for our annual trip to Moosehead Lake, I published what I thought was a rather innocuous news story regarding the ongoing contract negotiations between Saco and Thornton.

Although Thornton Academy is a private school, it has also served as Saco’s default high school for nearly 200 years. That’s quite a history.

But despite this long-standing relationship between the city and Thornton, and the fact that these negotiations happen every few years, there seems to be a fair amount of friction between the two parties.

I posted the story on the Biddeford-Saco Community Facebook page on Wednesday morning. Within just a couple of hours, the accusations and fervent defense of one side’s position went almost off the rails.

That Facebook post reached more than 2,000 viewers within the first 24 hours, and it generated more than 117 comments.

I was stunned by the commentary, the bulk of which was aimed at defending Thornton Academy and criticizing the city’s negotiating team.

Honestly, I expected the reverse. As someone who tracks local issues very closely, I wrongly assumed that Saco taxpayers would naturally align closer to the city’s negotiating position.

Then again, the city of Saco does not employ a public relations professional, but Thornton Academy does. And it appears to be money well spent.

Maybe I’m a cynic, but it appeared that Thornton Academy had rallied their troops and circled their wagons even before the story was published. Many of the commenters didn’t disclose their own connections to the private school, including teachers and other employees.

Commentary in support of Thornton Academy pummeled the opposition by a margin of close to 9-1.

Wow, I thought. I better be careful about what I write about Thornton, especially if I have the temerity to tackle some of the school’s beloved mythology.

 I was born in a small town

Sometimes it can be weird: being a reporter in a small town. Reporters are supposed to be objective and unbiased. Sometimes, it’s a bit tougher to accomplish those high ideals of journalism than it looks, especially when you bump into the people you write about at the grocery store or if your kids play on the same Little League team.

Simply questioning Thornton Academy or sympathizing with the city’s negotiating team feels almost treasonous to me. I am an alum, after all.

But unlike almost all of my 1982 classmates, I have a rather unique view of Thornton Academy.

It’s no secret that I was experiencing some difficulties during my teenage years. When things got too far out of control, my mother sent me to live with my uncle in West Peru. That transition happened just a few weeks into my sophomore year at Thornton.

Kids from the town of Peru were sent to Rumford High School, now Mountain Valley High School. I finished my sophomore year and then attended my entire junior year in Rumford.

But I begged my mother to let me return to Thornton so that I could graduate with all my “friends” from Saco before heading off to basic training in the U.S. Air Force.

In retrospect, I should have stayed at Rumford. I never really fit in at either Thornton or Rumford. It may surprise you – and I now find it quite ironic – that many kids from Rumford looked down their noses at kids from Peru. Imagine a snobby kid from Rumford. A contradiction of terms.

At least the undercurrents of elitism at Thornton were based on some measure of reality. But kids are kids, no matter where they go to school. Still, I was able to compare two high schools as a student of both.

Oh, the places you’ll go

The defense of Thornton on social media followed two very basic themes. 1.) Thornton Academy is a top-notch school, and 2.) Saco should just be grateful, stop asking questions and shut up. Thornton Academy, after all, is a private school. They answer to no one except their own self-appointed Board of Trustees, a virtual who’s who in Saco’s power structure.

But here’s one of the main rubbing points in this current negotiation: Saco representatives want just a bit of accountability and transparency from Thornton, including a proposal to have a city representative appointed as a non-voting member to the Board of Trustees.

Sounds reasonable, right?

Yeah, not so much. It was as if the city asked Thornton to change its name to Saco High School.

Make no mistake. The city of Saco is damned fortunate to have Thornton Academy as the primary option for all its public high school students.

But it should also be noted that Thornton Academy is also quite fortunate to have such a close relationship to the city, a steady, reliable and predictable source of income.

Many private schools struggle when the economy disrupts the ability of parents to pay private tuition costs. Thornton has a healthy buffer from those recession and inflationary woes: a buffer to the tune of more than $17 million per year in tuition costs from Saco taxpayers.

Furthermore, even though Thornton Academy can charge prime market tuition for its private students, it is still a non-profit entity and does not pay any property taxes on its acres and acres of manicured lawns and the several brick buildings that make up its campus; a campus set apart.

