Welcome aboard, it's New Orleans!

I don't understand the backgrounds in this video clip..

I used to watch the show every Saturday night before Fantasy Island and it never occurred to me then.  Older and wiser now, why didn't the Love Boat pull into the port of New Orleans?  Why isn't the ship pulling past St. Louis Cathedral?  Imagine the adventures the crew and guest stars would have had.

My theory is that Isaac may have been a good shipboard bartender but he couldn't keep up with the concoctions conjures by New Orleans' mixologists.  Doc certainly had nothing to worry about.  He was as competent as most Crescent City physicians.  Cruise director Julie could run a tour.  She was conscientious and would do her due diligence to get the facts straight after obtaining her mayoral permit to conduct tours in city limits.  Congressman Fred Grandy would fit right in with both the political class and the concierges in the city.  Captain Stubing could navigate the Pacific Princess up the the Mississippi River from the Gulf guided by tug boats.

Why not New Orleans?  The same question over and over again.  Why not New Orleans?

Alligator Santa and alligator reindeer

Bayou Santa

While the town I grew up is inland, for the past two decades I have never lived someplace in which I didn't pass an ocean view at least once a day.  New Orleans is surrounded by water, the Mississippi on one side and Lake Pontchartrain on the other, but you have to go out of your way to see them.

On the riverside, you can go to the French Quarter's Moonwalk (named after the current mayor's father, a mayor himself) or to Audubon Park, Uptown.  Neither is particularly convenient.  While I enjoy watching the barges and ships ply the Big Muddy, there isn't any surf and you can see the opposite bank.  It puts me in mind of the vastness of the continent through which the river has flowed through rather than the vastness of the globe beyond the horizon.  Aside from these two walkways, the views of the Mississippi are blocked by the backs of warehouses and the backs of levees.

On the lakeside, I can drive my little Ninja along the shores of Lake Pontchartrain.  There isn't much going on there, just some lawns and gazebos and a few trees.  Not much activity, though I'm told it used to be busy in the old days (pre-2005).  The road along the lakefront is elevated.  You can't dip your toes into the surf.  In fact, there isn't any surf.  The opposite shore is invisible but there aren't any breakers, just dimpled water as far as the eye can see and, off to the west, the Causeway carrying its cars and truck traffic.  Gazing at Lake Pontchartrain doesn't make you wonder what's on the other side.  The causeway gives it away: the suburbs of Covington and Mandeville, which are probably little different from the suburb of Metarie which I can reach in ten minutes without crossing any water beyond a concrete-bound drainage ditch that is called a canal.

I mentioned to a woman the other day that I miss the ocean.  She said there is a beach I can reach after a three hour drive.  Three hours!  I didn't like to drive two hours across Connecticut to visit my mother, especially because it would be another two hours back.  A trip to this beach would be six hours round trip and there wouldn't be any rocks on it, just featureless sand and the lap of little, blue Gulf waves.  As we talked further, I realized that I miss two things: the hoary, gray Atlantic and rocks.  I haven't seen a rock of any size jut out of the ground since I've moved here.  There aren't any, not so much as a pebble.

I'd say I miss hills too but I don't.  While I find the flatness monotonous, my bicyclist legs don't miss hills.  Commanding vistas perhaps, but not the geologic understructure that makes them possible.

I miss puddingstone and granite.  Otherwise no complaints, certainly not about the culture....

Some things don't change

I'm reading about life in Ancient Greece and came across this fragment of a play by Eubolos.  Let's say it takes place in Athens around 500 BC.  It's subject is drinking wine at private gatherings:

"The first cup is to health, the second to love and pleasure, the third is to sleep, the fourth to violence, the fifth to uproar, the sixth to drunken revel, the seventh to black eyes, the eighth to the summoner, the ninth to bile, and the tenth to madness and throwing chairs around."

Sounds like some of the after hours party in Dot.  The police usually do show up by around cup number eight.

Unfortunately, Dorchester hasn't yet produced its own Socrates or Plato.


You'll find the excerpt on the bottom of page 100.  It's a very readable and interesting book

A lack of bigots

"White America is in decline.  Never having considered the unearned privilege of being white and American, all they can see are things being taken away from them.  Never having considered solidarity with blacks and Latinos, they see them not as potential allies but as perpetual enemies."

This is a quote from the Dec. 19-Jan. 1 issue of the Economist (a double issue I recommend).  It appears in an article titled "A Ponzi Scheme that Works."  The quote itself is on page 44, first column, attributed to "left wing British journalist" Gary Younge.

