You have a friend in New London, Conn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

They should be riding motor scootes.

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

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

California Fruit?

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

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


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

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

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


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

A Five-Star Whale Production.!

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

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?

Urban demographics

A common demographic fact, often overlooked, is that an urban conglomeration cannot sustain its population by birthrate alone. A city's population can grow, be stable or contract, but none of these situations relies on how many residents are making whoopie, as they used to say on "The Newlywed Game."

From the beginning of civilization, the history of cities, metropoli have relied on immigration to swell their ranks and gain importance. The bigger the city, the more influence it has; its market is bigger, its opportunities are more numerous, its strength is geometrically magnified, its reputation is bolstered depending the size of its population. People move to cities. When they move away from a city, the city becomes a town.

Why can't a city reproduce its citizens in sufficient numbers to grow to greatness? Despite the many spiritual and productive rewards a city offers, health isn't among them. Close proximity to so many other people, all of whom harbor diseases (including you, gentle reader) can lower the life expectancy. Also, there are plenty of diversions in a diversions in a city, things that take your mind off some of the baser impulses of simple reproduction. Look at Boston: there is an art museum, a symphony, several theaters, restaurants, Shakespeare on the Common, nightlife, lectures to attend, ball games, all sorts of things that people attend rather than making the beast with two backs in their condo when the workday is done. Sex happens in blue blooded Boston, but probably not as often as it does in Hinton, West Virginia, where there is little else to do.

So West Virginian babies get born and they grow up and they see little opportunity to make a living so they move to a city with a population greater than 2,880. A few make their way to Boston. The same is true of the broods raised in Skunkdrop, Kentucky or Spigot, Iowa. The hinterlands keep a stable population or shrink, drastically in some cases, while cities grow. This was true of Ur, of Alexandria, of Rome, of Bruges, Paris and any other place you can think of up to the present.

This is why when you visit middle America, you'll be struck that most of the people you meet are either very old or children. It is also why longtime urbanites who have lived in a city all their lives complain about the young urban professionals who are moving in and changing the way things were last decade. A city is an organism in flux, always soaking up new blood. If it didn't it would shrivel as Boston had been doing until fairly recently. According to the Census Bureau, Boston's population is a smidge above 600,000. It used to be closer to 800,000. City planners used to plan for a population that passed a million.

Did the city lose population because because people stopped having babies? Human nature being what it is, I doubt that. People moved away and new people didn't move in. It is still going on. Any gain in Boston's population results in a loss for some other, smaller burg somewhere in the world.

I haven't researched Dorchester's census data. I suspect some parts are growing stronger while others are atrophying, like much of Boston overall. The Globe's article on Portland made me think of this. One of the critiques of that city's transportation policy is that it isn't changing residents' behavior so much as it is attracting emigration of citizens attracted by those policies. That is what a city does. Attracting emigration is a city's reason for being.

Yesterday, I promised some whimsy. Not today, I'm afraid. After spending time in New Orleans, I've been contrasting and comparing two very different places in my mind, measuring what each does right and the unintended consequences to which these cultures lead.

Sneeze into your elbow

Without going into the reasons why, I attended a lecture by a certified CDC epidemiologist today on Swine Flu and Bird Flu. This gentleman thought the Swine Flu currently all the rage in the news was a flash in the pan and a dead issue, so to speak, while the threat that Bird Flu presents continues to keep him up nights.

How is influenza virus most commonly transmitted? The lecturer said, "We cough and sneeze all the time into our hands and then what do we do?" To illustrate, he turned to his right and said, "Nice to meet you," while pretending to shake hands with an imaginary friend. He went on to say, "We are teaching school children to sneeze into their elbow," and he demonstrated by fake sneezing into the crook of his arm. "It may look odd to us but we can learn something from what the kids are learning to do. It could prevent a pandemic."

Customs and social norms change. In the Middle Ages, if you were at a banquet and your face itched, good manners commanded that you scratch with a piece of bread crust. This was because forks and other eating utensils didn't exist. Everyone served themselves from common platters with their fingers. To scratch you itchy zit and then put your hand into everyone else's food was bad form. Don't try scratching your face with bread in a restaurant today.

I was at the Ryan Playground on Dot Ave this afternoon and I saw a boy of about twelve sneeze into his arm. Good boy. It was probably a touch of hayfever, but it could be Swine Flu or the more dreaded avian variety. He won't be transmitting any germs unless someone takes an inordinate interest in the weave of his shirtsleeve. A local outbreak has been prevented.

The beer they call liquor

Haffenreffer Private Stock, that supposed scourge of the inner city, 'liquid crack', ghetto-juice, actually has a respectable history with roots in Boston's brewing history. In fact, the site where it was orginally made is home to a national brewery that is either reviled or admired depending on your point-of-view. Boston's own Sam Adams Beer is made where the recipe for this supposed, modern urban scourge was first concocted:. As the label says: "Malt Liquor...with the imported taste." The Boston Brewing Co. is doing well on the foundations laid by Haffenreffer & Co. just after Prohibition was repealed. A little history.

