Roman candy, New Orleans (part I)

Since I don't live uptown of Canal Street anymore, I don't travel St. Charles Avenue as much as I used to.  I was there the other day though.  What to my wondering eyes did appear?  A mule-drawn cart selling hand-rolled taffy.

The mule was drowsy, indifferent to the traffic speeding by much faster than his four legs could carry him and the cart behind.  If I had to bet money on a race between the cart and the St. Charles Avenue streetcar, I'd put my cash on the mule.

Some days I feel like this chap in the picture.  Other days, I feel like the whale.

I moved to New Orleans to live in a city that was the opposite of Boston.  Boy, I got what I wished for with that.  I feel like I went fishing and reeled in more than I can filet.  At least I have enough for a cook-out, a blubber boil, a stew pot, a trying out of the essence from the vast wealth of meat, there will be plenty left over for the sharks.  I find New Orleans overwhelming, not in a bad way.  I haven't had any bad days since I've moved here, just the impression that I have a lot to digest.

Sometimes I feel like the whale.  I am a wealth of experience and talents.  Isn't anyone.  I have made a satisfying life for myself wherever I have landed and planted.  There isn't any reason to think I can't make my mark here.  New Orleans is a city of opportunity, where chance marries fortune and they have beautiful babies full of promise.  ...and then they die, like we all do in the end.

New Orleans has been around a long time, for better and for worse.  Sometimes the city itself has been the whale and sometimes it has been the fisherman.  The name of this blog is Excelsior!  New Orleans!! for a reason.  From everything I see as I'm on patrol at all hours of the clock over all the calendar's pages, I see a city on the move, ever upward, one that doesn't cotton to shuteye.  I encounter a city where something is always happening and things are getting done, even if those things are not the most reputable.  New Orleans is not a technology-oriented metropolis.  It has little truck or traffic with notions of a new economy.  It is home to a creative class, heck, the whole city is nothing but a creative class.  Orleanians channel their energies not toward profit or dominating a niche market, unless that market is New Orleans itself.  Orleanians enjoy their surroundings, their lives, and their acquaintances.  This is a city in which no one is lonely and no one is bored.

I'm new here.  I may be wrong.  I may be the fisherman.  At least I can say I was here.  There's something to that.  Better a bad day spent on a New Orleans street than a good day of fishing.  You can put that in your pipe and smoke it.

CBD, Canal Street, Tulane, etc.

Between Coliseum and  Camp Streets: Neutral Ground.

I was talking to a woman today and I asked, "Were all these tall buildings occupied six years ago?"

"No," she answered.  "They were empty when the levees broke."

"Who would build a skyscraper and abandon it?" I asked.

"These were built during the oil boom in the 70s.  When the 80s came, the companies moved out of town.  The last were gone in the early 90s at the latest."

That's a lot of architecture to just get up and abandon after building it.  It also explains why renovations aren't proceeding swiftly.  The buildings were empty to begin with.  They look like they were built in the 70s.  These would be unloved, ugly buildings even if they were humming with activity.

It makes me wonder:  A real estate market seemed so hot that developers erected these office towers but it left behind husks a mere ten or twenty years later.  So quickly that the Central Business District and O'Keefe Avenue and the area around Tulane Hospital seem like parts of a ghost town.  What went wrong?  What went so wrong that something new was abandoned so quickly.  What went wrong that the money moved to Houston, from what I understand.  Houston?  I wouldn't bring a dog to Houston let alone a corporate headquarters.  Maybe that's why I write a blog rather than run an oil company.  There are worse fates.

More Fun Comics in Carrollton

Let's admit that it is unfair to stereotype every comic book store employee as having poor social skills.  Let us also admit that there may be a kernel of truth in the law of averages.  More Fun Comics is located on Oak Street in Carrollton.  Though I don't buy a lot of comics, I like to go to a comic book shop maybe once a month.  I'm not their target clientele but I appreciate the art form and, if there were more comics I liked, I would be a more regular patron.  If I miss an issue I don't lose sleep.

I've been to More Fun a few times.  The clerks are more interested in their own conversations or reading material than in assisting customers but I've come to expect that.  My wife was with me one time and she was interested in a hardcover book that had obviously been more than gently used even though it was being sold as new.  The clerk told her that they used to have two copies but he'd already purchased the one that wasn't manhandled and dog eared.  Ha! Ha!  She bought it on Amazon for a discount rather than pay full price at smug More Fun.

