You have a friend in New London, Conn.

It's New London, baby.  Mare liberum!!

New London, Connecticut is a city that knows no rival, It is Connecticut’s Whaling City.  It is a good fishing place off the west bank of Connecticut’s Thames River, where the shad and the alewives run thick with the eels, in season.  It is a city built on a foundation of spermaceti and spunk.  Like a plate of spaghetti, there is no way to separate all the tangled, slippery propositions in New London’s try pot.  

New London, Connecticut is hygienic.  New London, Connecticut is pure and clean.  East New London is to the north of the city’s center.  Powder Island is made of granite and generations of guano sedimented into tall tales close to the waterline.  There are a few ledges in New London, Connecticut, and there are plenty of lights.

Just Under The Goldstar Bridge Overpass (JUGBO), on Central Avenue, in New London, Connecticut, life unfolds with the same graceful splash that reigns over the whole city.  Husbands love their wives on Adelaide Street.  Husbands love their husbands on West Street.  Wives love their wives on Hempstead Street.  Parents love their children on Jefferson Avenue, and children love their parents on Ocean Avenue.  People who live alone find solace and comfort in Bates Woods, or in Cedar Grove.  

New London, Connecticut is a small city, and it is a very hip city.  It has chosen to stay true to its flukes.  New London, Connecticut is for lovers. 

If anything is true in New London, Connecticut, it is that you never know what tomorrow will bring.  If you get turned around in New London, Connecticut, you will always find your way.  Head toward the ebb and flow of Connecticut’s Thames River.  Breath the New London air.  The sun is always shining on New London, even when the clouds are raining.

They should be riding motor scootes.

Life in New London, Connecticut is opera without soft soap.  Life in New London is good.  Life in New London is better.  Life in New London, Connecticut is a healthy salt bath in sack cloth and garters.  A day in New London, Connecticut is like a day at a health spa.  Nothing relaxes like an hour walking Bank Street on a New London day.  In New London, Connecticut, The Parade is the goal of a pleasant stroll.  There are public restrooms located in the train station.

New London is elegant.  New London is beautiful.  New London is for lovers.  New London soars as high as the halo over the Mohican Hotel after midnight.  New London is an open clam shell slick with whale oil.  New London wears a pearl necklace and a corset strung with baleen.  New London has a long tail.  When you expect the worst...POP!...everything is better than before.  That is the way things work in New London, Connecticut.

California Fruit?

There is an old song that was popular in the Gay Nineties.  It was called, “I’ll Never Forget My First Old New London Gal.”  It was popular on the vaudeville circuit, and sailors sang it while they were climbing the mizzen heads on the lookout for Ledge Light.  Some nights, at 2:00 AM, after the Dutch Tavern is locked up for the night, the bartender will sing “I’ll Never Forget My First Old New London Gal,” while he mops under the card tables.

Nobody ever forgets their first day in New London, Connecticut, and no one forgets their last day...unless they die in New London, Connecticut.  In that case, they are in heaven.  


Nobody forgets New London, Connecticut for long.  Every poison has its antidote.  If a spermatozoa were as large as a whale, it would be as large as New London’s heart.  That measures out to be a filament more than five square miles and miles and miles of heart.  

Lamplighter Of The World, New London, Connecticut is a place better lived than learned.  Whatever you read between these lines is but a rainbow on a puddle compared to the slippery slope up Town Hill past the courthouse on a December night when the sleet is blowing fast off Long Island Sound.  The spirit of Nathan Hale inspires the good folk who live on Granite Street.   

Kanesha Murphy kisses her daughter goodnight on Vauxhall Street.  Otis Shear says his prayers with his son on Ashcraft Road.  Mickey Finn is nursing a pint at the Polish American Veterans Club on Central Avenue.  Joan Morrow is heading home after a late shift at Shallett's Laundry.  A party of eight is enjoying pizza pie at Illiano's.  Everyone is healthy at Lawrence and Memorial Hospital.


A third-class pharmacist's mate from 1906 could get off the train at the foot of State Street today and know exactly where he is.  New London, Connecticut is eternal.  New London, Connecticut is for lovers. 

A Five-Star Whale Production.!

Lamplighter of the World, New London is for lovers.  There are no rivals when all is fair in love and peace.  There are no enemies when everyone is a neighbor.  Fellow-citizens work together.  Fellow-citizens make good neighbors.  New London is for lovers.  New London is where it is at.  Home is where the heart is.  New London, Connecticut is a fertile garden where flowers bloom like spume year round.

Andrew Jackson

Look briefly.  This flag isn't pretty.

