Let's meet our New Orleans City Council

The following images and designations were taken from the New Orleans City Council website, this morning.  Its address is .com vs. .gov for some reason.

City Council President (according to the website)

City Council Vice President (according to the website)

District A

District B

District C

District D

District E

I don't want to put too fine a point to this photo essay.  The reader can make his or her own conclusions.

Corner grocer, New Orleans

An interesting picture of 701 Bourbon Street at S. Peters. (I haven't looked at a map but I don't think these streets intersect.) Corner grocers still abound in New Orleans but not as much as in days past.  What were obviously once commercial storefronts are peppered at intersections.  Some are still in business, many have been converted to homes, some are just boarded up waiting to be put to reuse.  Sun and humidity fades ghost signage painted on clapboards in yet-to-be-gentrified parts of the Sodom and Gomorrah of the South.

I was reading the city's zoning laws recently and just because a space once served commercial purposes there is no guarantee that it can again.  There is a convoluted permitting process but I'm not sure what it entails.  I doubt it is as regressive as Boston's with endless community input and neighborhood associations able to issue the final veto.  Though New Orleans is seemingly more tolerant than its New England brethren, it is still a modern city with all the red tape that includes.

I'm betting on Mayor Landrieu's administration to streamline things a bit, but you never know.  Once the bureaucrats are in charge there's no end to the hurdles they'll put in one's way.  Maybe it's all for the best but I've lived in a world class city buried under layers of regulations, like a dowager smothered for her own good.  Be careful how much control you cede to the powers that be.  There is a law of unintended consequences and once a rule is established, it is nigh impossible to erase.

Thanks to Shorpy for the link and the view.  Note the comments on the initial link to see what the block looks like today.

Pelican diet

A gulf menhaden

Pelicans, like many of the birds and larger fish in the Gulf survive off a diet that consists mostly of menhaden.  This is a small, oily fish full of tiny bones that fishermen disregard.  Because of the bones and the taste and the size, menhaden aren't considered food fit for humans.  Most fishermen will catch the menhaden in nets and then use them as chum to attract other fish.  These are small fishermen catching small fry.  There is another kind of fisherman who catches every single menhaden he can find for sale.

Omega Protein is the corporation that dominates the menhaden fishery.  As they boast, and rightly so perhaps, they use every single bit of this small fish.  They manufacture those omega-3 fish oil pills you find in health food stores.  They also grind up the fish for animal feed and pet food.  That chicken you eat was probably fattened, at least partly, on menhaden meal.  Mmmmm.

The data isn't yet in on how the menhaden stocks are faring in the current BP Gulf of Mexico oil spill fiasco.  This once plentiful fish will no doubt be affected, however, and not for the better.  Menhaden stocks are already at historic lows.  No matter how many oily pelicans are scrubbed clean with dish detergent, they will still need to eat.  The Gulf ecosystem will be in a shambles for years to come, the food chain disrupted.

Someone will devise some other feed for the factory farmed chickens.  Omega Protein may already be on the case.  That's not the main worry.  What about the pelicans?  They feed themselves and there won't be many fish for them to find.

If you are taking fish oil supplements, you may want to switch to eating tinned sardines from Morocco.  The pelicans will thank you if they survive this.

New Orleans state of mind

I've been aware of both pre- and post-Katrina critiques of New Orleans culture and economy for a while.  The accepted truth is that it's a great place place to visit but not the best place to live in.  I guess I'll be both testing and, hopefully, disproving that hypothesis.  It seems like a better than good place for me to hang my hat and there are plenty of corroborative testimonies to back me up.

Let's say New Orleans has its warts, like most places and most people, and leave that at that.  It also has an undeniable charisma, which is more than most people or places can claim.

I stumbled across an article from three years ago by a former mayoral candidate.  There is no doubt this gentleman loves the Crescent City.  There is also no doubt for anyone with eyes to see that it has probably been a long, long time since New Orleans deserved its moniker "The City Care Forgot."

I'm not a man of strong opinions.  When I have them, I usually forget them in a day or two.  I intend to approach my sojourn in New Orleans with an eye toward citizenship.  I have a lot of learning to do as well as a lot of living.  New Orleans seems to be the best place to do both.  I identify the city's strengths with my strengths and I correlate its weaknesses with my own.  The two combined have always served me well so I figure the multiplier effect will be beneficial for all concerned.  Time will tell.

I'm not without a care in the world at the moment but I can't think of anything that's bothering me.  That, to me, is a New Orleans state of mind.  I have things that could worry me but I have no worries.  Strange and surreal and relaxing.  There are worse places to be, both physically and mentally.

Date Line: New Orleans.  Saturday, June 12, 2010 AD/CE, Quartedi, 24 Prairial CCXVIII, the day of Caille-Lait, (Bedstraw in English).

Nola mayor-elect in Boston

The mayor-elect of New Orleans is in Boston today, spending time in Cambridge and then having a little tete-a-tete with everyone's favorite urban mechanic.  What pearls of wisdom will Boston's longest serving incumbent have to impart to the new guy?


I don't know too much about New Orleans politics at the moment, but Mayor-Elect Landrieu has convened several citizen advisory panels to help him set policy as soon as he takes office next month.  It seems Mayor Nagin wasn't very popular and didn't make many popular decisions.  He beat Landrieu in a close race in the previous election and people have been rueing that turn out in the interim.   Of note, Landrieu has served as Lt. Governor of Louisiana in the past.  That's a nice bit of experience for a city's top official to have.