 Let’s make a deal

From all accounts, the ongoing negotiations between Saco and Thornton Academy are based upon something that both sides agree upon. Both Thornton and Saco ultimately want what is best for Saco kids.

In any negotiating situation, both sides have to come to the table in good faith. Both sides have to give a little and both sides have to get a little. Otherwise, it’s not negotiating. It’s blackmail.

But let’s remember something for all of the people bragging about the success of their kids who went to Thornton and later got into very good colleges and universities: not every kid is college bound.

In fact, several Thornton Academy students take vocational classes at the Biddeford Regional Center of Technology.

However, according to Saco City Attorney Tim Murphy (who also serves on Thornton’s Board of Trustees), use of the word ‘Biddeford” anywhere on Thornton’s campus is a felony offense that carries a minimum two-year prison term in the town of Dayton.

Relax, Tim Murphy never really said that.

All kidding aside, some Saco school kids also require special-ed services. Not every kid is college bound. Saco has a responsibility to advocate for ALL of its students, not just the college-bound students or the outstanding athletes.

Eight of the 11 private high schools in Maine provide all their students with free lunch, consistent with a new state law that requires all public schools to offer free lunch. Thornton is one of the three private schools that does not offer that option. Why?

Although private schools like Thornton are exempt from the new law, it creates a dividing line between the haves and the have nots. Remember high school? Now imagine being one of just a few kids who has to ask for a free lunch.

To their credit, Thornton has a policy to expand free lunch for any student within 260 percent of the federal poverty rate, but it still forces students and their parents to go through the humiliation of asking for financial help.

The city of Saco is not looking to “take over” a private high school with an exemplary reputation, but if I’m going to fork over $17 million for something you can bet your sweet ass that I’m going to want something in return.

For comparison purposes, the city of Biddeford has a contract with a private firm that handles repair, maintenance and operations of all its photocopiers. That annual contract is roughly $150,000 a year and includes the school department.

Biddeford’s contract with that private firm has more transparency and accountability for photocopiers than Saco has for all of its high school students.

If Thornton doesn’t want public accountability, then maybe it should stop taking public funds. Many private companies across the country have government contracts, but they also have to follow certain rules including accountability and transparency.

Bath Iron Works strikes me as an exceptional shipyard, but when the Senate Appropriations Committee comes sniffing around for accountability and transparency regarding federal contracts, you can bet that BIW doesn’t tell Sen. Angus King to go pound sand.

Thornton Academy: Myth, Legend or Reality?

On a final note, while Thornton certainly has the prettiest high school campus in southern Maine, how does it stack up against other high schools when it comes to things other than landscaping?

As I said previously, I went to Thornton and Rumford High School. I would be hard-pressed to come up with any objective measure of which school was better.

I was one of those college-prep kids. In my sophomore year at Rumford High School, we were studying the works of Marcus Aurelius – in Latin. English teacher Richard Mullins – one of my favorite high school teachers – required us to do a deep-dive into Orwell’s Animal Farm, requiring essays and research to critique that work’s inspiration: the 1917 Bolshevik Revolution.

Thornton also had amazing and dedicated faculty who pushed us hard. One of my favorites was Norman Trottier, who adamantly refused to let me drop French IV during my senior year so that I could just coast toward basic training.

Phil Curtis was such a passionate and dedicated teacher at Thornton. He was so incredibly patient and kind towards me, even though I barely understood the mathematical foundation of two-plus-two.

There were so many other fine teachers at both Rumford and Thornton. How do you objectively measure which school is better? You really can’t.

Public schools in Maine are required by law to publicly post their MEA (Maine Educational Assessment) scores.  Not Thornton.

So how do Saco taxpayers really know what they’re getting for their $17 million per year? Do taxpayers just have to blindly accept what the cheerleaders are screaming on the sidelines?

Maybe, but it would appear that there is also more than landscaping that “sets Thornton apart.” They also have a pretty good public relations department.

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What do you expect?

And now I’m depressed. No joke.

I was just talking with one of my closest friends about how quickly summer is fading. We talked about time, and the error of counting the days; but we also talked about politics. (It’s expected. We’re both self-described political junkies.)