Talk about putting lipstick on a pig.  Whoever dreamed up the flag for the City of Jacksonville, Florida must have had indigestion that night.  Someone should have his vexillologist license revoked.  Whoever approved this as the official flag of the city has probably been voted out of office for decades and yet the banner still waves.

Recognize the figure in front of all the converging rays?  New Orleans' own Andrew Jackson on horseback just as he is posed in Jackson Square in this fair city.   Jacksonville couldn't even come up with it's own image of Old Hickory.  To make matters more derivative, Jacksonville's official nickname is "The River City."  Really?  The only one in the whole wide world?  That's a unique distinction.  Not "The Bad Flag City?"

Compare Jacksonville's flag to New Orleans'.

A thing of beauty: New Orleans' flag.

New Orleans' flag isn't my favorite but it is better than most.  It is simple.  A school child can draw it.  I'm not a fan of the narrow red and blue stripes and I think the flag could use an update with a little more oomph.  There's no need to rush though.  A redesign would probably involve committees and public hearings and debates and suggestions that it should be black and gold, which it should not.  I wouldn't be adverse to wider stripes colored green and purple, which are certainly New Orleans colors and would stand out from other American city flags.  Probably it's best not to try to fix something that isn't broken.

Plenty of city flags are hung off front porches in New Orleans.  Probably far more than are hung off the front porches in Jacksonville, FL.

My favorite city flag?  This one:

Chicago.  Now those are nice proportions.

I only visited this city once and I don't recall ever seeing the flag flying proudly.  I was a younger man and while I liked Chicago, I didn't love it.  The mass transit made an impression.  I love subways and elevated lines that don't get stuck in traffic.  I doubt I would enjoy the winters.  I'm happy in New Orleans.

All roads lead to Dorchester

The whole day long an old sweet song keeps Dorchester on my mind. It's a song as old as the ocean, blowing in the breeze.

In Dorchester, arms reach out to me and eyes wink tenderly. In peaceful dreams I see sweet, Dorchester; that sweet, sweet Dorchester that whispers seductively through the trees that line the streets. In the parks after dark there's a melody that's more rhapsody than threnody. Dorchester is that part of Boston that is home to sweet, contented joys.

Oh, Dorchester! Dorchester... I've walked all over Boston and still no peace do I find. The wind blows like an old song and the wind brings Dorchester back to my mind. It's a sentimental feeling that leaves me kind of blue. The song the wind breathes, though, reminds me that all roads lead to you. Be it zephyr or bluster, caress or gust, the light touch of air reminds me I've got to reach Dorchester or bust.

The T may be running late but my heart has no room for hate. I'm in a Dorchester state of mind... a honeyed, nostalgic, sleepy-eyed, fuzzy and snuggly Dorchester state of mind. Oh my. I'm in a perfect Dorchester, ADORE-chester, more-better-Dorchester state of mind. Ah, yes.

Pianists tickle ivories. Dorchester tickles fancies. Footloose without preconceptions, Dorchester weighs on a dreamer's mind. It's an easy feeling to forget and forgetting Dorchester is cause for regret. Rather than sip at a bitter brew, Dorchester, I'm headed home to you.

Who is Joey Royale??

Carnie folk have always had a soft spot for the Whaling City. That is why there are always so many rides at Sailfest. One native was so taken with these travelling professionals when he was a child, he ran away to Coney Island to learn the trade.

Joey Royale is a fire-eater. Really, not metaphorically. He puts open flame down his alimentary canal like it is shavings off a snowcone. He mesmerizes crowds with his intestinal fortitude. He digests flame like a simple carbohydrate. During romantic dinners, he eyes the candles. Needless to say, Joey Royale plays with matches.

If you watch those tattoo shows on the Discovery Channel, you've seen Joey Royale's arms. He sports a pompadour that would be approved by both the Sharks and the Jets. He has moved back to New London, and his boyhood chums marvel at what he has become. He is a showman, an impressario, a man with a vision who marches to Calliope's tune.

Besides being a fire-eater, he is a musician. He is so talented with a tune that he was drafted into one of New London's most prestigious quartets. One look at Joey Royale and you know this is a man who is familiar with the mysteries of estrogen and tonic. He is a natural fit. Besides that he is an amateur cryptozoologist and kitchen table taxidermist. He has preserved samples of strange beasts shipped to him by explorers of stranger places than New London, Conn. He once thought of running a jackalope ranch, but figured fire-eating would pay off better in the long run.

Despite his lucrative fire-eating career, Mr. Royale still has a day job. He is a man of many callings who believes children are the future. He is known for his youth, fire-eating, mentor program run through Parks and Recreation as Joey Royale. Under a psuedonym, he works more directly every day shaping the outlook of our region's youth. He is an elementary school teacher.