If you read the Times-Picayune article on Mitch Landrieu's visit to our fair city, you'll see he has unspecified business in town through Wednesday.  I don't think he'll be coming to Savin Hill to congratulate a soon-to-be future immigrant on his wise decision but I do have a piece of advice:

Mayor-Elect Landrieu, before you head back to the beautiful. lively city of New Orleans, you may want to see the most beautiful and lively part of Boston.  Since you are going to be here tomorrow morning head up to Dorchester Heights and stand in the park at sunrise.  Face south and as the rosy sky breaks to gold and cerulean you will see Dorchester stretched out before you in all its majestic glory.  That will give you something to think about when you are considering plans to rebuild the Lower Ninth Ward and New Orleans East.  You could do far, far worse than match Dorchester's vitality.

I'm sure I'm going to love the Big Easy, but I'm going to miss Dot.

Another piece of advice:  If you want to do anything after midnight, there aren't many options but you can always go bowling.

Boston's in-crowd

Boston's stars revolve around Dorchester. Boston's center of gravity resides, imperturbably, in Dorchester. Both light and opinions bend according to Dorchester's pull.

Dorchester contains more Bostonians than any other of the city's neighborhoods. It is a good place's nature to suck the cream off the available milk. When outsiders think of Boston's more desirable residential neighborhoods, they think of the Back Bay and Beacon Hill. They think of the North End or the South End. That's why they are outsiders. Insiders know the real deal and from where the butter comes that coats the side of the bread that falls face down.

Just as the most desirable things are rarely marketed to the masses, the value of Dorchester real estate and culture isn't promoted to the hoi polloi. Dorchester has the upscale cachet of an exquisite wrist watch with a brand name you've never heard of, or an automobile more rare than a DeLorean. It may look odd and out of place, but that's the idea, the cachet, the je n'est sais quoi. When you put your finger on what makes Dorchester so good, you'll feel a rarified pulse. It is like palpating the carotid artery of an opera singer who has overdosed on ether just before she regains conciousness to sing another aria from the top of her ample lungs and bring down the house.

There are more millionaires in Dorcheseter than there are in any other part of New England, including Fairfield County, Conn. Through sleight of tax return and property maintenance, this statistic is a secret. Only the Illumadotti know the truth.

If Tom Menino gets re-elected to be the longest serving mayor in Boston's history, it will be because the collective will of Dorchesterites makes it so. If it is Michael Flaherty's fate to break Mayor Menino's winning streak, it is because the population of Dorchester has rallied behind his unofficial deputy, Sam Yoon, a transplanted Dorchesterite who the locals respect.

Ignore Boston's biggest and best neighborhood at your peril. Those in the know, know Dorchester pulls Boston's strings.

The Illumadotti

Outsiders wonder why Dorchester thrives despite being one of Boston's most disrespected and seemingly neglected neighborhoods. It is true that Dorchester looks a bit down on its luck at first inspection. Yet people continue to move in, businesses make profits and no one who lives here has an unkind word to say about their situation. It's very different from other parts of Boston. Despite seeming to have cause for a litany of complaints, Dorchester is complacent. What unseen benefits do Dorchesterites enjoy?

Boston has a mayor and Dorchester is represented on the City Council. I believe we have Marty Walsh as our elected representative, though I may be mistaken. That's how relevant the chartered government is: a paper tiger. Boston's official, municipal government cleans the streets and staffs the fire stations, but whatever policies get set at City Hall have few tangible effects in Dorchester. There is a shadow government afoot in the Dot, one that spreads Dorchester's wealth and polices the mores and morals of its citizens more effectively than the Health Department or the BPD. Dorchestester's gears are greased, but no elected official has much to do with how things are run.

A cabal of unelected leaders meets fortnightly at a secret headquarters rumored to be at the summit of Mount Bowdoin. They sometimes gather in quorums at other locales according to a rotating schedule set by tradition to ensure they experience all of Dorchester in the round, keeping in touch with their surroundings, leaving no sidewalk untravelled.

No one knows for sure who the Illumadotti are, though anyone who spends time in Dorchester comes under their influence and experiences their effects. It isn't only Dorchester's street plan that is a tangled web, it is its social relationships and its commercial interactions. Some Illuminadotti are prominent businessmen, some are the American Legion adjutants. One heads a branch of the PTA, one is the vice chairman of a neighborhood crime watch, one is a pimp managing a bevy of employees. One hawks newspapers at a traffic intersection in the morning, one approves mortgages, another maps sewers and monitors their maintenance schedules. One is a local historian. One is a midget who has never graduated second grade, year after year, despite attending night classes and earning an associate's degree at Roxbury Community College.

Dorchester is woven through with invisible filaments and no one knows for sure who pulls the strings. The strings get pulled though and Dorchester dances. Good things happen in Dorchester for a reason. The Illuminadotti make sure of it.

I can't say that I know anything about this secret society. I am not a member and even if I were privy to all of its secrets, I wouldn't be the one to blow the lid off this benevolent conspiracy. Let me go on record: I know nothing. Good things happen in Dorchester without official explanation. They happen seamlessly to everyone's benefit. Few homes go without a Thanksgiving turkey and few households are destitute for long. How this happens is a mystery under the radar. Only the Illuminadotti know why what happens as it does.

There are few complaints, if any, in Dorchester, Mass.