I commented, “I’m so ready for this election to over. Just 72 days until Nov. 6, the day after the election.”

And he said, “Over?” Nope.”

And then I realized he was right.

On November 6, – – no matter who wins the election — many of my friends will be celebrating and filled with happiness and satisfaction. On the other side of aisle, many of my friends will be feeling somewhat hopeless, disconnected and fearful.

A wise man once told me: “Expectations are pre-mediated resentments.”

What are we expecting from this election? After CNN tallies the results, do we all walk out onto the playing field and shake hands with the opposing team? Hardly.

So, I am now tempering my expectations and reminded of the fact that the Reality Fairy doesn’t carry a wand. She carries a 2 x4.

Thus, here are a few of my expectations about what life will be like on November 6 (the day after the election), regardless of who wins.

1.) We will still fight with one another. People will still weaponize social media in order to push and cement their own political narrative.

2.) Too many of our neighbors will still be living in tents, mostly forgotten.

3.) We will still be easily distracted by celebrity “news” and gossip. We will continue paying some people millions of dollars simply because they are really good at running and catching a leather ball.

4.) Our political leaders will still fight and offer us plenty of finger-pointing, blame and derision, but few — if any — solutions will be built upon innovation and collaboration: bipartisanship.

5.) People will continue using credit cards for the things they really cannot afford, whether it’s a vacation or a new tattoo.

6.) We will not be satisfied with anything. The cost of housing, utilities and food will continue to climb, no matter who sits in the Oval Office.

7.) Global hunger will continue and actually get worse.

8.) The rattling of war sabers will continue in Gaza, Ukraine and so many other places around the globe.

9.) Many other nations (North Korea, Iran, China, Russia and so many others) will still hate us and seek to weaken us.

10.) Poor people will still be poor and rich people will still be rich (That’s actually a constant that dates back more than 200,000 years)

My advice? Don’t count the days. Don’t expect things to be fundamentally different. We are all — all of us — Republicans and Democrats — saddled with the same unfortunate reality: that everyone is human, and thus we are all somewhat flawed.

May God have mercy on our souls.

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Queer Eye From The Straight Guy

Originally published in Saco Bay News

It’s that time of year again. Summer is beckoning, and we will soon be celebrating Pride Month, an international observance celebrating members of the LGBTQ+ community during the month of June.

Right on cue, you can expect to see a lot of push-back about Pride Month on social media platforms such as Facebook, X and Instagram. Those lamenting the celebration of Pride Month will sing an all-too-familiar refrain:

“Why are they shoving this stuff down our throats?”

“Why isn’t there a celebration for heterosexual people?”

“I don’t mind gay people, but why do they have to make a big deal about this stuff?”

“It’s immoral and against my religious values.”

Since I am a happily married heterosexual, I thought it might be useful if I attempted to answer those questions from the perspective of someone who doesn’t “fly the rainbow flag.”

What is often overlooked is the fact that Pride Month is a celebration for everyone, even us grumpy, older straight people fit on the rainbow spectrum.

The point of Pride celebrations is the joyous relief that no one – no one – has to live in fear of retaliation or even violence just because of their gender, orientation, skin color, cultural heritage or anything else.

Violence. you say? Really? That’s just an exaggeration to illicit sympathy for social deviants, right? Ummm, . . . here, hold my beer.

Join me now for a trip in the Way-Back time machine. Actually, we’re not going too far back in time.

It is October 6, 1998. We are standing in a sprawling pasture not far from Fort Collins, Colorado. We can see a long wooden fence with blood stains.

This is the spot where college student Matthew Shepard was beaten and tortured by two other men.

Mathhew had been strapped to one of those fence posts. His attackers took their time brutally attacking him, celebrating their uncorked rage and hatred. They beat him relentlessly until he lost consciousness.

Matthew’s attackers left him there alone to die in an open field, his body shattered and still bleeding. Matthew died a few days later in a hospital room.

What was Matthew’s crime? Why did his attackers hate him so much? Why did they feel the need to take his life? What terrible thing had he done to spark so much anger, so much hatred?

Matthew was gay.

That’s it. Matthew was an adult male who loved another man. That’s it. That’s all.

