Richard Rhames: A Dying Breed, Biddeford’s last dirt farmer

Originally published in Saco Bay News

Although he wears many hats, Richard Rhames of Biddeford could probably best be described with just three words: authentic, passionate and persistent.

Rhames, 78, is a well-known commodity at City Hall. He is an outspoken member of the public, a former city councilor and a tireless member of the both the city’s Conservation Commission and Cable Television Committee.

Richard Rhames/ Seaver photo

Over the last four decades, Rhames has developed a reputation as someone who means what he says, and says what he means. He rarely pulls punches when criticizing local leaders and their policies; and he is always willing to fight even when he knows the odds are insurmountably stacked against him.

Today, Richard and wife Pat own and operate Shady Brook Farm on outer West Street. That 80-acre farm has been in Rhames’ family for three generations, and the land represents one of the last family-owned farms in the area.

Rhames, who serves as president of the Saco Valley Land Trust, laments the loss of small farms, but keeps his hands firmly on the plow in a time when farming has pretty much become a corporate enterprise.

“If farming was easy, everyone would do it,” he said with a wry grin. “Let me assure you, nothing about farming is easy.”

To the casual observer, it seems that Rhames is always willing to do things the hard way. He dismisses the notion of going along to get along.

Sticking to his principles and beliefs has cost Richard some friends and his seat at the table of local power, where he was widely considered a thorn-in-the side of the Chamber of Commerce types.

Richard was an at-large member of the Biddeford City Council when the September 11 terrorist attacks occurred. Within days, the council had decided to place miniature American flags along the council dais. There was one flag in front of each councilor.

At the beginning of the next council meeting, Rhames used his arm to move the flag to his side as he was spreading out paperwork. A fellow city councilor expressed outrage, and a reporter from the Journal Tribune wrote that Rhames had “shoved the flag away.”

The public was largely unforgiving. It was a time of hyper-patriotism and there was little tolerance for anything deemed to be “un-American.”

Rhames had already been long criticized for his questioning of U.S. policies in the Middle East, including Iraq. He was unapologetic. Just a few weeks later, Biddeford voters showed him the door.

“I never shoved the flag,” he said. “But the damage was done. The political class was not happy with me, and they gladly grabbed onto a piece of red meat.”

Rhames never stopped sharing his political views. He wrote a regular column in both the Journal Tribune and the Biddeford-Saco Courier. Much of his written work focused on labor issues, workers’ rights and conservation issues.

He is a long-time advocate for single-payer healthcare and says if the city is serious about the issue of affordable housing, the best weapon to bring to that fight is municipally-mandated rent control.

He is also a fairly well-known musician, playing rhythm guitar with two different bands throughout the area.

What got you involved in local government?

“It was the airport. Back in the ‘70s, they started pushing a plan to build a cross-wind runway. They intended to buy the George Fogg property, which was between the paved part of Granite Street Extension and the town line. That’s always been the wet dream – – the cross-wind runway.

“I started going to Planning Board meetings and council meetings. I was probably the only guy in town who had actually read the master plan.  I mean, who are we kidding? Master plan? Fuck that.  It was supposed to be a done deal. The powerful people, the people with connections; it was what they wanted.

“Because Mayor [Babe] Dutremble was pissed that some of his political friends had been moving forward behind his back, he shut it down all by himself. It was in the papers, the York County Coast Star and the Journal.

“Then about 10 years later, in the mid-1980s, it came back again, with a vengeance. The new plan was even more grandiose. It would have Biddeford become a reliever for the Portland Jetport. We were going to get the freight shipments; it would have included 60,000-pound aircraft. They dream big, here in Biddeford. The FAA loved it, you know? And they thought they had it.

“We fought it. They wanted to change the zone to Industrial. That’s back when wetlands were just dismissed as swamps. We got some other people riled up and involved, and at one of our first neighborhood meetings we came up with a name at the supper table: NOISE (Neighbors Organized In Stopping Expansion).”

You have often complained about the fact that there is so little public participation in city meetings.

“In order to know what’s going on, you got to be there all the fucking time. And you’ve got to have no life, which is ideal for me. (Laughs)

But it’s not just local issues that get you fired up.

