Exhibit A: Mayor Thomas M. Menino

The good news is that Boston isn't broken. Boston is not Detroit and the lack of crisis plays into the hands of Mayor Menino, who was the hand at the helm for the past sixteen years. Sixteen years is a long time. Is it too long? Will twenty years be too long? How about twenty-four? As the incumbent says, he faces a term limit at the end of every term.

I think the city's ship could use some barnacle scraping in order to tack more efficiently. The current administration has built up a lot of ballast over the past decade and a half, but the ship isn't sinking, yet. Is now the time to fetch a broom and sweep a bum out of office? Despite what some critics suggest, the city is not running on inertia. I don't get the impression that Menino is a lazy bum resting on his laurels.

Boston's government may be shady. There is plenty of gray and very little that is black or white. With someone in charge who is actively seeking reelection, his motivation comes from keeping voters happy and no one will say Menino is a slouch toward his responsibilities. Like Buddy Cianci, Menino will attend the opening of an envelope if he thinks voters will be around. Unlike Cianci, Menino isn't flamboyant or colorful. He doesn't have a cult of personality for obvious reasons. The lack of hardwired rules and zoning ordinances allows Menino to make things happen as he gauges the political winds in any given situation. Holding as much power as he does, he is able to make things happen. Being a politician, he makes them happen the way he thinks will propel him toward reelection. The majority, theoretically, are getting what they want. Menino knows that when he really screws up he'll be pedalling his bicycle around Hyde Park without a job he loves doing.

The Boston Globe recently wrote an editorial about Mayor Menino's record on neighborhood issues, and that includes all neighborhoods, not just downtown and not just the ones with money. On this score, the incumbent has proven that he is, as he describes himself, an urban mechanic, keeping the far flung mechanisms of Boston running with all the chipped gears falling where they hopefully should. There isn't a lot of blight in Boston. Even the pockets of the major neighborhoods that are eyesores have something positive going on in them. Could he have done more? Someone is always going to say so. Boston's mayor is not an emperor though. He cannot make changes with a wave of his hand. He cannot grant something as inconsequential as an extra liquor license within the city's limits and what should be his jurisdiction.

It is a fact that Boston's neighborhoods have improved over the last sixteen years. People will complain that there is still crime in Dorchester and Roxbury. There is crime everywhere. The mayor is not a hypnotist and he isn't allowed to taint the drinking water with tranquilizers. No matter who is in charge there will be crime. The fact of the matter is, there will always be miscreants.

Today's Boston Globe runs a front page article on the Mayor's political machinations while simultaneously being the city's chief executive. If I recall, the Globe states that Menino's machine is the largest and most efficient since Mayor Curley's infamous reign. Unlike Curley, though, Menino is no rascal, at least not in any obvious way. I don't begrudge the incumbent for serving his constituents and setting up a bureaucracy to do just that. Nor do I begrudge him taking credit and expecting reelection because of his attention to details. I find it more palatable than reading his name on every picnic table umbrella, neighborhood sign and public trash can. If and when he gets voted out of office all those things will cost money to be replaced. All the goodwill he earns by resolving people's complaints is of a more fickle and transitory nature.

Mayor Curley, like Buddy Cianci, was a colorful character and people rallied behind both not only because they delivered, but also because they were entertaining. Menino is not entertaining. Opinion on that point seems to be unanimous. If he is popular, it is because he has done his job well. Is that enough to grant him an unprecedented fifth term in the top office? Some people think so. It's true Menino hasn't delivered everything he's promised, but considering the contention that any mayor confronts in a city in which people are free to air their every idea and grievance, that's no surprise no matter who is in office.

I've given this election some thought. I'm no Menino fan, as any skimming of past political posts on this site will show. I do think he has earned the chance to prove that he deserves to be mayor again. There is nothing stopping him, after all, besides whatever personal dignity he'll earn by stepping down and becoming an elder statesman in the city. While old ideas and the current administration aren't causing any undue wear on the city, fresh ideas and streamlined ways of conducting the city's business should always be welcome.

Candidate Kevin McCrea justly decries the wasteful spending of taxpayer dollars and demands more transparency in city government. Candidate Sam Yoon likewise demands more transparency as well as limits to the mayor's authority through oversight boards and he has a lot of smart ideas about making government work better through institutional reform. Both are good alternatives to Mayor Menino if you think the incumbent deserves a vaudeville hook while he's at the podium.

Candidate Michael Flaherty is entrenched enough to mayor. If we can damn a man with faint praise, he is more handsome than Menino and this challenger is different from the incumbent in that respect. McCrea isn't as easy on the eyes but he looks and talks the part of chief executive. As for Sam Yoon, enough has been written about his boyish good looks for me to bother commenting further.