Simply because he loved another man, Matthew’s attackers felt it was their God-given, righteous duty to mete out their own version of justice.

During their trial, one of the attackers told the Court that Matthew had made “sexual advances” toward him. Some people even expressed sympathy toward the two men who killed Matthew Shepard.

Now, with that out of the way, let me now try to answer those four questions.

  1. Why are they shoving this stuff down our throats?

Well, for starters, having a parade and flying a flag is far cry from “shoving something down anyone’s throats.” Gay people have been around just as long as straight people, but have always been in the minority. Always made to feel that thy are “queers” and not worthy. Defective, immoral people: faggots and dykes.

It has been this way for millennia. Homosexuality has been condemned in literature, films, popular music and even religious texts including the Bible and the Quran.

Remember high school? Imagine if one of your classmates brought another boy to the prom? How would that have gone over? Imagine that girl living down the street giving another girl a Valentine’s Day card.

In reality, — until very, very recently — heterosexuality is what is crammed down every kid’s throat from birth onward.

What bothers you so much about seeing a rainbow flag or seeing gay people openly and proudly marching in a parade? Why are you so easily triggered by seeing people now able to express their love and identity? Don’t we all have the right to life, freedom and the pursuit of happiness?

  • Why isn’t there a celebration for straight people?

Seriously? Every other month except June is basically a celebration, honoring heterosexual people. It’s Mr. and Mrs. Claus, not Mr. and Mister Claus, right?

If you’re a straight person, odds are that you have always enjoyed the relative safety, comfort and acceptance of being straight.

You were never asked to live a lie, to hide your true feelings. To remain in a closet out of sight, and out of my mind.

Up until just a few years ago, gay people were expected to stay out of view. They were not allowed to marry the person they loved and cherished. They were not allowed to serve in the military. All that is slowly changing. That is why gay people can now – finally – celebrate the fact that they are gay.

  • I don’t mind gay people, but why do they have to make a big deal about being gay?

For starters, refer to point No. 2. Are you married? Ever been to a wedding? Know someone who is married? Marriage ceremonies are a really big deal and represent a multi-billion-dollar industry.

Why do straight people make such a big deal about their weddings, engagements and anniversaries? It’s all-over social media: Straight people celebrating their kids, sharing pictures of their honeymoons and their dream weddings.

Who we love IS a big deal and cause for celebration, straight, gay or whatever.

  •  It’s immoral and against my religious values.

Many people are quick to say that homosexuality is a sin, an affront to God, the creator. I’d like to know what exactly is wrong with consenting adults loving each other. What bothers you so much about adults being able to live their own, authentic lives?

“Well, it’s prohibited in the Bible,” some folks say.

Yes, it is. In fact, the Bible has some very specific language describing homosexuality as abomination. (Leviticus 18:22 and Leviticus 20:13, not to mention other passages in the New Testament.

The Book of Leviticus offers the following: “Do not lie with a man as one lies with a woman; that is detestable, and “If a man lies with a man as one lies with woman, both of them have done what is detestable. They must be put to death; their blood will be on their own heads.”

I wonder if the two men who attacked and killed Matthew Shepard were thinking, “hey, we’re just following what the Bible says.”

It should be noted that the same book of the Bible also prohibits tattoos, eating bacon, lobster, clams and oysters.

The book of Leviticus also offers helpful advice for the proper rules of selling a slave and advocates the death penalty for adultery.

So, do we follow the Bible or just the selected parts we like?

I can almost hear some people screaming about transgender persons using public restrooms and the “unfairness” of athletic teams that allow biological men to compete on women’s teams.

I don’t have all the answers. But I do have faith. I believe a nation that figured out how to put a man on the moon can probably tackle and solve these controversial issues.

Remember, less than 75 years ago it was still quite fashionable to complain about Blacks using the same water fountains as their white counterparts.

Are some members of the LGBTQ+ community a bit too extreme and in-your-face? Yup. Being gay or trans does not necessarily exempt you from being an asshole or stop you from being obnoxious or rude in public.

But 99.9 percent of the LGBTQ+ community are just like you and me. They just want to heave a sigh of relief and celebrate the fact that they no longer have to remain hidden from view.