It's this quote that got me to thinking about Dorchester's racial divide.  I am the target demographic Mr. Younge is describing, but I don't recognize myself in his description.  I don't see it in my daily travels around Dorchester either, despite the cultural and economic boundaries that separate the sub-neighborhoods.  Everyone recognizes that the different sections of Dorchester are different, but I don't see these as being particularly racially based as much as income-based.  I don't see a lot of enmity either. Dorchester is not a hotbed of revolution and it isn't red in tooth and claw.  Most people are just exchanging pleasantries and gossip from where I sit.

This may be for one of two reasons.  Firstly, I am a white man in a suit, and I am well aware I am accorded courtesies that other people are not.  They are unnecessary and usually embarrassing.  Secondly, I spend most of my time around Columbia/Savin Hill. The races are used to mixing there and not just a simple black/white mix; most available genetic and cultural shades are stirred around in an amicable slurry.  I am also located in a neighborhood full of students who may be lending their open ideas of meritocracy to the woof and weave of social life.

Be all these things as they may, I do get out and about farther beyond and I don't witness a lot of animosity between any parties.  I certainly can't say that I have never seen my fellow Americans as anything but perpetual enemies.  I don't even see them as potential allies.  As Americans, we are all natural allies.  What's better than being an American?  Being an American in Dorchester, Mass.  I think we can both agree to shake on that.

I think this British rabble rouser is talking through his hat, and The Economist article supports my viewpoint with statistics rather than my personal impressions.  When I read the paragraph that introduces this essay, it doesn't match my lived experience.

This isn't to say it doesn't happen.  I just just can't attest to to it.

Mr. Younge's opinion must have come from somewhere.  As a journalist, he cannot conjure stories out of thin air.   If Dorchester is a community of relatively peaceful race relations, I am sure there are pockets of racial discord in other parts of America.  The question is: why not here?

The answer, I think, is that all the bigots have moved out of Dorchester.  It's no secret that Dorchester's population today, like most other Boston neighborhoods, is less than it was 50 years ago.  The people who didn't like city living, with its close quarters shared with different types of fellow citizens, moved away.  The people who live in Dorchester now are either those tolerant Dorchesterites who valued pride in place over homogeneity, their children, or those who moved her by choice knowing what they were getting into.

Where did the malcontents go?

If Dorchester lacks bigots, and they can be of any color, I pity the communities in which they went to roost. They must not be pleasant places.

Necco needs a Dot Bar

We're spoiled in Boston because we still have our own regional candy factory. Everyone knows that Necco stands for New England Confectionary Company. You can go to any convenience store and pick up a roll of Necco Wafers, well aware that they were made a few miles north in Revere.

Between 1764 and 1965, chocolate was milled closer to home, inside city limits, at a location that is the crown jewel of stops on the Mattapan High-Speed Line, almost criminally named Milton rather than Lower Mills. Why doesn't Dorchester have it's own candy? The neighborhood certainly has its own flavor. Maybe Necco can send some confectioners to Dorchester to concoct a local equivalent of their popular Sky Bar.

The Sky Bar is a candy box in a single wrapper, a candy bar consisting of four separate compartments, each containing a different filling. A Dot Bar, constructed in the same manner with each compartment representing a different Dorchester neighborhood, would likewise contain a differently flavored, sastifying, lip-smacking, finger-licking filling.

The Sky Bar's four flavors are: fudge, caramel, peanut and vanilla. These don't correspond to anything or have any symbolic values. They happened to be the most popular candy flavors when the bar was introduced in 1938.

Some people complain that all the compartments of the Sky Bar taste similar. I admit, I probably wouldn't be able to tell one end from another in a blind taste test. In 2009, the Dot Bar should be made up of strong and discernably tangy flavors more in keeping with modern sensibilities that prefer shock over subtlety. This recipe would also mirror Dorchester's nature. Of course, Fudge should still be one of the Dot Bar's compartments in honor of the Walter Baker Factory in Lower Mills. This would serve as a historic and thematic tie for the Dot Bar to it Necco-produced predecessor as well as Dorchester's long cacao pedigree.

That leaves three compartments to fill. I suggest the following, in keeping with the idea for strong flavor and the unexpected shocks Dorchester delivers. Next to Fudge I would include Barbecue, like the kind found at the Pit Stop in Morton Street Village. That's one taste that dominates the air in that corner of the Dorchester. Brown sugar and tomato may seem odd in a chocolate bar but, as has been proven before, sometimes two great tastes go great together.

