Where was Ted Kennedy born?

An imposing building stands on the corner of Dudley Street and Columbia Road. Etched in granite are the words "Masonic Hall." Two stories down, the lettering inelegantly split by a flagpole, another legend is carved in another slab of granite: "Columbia Square Building." Since Senator Edward M. Kennedy passed away a more ephemeral sign printed on card stock has been been propped up in the curved, second story window of this building overlooking the intersection. It reads, "Upham's Corner. Birthplace of Senator Ted Kennedy."

I don't know if this is metaphor or documented fact. It may be a mixture of both. If literally true, it suggests that the most recently deceased Massachusetts senator breathed his first breath in Upham's Corner's neighborhood. That would be an invigorating initial taste of the freshest air in Boston, if that's the case; the kind of air that swells the lungs with promise, expectation and seabreeze mingled with a smidge of working class city smells and kitchen aromas. If this is the case, it would explain a lot about the late senator's character and inspiration.

I'm not that interested in doing the research, but if this is true, I extrapolate that Edward M. Kennedy was born at Saint Margaret's Hospital at the summit of Jones' Hill which lies directly southeast of this intersection behind the Strand Theater. There is a building up there that seems to have been built as a small, community hospital that is now operated by Caritas Christi as a "women's health center" that, because of its layout still seems to be an inpatient facility. All of this is passing-by conjecture on my part, again, without research. I know that Blessed Mother of Theresa Church used to be St. Margaret's Church and that the Sisters of St. Margaret lived in a convent nearby. I know there was a St. Margaret's Hospital, so this building on Jones' Hill seems the most likely location.

I know the Kennedy family lived on Ashmont Hill before they were associated solely with Hyannisport. Ashmont is closer to Carney Hospital, but perhaps, at the time, St. Margaret's offered better birthing facilities. All my conclusions are pure speculation and I won't bore the reader with more red herrings that lead me to this conclusion. Connecting the dots without knowing too many facts is a pasttime of mine. My local big picture grows with the more random things I learn and observe. My haphazard understanding of Dorchester becomes a more concrete, never-ending story much like the Columbia Road sidewalk. Is it fact or fancy? Like most things in Dorchester, Mass. it is somewhere in between.

Senator Kennedy certainly worked for the interests of the denizens of Upham's Corner. Whether this is because he was born there or because he felt a natural affinity, I don't know. The citizens and voters who live in this part of Dorchester, and most any other part of Boston, identified with him. Was Ted Kennedy born in Upham's Corner? I don't know for sure. All I know is that he lived here in spirit, and I sit next to the giant pear statue in Edward Everett Square, named after another great statesman, and I think of Senator Kennedy and his legacy.

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"

The bikers' wave

An intriguing comment on yesterday's post reminded me of something I omitted from yesterday's dispatch for brevity ("What? Brief?" I know, I tend to ramble). I know that by advocating a fraternity/sorority of two-wheeled travellers, I seem to be separating fellow travellers into classes and that isn't my intent. When we are all on the road, we are all fellow travellers. We should look out for everyone, respect their right to use the road, and make accommodations. We should drive wisely and without arrogance or competition. In a democracy, compromise and accommodation make the rules we live by. Concensus of how to act accordingly within these limits makes life enjoyable for all.

I don't live in a perfect world (even I don't consider Dorchester, Mass. perfect, just close) and I know my argument for mutual respect runs a tad against the grain of human nature, but I don't think it hurts to speak out in favor for a peaceable kingdom. If you can be civil to a grocery store clerk while she checks her text messages while she is scanning your groceries, you can be civil to a stranger on the road. No one wakes up in the morning thinking, "I'm going to be a bad person today." I never have and I've never met anyone who's admitted to this.

If a car cuts me off at an intersection, I should be anticipating it. Though my motorcycle is small, it packs a lot of power under its gas tank and I don't gun the throttle willy-nilly through downtown. To do so would be foolish because in an accident I know who has the best chance of spending time in the hospital and it won't be the automobile driver. A helmet is no air bag and an armored jacket is not as safe as four walls, a roof and a floor, no matter what the advertising copy says. Do I drive fast? Sure. Do I skirt around the edges of traffic laws and sometimes break them outright? Sure. I do these things when it is expedient and it seems safe. I may make misjudgements, I ruined a good pair of pants that way and scratched my front fairing, but I don't make them with malice.