I was there yesterday and a portion of the racks were empty.  A new shipment had arrived.  New comics were strewn all over the boxes of back issues.  Two clerks were on duty.  One was inventorying the new stock.  The other was watching a vintage 1980s Eddy Murphy movie on the television.  Ha! Ha!

There was a woman about my age in the shop when I arrived.  I stepped in and no asked if I needed assistance.   As I wandered along the edge of the shop I thought the inventory clerk would say, "If you can't find what you want in the empty shelf space, it might be here."  Maybe, when he saw me looking over the back issue boxes that were his workspace he could have said, "If you want to see anything, I'll be happy to move this out of your way."  I did want to look for some back issues.  The conversation didn't revolve around how customers might find what they want to purchase.  Instead it consisted of this: "Eddie Murphy is funny when he says fuck!"  Ha! Ha!

After a few minutes of obscenity-laden, tepid, juvenile, DVD humor the lady left without buying anything.  I followed soon afterward.  The clerks were too busy to notice or bother.  They were busy watching their movie and guffawing every time Eddie Murphy said fuck.  Great fun for them perhaps but it wasn't much fun for me.

There's a comic shop on Freret Street that I'm going to patronize instead.  It's a bit out of my way but it just landed on my regular errand route.  When I walked in the door I didn't even have time to scope out the layout when the clerk asked what I was looking for.  Not really wanting to look at all the variations of Batman and X-Men on display, I told him and he fetched what I wanted off the shelf.  We had a nice conversation about comics in general and the title I bought in particular.  He told me that one book I was following was being cancelled, which is usually the way.

There aren't any comic shops on Magazine Street that I've been able to find.  Hence my voyages to Freret Street.  No worries.  New Orleans is flat and bicycle-friendly.  Any trip is a pleasure unless, of course, it's a trip to More Fun Comics.

Questioning the Central Business District (CBD)

Magazine Row again.  Riverside of the street.  Headed toward the CBD.

Upriver from Canal Street is New Orleans' Central Business District (CBD).  It's got a lot of tall buildings.  For the life of me, I can't figure out what business gets conducted in the CBD.  It may be another post-Katrian phenomenon but I think most of these buildings are abandoned in their upper floors.  I know the Entergy Building is home to the electric company.  One building is home to various state agencies.  Law offices are relatively thick in the CBD as, I assume, are high-end accounting firms.

Poydras Street was designated to be the street that was supposed to be a miracle mile of skyscrapers leading from the convention center to the Super Dome.  There are tall buildings there, but what they house and what purpose any workers there serve is an undiscovered mystery.  Most of the tall buildings around the CBD sport hotel chain logos around the roof line.  Tourism is a linchpin in the local economy, but what other business gets conducted?

I would expect to find bank headquarters and venture capitalists.  Maybe a publishing house or two.  Marketing firms?  Biotech startups?  There are a few banks in the CBD but they aren't exactly an overwhelming presence.  What is the business of New Orleans exactly that it needs a central district?

Today's illustration is more typical of the city's business culture.  It's a store that sells men's clothing on Magazine Street.  A local shop rather than a chain.  New Orleans' business tends to be small scale.  I like it.  It is spread all over the city from restaurants to snow ball stands to wig shops to corner meat markets.  New Orleanians seem to have an insatiable appetite for fresh meat.  There are local watering holes, clothing retailers, this and that.  Very little high finance or high stakes are evident, least of all in the CBD which doesn't resemble a financial district to me so much as a collection of mysterious buildings.  I know some shipping and oil outfits must have offices there but, like the wharves along the Mississippi and the rigs offshore, they are invisible.

No trashy emergency

What can I say?  I can say the staff in the emergency room at Touro Infirmary is professional, efficient and a pleasure to deal with.  I'm not one to visit a doctor usually, but it's nice to have a fully staffed hospital down the street.  I can't wait to see the bill.

Being a medical biller, I know that insurers purchase medical services wholesale while people without insurance pay retail.  Everyone knows that only a sucker pays retail.  No insurance means that I didn't have much choice.  It's how the system is set up.  Unlike other businesses, you can't ask for a discount if you pay cash up front rather than set up a tedious payment plan.  They aren't allowed to offer discounts on prices they conjure out the air.

If a clinic were open in the dead of night, I would have much preferred to go there for half the retail expense.  It's the luck of the clock.  The nurse was nice enough to tell me what clinics are close to my home so I wouldn't have to go to a full scale hospital if my symptoms recurred during normal working hours.