I would fill the third chamber with malted milk like the kind found in Easter candy. The malt is reminiscent of the Guiness found in any Dorchester tap room, though suitable for children and, after all, Easter is one of the most Catholic of holidays. There isn't a large Orthodox population in the Dot, otherwise maybe mint flavor to accompany lamb might be better. That's an issue for the makers of the Roz Bar to decide.

What for the fourth chamber on this proposed Dot Bar? It would have to be something Vietnamese. You can't really expect a pho concentrate in a chocolate bar can you? Something along the lines of the tamarind/ginger sweets I find in the local Vietnamese markets would work just fine. A little off the typical New England taste meter, fruity and exotic and savory enough. A little chewy too rather than just sweet goo. Something to mull over as you taste it and grow to like it.

What an assortment. The Dot Bar would be more than a candy box in a bar, it should be a whole neighborhood available for consumption for less than a dollar fifty. If any Necco executives are reading this, please send me a royalty check once you've worked out the manufacturing process. I know at least one part of Boston where this will be a best seller.

Son of Codman Square

Positive media should never be hard to find!

I don't think any Dorchesterite would disagree with that statment. No offense to the Dorchester Reporter, which presents the most well-balanced and fair description of Dorchester affairs as they unfold, but other hide-bound media venues don't always paint the many positive nuances of Dorchester with the same sharp focus as they do the negative.

We understand that blood draws sales but there is more to human interest than misery. Dorchester is home to more than murder or despair. In fact, this part of Boston harbors and nurtures more than its share of hope. More people float than sink in Dorchester and quite a few of them rise.

The sons and daughters of Codman Square and Peabody Square, of Ronin Park and Meeting House Hill, of Savin Hill and Pope's Hill, of Field's Corner and Upham's Corner, of Four Corners, of Lower Mills, of Talbot Ave and of Harbor Point...the sons and daughters of Dorchester will build tomorrow better than today. Dorchester Excelsior!

Postive news about Dorchester shouldn't be hard to find. For those who can't get out to the coffee shops, the barber shops, the grocery shops, the bakeries, the florists, the gas stations, the fraternity halls every day, the internet brings good news to your door if you know where to look.

Set a Google alert for Dorchester, MA and you never know what good news will drop into your virtual mailbox.

Smokey and the Bandit

Breaker! Breaker! The second highest grossing movie in 1977 is playing at the Brattle on December 9th. Not Star Wars; that was the number one. If any film respectably fills the number 2 slot, it's Smooooookey and the Bandit!

I'm not a snob when it comes to most things but I am snobbish when it comes to movies. I think I saw this one once on TV when I was younger and the language was dubbed. For some reason I think I saw Smokey and the Bandit II in the movies, but I don't have any sound memories of that. I rented it recently to give the lady of the house (who spent her youth out-of-country) to offer a taste of 1970s Americana. This movie has got that in spades.

It's not a great movie but I have to say it is a classic. It pains me to remember Jackie Gleason in this role. It isn't that he's bad, it's just that he's capable of much more finer performances: Minnesota Fats, any Honeymooners episode, conducting his own small orchestra... see the snob effect is creeping in?

There is a chemistry to this film though. It's just good fun. Everyone who made it obviously had fun. It ushered in a genre of Southern flavored, drawling, fast-car-based, comedic dramas. There couldn't have been any Dukes of Hazzard without Smokey and the Bandit and the world would be a poorer place for that. It popularized CB radios, a kind of internet in their day. It made heroes out of truck drivers, something that has, sadly, been neglected over the passing decades.

What does this have to do with Dorchester, Mass? Nothing. I wish it did. I wish Dorchester had a movie theater. I've been to stand alone cities smaller than Dorchester that can support their own theater. Even boroughs and burgs that are subsections of small cities can support a kind of theater that serves food and drinks while playing DVDs on big screens. They aren't movie theaters per se, but they provide a simulacrum of the theater experience.

Whenever people gather to share a common experience, community is built. Dorchester is big. It is a collection of neighborhoods coagulated into the biggest neighborhood in Boston, which itself is the biggest city in New England. Small beer? Yes, and small beans too. How hard can it be for Dot pubs to rent a DVD and put on a show other than a Red Sox game? I know dbar has a large screen suitable for movies. Maybe they could show Smokey and the Bandit and other films in the genre. They have Show Tune Tuesdays. Why not Southern Fried Sunday Afternoons? Dukes of Dorchester?