Strong mayor or weak?

I like Sam Yoon. Who doesn't? He's an earnest, likable chap.

Like many other people, I'm ambivalent about the incumbent Mayor Menino. Boston functions. Better the devil you know than the devil you don't. Is that really a campaign platform? I don't think Boston is broken as much as it is a little gummy in the gears and anyone who thinks about it realizes that when it comes to campaign contributions, the incumbent's sticky fingers are in just about every jam pot. I don't scent any more than a whiff of corruption, despite some of the remarks made in last night's debate. It isn't the kind of corruption that drags a city down, at least. Boston is doing rather well and, I admit, we have the current administration to thank for that. We can thank them for the school system too, and the pot holes.

Sam Yoon is charismatic. He brings charm to the table and book smarts too. He did make a remark last night that gave me pause. Mr. Yoon is in favor of limiting his power if elected. He feels a strong mayor is a bad thing. Mr. Menino made the point that he is the Chief Executive Officer of a multi-billion dollar operation (multi meaning more than two and billion implying it is more responsibility any regular voter will ever have to contemplate in their lifetime). If Boston were a private company, which it isn't, I would want a strong executive in charge. I would also expect that the executive has been schooled in budget management and personnel management and efficiency equations and cutting the bottom line to maximize investor returns. A politician isn't schooled in any of these things. The mayor learns his job on the fly. You don't get your PhD in mayoralty and then move up the ranks to the top spot. You make compelling speeches, you become a personality people can relate to, you promise things you needn't necessarily deliver, connect with the voters and, if you do these things go well, well....Hello, Mr. Mayor.

I moved to Boston from a small city with a weak mayor form of government. Let me tell you, it is better to have someone in charge, even someone with no experience, who has to make decisions and take the blame as well as the laurels, than it is to have no one accountable. New London, Connecticut's city charter was hatched in the 1920s when voters were afraid of popular will, machine politics, demagoguery and political corruption. Want to know why New London has been in a recession for decades before the current national malaise took root? It's because New London's weak mayor/strong city manager/impotent city council system stinks. I'm talking stink from the feet up. The kind of stink that reeks out of every pore and alleyway. You want to talk about civic malaise. Look up New London, Conn. in a dictionary and you'll see an illustration of a pock marked soul. If you kick a dead dog it will move. New London is dead in its picturesque harbor for no good reason beyond dead inertia.

The masthead on the city's website will show you it is a beautiful place. A day spent in its borders will prove that it is full of vibrantly beautiful people. A month living there will make you feel like you've planted your shoes in quicksand and the mud is thick with the muck low tide and low expectations leave behind in their trailing wake. If I vote for a mayor I want him to have all the power he can muster to promote the vision I'm voting for. I don't want my candidate to tell me he'll have too much power and he won't be trusted to exercise it wisely. If I'm voting for change I want to empower the candidate who will bring it on with both barrels blazing. The candidate who tells me he'll tell other people to clip his wings? I'll clip your wings for you at the ballot box, buddy.

As for Flaherty and McCrea? Flaherty is as much a part of the system as the incumbent. It's like switching the jack of hearts for the jack of clubs. A meaningless trade. Firefighters endorse Flaherty. I'm all for firefighters but, like many Bostonians, I could do without their union. I can do without Flaherty too. This brings us to McCrea. I like him and I don't at the same time. He is colorful. He is sharp. He is right on target with what he criticizes and I agree with him 100%. Menino has been in office too long. Fresh blood keeps a city's spleen healthy when McCrea vents his spleen, civic discourse is better by it. A little bile goes a long way, however, and that is why I am more inclined toward Yoon.

Sam Yoon is a thinker, a wonk, a man of theory more than practice. I suspect that if he gets elected he'll see the advantages of a strong mayor form of government. Power does tend to corrupt. With power comes responsibility. I think Mr. Yoon will take that responsibility seriously and do what he was elected to do. I think the incumbent does the same. I just think the incumbent has been in office too long and it's time to take the broom and the scrub brush to the scales the current administration has built up around the ugliest city hall in the nation.

This is one man's opinion. 'Nuff said. "Sicut Patribus Sit Deus Nobis"

Dot Confucius

"In a country well governed, poverty is something to be ashamed of. In a country badly governed, wealth is something to be ashamed of." - Confucius.

The same can be said of a city.

As a magnet of opportunity, a great metropolis draws immigrants from all walks of life. It used to be that the wealthy as well as the poor lived cheek by jowl in our cities. This is still somewhat the case in Boston. While many of the wealthy have emigrated to the suburbs, Beacon Hill is still a fashionable address for the upper crust. Their are new, luxury condominiums high above the rest of the older city skyline around the waterfront and the Common. The same can't be said about the other neighborhoods though.

Roxbury Heights for instance, was once quite prosperous. You can tell by the architecture that remains. I drove through the neighborhood this afternoon and nowadays it is more ghost town than prosperous. Ashmont Hill isn't in such an abandoned state, but it has seen more glamorous days. Some of the streets are the most picturesque in Boston and, in fact, my favorite house in the city is located on Melville Avenue. Tell someone in Tory Row that you live in Ashmont and they'll say, "How can you? The Red Line smells like urine after Savin Hill!" Not true, the breeze off Dorchester Bay sprinkles the atmosphere with the aroma of April freshness. Even in August.