Now that I know the problem, there isn't much chance I'll be seeking professional care over OTC, self-treatment until a doctor's office opens.  I woke up in the middle of the night and I said to myself, "If someone told you this, what would you advise?  You'd tell them to go to the hospital and damn the cost."  For once, I listened to reasonable advice, even if it was my own.  I opened a dresser drawer to put on a shirt and the sound awoke the lady of the house.  "What are you doing?" she asked.  "I'm going to the hospital,"  I answered.  "Do you want me to drive you?" she replied.  "Yes," was my answer.

No hubbub.  We just got in the car and took care of business.  Have I mentioned before that I am in love?

Today's illustration is the sign for the Trashy Diva shop on Magazine Street.  Have I mentioned before that I love New Orleans?

Wind turbines on Lake Pontchartrain

Though I've spent the last few years living in Massachusetts, don't think I'm opposed to wind power.  I'm for it and I think a wind farm located off Nantucket is the best thing since oil was discovered in Pennsylvania shale.  A critique of the opposition to the Cape Wind Farm is located here courtesy of the Daily Show.

The Times-Picayune reports today that wind turbines are being considered for the Lake Pontchartrain Causeway.  The original proposal is to power the toll booth at the northern end.  That's small beer.  I drove the Causeway the other day.  It's a straight shot suspended over the water, not much to look at and windy as all get out.  My Little Ninja motorcycle was buffeted to and fro along the lane and I turned around after seven miles out of the twenty-four that it takes to go from end to end.  There wasn't much to see besides water and there wasn't much to do but go forward and stay upright.  I did see some flying pelicans and that was worthwhile but otherwise there wasn't much scenery to enjoy.

Since the causeway's supports are solid, they've sustained no damage from hurricanes, they make an ideal support for wind turbines.  I understand a test project needs to be done but generating enough electricity to power a toll plaza seems a bit unimaginative.  I suspect that when all is said and done, years in the future, turbines will spin at regular intervals along the causeway to provide power to all of greater New Orleans.  As we've learned from the recent BP debacle, oil comes with its costs.  What's the worst damage a turbine could do?  Topple over?

The wind over Lake Pontchartrain is a relatively benign, untapped resource.  Besides being a petroleum producing state, Louisiana could be a leader in renewable energy sources.  Food for thought as the first decade of the latest century comes to a close.  The infrastructure is already there to build off.  No one can complain a line of towering turbines is any uglier than the causeway itself.

Jazz Po-Boys

There's a stretch of Washington Avenue in Central City that is home to a cluster of po' boy shops and sno-ball stands.  Taking Fourth Street, which runs parallel to Washington Ave., a two story, ramshackle looking, gray building has a handmade sno-ball sign mounted high on its back wall.  Jazz Po-Boys.  What could it be?

It's Jazz Po-Boys.  The sign mounted high on the rear of the building is echoed by another piece of cut and painted plywood on the ground.  This is a shop that obviously doesn't just serve po' boys.  They serve sno-balls too.  The rainbow concocted sno-ball is the common way they are depicted on signs.  I've never seen anyone eat one of these though I'm sure this tutti-frutti option is available if a skilled syrup hand is crafting the treat.  In reality, they seem to be eaten one flavor at a time.  Two at the most.

Here's the view from the corner of Fourth Street and Magnolia.  Washington Ave is a block away.  Note the classic Coca-Cola sign paired with the handpainted wall advertisement.  The awning sports the colors of Mardi Gras: gold, purple, yellow.  These are the joyful colors of a sunny disposition.  Don't bother with the door on the corner.

Jazz Po-Boys has a take out window (closed in this picture unfortunately).  This is the Magnolia Street side.  Notice the cobblestones alongside the sidewalk.  They are home to streetcar rails.  The street is paved in the middle and the cobblestones and abandoned rails run along the opposite sidewalk as well.  A streetcar once ran down Magnolia Street.

I've driven down Magnolia a number of times.  It is a picturesque avenue that has seen better days and more traffic in its time.  One can only hope, especially the residents, that the New Orleans Master Plan will revive this streetcar line.  It will be good for business for Jazz Po-Boys and be easier than schlepping down to St. Charles Avenue to catch a ride for the residents of this corner of the city.

A block away from this corner, on the other side of Washington, new homes are being built.  A lot of them.