Monocles and monocle repair

While I was ordering a small soft drink at the Burger King at the corner of Washington Street and Columbia Road, I asked the cashier if many people purchased the "Angry Whopper." She looked at me bemused. "You know we're in Dorchester, sir," she said, "The last time I saw anyone having anything to do with 'angry' anything, it was when Sam Yoon came in third place in the mayoral primary." I asked where she lived. "Lower Mills," she replied, and that explained that.

I filled my small cup with Diet Coke and sat down with Xavier Preval, who had been waiting for me. My motorcycle is in the shop and since this November 1st was the perfect defintion of Indian Summer, I decided to hoof it from Savin Hill to whatever part of Dorchester this intersection belongs to. Four Corners? I'm not sure. It may be the furthest edge of Grove Hall. Anyway, Monsieur Preval seemed pleased to see me. He was just finishing up a Whopper Jr. as I sat down across the booth from him.

"Did you sign the lease?" I asked. He replied no. "The bank closed at noon yesterday and I got there at 11:50. We didn't have time to conclude the deal. I will be there tomorrow, Monday, at 9:30AM sharp."

"So the deal is as good as done?" I asked. He said yes. "The loan is as good as signed. Once that is done I will sign the lease and after that I will renovate the shop and be in business in time for Christmas."

"You are renting the same property we discussed last time?" I asked. M. Preval said, "Yes. It is. You know it. It's just a few blocks further down Washington Street." He pointed in the general direction. "I think it's a prime location," he added.

"You're sure that's the best location for what you've got in mind?" I pressed, "That was built to be a car dealership, not for your line of work."

Xavier Preval looked at me patiently. "Mr. King, I appreciate your misgivings. I have had them myself but America, and Dorchester in particular, is a place to dream big. I read the Wall Street Journal. I know a recession is the best time for entrepreneurs to start a new business. That's why I got such a favorable rental agreement. If I didn't believe in my product, I wouldn't sink my life's savings into it. I know there is a market that nobody else in Boston is satisfying. I'm the man to do it and this building is the place in which to do it."

I had to admit that while I have strolled and window shopped all over Boston, I have yet to have found a monocle shop, let alone one that also offers professional and credentialled monocle repairs. I have been to M. Preval's home and seen his inventory. He brought much of it with him from his native Haiti and since moving to Dorchester four years ago he has amassed an even more extensive stock of monocles, leveraging his cab driver salary through savvy, online auction maneuvers. Xavier Preval's father was the optometrist to the Duvaliers so the son has a good eye for quality lenses and settings.

I asked M. Preval why he was set on opening a monocle shop in Dorchester. He daubed at his lips with his napkin, wiping away the last bit of ketchup from his Whopper Jr. He said, "I thought about a more high-foot-traffic area, maybe Charles Street or next to J. Perotti. Being close to the opera or close to where villains congregate may be better for my trade. Then I realized that I will be the only person selling monocles in all of Boston. It doesn't matter where I set up shop. If I build it they will come. Politicians love Dorchester anyway and, really, they're a class of people who suffer stigmatisms. If they'll come to Dorchester, and they obviously will, the rest will follow."

I asked, "Do you mean you intend to cater to crooks, to dastardly characters, to villains?" M. Preval said no. He said, "I will sell monocles to whoever needs to have their vision corrected in one eye. I understand that the monocle-dependant are stereotyped as belonging to the theatrical, criminal fringe. That isn't always the case. My grandmother, God rest her soul, never swatted a fly let alone a grandchild's behind. She used a monocle to read the newspaper. Using a monocle doesn't make you a criminal. It means you don't have the money to spend on two lenses and a corresponding set of frames. This is another reason I think Dorchester is a good place in which to plant my business. People who live in the neighborhoods along Washington Street are frugal."

I asked M. Preval about the monocle repair aspect of his proposed business venture. "That," he said, "will be my main profit center. How do you repair a monocle? There are no screws, no hardware. It's just a lens. I will take it in the back room, polish it, sip a cup of tea out of sight, and bring it out on a swatch of velvet. That's worth a thirty-five dollar bill, at least. Most lanyards that connect to monocles are made of ribbon. I'll charge an extra seven dollars to iron the ribbon if its too wrinkled." He winked.