While no one should be begrudged having a little extra pocket change or a nest egg socked away for retirement, these things seem to be the exception rather than the norm in many parts of Dorchester. What does that say about Dorchester in particular and Boston as a whole? While extreme poverty may be negligible, so is extreme wealth in the Dot. To say the neighborhood is middle class is accurate and there is no shame in that. To say it is upper middle class is a stretch of the imagination even this daydream believer cannot swallow.

When a city is governed well, poverty, while not something to ashamed of per se, is symptomatic of a broken system. When a city is mismanaged, the means of achieving comfortable wealth are distasteful. The same is true of influence, reputation, and perquisites. What is the source of access? Character and ability, or connections and the ability to make 'donations'? Would you tell your mother how you earned them?

I'm no insider. The only time I've been inside City Hall was to get my Dorchester parking sticker, a plain slug of a design for motorcycles on which the clerk writes Dorchester and the expiration date with indelible magic marker (and not with the best penmanship, I might add). Is the city mismanaged? We have an experienced urban mechanic keeping the gears well-greased. I have little interaction with the local government aside from dodging or paying parking tickets and dealing with what seems to be an regular stream of excise tax bills.

I am not insinuating any corruption in the current administration. Plenty of innuendo surrounds it, but it just that: nothing proven and certainly nothing egregious. It could be an interesting election. Or it might not. As Tuesday's editorial below was entitled, The More Things Change, the More They Stay the Same.

Plus ca change plus c'est la meme chose

Who says Boston is a museum that was trapped in rose colored amber just after the American Revolution? I've been gone a week, between August 1 and August 9, and the times they have a'changed.

The sales tax went up. I knew it was going to happen but I didn't realize how it would affect me or even when. Well, it affected me this morning when I bought a coffee at J.P. Licks. Instead of $2.05 cents, the register rang up $2.07. I'm glad I was looking because I only handed the manager my usual two Washingtons and a nickel. He didn't say anything and took it as payment in full without comment, but when I looked at the register screen, I realized I entered a new Massachusetts when I disembarked from American Airlines flight 5326 on Sunday evening. I should have already known.

Yesterday, I went to Eagle Liquors on Dot Ave and purchased a liter of Cossack brand vodka. Instead of the $8.99 I've grown accustomed to paying, I now have to pay sales tax at the packy. Total purchase price thanks to the Commonwealth: $9.55. I was caught off guard at the time but I had inquired last month when this would be going into effect. The full 6.25% being more onerous than the added 1.25% on everything else I may purchase.

The biggest news tectonic shift in my parochial world is that the MBTA has a new "interim" general manager. Daniel Grabauskas has been forced to resign while I was enjoying the delights of New Orleans' mass transit system. I've never had any complaints about the T except that it doesn't run through my back yard all night. Despite that, I find it useful and I haven't any complaints about Mr. Grabauskas' performance. He has done well enough with the tools he's been given. Will a mass transit overhaul be in our future? I doubt it, but I think Mr. Grabauskas did a good enough job and I don't see the need to pay out a severance package for what will probably be an equal level of dysfunction if not more so under an interim manager.

The only thing that hasn't changed is that Mayor Menino is still steady at the helm. I've slept well knowing some things are constant. Also, I'm wearing a jacket on my porch at 6:30 PM on August 11. Boston's weather is as lackluster as its leadership. Nothing wrong with that, of course, if it works.

A lack of easy transportation

I moved to Boston in the summer of 2007 and I was looking forward to living in a city twenty-four times the size of the one I just left. I settled into an apartment a block from the Red Line's JFK/UMASS station, thinking being so close to public transportation would satisfy my needs. I was soon horrified to learn that the trains stop running after 12:30 AM. What kind of city is this? World-class, as is Boston's reputation?

Boston does have a reputation as being a world-class city. It is certainly known all over the globe. It is, however, a city that likes its beauty sleep. I know the excuse for not having twenty-four train service is so that regular maintenance can be conducted during the wee, small hours of the morning, but that doesn't help the urban melting pot that Boston is supposed to be. Random, cross-pollination and socialization between active, creative, able people gets done during circumscribed, working hours. Boston defines working hours as between the 6:00 AM commuter rush and a half hour after midnight. If you can't get it done by then, you're travelling by shoe leather if you can't pay for a cab. The bonds that tie the many parts of the city are severed long before last call until they are revived for the commuter rush the next morning.

I am reading "The Warhol Economy" by Elizabith Currid, in which she details the importance of linking people in different disciplines together in an environment that promotes random interaction and the collision of ideas and schemes. I don't want to trot out the old Boston-New York comparison yet again, but the difference between how Boston handles its nightlife (making it inaccessible) and New York handles its (with plenty of opportunities for insomniacs to hobnob), is striking. New York is a cultural capitol where young people move to make their mark. Boston is where students come to leave after they get their degrees.

Adam Pieniazek makes an excellent case for extending public transit hours and offers a reasonable proposal to make it feasible. Boston's culture breeds a mindset that limits night travel after the witching hour. For myself, I am often awake when the T is shut down for track inspection and repair. I would like to travel outside my neighborhood where the only places open are two gas stations, but in winter it isn't worth the effort by bicycle or motorcycle, and in warmer months really, there's nowhere to socialize but the South Street Diner seven days a week. There is a Dunkin' Donuts in Andrew Square that's open 24 hours, but do I really want to walk a half mile to get that dunky monkey off my back? I do it, but only because it's the easiest option available. I trudge there and back between dark windows and storefronts. Only bars make money when the clock hand passes twelve and even the bars could be more crowded and boisterous if people could travel to and fro without risking a traffic violation or, worse, vehicular homocide.