It's only primary season at the moment and Menino looks like a shoe-in for a slot on the final ballot. He has earned voters' loyalty through hard work. It's not a job I would want to perform but it obviously suits him. There but for the grace of the angels go I. I would love to see a final choice between McCrea and Yoon in alphabetical order. I doubt that's going to happen and Mayor Menino will inevitably end up in the final running. He's chosen to run and that't his right. Who should be his opponent? Space constraints limit me to putting this question off until next week. McCrea fired some well targeted volleys during this week's debate. Yoon was Yoon and it's a shame he couldn't have built up his political capital sooner, but after all this is politics and whoever best expresses the will of the people will win. Yoon may not win this round, but this year is just one battle in what he should be looking at as a war. Both McCrea and Yoon should look at this outing as a bivouac, a reconnoitering to assess the enemy, and strategize for the next round. Flaherty would love the top job, but I get the impression that he is antsy to move up, he is more chafing for career advancement than advancing a vision of what Boston can be in the future. He will just as content as a senior City Councillor ad nauseum until he reaches retirement.

I hope I haven't tried your patience. To sum up: Menino -not preferred but proven okay. Yoon - not proven but good ideas. McCrea - not proven but good intentions. Flaherty - 'nuff said.

If you would like to look over the the incumbent's website, here it is.

Dorchester robbery

There wasn't any need to contact the Dorchester Crime Unit at District C-11 HQ, but while we were away last week a thief broke into a certain Savin Hill apartment. Losses were negligible, maybe sixty cents, but the circumstances are confounding enough for commentary.


Though a large Vietnamese contingent has settled in this section of Dorchester, the neighborhood has deep Irish-American roots. The local restaurants and the smells wafting out of neighborhood kitchens confirms this. The cuisine tends to shy away from sharp flavors. Spice racks are typically stocked with iodized salt and factory-ground black pepper. Maureen Shea once told me that freshly ground pepper is too spicy and she never understood how people could eat it. "It's something fancy they do in the Back Bay and that's why I never eat out there," she said. Aside from these two staples, there is usually also a jar of caraway seeds to knock the winds out of boiled cabbage. Garlic? That's something the Eye-talians in the North End and Eastie eat, but not real Dorchesterites.


Before we went on vacation last week, we dutifully ate all the leftovers, leaving the cupboard bare until our return. One thing that was left, however, were two heads of garlic that rested in a dish on the counter. These heads of garlic were the target of the thievery that took place in our absence.


Despite the long-established, cartoon paradigm, mice don't really crave cheese. In fact, if you are setting traps, most people recommend using peanut butter as bait, though I've often heard gum drops are equally effective. To my knowledge, no one has ever recommended putting a garlic clove in a mousetrap, but it seems that one mouse has developed a taste for this cornerstone of Mediterranean cooking. Over the course of eight days a mouse devoured two heads of garlic leaving only the empty, papery skins.


How do we know it was a mouse and not some other intruder? I don't need to be a part-time private eye to crack this case and finger the perp. There were garlicky mouse droppings all around the scene of the crime. The problem is, this has to be an out-of-town job. What self-respecting Dot mouse would develop a taste for garlic? The answer is that it's not possible. Two theories:

1. Knowing we would be out of town, a certain mus musculus hopped the Blue Line out of Orient Heights and after several transfers on the MBTA, made his way to JFK/UMASS station for a garlic binge. He or she was sloppy about leaving evidence but hotfooted it back to home base before we returned to catch him red-handed with full cheeks.

2. A North End rodent tired of Haymarket scraps hopped the Orange Line and transferred to the Red at Downtown Crossing.

The only other alternative, Dot-on-Dot crime, is unthinkable. Needing some garlic for the first home-cooked meal in a week, I resigned myself, as a victim, to stop by the Shaw's at Harbor Point to restock my garlic supply. A regretful end to a perfect vacation, but, really, I needed to do some grocery shopping anyway.

The man named Lorre

Four months after the fact, I'm rather surprised that a dispatch on the subject of Mr. Peter Lorre remains one of the Dot Matrix's most visited pages. Who would have predicted?

While the human interest aspect of young Ms. Laurie Masters' adolescent infatuation with the late actor has legs, it seems to be a near-universal fascination with the late Mr. Lorre himself that is driving traffic. People want to learn more and share their affection for this talented thespian.

What's the appeal? He was certainly suave, debonair and exotic. He had an endearing way about him. Even when he was playing a rat or, regrettably, a raven, people felt an instant bond with this fellow. He was a tragic hero even when he was a villain, and he was never very villainous. Was it the accent? His voice? Yes and more.

