I launched Parke’s career in journalism. He paid me back in spades, launching my career in public relations. It was really nice to start making decent money

Send Lawyers, Guns & Money…

God smiled upon me, and I was able to cap off my much-ballyhooed, mini vacation in the best way possible last night, spending time with my good friend Parke Burmeister.

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Parke and I have known each other since 2003, and he reminded me last night about how we met.

Parke had graduated from Colby College but was killing time, working in construction with dreams of someday being a reporter.

He had tons of enthusiasm but zero experience.

He went to the Press Herald. No dice.

He drove up to the Lewiston Sun Journal. Another rejection.

He was living in OOB, and –undeterred, still chock full of naive enthusiasm — stopped by the offices of the weekly Biddeford-Saco-OOB Courier on a Tuesday afternoon.

At that time, I was the managing editor of the Courier and three other weekly publications owned by Mainely Newspapers, Inc., then owned by David and Carolyn Flood .

What Parke did not know — and what most people did not know — is that Tuesdays were the Courier’s weekly deadline day.

That said, what most people — within 100-mile radius of Biddeford — especially our editorial staff — did know and accept was this:

You don’t fuck around with Randy Seaver on Tuesdays.

Laura and our kids embraced that reality.

I already had a reputation for being grumpy, short-tempered, impatient, brash, arrogant and opinionated.

Just your run-of-the-mill news editor, stressed to the max under a looming deadline and fueled by 36 gallons of coffee and at least two packs of Camel non-filters (I have since quit smoking).

The news staff called me “Chief.” I was a demanding, overbearing perfectionist prick (as it should be in a newsroom)

I made novice reporters cry and more experienced staffers angry and resentful.

I expected everyone around me to also work no less than 140 hours per week.

The news staff called me “Chief.” I was a demanding, overbearing perfectionist prick (as it should be in a newsroom)

So when I was called from my office to the lobby, I was predisposed to being a self-righteous asshole, full of sound and fury.

But I saw something in Parke. Something that intrigued me.

I also thought of all the editors who made me cry when I was a rookie; men like Bob Melville and Harry Foote, both of whom gave me a shot and just a sliver of encouragement.

I don’t remember all the details, but Parke does.

Here’s what I allegedly said in a terse and unforgiving manner:

“Okay,” I huffed. “Here’s the deal. There is a school board meeting in Old Orchard Beach tonight.

“Go there and write a 450-word summary. I’ll publish it and give you a byline as Staff Intern.

“That way, the next time you bother an editor on deadline, at least you’ll have something to show them.”

According to Parke, I then turned away with a huff and retreated to my office.

And that was how it started with me and Parke.

I launched his career in journalism. A few short years later, he played a huge role in launching my career as a political/policy consultant at Barton & Gingold.

Parke fixed my toilet. Laura and I traveled to Cape Cod for his wedding.

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I have had the distinct honor and privilege of watching Parke’s growth and success for nearly 25 years.

Today, Parke owns and operates a boutique law firm in Portland. He is raising two funny, beautiful and smart daughters.

These are the kind of friends you want.

These are the kind of friends you need.

When friends like this call, you drop everything.

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I am so fucking lucky because I have a small handful of other people in this same category.

We had so much fun last night. So many laughs. These are the moments that matter