Do bicycles cut me off? Sure. Cars cut me off too when they don't have the right-of-way. Do pedestrians cut me off? Of course, but you know what? A pedestrian has the right of way. Like a customer, a pedestrian is always right even when I think they're wrong. How much inconvenience do they cause me? Not enough for me get my dander up. If bodily harm has been avoided, someone has been driving right. I hope it will always be me, but sometimes it's not. I'm the one who suffers arthritic knees from so many impacts and scrapes and an arm that looks like raw hamburger.

I don't want to generalize or stereotype, because there are exceptions to every rule and people are individuals not castes, but stereotyping is human nature and as long as you can see the trees from the forest, I don't see too much harm in it.

There are different classifications of motorcyclists and this is apparent outside city congestion. In the city, motorcyclists are usually too focused on the hazards around them to acknowledge fellow bikers. That's not true on twisty, scenic, country drives however. Out in the country, motorcyclists offer each other the bikers' wave when they pass. You may have seen it: both cyclists take their hand off the clutch handle and extend their arms downward, palm forward in the direction of the approaching cyclist. Sometimes all fingers are extended, sometimes only one or two. Never a fist. It's an acknowledgement that two fellow travellers are out enjoying the day, enjoying the road, and indulging in a common love of two-wheeled transportation.

Motorcyclists don't usually extend this gesture of camaraderie to pedal cyclists. This may be because, from my experience, the pedal cyclists don't know how to respond. They are focused on their legs, perhaps. Motorcyclists don't usually extend this gesture to motor scooterists either, probably for the same reason but, as a former little engine driver, I can tell you I was always thrilled to be acknowledged as being part of the same tribe. A weaker, extended cousin.

Another informal rule that, happily isn't always enforced: Harley riders wave to Harley riders, sport bikes to sport bikes, choppers to choppers, scooters to scooters (rarely though, they aren't used to being waved to). When I've travelled the back roads with a passenger, she (and it is usually a she) often remarks that Harley riders are arrogant, "They never wave. They just stare straight ahead." I won't comment on their arrogance but I will admit that their wave ratio is well below that of other sport bike riders. A Harley isn't as nimble as a Ninja so maybe they have to be more focused when they navigate. My neighbor drives a Harley and he is one of the most likable chaps you'll ever meet. He's Dorchester by Birth and, presumably, Dorchester by Choice since he hasn't moved yet.

If you drive the back roads of Oklahoma, everyone waves when they pass whether they are driving a pickup truck, a jalopy, a mini-van, a Lexus or a Ford Focus. With a simple gesture they say, "Hello, neighbor." They say, "It's a beautiful day for a drive." They say, "Nice to see you're safe." Nice sentiments and they are sentiments that civilized people should be extending on a regular basis with their fellow citizens.

Courtesy starts with small gestures. Maybe everyone on two wheels should acknowledge each other with a friendly wave when they pass. After that it may spread to the general population. It's much more cordial than brandishing a middle finger. "Busting each other's balls for being slightly different" doesn't seem to be a good strategy to me for getting along and reducing the tension any journey encourages when you are the littlest thing on the road.

A real super hero!!

Here’s a super hero people can relate to:

Dorchester Man! Dorchester Man! He does what no other Bostonian can! He lays bricks, he wires kitchens, he empties trash barrels, he figures out your taxes. Dorchester Man patches sheetrock, he re-shingles your roof, he re-sides your house, he cleans your gutters, he tightens your plumbing, he fixes your appliances, he fills potholes, he fills cavities, he sells fresh vegetables and bottled soft drinks, he aligns your tires, changes your oil, adjusts your spine and pours a pint of beer off the tap with just the right margin of foamy head. He makes a good sandwich and a satisfying cup of coffee. He is as good a listener as he is a storyteller. Dorchester Man gets the job done right the first time.