No summary would be complete without mentioning Peter Lorre's eyes. Limpid pools of tender humanity, a woman could lose herself seeing her reflection in those peepers. What did Mr. Lorre see? It's written on his world-weary face. Greatness and humility are conveyed by every tic and arch. When Peter Lorre cried, I imagine he cried by the bucketful and those weren't crocodile tears. They were the tears of a man who seen both top and bottom. They were tears that pluck at a nourishing lover's heartstrings.

What do men see in a fellow man like Peter Lorre? He never came across as particularly macho, but he could smoke a cigarette like no body's business, relishing carcinogens like they were candy. He sometimes came off as cravenly, but in a tight spot, wouldn't any man be to save his own neck in order to try again another day? I would. So would you, Buster. Be honest.

Though not a politician, Peter Lorre was a man of the people in the widest sense. People identified with him even if they had nothing in common. They still do, though regrettably, Mr. Lorre hasn't worked since 1964 when he passed away. Like any great actor, he could communicate the human condition in a way everyone could relate to. No small feat, and a talent many politicians lack.

So, back to the Dot Matrix's raison d'etre, what does this have to do with Dorchester, Mass? Much like Mr. Lorre, the Dot has a certain je ne sais quoi, an appeal that is hard to pinpoint but that is irresistible nonetheless. The parts shouldn't work together, yet the fact that they do is undeniable, to a degree no one would reasonably expect. Peter Lorre had his magic. Dorchester has its.

If you haven't gotten your Peter Lorre fix yet, and you shouldn't just reading this, there is a Peter Lorre News Blog, that covers all thing pertinent to the appreciation of the man born Laszlo Lowenstein. A tip of the fedora to Cheryl Morris who tends this flame.

Feline infestation on Hendry Street

Hendry Street was in the news a few months ago as the foreclosure epicenter in Boston, Dorchester in particular. There are a number of boarded up three deckers on this short street running between Bowdoin and Clarkson off Meeting House Hill. Things are looking up, as amply documented by Boston's newspaper of record. It's not the most lively of streets, but it's not the most forlorn either.

We were passing through Meeting House Hill the other day and noticed an abundance of cats prowling the neighborhood. They were of all ages, all sizes, all breeds and in every condition of health, from sleek coats covering well-exercised muscles to mangy fleabags with rat-bitten ears. We paid twelve dollars to Melonia Tattenbaum to watch the corner of of Coleman Street, which bisects Hendry, for an hour and take a feline census. We provided a ruled notepad with the columns marked off with various characteristics she might observe.

Forty-seven individual cats darted through the intersection, some more than once but only three more than three times. According to the statistics the majority were mixed breed tabbies with shaggy coats and 71% had the frayed, notched ears one expects in street-fighting, territorial cats. We used the Hoffman scale of cat body mass index, eyeballed by Miss Tattenbaum after an introductory training session on the specifics, to gauge the relative caloric intake and nutritional status of the cats she observed. Based on her observations of the cats' thigh and neck muscle mass (which are admittedly unscientific and uncalibrated from her unobtrusive distance) the cats around Hendry Street seem to be subsisting on approximately 750 calories a day. She took photos on her cellular phone and examination of these led experts to conclude that the neighborhoods cats are consuming at minimum one high protein source per day (be it mouse or small rat) but the majority of their nutritional intake is provided by starchy foodstuffs. Street veterinarians familiar with feral feline populations extrapolate that this would be made up of pasta, bread, potato, or biscuit, probably taken from household trash left out overnight.

Most of the cats had a sheen to their fur easily captured by the low resolution of the cell phone's lens. Everyone involved in the census agreed that this would indicate a diet higher in fat content than a diet consisting of local rodent populations would allow. Is someone putting out saucers of milk in the Hendry Street neighborhood?

Ghost Rat

I was walking down Sydney Street in Dorchester, Mass. It is the street that runs between the JFK/UMASS station and the Savin Hill station on the Red Line. The street runs parallell to the subway tracks. While I was on the sidewalk I saw a white rat in the middle of the street.

I saw a white rat, but I didn't see it. It wasn't an albino rat. It was transluscent, like the see-through ghost fish that are housed in pet store aquariums that sell for three bucks an inch-long fish. I stared at the rat and I could see through it. It ran in front of a car and I could see the tire needed rotating. It ran in front of a discarded soda bottle and I could read the bottle held twelve ounces. The rat paused in front of someone's shoe and I saw thier laces needed tying.

Old Man Herlihy sat on his front stoop. He coughed up a lungful of phlegm. "Auuugh, huawwwk, kaff, kaff," he coughed. I asked him if he had seen the white rat. He said, "That's the ghost rat. It's been here since before I was a boy. You'll get used to him. Some nights, the ghost rat shows up and someone on the street dies. Some nights, the ghost rat shows up and someone wins a sratch ticket. Some nights, nothing happens at all. Those are most nights."