Paid advertising

I know it's annoying but I'm trying out some in text advertising links.  These links will be double underlined and in green as opposed to my usual links to more interesting things which I've just set to appear in purple.  To regular readers, I apologize and I hope this doesn't turn you off the Dot Matrix (a new blog title should be coming in a few days).  Please feel free to ignore them and if they are too much of a nuisance, I'll get rid of them.

While I do make a little money off the Matrix, I wouldn't mind earning a few pennies more.  That's why I'm giving this a try.  Thanks for understanding.
WK

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.

A good mechanic

I'd like to thank the folks at Dewey, Cheatham and Howe for recommending Cacamo's Auto Repair.  This mechanic at 2205 Bienville Street really lived up the reviews.

We needed a mechanic for car repairs rather than the motorcycle variety.  One bump too many on New Orleans' atrocious roads broke the spring supporting the front passenger side of the car.  Allen, the owner, wasn't satisfied with the price of a pair of new springs so he called around for a complete spring and strut combination and even did something to the axle.  It's not my car so I wasn't really listening.  The owner though paid attention throughout and she is thoroughly satisfied.

When we were departing the shop Allen asked, "So from where up north did you bring this car?  It's so rusty underneath it had to have been driven where they salt the roads."  Good eye, Allen.  We admitted the car came from Boston.

Monday haircut

It seems impossible to get a haircut in New Orleans on a Monday.  It's probably not impossible to find a barber open for business but, as a newcomer to this fair city of inscrutable ways, it is improbable.

I have a job interview tomorrow morning so I figured a touch up was advisable to show I'm as neat about my appearance as I am about my work.  I did find one shop that was open on Magazine Street.  I walked in and nodded to the chap who was in the chair.  The barber came from out back and asked if I had an appointment.  An appointment for a ten-minute haircut (ideally)?  I said No. "Can you come back at 2:00?"  I said No, could he tell me where there's a barber shop I could walk into?  "Not on a Monday."

He didn't lie.  I drove around town in search of a barber shop.  Every one I found was closed Sundays and Mondays.  I went home and trimmed over my ears.  It's a good thing I wear glasses.  That, and I'll wear an eye-catching tie and pocket square to distract from my shaggy coiffure.

You can find a bar in New Orleans any hour of any day to enjoy a smoke and a beer over a little conversation.  You'll be hard pressed to get a haircut on a Monday though.

To be fair, it took me a while to identify a network of acceptable barber shops in Boston that were open when I was ready for a trim and had minimal waits.  I don't like to linger in the barber shop.  I like to get the job done and get on with my day.  Small talk and old magazines don't add any luster to my haircut experience.

Old Italian gentlemen have always been my preference.  Nothing fancy, get out the clippers, flourish the scissors, finish up with a straight razor and I'll see you again in two or three weeks.  I haven't done my relevant research in the twelve days since I've arrived.  There's a lesson here, one of marginal importance but, in a pinch, a man needs a decent haircut when he needs it.

As has been the case since arrival in New Orleans, I need to temper my expectations.  I'm not in New England anymore.  In many ways, I'm glad of that.  The other night I watched some drunken couples dance and sing along to a jukebox playing the Rolling Stones.  I wasn't particularly interested at the time but I now realize they were mouthing something very profound.  You really don't always get what you want, but you do get what you need.  Looking in the mirror, I suppose I didn't really need a professional haircut after all.

Today's illustration is courtesy of Lint.

Positive thinking from yesteryear

Do you think the time will come when we will have a 30-hour work week in industry?
Yes.................57%
No..................28
Don't know....15

Those who responded in the affirmative were asked: Just your best guess, how soon do you think this will be?
In two years or less.............6%
In two to five years............14
In five to ten years.............18
More than ten years...........13
Don't know when...............6
Total..................................57%

- From a Gallup Poll conducted January 26-31, 1954 (this was Survey #559-K)

So in 1954, thirty-eight per cent of Americans thought a 30-hour work week was essentially right around the corner.  I'm all for it, but it turns out the thirteen per cent who thought it would take more than ten years were correct.

This is a real poll, by the way.

Better living through Kumtek

I was at Euromart at 808 Dot Ave to pick up some smoked trout from the cooler but as I was entering, I ran into John Kumbalowski who was carrying out a six pack of Zywiec, the beer of choice in the Polish Triangle.  We got to talking and he suggested we head over to Cafe Polonia for some kishka and cherry brandy.  An order of kishka only goes for eight bucks and we were splitting a plate so I agreed.