“Yeah, well you know. If I’m pissed about something, I’m going to stand up and say something. I don’t know any other way to be. I have this bad attitude, right?

“When I was younger, I could have gone back to teaching (public school). I was no longer 1A. I didn’t have to fight the draft anymore. When I grew up, I remember watching television and all the incessant propaganda. The whole mantra: the Russians are coming; the Russians are coming. The constant beating of the drum. The propaganda. The free world.

“I grew up in the ‘60s. I mean we were all drinking from the same propaganda trough, but it was the draft that literally forced a lot of young people to start recognizing what was happening, even though I went to a little white-bread Midwest college.

“I was as unquestioning as anyone else back then, until all this shit started happening. We had access to libraries and learning opportunities. We did this bus caravan thing. We went to Midland, Michigan, the home of Dow Chemical.

“We were all white bread kids; nobody had long hair; we were wearing suits at the march and the locals hated us because we had a rally in the park (Laughs).

“But we were earnest, and we had been looking into this a little bit. Most of us had some idea about the history of southeast Asia; how we took over for France in Vietnam. There was a history there that the newspapers never reported, but we came to understand that it was really fucked up; and why would anybody want to die for that?

“But to openly resist meant costs. Most of us were banking on what we were taught since elementary school: that we had some kind of career waiting for us in regular society.”

Do you ever get tired of fighting the good fight?

“I’m pissed, and I have been pissed for a long time. I don’t find that hope is terribly motivating. You gotta be pissed. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t right what we did on the grand scale.

“Even today, as much as the whole thing in Palestine is wrong, the Israelis, the Zionists, are pikers compared to the United States of America. The body count that we have rung up during my lifetime is really fucking impressive.

“Nobody talks about it, but if you want somebody killed, call us. We’ll either provide you with the weapons; better yet, we’ll do it ourselves. We’re really good at that. Spending a trillion dollars a year on the military? That’s easy.

“But if you speak up, they come after you. It’s dangerous, Randy. Why did they come after me the way they did after 9/11? Why have they come after me, including you, . . . why was I such a target? You know? This unassuming clodhopper with the big words and all that shit, you know? Why was I the target?

“Because I was willing to stand up and say this shit.”

What do you think about all the changes as Biddeford becomes a destination community?

“We were last in line. We had the incinerator [MERC]. They stopped pulping in Westbrook and that city began to gentrify almost immediately, and Westbrook isn’t placed nearly as well as we are. Against all the political odds . . . and the only reason that we got rid of the incinerator is because they wanted to leave . . . they [Casella Waste Systems] were ready to go.

“It always kills me, I guess it shouldn’t — when Alan [Casavant] expresses surprise, disbelieving; and talks about how quickly the shift started, how much things changed once we got rid of MERC. It would have happened anyway, but you had this whole Heart of Biddeford gentrifying, national advertising campaign. The whitewashing of Biddeford culture.

“We created a myth of what Biddeford is in order to entice new people to come here and exploit us, which they are doing.

“But we haven’t learned. The political class is still bending over backwards to subsidize private development.

“I keep telling them: Isn’t it time to pump the brakes a little? You don’t have to beg people to come here anymore. There’s no incinerator anymore. We’ve got all this ocean frontage, river frontage and all these old buildings from when Biddeford was the Detroit of New England.”

You are one of the most strident and vocal supporters of public access community television, even as the city slides further away from televised meetings to online forums.

“When we started with public access, there was some good stuff on the channel, but the political class was always uncomfortable. It frightened them because they couldn’t control the message.

“We used media for public education, to pull back the curtain and give information that you really couldn’t find anywhere else. It was good stuff, and I was never home.

“We were doing advocacy for ordinary people. You don’t generally find that on the airwaves. Who wants to do research to make a point? T.V. is something done to you now.”

Any thoughts on running for office again?

(Sighs) “I’m too old. My time is over. I understand how the world works. I’m not the one. I’m just not the one.”

Never miss another installment of Lessons in Mediocrity! Subscribe for free today!

Deschambault stumbles during mayoral debate

Several people were less than pleased about something I posted yesterday on Facebook regarding Biddeford mayoral candidate Susan Deschambault.

