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.

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.

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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