A place that is supposed to be a hotbed of ideas needs to be burbling without the heat turned off every night. Ideas are hatched in a hothouse and the more activity, the better. Sometimes it's best to sleep on a scheme but a whole city is interconnected. Boston's transportation limits travel during what I usually find are the most productive hours of the day. Boston encourages sleeping as its main nighttime activity when invention should be its goal every hour the earth revolves around the sun if it wants to tap its full potential. Are we capitalists or are we prim bluebloods? The citizens of Boston aren't offered the opportunity to do anything but rest up for tomorrow, which will, hopefully, be a better a day with no preparation the night beforehand.

If you can't be hit by inspiration between midnight and sunup, you may as well be an actuary with only the walls of your cubicle as your horizon. Boston is better than that. I holds a multitude of vistas and good ideas that I think are smothered by it's lack of late night access to all it contains within it's bounds. I stay in Dorchester most of the time. It's more convenient and cheaper than a circuitous cab ride. I'm sure the people in Eastie and Charlestown and Hyde Park feel the same. If it isn't easy to get from Point A to Point B bundled with all the other lively interactions in between, we stick close to home base, seeing the same people again and again, hearing the same stories, whether they are interesting or not.

You can land anywhere in Boston and it seems parochial, hyperlocal, disconnected from the larger play on the world stage. Gossip comes from no further than a few streets from where you are sitting. Transit promotes this mindset. We work for a third of a day and we sleep for another. During the times when are doing neither, we are engaged in our immediate surroundings rather than the fractured life of our city. Why? Because you can't get there from here when you want to get home. So you stay close to home.

A quiet conspiracy?

Having given up home delivery or even newsstand pick-up of the Boston Globe as my source for printed news, I rely on the Wall Street Journal to keep me informed of what is going on both in national and international affairs, admittedly with a business and politically conservative slant. The WSJ is still more informative on all fronts. I know, for instance, that H.J. Heinz's profit is up during these tough times as few other companies' are. Heinz, which produces a number of products, is known for it ketchup, or catsup as we like to spell it here at antiquarian-minded Whalehead Amalgamated Enterprises, PLC, GmbH, LLC, Esq.


We noticed at the Pizza Pantry on Dot Ave,near the JFK/UMASS station, that the management doesn't offer Heinz catsup packages as a condiment. We've noticed this at other local, prepared food outlets as well. The brand of choice seems to be Red Gold Premium Tomato Ketchup (their spelling, not ours). In fact, in my limited, circumstantial, and highly subjective recollection of catsup packets I've seen offered in Dorchester, East Boston, and Roxbury, I'd be willing to bet that Red Gold is more available than Heinz at a 3:1 ratio.


We all know that our own United States Senator, the Hon. John Kerry, is married to the heir to the Heinz catsup fortune. He ran for president, if you will recall, and was defeated in both the popular vote and the electoral college. He won Massachusetts, but still waters run deep. Has the purchasing power of Boston's entrepreneurial, fast food outlets conspired to rob this legislator of his personal income? According to the WSJ, they haven't succeeded this quarter, but one would imagine that buying Heinz products would insulate this particular peoples' representative from being tempted by corrupt money looking for favorable legislation. Right now, H.J. Heinz is rolling in profits but some Boston restaurateurs seem to want to starve the hand that is raised to pass legislation.

Red Gold, Inc., based in Elmwood, Ind., makes a good catsup. It's available in a number of grades, from 100% natural, made with real sugar, 33% fancy catsup, whatever that means, and an industrial grade that goes by the name of "Extra Standard 29%." I asked the woman behind the counter at Pantry Pizza if anyone has complained about the quality of the catsup they offer. She said, "No. We only serve the best here at Pantry Pizza." I asked why they don't serve Heinz. She looked over her shoulder toward the kitchen and said, "I'm not allowed to comment on managerial decisions."

Pudding Henge

An unnamed, entrepreneurial impresario has a scheme for a new tourist attraction/employment plan in Dorchester and she is allowing us to leak her blueprint under the condition we protect her anonymity. It is our pleasure to oblige and relate the following...

Our subject is a trust fund heiress who comes from an old Dorchester family that earned its wealth in land speculation a century ago (see the "Streetcar Suburbs" book below). She has invested her wealth conservatively and hasn't been battered overly much by recent economic events and she is willing to put up the funds for her project within reason.

"I was vacationing in Wiltshire County, England last year," she says, "When I saw something that I thought would be perfect for Ronan Park. The park has commanding views of Dorchester and the harbor but no one except the neighborhood people go there really, and then it's to watch Pop Warner and Little League teams play games on the fields. If I can get the Mayor to buy into this, I have the idea to carve up some native Dorchester puddingstone and arrange it into a destination that will rival the Prudential Center."

She showed me some books concerning Neolithic archeology and pyramid building. "Originally I was going to use heavy machinery to get this accomplished, but with the recession going on I think there will be plenty of day laborers looking for an honest day's work. I decided to do this the traditional way, all muscle and sweat. My plan is to start in Dorchester Park and carve up some of the puddingstone boulders that are there into oblong blocks about fifteen feet high and three or four feet wide. I only want to use hand tools. Then, using rollers and ropes, workers can haul the blocks up Dot Ave, which is relatively flat until you reach Ronan Park. It will be like a parade. The final phase will involve the last placement of the blocks in the park next to where the playground is now and then raising them, post and beam style, in a circle. It will be hard work but the community will be involved. Think of what they'll have to show for it."