Several of Deschambault’s supporters questioned my take-away observations of Monday’s mayoral debate, in which I wrote that candidate Susan Deschambault tripped over herself and made a big “gaffe.”

Some folks speculated that I was supporting the other candidate (Martin Grohman) and just looking for a gotcha moment. They accused me of “taking things out of context” and playing “loose with the facts.”

Well, I have some bad news for Deschambault and her supporters: The video record of that debate paints a rather unflattering picture, much worse than anything I posted on my Facebook page.

Former State Sen. Susan Deschambault (Facebook photo)

To those of you who demanded Deschambault’s “exact” words about the closure of the Maine Energy Recovery Company’s solid waste incinerator (MERC), here they are:

“I served under Joanne Twomey, and I served under General Nutting. I could mention to you that General Nutting and the council at that time bought MERC. How did they buy that? “

“We put out a referendum, we will buy it for 10 million dollars. You guys were smart, you said no. We went back to the drawing board, by that time we got MERC all upset, and they wanted to leave, we knew that. We brought it down to six million dollars and you, the taxpayer, paid for that. You wanted that and look what happened. Magic.”

Let’s examine the facts:

1.) Mayor Wallace Nutting and his council did NOT buy MERC. That facility was still operating many years later, long after Nutting left office. In fact, MERC was still there during Mayor Twomey’s two terms in office.

2.) There was only one municipal referendum, which was rejected by a margin of 2-1 by the city’s voters. There was never a second referendum.

3.) Magic??? Are you kidding me?? MERC’s closure took a Herculean effort by many individuals. It was most certainly not “magic.”

4.) The city finally found a way to end the nightmare in the summer of 2012, during Mayor Alan Casavant’s first term in office, The ensuing development was not instantaneous, and it took solid leadership and a new positive and professional approach from City Hall.

The transcript of this debate shows that both candidates were not really well-prepared for some rather softball questions, but if you watch the video, you will see Deschambault had a hard time staying on topic.

Those are the facts. Period.

Deal Gone Bad

Four years ago, the owners of the Maine Energy Recovery Company told city officials they would never consider relocating their trash incinerator facility out of downtown Biddeford.

Within the last two years, that message has drastically changed.

The turnaround is likely the result of continuing closed-door negotiations between company officials and city officials from both Biddeford and Saco, not to mention increasing public opposition to both the plant’s location and operation.

The negotiations began roughly two years ago, shortly after both cities filed separate lawsuits against the company. Both sides are reportedly hoping to avoid excessive legal expenses and an unpredictable court decision. The case is still pending in York County Superior Court.

The cities’ civil lawsuits stem from the 1999 acquisition of Maine Energy by Casella Waste Systems, one of the country’s largest waste handling companies, headquartered in Rutland Vermont.

This week, we will continue to examine the history of events that led us to where we are today in relation to the controversial trash-to-energy company.

After renegotiating a new contract with its so-called host communities of Biddeford and Saco, MERC’s parent company agreed to remove its namesake acronym from the plant’s main, 244-foot ventilation stack.

From there, tensions between the company and its host communities cooled considerably. The 1990 lawsuit filed by Saco was settled out of court. The company’s stack no longer billowed plumes of ash. The next five years were described as a “honeymoon.”

But in June 1997, Ted Hill, then president of KTI (MERC’s parent company), called the mayors of Biddeford and Saco into his office for a meeting.

Biddeford Mayor James Grattelo and Saco Mayor Mark Johnston were both completing their final terms as their city’s respective mayor.

“We got to Ted’s office on Saco Island, and he told us he had good news,” Johnston recalled. “He said Central Maine Power Company opted to buy out the remainder of their power purchase agreement. Suddenly, the company had a lot of cash.”

Under the terms of MERC’s new and extended contract with the two cities, the company was required to immediately notify municipal officials of any changes to its financial or operational status.

The cities wanted MERC to use their new-found wealth (roughly $90 million) to improve the plant, especially its odor problems. The cities also wanted their tipping fees reduced. The company agreed to the former request but balked at the latter, arguing that they were under no obligation to lower tipping fees.