Unfortunately, Cafe Polonia looked a bit too crowded for our tastes so we headed across Andrew Square to the Aces High Tavern.  Since we were now on the Irish side of Andrew, we ordered two Budweisers on tap and John proceeded to catch me up on what's going on his life.

Though he works as a installer at Yale Appliance and Electric, John graduated from MIT in the Class of '91.   He hasn't forgotten anything that he learned as a student and, in fact, he has been pursuing his own interests while off the clock at Yale.   He told me he was starting up his own company in order to manufacture jet engines he's designed and patented on weekends and during vacations.  He asked me if I'd be interested in investing.

I answered that I would be interested and I asked the name of the new company.  John replied, "Kumtek.  It's a combination of Kumbalowski and Technology but I spell technology with a 'k' because it looks more futuristic."

I agreed that the k was cutting edge but I advised him he might want to pick a different name.  I suppose there's nothing wrong with the name Kumtek but it's not the kind of name I'd like to drop in polite conversation.  He said he'd think about it and he did seem thoughtful as we finished our beers.  When we parted company, John asked, "What do you think about Baltek?"

I told him it would depend on the pronunciation and we shook hands.  I headed over to Euromart to pick up my smoked trout.  John headed back to the drawing board with his six pack of Zywiec under his arm.

Is Gillette ripping Boston off?

Everyone says the cost of living is cheaper in the South and I thought I'd test that theory.  As everyone knows, Gillette's World Shaving Headquarters is located right at the base of South Boston.  You may not know this, but I live about a mile and a half from there in a straight line down Dot Ave.  Maybe it's two miles.  If I stop for traffic lights, it's five minutes by bicycle.

I went to the Rite Aid drug store on the corner of Savin Hill and Dorchester Avenues to price an eight-pack of Mach 3 razor blades.  As of March 13th the list price was $21.99.  Some people may think that's a bit steep, but Mach 3 employs the latest shaving technology, if you don't mind using the words 'shaving' and 'technology' in the same sentence.

I travelled 1360 miles as the airline flies to New Orleans to check up on the price of an eight-pack of Mach 3s there, among other things.  I went to a Rite Aid on Canal Street, on the corner of North Broad Street, store # 7262, on March 18th.  This is in Mid-City, a neighborhood reminiscent of Dorchester in New Orleanian terms.  The price of an eight-pack of Mach 3 blades there: $18.99.  A three dollar savings.

Does it really cost less to ship razor blades 1360 miles than it does couple of blocks?

So is Gillette ripping off Bostonians?  I don't know.  Maybe Rite Aid is ripping off Bostonians.  For all I know Massachusetts has some arcane shaving tax in effect.  I'll tell you this though, if you plan a few days ahead, you'll still get them cheaper at Amazon.  They'll only cost you $17.97 and will probably qualify for free shipping.  That's the price for Mach 3 Turbo, if you don't mind using the word 'turbo' in connection with shaving.

There's a new cab in town

Hacks looking for a new garage take note.  Dorchester Independent Taxi Cab of Boston is a start up that should soon be looking for drivers as well as fares.  The company has just got its web site up and running.  They may be looking for some copy writers too.  The site looks professional enough: dorchestertaxi.com and a picture of a cab on a black background.  No information yet except for the phone number: 617 ('natch) 825-1111.  It mustn't be too much of a shoestring operation if they sprung for a final four digits any drunk can remember.

I don't take cabs in Boston on principle.  It irks me to no end that public transportation shuts down before the bars.  If a venue isn't convenient by foot or bicycle back to my home, I leave before midnight.  It's little wonder that winter gives me cabin fever, but a man has to be true to what he believes in.

With my interest in all things Dot, I want to point out we have a local company in our midst we may want to support over all other rivals.  As someone who doesn't begrudge cabbies' wee hour of the morning monopoly, I wouldn't mind getting a hack license myself if I didn't have to work during the day.  My beef is with the MBTA, not the people who fill the void the T leaves after hours.

I haven't called 617-825-1111 to find out for myself what going on at Dorchester Cab.  I leave that up to you.  If you need a cab, give them a call.  Let me know what you find out.

Awful Offal

There’s some Rhode Island-based punning going on in the Sizzling Empire Lucky Jade Wok Garden Menu.  The copywriter/translator who spun the descriptions obviously spent some time at Newport Creamery and couldn’t resist touch of wordplay, despite the lack of irony or even self-awareness found elsewhere in his/her work. 