As far as I know, celebrating Pride Month is not a compulsory obligation. If Pride celebrations really bother you, don’t go to the parade or flag-raising ceremony.

But maybe ask yourself this: what exactly are you afraid of? Do you view homosexuality as a disease? Are you worried that if your kid reads a book about another kid with two dads, then your kid will decide to become gay. Really?

When, exactly, did you decide that you were straight? Did you get it from a book, a movie or a parade?

If you’re gay, you’re gay. If you’re straight, you’re straight. It’s not any more of a choice than your eye color or your height. It’s how you were born. It’s who you are. It’s not a choice.  You don’t choose to be tall or short; to have blue eyes or brown eyes. You don’t choose where you were born. It’s really okay for us to be different and to be decent toward people different from ourselves.

You always have the choice to just be kind and respectful. If a rainbow offends you, simply turn away. Scroll past.

Relax. July will be here before you know it. And then we can ALL celebrate our freedom by waving flags, marching in parades and lighting fireworks. Remember, we are ALL equal, not just us straight, old, grumpy white guys.

Peace!

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Paperback Writer

Over the last few days, I have become increasingly convinced that I could possibly die sometime later this year, so please just bear with me for a moment.

Over the last few days, I have spent roughly 17 hours per day in front of my computer. That’s just too much, for anyone.

It wasn’t for work, and it wasn’t for fun.

Instead, I was being driven by thoughts of my upcoming 60th birthday. I was also being driven by the sad fact that I have lost two friends and one family member in just the last 90 days.

One of those people was just 40 when God called her home. The others were in their early 60s.

One day you’re here and the next day you’re not.

I have been thinking a lot about my own death. After all, it’s inevitable, right? Often, you don’t get much warning about your expiration date.

So, I decided I had to get busy.

I am a writer . . . by vocation and also because I am a glutton for punishment and self-loathing. Over the last 40 years, I have written a lot of stuff. A lot of stuff. Tons of stuff.

There are dusty copies of unpublished manuscripts in my office. I routinely tell myself that I will soon take another stab at finishing one of my novels. I look at what I have written and invariably have the same reaction.

Pathetic.

As a young child, I enjoyed writing stories about things like vampires and natural disasters. I had several teachers encouraged me to continue writing. Folks like Peter Flaherty, Peter Scontras and Richard Mullins.

On the other end of the spectrum, I received some valuable criticism, most notably by Bob Melville, the city editor of the Journal Tribune in 1981.

I was an unpaid student intern for a work-study project, and the very first thing I was about to have published was some poor bastard’s obituary.

I took copious notes from the funeral home director and banged it out on my IBM Selectric II typewriter.

Mr. Melville took one look at what I had written and uttered the following words: “What’s the matter, kid? Do they not teach English at Thornton Academy? I strongly suggest you find a different line of work.”

Several years later, when Melville was retired and serving on the Biddeford School Committee, I reminded him of that exchange. He had forgotten the incident, took a sip of his beer and said, ‘You’re welcome. All writers need a good kick in the ass so they can try harder.”

A lifetime of writing

Since the early 1990s, I have worked as a general assignment reporter, as a newspaper columnist and an editor. I also worked briefly as a collaborative research reporter for the Northwest Atlantic Marine Alliance.

I have written and published in-depth policy reports, including a 19-part series that focused on the former Maine Energy Recovery Company (MERC) and more recently a three-part series regarding the issues of homelessness in my community.

Folks in the Biddeford-Saco area know me primarily as the guy who wrote the All Along The Watchtower column in the Biddeford-Saco-OOB Courier between 1999 and 2006.

That satirical column was intended to keep local politicians on their toes and as a way for me to vent my frustration on topics ranging from climate change and gun control to abortion and the absurdity of what happens daily in Washington D.C.

I’ve also been honored with the opportunity to write interviews about several interesting people, including a former senior advisor to Ronald Reagan, a well-know folk singer and the first openly gay Speaker of the Maine House of Representatives.

Some of my favorite writing endeavors include essays such as The Lincoln Tour, a rambling missive I wrote about a hilarious three-week, cross-country adventure with my best friend in 1986.