When malt liquor was first introduced (please don't call it beer) it was sold as an upper class drink. The first national brand was 'Country Club' sold in tiny cans for cocktail party sipping because it tasted like champagne. The breed of yeast, among other things, lends understated, flavorful undertones reminiscent of fine wines. You can find this beverage in many corner package stores not just in Dorchester and Roxbury, but in East Boston, Charlestown, the South End, West Roxbury, Hyde Park, and in the surrounding communities of Somerville, Chelsea, Cambridge, Milton and Quincy.

Of course people now associate malt liquor with poverty, skid row, bums, and pocket-poor college students and hip-hop imressarios looking to make a quick endorsement buck. It didn't start out that way. I am just starting to scratch the surface of my malt liquor research (don't ask how this project came about) but one of the more popular, earlier brands was called Champale for a reason. It was intended for the upper crust or, at least, the upwardly mobile. Natty tennis players drank it. That's not an image you associate with gangsters sporting low-slung, baggy pants even if they can "sing."

Boston didn't invent malt liquor but the city, Jamaica Plain and Stony Brook in particular, played an important role in its evolution. Haffenreffer Private Stock is still made according to the original recipe and it is still sold here and enjoyed by thousands of Bostonians. To see how it matches up to other brands, click here. Indepent experts agree it stands up pretty well to the competition. Sam Adams would be proud.

If you are interested in malt liquor let me know. I prowl all the packies in the Dot and can offer reviews of what's on offer. It's a head-splitting job but somebody should do it to set the record straight.

Neponset's best

There is truth in advertising, especially where people talk as straight and honestly as they do around Neponset Circle. Sometimes you can believe what you read (just scroll through these archives). Customers voted the Tedeschi Food Shop on Neponset Avenue the cleanest in Dorchester and that's something to brag about in Boston's tidiest neighborhood.

Dorchester is famous for its store clerks who break out the Brasso and apply more than a dollop of elbow grease. Dorchester has the highest mop consumption in the greater Boston metropolitan area. It's not in just the grocery stores either. From Mattapan to Columbia Point, the clothing outlets, the gas stations, the dollar stores, the Vietnamese gift shops, the bakeries and fish markets, the computer repair offices, the package stores, the tire vendors and mechanics, the used appliance retailers, the restaurants and bars, from the seediest to the most swanky, the jewelers, the antiques dealers, the second hand roses and the chic boutiques; they are all known far and wide as being spic and span.

Dorchester's streets are clean, its gardens are manicured and its stately homes are well maintained. Dorchester is spiffy and tended with an artist's eye toward perfection. Stray leaves don't blow willy-nilly down Dorchester's streets. They are intended to add a bit of autumnal charm. Come winter, roads are plowed and walks are shoveled with the aim of making everything look invitingly wintry. Summer is the season in which Dorchester shows off all its splendor but no matter what the time of year, you will be guaranteed the inside of any shop front will be clean and hygienic.

Mothers' Rest

Is there any more poetically named park in all of Boston than Mothers' Rest? Located on Washington Street just north of Codman Square, a wrought iron archway frames the park's entrance with these promising words: "Mothers' Rest." How many mothers have parked their strollers a few moments while resting their calves and taking in the refreshing view?

No matter how tall the trees get, the view remains unobstructed. Dorchester Bay stretches out to the far horizon where ships disappear. The Corita gas tank displays its rainbow, the wind turbine on Freeport Street revolves at its regular, relaxed rhythm, the neighborhoods of Neponset Circle, Field's Corner and Savin Hill stretch out in all their tangled, peaceful jumble. Everything is quiet on top of the hill at Mothers' Rest.

There are benches, tables, a jungle gym, monkey bars, a slide, a few swings. There is everything a mother and tyke could want to pause on the trek homeways or store-ways to reinvigorate themselves for the march in either direction. It is one of those little niceties that make Dorchester so livable.

Connecting the Dots

A new advertisement for Caritas Carney Hospital is posted oustside Gene and Paul's Meat Market on the corner of East Cottage Street and Dot Ave. It is written entirely in Vietnamese. I don't know what it says but I think it is spot-on. Carney is Dorchester's hospital and they speak the local lingo.

5-minute prostate exams were offered at the Shaw's Supermarket on Morrisey Boulevard today. A local sports radio station had set up a table outside with speakers and a freezer full of frozen pizzas on offer at sale price. The local post of the Disable American Veterans is selling paper poppies by the supermarket's entrance. You should purchase one for your lapel not only memory of the graves in Flanders fields but also to support those who come home with deep, undeniable scars.

Boston's Mammography Van is making the rounds in Dorchester. It stops at Neponset Health Center on May 22 and at Bowdoin Street Health Center on May 27. To make an appointment, call 617-632-1974. Dorchester is sunny today. We should enjoy it to the best we are able.