But when the company revamped its internal air handling systems, it was fined by the Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA). As time wore on, Johnston said, the company continuously increased the amount of trash it accepted to fuel its boilers.

Johnston said the renegotiated contract prohibits the company from accepting anything more than 212,000 tons of trash. Today, he estimates, the company processes in excess of 312,000 tons of trash each year.

In order to comply with the OSHA ruling, the company kept exterior doorways opened to improve inside air quality. The result was a significant increase in odor complaints that led to mounting citizen frustration and eventual political polarization.

Once considered to be too cozy with municipal officials, the company was now facing increasing pressure from its host communities to clean up its act or — better yet — get out of town. A new tone of getting tough on the company emerged from both city halls.

By the summer of 1998, a series of explosions in the company’s main shredder, coupled with increasing odor complaints, morphed into a fever pitch of resentment that was aimed directly at MERC. The troubled company also became the focal point of several political hopefuls as they planned their upcoming municipal election campaigns.

In December 1998, the Biddeford City Council drew first blood in what eventually became an all-out effort to shut down the company. A new ordinance was passed that levied significant fines for any calls the city’s fire department was forced to respond to at the incinerator.

In the summer of 1999, Jim Boldebook, the owner of an advertising agency best known for its Jolly John radio ads, launched a new website called stoptheodor.com

A focus for political leaders

With the November 1999 municipal elections looming, anti-MERC statements and positions seemed to be a favorable position for several candidates who formed an alliance devoted to “getting tough” on MERC.

A series of newspaper advertisements, labeled “This Stinks,” featured the names and photographs of political hopefuls from both Biddeford and Saco, including State Rep. Stephen Beaudette (D-Biddeford), who was then the Biddeford City Council president and a mayoral hopeful. Saco City Councilors Leslie Smith and Arthur Tardif were also featured in the ads, along with Johnston who was then attempting a political comeback by vying for a city council seat in Saco.

The ads, paid for by Johnston, contained information about MERC’s operations, encouraging readers to elect candidates who would take a hard stand against the company.

Saco and Biddeford both had new mayors. Both Bill Johnson and Donna Dion were hoping for a second term. Although they were not as publicly vocal in their criticisms of the company, they each pledged to keep a close eye on the company and its operations.

But company officials were not about to lie down and play dead.

“These advertisements are examples of guerilla warfare,” said Ted Hill, KTI’s president, in an October 1999 interview with the Courier. “These ads don’t look at the broader picture.”

And Samuel Zaitlin, a former Saco mayor who was then a KTI vice president, criticized the ads and candidates for telling “half-truths” and “distorting facts.”

“If you repeat a story long enough, and if you make unsubstantiated claims loud enough — it becomes very easy to play into the hands of certain cynicism,” Zaitlin said. “What many of these people don’t realize is that if they are elected, they will have to begin a reasoned and civilized process in order to seek reasonable solutions.”

Was it a sale?

But political pressure on the company continued, bolstered in part by the Dec. 15, 1999 announcement that MERC and its parent company were being acquired by Casella Waste Systems of Vermont.

As part of the 1991 contract, the cities included a clause that would entitle them to 20 percent of the plant’s value if it were sold. The cities claimed the merger represented a sale. The company countered by saying it was an acquisition, not a sale.

A bitter legal battle was on the horizon, and the two cities opted to take sharply different approaches. Meanwhile, MERC’s new owners pledged to “overwhelm and eliminate” the plant’s odor problems.

Saco officials, led by then Mayor Bill Johnson, began meeting with company officials behind closed doors in order to hammer out a new agreement that would give the city significantly lower tipping fees and address potential health concerns. The city also began exploring increased recycling options, such as its automated waste collection system that was eventually launched in Jan. 2003.

Biddeford officials, on the other hand, began reviewing legal strategies and eventually struck back at their neighbors across the river by re-routing all departing trash trucks from the company through Saco in April 2000.

Both Grattelo and Johnston had returned to elected office as city councilors in their respective communities and each called for keeping constant pressure on the company.