Most of you already know that I periodically struggle with mental illness that includes bouts of severe depression, extreme anxiety and even psychotic behaviors from paranoia to schizophrenia. Thus, I am perhaps most proud of my regular blog posts regarding mental illness and the stigma that so often surrounds that subject.

Okay, you get the point. I’ve written a lot of stuff. And I’m still writing almost every day.

But what happens when I die? Where will all that stuff go? Will it just be forgotten? My legacy and passion erased?

I am a communications consultant, but I know next to nothing about creating or maintaining a website. That said, I have spent more than 50 hours this week trying to improve the site that I use for both business and fun.

A few years ago, when I first became self-employed, I scrubbed the site and removed all the personal stuff, all the stories about cage fights and city hall, chain-smoking and wandering the streets of downtown Biddeford midnight.

Today, I am essentially retired and very selective about taking on any new clients. So, because I am a cheap bastard, I decided to split the one site between business and pleasure.

It’s nothing fancy. In fact, it’s a rather dull site. But I have made an effort to improve navigation and simplify things.

I wanted one, small place on the world-wide web, where I could archive a lifetime of writing; a place that will hopefully survive for a while long after I have shuffled off my mortal coil.

Here’s a fucking pen

One final story. In 1989, I was working as an industrial tool salesman and lived just outside of Annapolis, Maryland. I was 25, single and didn’t know many people. I often spent Sunday afternoons sitting at a bar, drinking Guiness near the harbor.

It was a quiet place. I often brought a book to read to help pass the time. One afternoon, a disheveled older gentleman walked into the bar and sat down next to me. We began chatting, and he asked me a question. “You don’t seem like a tool salesman. What do you really want to be?”

I was eager with my response. “I want to be a writer.”

He scoffed, reached into his jacket and produced a cheap pen that he slammed down on the bar. “Here’s a pen, go be a fucking writer.”

And with that, he wandered back outside, and I never saw him again. I held onto that pen for many years afterward.

In closing, my ‘improved’ website offers no fancy, slick graphics; very few video clips. Some photos; but mainly just a lot of written content: satire, humor, fiction, policy analysis, local politics . . . all of it one place. Organized, archived and presented with simplicity.

I would appreciate your feedback; positive or negative.

A Conversation with Santa Claus

The ‘Jolly Old Elf’ offers some sage advice about unconditional love, magic and the true meaning of Christmas

He’s known by many names. Some call him Father Christmas; others call him St. Nicholas or Kris Kringle. But here in North America, he is best known as Santa Claus.

Just two days before the Christmas holiday this year, Santa made time to sit down for an exclusive interview with Saco Bay News. He declined to give his age. In fact, he artfully dodged many of the questions our readers have asked.

Santa and Mrs. Claus pose for a photo during a recent trip to Saco.

Although well known for his “jolly” disposition, Santa was a tad grumpy during our interview. It’s understandable. He’s facing a lot of pressure this time of year. Billions of boys and girls all over the world are waiting anxiously for his visit and his annual delivery of toys and treats.

We decided to let our Saco Bay News readers come up with the questions for this interview.

The legend of Santa Claus transcends cultural bounds and goes back hundreds and hundreds of years. Kelley B. wants to know what you view as major changes to your mission, specifically your annual stop at the Island of Misfit toys that started in 1964?

“Well, let’s get real. In my view, that was a very recent change, and I really owe a debt of gratitude to Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer for tipping me off about that place. Honestly, we are all misfits – every one of us, even me. We are all different. None of us is perfect. We are not defined by our flaws. We are defined by our capacity to love one another.”

Mark J. wants to know if Hermey the Elf is still practicing dentistry.

“Oh sure. His practice is thriving. In fact, he just opened another franchise location here at the North Pole. He’s always up my butt about the importance of flossing; as if I need another thing to worry about. (Laughs).

Celeste T. wants to know why she didn’t get an Easy Bake oven when she was a little girl.

“I get that question a lot.”

About Easy Bake ovens?

“No, silly. Lots of people wake up disappointed by something on Christmas morning. I remember when Celeste asked for that toy oven. It sort of broke my heart to see her disappointed that morning. But that was a tough year for Easy Bake ovens. There was a huge demand, and unfortunately my elves just could not keep pace.