I mentioned the workers wouldn't want to work for free at this undertaking. She replied, "Though I've weathered the stock market's downturn pretty well, all things considered, I don't have the reserves I did at this time last year. I am willing to pay for labor. Though it won't be hourly wages, I will provide lunch for everyone who participates in this project. I will also provide drinks to keep everyone well hydrated. I think that I'll offer 80 ounces of malt liquor at the end of the day for everyone to enjoy in the evening before it's time to get back to work. That should be enough enticement when times are tough."

What does she plan to call this new monument? Pudding Henge, of course, after the most common stone found in the Dot.

The Best Beard in Roxbury

Jackanape Jones, who rides the most tricked-out Lambretta on the Boston side of the Charles River, was paying a visit to the Peppermint Squad's satellite depot on Meeting House Hill on Tuesday evening. Mr. Jones is not one of the squad's active members. He is reservist who can be called to duty in the case of city-wide emergency as declared by either Boston's mayor or the Commonwealth of Massachusetts' governor. He has a special "Peppermint Reserve" badge cast in tin and shaped like the grasshopper atop Fanieul Hall and enshrined in the mosaic at Park Street's T station. Inscribed on the back is this legend:

"During a state of emergency declared pursuant to Massachusetts Civil Defense Act, Acts 1950, Ch. 639, as amended, or by other government authority, this identification will serve as a pass though police, fire and armed services checkpoints. The bearer of this identification is an essential member of an elite team of first responders and is required to report to the disaster team coordinater or the personnel pool as directed by the President ex officio of the Peppermint Squad, Dorchester, Mass."

It was a quiet night at the depot. Bella Donna and Trixie Herlihy were manning the phones and the phones weren't ringing. Jackanape Jones borrowed a squirt bottle of vinegar and water and polished the many mirrors mounted on his Lambretta's legshield. He would pause before he wiped down each one to admire his reflection. Trixie noticed that his pant leg rode up over his sock whenever he got in and extreme crouch. She observed, "Jackanape, you have very hairy legs."

Mr. Jones ran his hand through his hair and looked at Bella Donna as if she had made the observation. He said, "Yes, I'm very hairy on top of my head and below the waist. I don't have a hairy chest or hairy arms, thank goodness, but I've got a good shot of testerone running through me." He winked at Bella Donna.

Trixie said, "Isn't it a bother? You know swimmers shave thier legs to increase thier speed. Have you thought about shaving our legs to get better mileage on your Lammy?"

Jackanape Jones looked over at Trixie. He said, "No. The leg shield covers my legs too much to allow for much wind drag. It's a pretty aerodynamic rig. I have been thinking about shaving my head however."

The phones weren't ringing and there wasn't much excitement that night. Both women looked at Mr. Jones and asked in unison, "Why?" They weren't breathless, there just wasn't much else going on.

Jackanape Jones said, "I've been thinking I can grow a good beard. As you can see, I don't hurt for hair on the top of my head. I'd like to see what I can do with my chin. I want to shave my head and grow a beard. Not a hipster goatee, but a real, Walt Whitman, old, Jewish prophet, St. Anthony of the Desert kind of beard. Such a big beard may cut down on my scooter speed, but I think it will be very impressive blowing in the wind. I have to wear a helmet according to state law, so this haircut doesn't really do me much good on the road. It looks good when I'm in a pub, but I spend a lot of time on my scooter with my helmet on. I want people to see how much hair I can grow while I'm on prowling the streets."

Trixie asked, "Why?"

Mr. Jones answered, "As you know, I live in Roxbury. I am represented on the City Coucnil by Chuck Turner. You know the guy: Bold, Bald, Bright? He's got the best beard on the City Council. Its a real Roxbury beard. You know the only men who have Turner's beard beat? They're the monks at Mission Hill Church. Those monks have beards that put Chuck Turner to shame. If a man of God can sport a beard like that, I think Jackanape Jones can grow a beard of equal proportion out of his love of motor scooters."

Bella Donna said, "Jackanape, you're starting to sound a little sacriligious."

Mr. Jones said, "It's only an idea. I saw a picture of Chuck Turner the other day and he inspired me. He inspires a lot of people. I see the monks walking down Tremont Street almost every morning when I go to Mike's Donuts for my cup of coffee. The monks inspire me. I'd like to be an inspiration to somebody and I think a beard is a good way to assert my particular qualities."

Trixie said, "You've got enough enough chrome on this scooter to accentuate any qualities you have. You take this Lammy to a rally and everyone gawks at your twelve mirrors, your bumpers, your crash bars, your front rack, you back rack and your foot pegs. What more do you have to prove, Mr. Jackanape Jones."

Mr. Jones finished wiping down the last mirror, the factory installed one over the clutch on the left handlebar. He said, "I want to show that its not what you can buy, but what you are that makes you a character."

Bella Donna sighed and the phone rang. She got up to answer it and took notes during her conversation. When she hung up she barked out, "Jackanape you have to clear the premises. Trixie and I have a call to respond to. Trixie, we've got 325-a on East Cottage Street that needs our attention."

Mr. Jones suited up and headed back to his Lower Roxbury apartment. Bella Donna and Trixie Herllihy suited up, mounted thier scoots and headed to East Cottage to join a bucket brigade to douse a charcoal grill fire out of control.