New owners come to town

Shortly after his company acquired the Maine Energy Recovery Co., John Casella, president and founder of Casella Waste Systems, sat down with city councilors and the mayors from Biddeford and Saco during a joint-council workshop meeting in Jan. 2000.

During that meeting, Casella and other company officials told local leaders that their company was anxious to become good corporate citizens. They promised to “overwhelm” continuing odor problems at the downtown Biddeford trash incinerator. They said they wanted to be part of the community’s long range planning by providing “innovative leadership” in the areas of recycling and solid waste removal.

But they also said that Maine Energy was here to stay, and that they had no intentions of shutting the plant down.

The public meeting, held at the McArthur Library, was intended to allow each side to “size-up” the other. It was a sometimes tense discussion that was attended by more than 100 concerned residents and business owners, including a group of men and women who were then working behind the scenes to form a new environmental watchdog organization.

A new voice of opposition

A significant shift was taking place in public opposition to the plant.

In February 2000, less than 30 days after Casella met with local leaders, the formation of Twin Cities Renaissance, a non-profit, environmental watchdog group, was announced. Unlike previous plant critics, the new group promised to work in a “reasonable manner” through a series of “pragmatic steps” to eventually relocate or close the company.

“It’s time to stop complaining,” said Mark Robinson, on of TCR’s founding members. “It’s time to do something.”

That “something” was outlined in TCR’s three-pronged mission statement, which includes ensuring that the company fulfills all of its contractual, regulatory and legal obligations; to encourage independent research that quantifies the economic, social and health impacts of the facility; and to explore alternative methods of waste disposal that includes a possible relocation of the plant.

“Solid waste disposal is an infrastructure challenge that confronts every city,” Robinson said as he explained his group’s mission statement during a press conference. “Biddeford and Saco have the unique and additional burden, however, of frequently suffering the pungent stench of garbage in the very heart of our downtown districts.”

Members of TCR, including bank presidents, environmentalists, health care providers and teachers, said their approach would stay clear of personality issues and instead focus upon any possible solutions to the overall problem.

Two different approaches

During the next year, even as Saco officials continued negotiating with the company, Biddeford officials began deliberating the passage of a new ordinance that would provide more stringent air emission standards than what were then required by either state or federal agencies.

But Biddeford’s proposed air toxics ordinance soon proved to be controversial. Other manufacturing firms raised concerns about the new standards, questioning whether the ordinance would be either effective or realistic.

In March 2002, the city of Saco was poised to renew an independent contract with the company. Then, after TCR rallied more than 150 residents to show up at City Hall and protest the move, the city council reversed its position, instead opting to follow Biddeford’s course and file a lawsuit against the company’s Vermont-based owners.

How much is it worth?

The central component of the pending lawsuits that were filed by both Biddeford and Saco involves the plant’s market value, which is still being disputed.    

While the towns believe the plant could be worth as much as $74 million, the company said last year that those estimates were grossly inaccurate. Citing diminishing electric power sales, company officials said the plant is worth somewhere in the neighborhood of $22 million.

Although existing contracts allow the company to charge roughly 7 cents for each kilowatt hour of electricity it produces from burning trash, the current market price for surplus electricity is much lower — roughly 3.5 cents per kilowatt hour.

A settlement option

Facing mounting legal costs and the prospect of losing a low-cost source of trash disposal in 2007, when the municipal contracts expire, several of the charter towns that also use Maine Energy for the disposal of their municipal solid waste opted to settle their own collective lawsuit against the company earlier this year.

In exchange, the Tri-County collaborative, which includes the towns of Old Orchard Beach, Arundel, Kennebunk and Dayton, received a new and simpler contract, which provides significant savings in tipping fees for its 19 member communities.

“I would describe this as a big win for all the communities,” said Barry Tibbets, Kennebunk’s town manager, during an interview with the Courier last year.

The settlement followed upon the heels of a September 2002 announcement by company officials that they would be “willing to explore all options on the table within the parameters of a logical and reasonable discussion focused upon long-range solutions.”

But Biddeford officials, especially, seemed unfazed by the company’s gesture, saying the reversal is simply the result of their refusal to negotiate an out-of-court settlement.

Company officials, however, say they have not completely changed their position.