Who keeps the streets free of snow in winter? Dorchester Man. Who makes sure your children have supervised after-school activities? Dorchester Man. Who rips up the parking ticket when you get to the car just as he’s tucking that citation under your windshield wiper? Dorchester Man. Who makes the best pizza in the Bay State? Dorchester Man. Who keeps the parks well-groomed, the swing set chains oiled, and the cemeteries respectable? Dorchester Man. Who is a good male role model? Dorchester Man.

Is he strong? Listen, bud…He’s got the most Dot-tastic blood. Wealth and fame, he’s ignored. Action is his reward. Dorchester, Mass. packs more action than Mohammad Ali’s six pack abs ever saw. Six times six is thirty-six but Dorchester’s spirit is bigger than that: it is the spirit of ’76. In the chill of night, at the scene of a crime, like a streak of light, he arrives just in time to set things aright. That’s Dorchester Man. He’s an honest man and a good one. He knows how to roundhouse and he knows when to buy the house a round. People like him. They can’t help themselves. Dorchester Man is a homegrown hero.

Take a look overhead. The stars twinkle like Dorchester Man’s eyes.

The ladies swoon when Dorchester Man passes. He approaches and they say, “Look! Here comes Dorchester Man!” He goes on his way seeking further adventure in this biggest and best of Boston’s neighborhoods. The little girls sing, “There goes the Dorchester Man.” Then they collectively croon, “Oooooo-ooooo! There goes the Dorchester Man!”

Wherever there’s a bang-up, life’s not a great big hang-up when you swing like the Dorchester Man.

Bikes and bikes: friends not foes

I stepped into a gentleman's washroom this morning to, well... wash my hands. There was a table in this washroom and on it was a backpack and a bicycle helmet. Someone with bare calves and bicycle shoes was making use of the other facilities available. I put my motorcycle helmet next to one of three sinks and proceeded to go about my business.

His errand completed, a slender gentleman with a bicyclist's body girdled with spandex began washing his hands next to me. He said, "You know, it's cheating when you use a motor." I chuckled and replied that I have heard that before. His comment stuck in my craw, however. When I was done washing up I addressed his reflection in the mirror. "At least we both have two wheels," I said as I reached for a paper towel.

"You're right," he answered, "I guess we are sort of on the same team."

Yes. We are. I don't see any need for rancor or rivalry in what should be a fraternity of two wheel drivers. There is also a sorority, which combined would make everyone a well-balanced family. If we are balanced between two pivot points in the unobstructed wind, it doesn't matter how we get between one end of our journey to the other. We face similar obstacles and dodge the same hazards. Don't make an enemy when you can make a friend of a fellow traveller.

I haven't owned a car since I was eighteen years old and, after many years of being the littlest thing on the public thoroughfare, I know that daily doses of excess adrenaline can make a person battle-hardened, scoffing at those who don't subscribe to the same philosophy about transportation options. That's no way to get through a day. Life's long road beckons and there is room for everyone to share, especially those on two wheels. Two wheels set a person free.

I drive a motorcycle. I also drive a bicycle. For many, many years I drove a motor scooter, which gets the least respect of all after mopeds, which I've never owned (though I someday may). I zip around Boston faster or slower depending on my means of propulsion, but I don't see any need to get upset or to feel better or worse because of what I choose to drive.

My grandfather told me he was a Democrat because he rooted for the little guy. I don't always follow his political persuasion but I tend to side with the little guy too. As someone who navigates traffic on two wheels, how can I not side with the most vulnerable. A motorcycle may be bigger than a bicycle but they are both related. One is no better than the other; both share the same perils.

Having an engine isn't cheating. I can't call something that will propel me over the highway at 110mph a motor, and it is insulting to compare the power train of even the littlest Ninja with what powers a vacuum cleaner. There is no point in disparaging another person's steed. "I guess not walking barefoot is cheating." No, it's not. It is a choice. There are bigger fish to fry than steaming over someone who doesn't travel exactly as you do. If everyone rode bicycles there would be velocipede traffic jams, the fallacy of numbers clashing into the Law of Unintended Consequences. It is better we all get along, looking out for one another and driving safely and responsibly.