Everthing Counts In Small Amounts

Bigger doesn’t necessarily mean better. Good things come in small packages. The second-smallest city in acreage in Connecticut is none other than the Whaling City, New London. For those curious, the smallest is Derby. What does New London have in common with Derby? Nothing but size.

New London has nothing in common with anywhere else, not even old London. New London is a cosmos of its own. New London has its own gravitational pull. Some people get sucked into its little vortex, swallowed by forces beyond their control. In New London, men and women are created in God’s image.

New London is more than a mote in God’s eye. It cannot fit through the eye of a needle, but it is the closest thing this world will see to the Gates of Heaven. Atop Heaven’s Gate is a pearly marble seal carved with a three-masted ship tacking toward port. A banner above reads, “Mare Liberum.” A squad of cherubs is dispatched to dust the carving every day.

New London is wee. It is so seemingly unimportant that it doesn’t appear on some maps. Some cartographers sleep through class. To earn a Doctorate of Cartography, The American Academy of Professional Cartographers has decreed that diplomates must complete three semester hours studying the longitude and latitude of New London, Conn. Herbert Fennel was the Academy President in 1938. He learned that his birthplace wasn’t included on every map. He decreed a new rule and it has stuck over the intervening decades.

Strange things happen in New London. There is a ghost at the Polish Club. Find out here.

Number One

There is city that is New London’s rival. There is a city that is a thousand New Londons rolled into one. It is a marvelous place, but it is not New London, Conn. New London, Conn. has something its primary rival lacks. Though this rival city has more people, more activity, more name recognition and more resources; though this city has everything New London has on scales New Londoners cannot conceive; though this city accomplishes things beyond tiny New London’s grasp; though industry and intrigue thrive in this city; though people bid to live there; New London has one thing its rival lacks. New London has Whaling City Spirit™.

The City of New London’s primary rival happens to be all five boroughs of the City of New York located in New York State. You can get lost in New London just as easily as you can in the Bronx, Staten Island, Brooklyn, Queens, or Manhattan. You can find your muse in New London, take a chance, make a big break and build a life fantastic. If you can make it in New London, you can make it anywhere even in old, old New York.

Union Plaza is better than Times Square. The sidewalks aren’t nearly as crowded. Pedestrian traffic moves almost unimpeded. The Lyman Allyn Museum is also a metropolitan museum of art. An important port, New London has the oldest continuously operating customs house to track maritime, commercial traffic. New London’s harbor is full of the comings and going of the biggest types of ships and the smallest.

A city in miniature, New London believes in quality rather than quantity. New London has everything New York City has, but everything New London has is artisinal and precious rather than crass and commercial. New London, obviously, chases something besides dollars. It chases its dreams.
New York is a city in which dreams get recognized and realized. New London is a city in which dreams get chased. The best part of a journey is not the destination. The best part of the journey is the journey itself, and all the incidental details and tales one experiences along the way. New London knows this. Rather than be Number One, New London would prefer to enjoy its potential to be Number One.

An Obituary to Boris Yeltsin

Boris Yeltsin is a particular hero of Whalehead King. Boris Yeltsin is quoted as saying:
“A man must live like a great bright flame and burn as brightly as he can. In the end, he burns out. But this is better than a mean, little flame.” Whalehead King heard a recording of Mr. Yeltsin’s quote in its original Russian. Whalehead King didn’t need a translation. He knew exactly what the speaker meant. Yeltsin was a kind of Kerouac in his way, the way Whalehead King, in his dapper persona, stills experiences beat epiphanies every day.

Mr. Yeltsin moved inside the system as a subversive until he parlayed his strengths into positive power. All he ever intended was to enable people to have pride in their lives and the optimism to take a chance. He wasn’t successful in every sense, but he was dramatic and he gave whole nations, even the whole world, hope for a brief time. Some people are good at grandstanding and forging a vision into an anchor to which others can cling, waiting for rescue. Other people are good at being bean counters and administrators. To bring New London, Conn. into this obituary for a grandstander and empowered drunkard, let it be said that many citizens of New London wish for a leader of Mr. Yeltsin’s stature.

In New London, the bean counter administrator is in charge by antiquated fiat. This is a city that yearns for a leader who personifies the hopes and dreams of a community often scorned and shadily portrayed. A city so full of eloquent performers and artistes should be able to express itself. Imagination burbles all over New London. People have aspirations. They would like to live in a city in which they can take pride. City Hall is tone deaf, numb and dumb and blind. All it can do is taste is business as usual. Despite the contents of official proclamations, New London’s government relishes the taste of decay.

It is a city of conflicting visions because no one but a bureaucrat is running the show. We have an ineffective council of well-intentioned cab drivers, construction workers, school teachers, non-profit predators, and political hangers-on who need their egos stroked. We elect then every two years out of the list of like candidates of devils-we-know. You are more likely to see a New London City Councilor sitting at a picnic table at Fred’s Shanty with a mustard stain on his or her tee shirt, than standing on top of a tank. If a tank were in front of City Hall, there would be have to be a lottery to decide who would get the pleasure of pulling the trigger. You can bet your bottom dollar that most of the City Councilors would be out of town at prior commitments and the City Manager would be looking for another cushy job with a fat salary in a city with low expectations.

Godspeed to Boris Yeltsin.