Some people think the Chinese eat every part of the animal except the breath.  That’s not true.  Some choice parts are saved for their medicinal value.  As for the rest, many of those have euphemistic English names.

Chef’s Selection Number 4.  SHUI MEI AWFUL AWFUL.  Large, balanced portion of sweetbreads, chitterlings, tripe and chicken giblets tossed with oyster sauce, ginger and scallions.  Served on rice vermicelli noodles and garnished with crispy fried pork rind.  $12.35.

To accompany this meal, management recommends Appetizer A5: PORK BLOOD SOUP WITH DUMPLINGS.  $3.50.  Twenty-five cents savings when ordered with Shui Mei Awful Awful.

Cheeseburger stir-fry

Sizzling Empire Lucky Jade Wok Garden's chef has really outdone himself working up unique dishes to appeal to the typical American palette, gourmets and adventurous eaters.  He seems to be using basic Chinese culinary methods and kitchen utensils with a brash combination of ingredients.

Chef's Selection Number 3.  CHEESEBURGER STIR-FRY.  100% USDA lean ground beef fried with a judicious mixture of lettuce, tomato, white onion, and slices of both kosher dill and bread and butter cucumber in a "special sauce."  Topped with additional shredded lettuce and cheddar cheese.  Served on crispy sesame noodles.  $10.95.

I usually head to Chinatown when I have a hankering for food from the Celestial Empire, but since Sizzling Empire Lucky Jade Wok Garden promises delivery, I might just give them a call.  I only eat Chinese food once or twice a year, so it may take me awhile to finish reading the menu and finally pick up the phone.

Sizzling Empire Lucky Jade Wok Garden

A new Chinese take out place has opened near my house.  It’s called Sizzling Empire Lucky Jade Wok Garden.  They left a menu in my door.


Chef’s Selection Number 1.  SHANGXI BUTCHER’S GIFT.  Tender beef, roast pork, select chicken, succulent duck, crisp bacon, turkey breast, and slowly roasted gyro meat sauteed in chef’s special dark brown gravy served on a bed of goat fried rice.  $15.95.

Deceiving appearances

Ever wonder what's inside the fraternal lodges scattered around Dorchester?  Not just the American Legion and the VFW.  I mean the windowless buildings fronts that house the Shriners, the Society of Vulcans,  the Woodmen, the oddly acronymed H.O.G.S.I.C., or that mobile home parked on New England Avenue that has a bronze placard engraved "Society 11, A.E.I.O.U." posted next to the boarded up screen door.

I was out on the Dot last night and I was invited to one of these fraternal lodges this afternoon.  I am sworn not to say which.  I intended to make an expedition to the wilds of Newton to chase down a rumor of Dorchester immigration for business reasons, but an adventure close to home is always better than one that involves a journey.  

Know your surroundings like the back of your hand.  Know your surroundings like you know your soul.   If you don't know your neighborhood, you can't know yourself.  A city is a collection of people grounded in one moment in time in a particular place.

So I met up with some members of a fraternal order that also has a ladies' auxiliary branch.  Both male and female members were present when I arrived, to ensure I was worth granting a tour.  Though I knew the clubhouse address, I was blindfolded and led to our destination as a matter of protocol.  I didn't mind, though the passing cars honking as I was led down the sidewalk was a tad startling.

I can't reveal what transpired after this.  Let me only say that the peeling paint and darkened windows on the outside of these private clubs is not indicative of the furnishings inside nor their civic pride or involvement.  Any community that hosts such a panoply of private organizations only does so because public organizations don't serve the job they are intended.  Because people don't jump on City Hall's bandwagon doesn't mean they are disengaged.  Quite the reverse.

The picture that opens this report is a hint of what I found a block or three from the center of Codman Square.

I'l leave it up to you to guess what the actual address was.  It was a very interesting afternoon, but without many surprises beyond the decor.   You can't live long in Dorchester without noticing the positive impact ad hoc societies have on the body politic and the body civic.  No expects the top tier, governor- or mayor-appointed  boards of development, commerce, tourism, industry, investment, job creation, beautification, arts advancement, race relations, or home garden produce promotion to do much work at Dorchester's street level.  Those who wait are lost.  

Dorchester waits for no one.  It moves forward, inexorably like a glacier.