“If you stop and think about it, our position has never changed,” said James Bohlig, senior vice president of Casella Waste, during a March 2003 interview. “We were asked if we would be willing to just pack up and go home — and that answer would still be no. On the other hand, are we willing to explore all options for a win-win solution? The answer to that question has always been yes.”

Unwilling to settle

But the mayors of both Biddeford and Saco seemed to bristle when asked if they would consider settling their differences with MERC outside of the courtroom. Donna Dion, then Biddeford’s mayor, and Bill Johnson, Saco’s mayor, pointed to Zaitlin as a point of contention in the summer of 2002.

Zaitlin left the company in April 2000 in order to pursue a master’s degree at Harvard’s John F. Kennedy School of Government. He was hired as a consultant by Casella in 2002 and charged with assisting the company with its ongoing negotiations with MERC’s host communities.

In previous interviews, Zaitlin said he has been meeting on a regular basis since the summer of 2002 with TCR representatives. It was at about the same time as state officials began to take serious notice of TCR’s efforts to relocate the plant.

“The only way to address very complicated issues is through a rational dialogue in which both parties feel that they can be heard and involved,” Zaitlin told the Courier in Sept. 2002. “Regardless of what happens with the lawsuits, these issues are simply not going to disappear. We have to think about the long-term, and we must frame those discussions

in a thoughtful, hard look at the entire range of solid waste issues.”

But both Dion and Johnson questioned Zaitlin’s motives, citing his close friendship with then outgoing Gov. Angus King and his past employment with the company after serving as head of the Maine Bureau of Environmental Protection.

Dion and Johnson also rejected an offer by King to help negotiate a settlement, saying the process would likely extend well beyond the remainder of the governor’s term, which was set to expire in January 2003.

TCR officials expressed disappointment about the mayors’ decisions but said they would continue their work.

Changing dynamics

In November 2003, Johnston returned to the mayor’s post in Saco and Gen. Wallace Nutting, a retired U.S. Army General, upset two better known opponents in Biddeford’s mayoral race. Zaitlin urged Nutting to seek the office, saying the city needed a “rational” leader who could deal reasonably with MERC.

TCR members, meanwhile, struggled with competing public policy issues that overshadowed the MERC debate, including a proposal to develop a large-scale casino in Biddeford and then a so-called “racino” in Saco.

But during the last few months, TCR is again raising its voice and closely watching the ongoing MERC negotiations that now include the city of Biddeford. Recently, the group has called upon MERC to change the way odor violations are investigated and raised concerns about explosions of disposed propane tanks in the company’s shredder.

Despite their willingness to be rational and to steer clear of personality issues, members of TCR also maintain that they want the company to be held accountable for all of its obligations.

“I know that when the company speaks of relocation, it intends that it will be paid $100 million or so,” said Rick Hull, a Biddeford attorney and TCR member in a previous interview with the Courier last year. “For my part, I believe that if all relevant environmental standards are strictly applied, the company would be shut down for compliance failures.”

What does the future hold?

But the company’s possible closure or relocation remains questionable, despite reports that a state-owned landfill in Old Town would be willing to accept local municipal solid waste.

MERC is still Biddeford’s largest taxpayer, and the city’s other top two commercial taxpayers (Interstate Brands Corp., which owns the Nissen Baking plant; and West Point Stevens) have both reported financial problems. Furthermore, public opposition to the Old Town landfill seems to be increasing.

“There are a number of things for both cities to consider as we move down the road,” Zaitlin said. “The existing contracts will expire in 2007. The market rate for solid waste disposal is constantly on the increase. And the cities will have to go to the market, and even if they can find another option, they have to consider a number of other variables such as transportation costs and the building of a transfer facility.”

Today, the negotiations continue and the pending lawsuit awaits. Meanwhile, many people continue to wonder whether the MERC plant will ever go away or if it will continue to be a fixture in the heart of both host communities.

Takin’ Care of Business

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Welcome back to Biddeford After Dark.

Time to make the donuts —

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now, it’s time for the next batch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taking care of business—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, how does he adjust to changing sleep patterns?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But still, the night takes its toll.

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

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

The darkness before dawn

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

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

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

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

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

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

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