“But you know what? Today, Celeste has a wonderful oven that she uses to cook her meals and to make treats for her family and friends.

“Many people all around the world do not have an oven. In fact, many people don’t even have a home. I’m just super pleased that Celeste is still willing to be nice to other people, even though she didn’t get exactly what she wanted on one particular Christmas morning.”

 Deborah P. wants to know what kind of cookies are your favorite. She also wants to know whether she should leave carrots or sugar out for the reindeer.

“Well, she’s a very thoughtful young lady. I like all kinds of cookies. Dude, look at me. I didn’t get to be this size by licking icicles. There’s no such thing as a bad cookie, in my humble opinion.

“As for the reindeer, they prefer carrots. Carrots are rich in both calcium and Vitamin K. They promote good bone density and help with your vision, something that is very important if you’re flying all over the world at night.”

Suzanne C. wants to know more about Mrs. Claus and whether she helps you?

“There is no way I could do what I do without lots of love, help and support. Mrs. Claus and I have been married a long time. A very long time. I mean like centuries . . . you get my gist?

“Like most wives, Mrs. Claus is always willing to give advice. Over the years, I have learned that it’s best to listen to your partner. Sometimes, the most loving thing you can do is to listen when they or anyone else is speaking to you.”

Jeff R. wants to know your favorite Christmas movie.

“I like all of them, but let’s get real. Die Hard is not a Christmas movie. I suppose, my favorite Christmas movie is “It’s A Wonderful Life.” That movie really underscores the true meaning of this holiday.

“Mrs. Claus likes all those Hallmark Christmas movies. Let’s just say I’m quite grateful that we have two televisions and a Netflix subscription.”

Larry M. wants to know how you leave presents at homes without a chimney or fireplace.

“It’s magic.”

Magic? What do you mean magic ?

“Listen, Jimmy Olsen. There’s a lot you don’t know about magic. Magic is real as the nose on your face. Magic is simply the proper combination of love, faith and hope.

“Imagine a world without magic. A world where every single thing has to be analyzed, studied and proven? What a sad world that would be. Childhood is often described as ‘magical’ because children are willing to believe in things they don’t necessarily understand.

“Whenever you get on a plane or whenever you get in your car, you have faith. At least enough faith that you are going to arrive at your destination. You don’t have to understand aeronautics or how an engine works. You just need faith and a bit of hope. Magic is all around us if we focus on love. If we open our hearts and our eyes, each of us can see unlimited potential in each other and in ourselves.”

So, I suppose you’re going to say that magic makes the reindeer able to fly or that you can visit every country in the world in just one night?

“Absolutely. Magic is a wonderful gift. Every time you smile at a stranger, you are spreading love. Every time you pet a dog or hold the door for an elderly person, you are acting out your love. Everyone – – and I mean every one of us – has the power to love. Love does not require anything. It costs nothing but is the most valuable thing in the world.”

Some people say you’re not real.

“Those people are right, but they are also wrong. I am as real as you want me to be. I don’t care if you’re four years old or 40, you can believe in me if you choose. Again, love is a choice. That’s the whole meaning of presents, a practice of showing love. You can’t buy love at the store; it lies within each of us.

“Look; I gotta run. The elves are working overtime, and I need to get ready for a very, very busy night.”

But I have so many more questions. Who are you? And why do you do this?

“Who am I? Take a look in the mirror, sonny. I am you; if you choose to be me. I am your neighbor. I am your co-worker, your classmate, your friend and your enemy.

“I am the guy you are argue with on Facebook. I am your grandfather, your favorite aunt. I am a man, and I am a woman. I am very young and very old. I am simply the personification of love. That’s why I exist.

“Why do I do this? Because I can. Because I choose to love. Because this day – no matter what you call it – no matter your religion, culture or education – – it’s all about hope. About the possibility of a new start, about the potential of unconditional love. Today is a call for us to love one another.

“Now, if you will excuse me, I need to put some fresh batteries in Rudolph’s nose. Ho, ho, ho . . . I’m almost ready to go.”

Editor’s Note: On behalf of all of us at Saco Bay News, we hope you have a safe, warm and happy holiday season!

Originally published in Saco Bay News