A Council of Dunces

If a certain City Council meets enough times, it will eventually make a difference for the better. This will happen about the same time a room full of monkeys will type a Shakespearean sonnet.

Recent news reported in last Sunday's paper was that the new City Manager is getting along with the Council. He must stock bannanas in the candy jar on his desk. His predecessor had his bean-coutning job for fourteen years, all with the Council's blessing. Many of the same faces have sat on the Council over the last fourteen years. Birds of a feather flock together.

We wish no ill will toward the new City Manager. In fact, we wish him the best of luck in breaking the spiral of inertia that drives the particular city in question. The fact of the matter is the deck is stacked against him. This city's government is irrelevent to all but its employees and those who, for whatever psychological needs, seek election to the Council. Harsh words from a usually cheerful reporter.

Some city employees report that they like going to work now that a new manager is running the show. How nice. At least there is someone in charge. Maybe he will be able to make the city run efficiently and effectively. Then again, why change something about which no one cares? We hope the new city manager enjoys his salary and his tenure. The honeymoon is still in bloom. The daffodils that are sprouting out of the ground this time of year will wither and die. Euphoria, wherever you can find it as related to the city government, will soon turn to its usual ennui.

A word of advice to the new City Manager: Showing up is the easiest part of the battle. Sticking around will take the patience of a saint. Getting something accomplished will be the hardest task of all.

Litter For a Good Cause

There have been a lot of empty candy bags blowing around the Sixth District. Amos, the Crossing Guard, has been driving himself batty picking up the trash. You may have read that the Connecticut Mastery Test Scores at Harbor School have gone up 35%. Most of these elementary school students have the base skills to take college courses. What is the secret of these teachers' and their principal's success. I'll tell you. Dr. Christopher Clouet can learn an easy lesson from the trash blowing around Harbor School.

Empty candy bags can raise school scores? Yes. We are not talking about ten pound bags of Dum-Dum lollipops. We are talking about one pound bags of Smarties. The Ce De Candy Company of Union, NJ knows what a name means. Smarties, a confection of dextrose, citric acid and Yellow 5 Lake, also contain a secret ingredient. The teachers at Harbor School know that.

Smarties come in a roll so that they can be sampled throughout the day, like before a pop quiz or an unexpected social studies question. Smarties work like memory enhancers Pfizer has never dreamed of. In fact, yesterday's Wall Street Journal reported secret talks between Pfizer and Ce De Candy with an acquisition in mind. Pfizer's Global Research and Development is just down the street from Harbor School. You cannot quench the curiosity of a scientist. They jog at lunch time and see the trash in the gutters of Pequot Avenue. Pfizer knows why Harbor School's scores have improved so much. Now you do too.

Looking for a promotion to middle management? Looking to write the great American novel? Looking to land tenure at Connecticut College? Looking to be appointed the next New London City Manager? Look no farther than the bulk candy section in tbe drug store. Stock up on a sack of Smarties brand, assorted flavors, candy rolls. The sky is the limit when you make Smarties a part of your diet. Just stay away from the Dum-Dum lollipops.

Hooray for the Status Quo

Well the vote on New London's charter has come and gone. A nineteen percent turnout. Apathy and government irrelevance remain the order of the day. Eighty-one percent of voters couldn't muster the effort to flip a lever. Ah, New London, a city preserved in ambergris that smells like low tide. One would imagine a city of perennial complainers would want to voice thier opinion. Apparently not when it matters.

Do not mistake me. I fell in love with Connecticut's Whaling City twelve years ago. I love it dysfunctional and inert. I love it crumbling at the foundations and full of plucky entrepreneurs doomed to failure. I am one of them after all. This is a city that seperates the adults from the children, even if it is hard to tell the difference sometimes.

If I sound heartbroken and full of bile and venom, it is because I am. I live in a city and I beleive New London is as real a city as one can find anywhere. When I imagine New London's peers, I think of Beijing, Shanghai, Singapore, Dubai, Vienna, Naples, Frankfurt, New York and Los Angeles. All these cities have mayors who make decisions and make things happen. If I wanted to live in a place run by selectmen, I would move to Pomfret, or Sprague, or Griswold, or North Stongington, all nowhere, municipal destinations located in Connecticut. I look at New Haven and Hartford, and Stamford and West Hartford, and Danbury and Bridgeport and even dysfunctionally corrupt Waterbury (also all in Connecticut). I look at cities where things are happening that also happen to have mayors who are in charge.

I am in New London and my heart belongs here. It is a love/hate relationship, the way the most passionate relationships are. New London and I have no conjugal dealings, but we do have a mutual understanding. I will stay out of the government's way if it stays out of mine. We are at cross purposes. I celebrate my city. New London's government stifles its assets the way a crack-addled mother smothers her baby. Strong words, but true ones none the less. We have no one to blame but ourselves.

I apologize for not being as light-hearted as usual.

My condolences to Gil Torres and Angelica Torres Peck. Hortencia was a wonderful woman and a wonderful cook. She was an asset to this city who will be missed. Her passing deserves more than a footnote at the end of a diatribe about the state of the Whaling City. I regret that I haven't seen her for so long, but I have only the fondest memories of chatting with her in her kitchen at el Sombrero while she worked at her big cast-iron skillet conjuring marvels our of ingredients she bought the morning before at Shop Rite. She was one of a kind. I doubt I will meet her Heaven, but I know I won't see her where I will end up.

-Matthew Whalehead King