I had to admit that M. Preval had considered most of the angles regarding his new monocle and monocle repair shop. I wished him the best of luck in securing he loan and the lease. After all, Dorchester is a fertile ground for improbable niche businesses that eventually succeed.

As I deposited my cup in the trash can and M. Preval dumped the contents of his tray, I asked him what the name of his shop would be so that I could give him a plug on this page. He used both of his good eyes to stare squarely into mine. "I want to keep it simple and descriptive: 'Boston Monocles and Monocle Repair.' That has a nice ring to it and anyone looking it up in the Yellow Pages will know what we sell."

I agreed. We shook hands in the Burger King parking lot. Xavier Preval headed south on Washington Street, to inspect his new storefront perhaps. I headed east on Columbia Road, in the direction where the sun had risen a few hours earlier.

More Doggerel Tuesday

If it's Tuesday, it must be time for more poetry of questionable merit. Another gem from over the transom. Keep those cards and letter coming!

G-8 memorabilia for sale

Tiffany Peabody reports falling on hard times. "Mr. King," she writes, "Like many people who have suffered during what's being dubbed as The Great Recession, I find myself with credit overextended and the wolf at my door. Though my 401(k) is of little use to me and my investments have gone sour, I still have my great-great-grandfather's legacy in my possession. I hope to sell off some artifacts to interested collectors of World War I memorabilia and I was hoping you could help in publicizing my need and my earnestness to do business."

G-8 and his Battle Aces aren't well remembered today. They were certainly as daring as Audie Murphy, but G-8 never became an actor. After the war he retired to Dorchester to live out his days quietly, out of the limelight. He had seen enough excitement in the skies over the European trenches and he was never one to look for glory. He did have some glorious adventures however.

The Nazis are accused of all sorts of outlandish, occult exploits. Young people today who have learned all their history from video games and films can be excused for thinking that the Nazis mastered evil. While Nazis dabbled in occult and pseudo-science their success (in the sense that they achieved their goals) happened through rather mundane and pedestrian, brutal foot pad and cut throat means. In fact, it was the Reich that fought the First World War that really pulled out the stops when it came to over the top battle tactics, enlisting dragons and cavemen and monsters as well as invisible, poison gas. The Nazis industrialized thuggery. Their predecessors were more esoteric. G-8 foiled the Germans in WWI. He was too old to enlist in WWII, though he was a special adviser to the Army Air Corps' Division of Paranormal Combat.

G-8, as one of the Allies' top aces, confronted a bat staffel, a vampire staffel. and invisible staffel, a spider staffel, a blizzard staffel, a gorilla staffel, a sword staffel, a headless staffel, a staffel of floating heads, and a blood bat staffel, not to mention the aces of the damned, the flying coffins of the damned and the red fangs of the Sky Emperor. Needless to say he triumphed over these adversaries and many, many others in 110 chronicled adventures and many, many more that weren't reported since to this day they are still classified as 'Top Secret.'

I had to inform Ms. Peabody that I'm not in the estate liquidation business, nor is the Dot Matrix particularly set up to handle inquiries about what she has for sale. G-8's legacy is located in Dorchester, however and his spirit and courage are part of the weft and woof of Dorchester's matrix. For that reason, I include this report. G-8's exploits aren't well remembered and that is a shame. The beginning of the 21st century needs heroic exemplars beyond politicians. Great men have done great things in the past. Against all odds, Good has trumped Evil. The lines may have been more clearly drawn in the past, but I think G-8 sets an example that some young Dorchester men could learn something from in these ambiguous days.

While I wish Ms. Peabody all the luck in the world raising enough money to pay off her bills by selling her great-great-grandfather's souvenirs, I hope she can see it in her conscience to donate some memorabilia to the local schools or the public library for an inspiring display of what courage and clean living can accomplish against fearsome foes.

A little more G-8 history.

Doggerel Tuesday

This came in over the transom the other day. While not a limerick, you can't argue that it's sentiments are insincere.

Dorchester demographics

A pre-2010, unofficial census report contains some interesting statistics.

Dorchester's total population on August 12, 2009: 113,311.

Ethnicity:
African American or Black: 34%
African American: 20%
Haitian: 5%
Dominican: 3%
Other Carribean descent: 4%
African descent (not naturalized): 2%
White non-hispanic: 32%
Irish-American: 12%
Uncommitted Euro-American: 10%
Polish-American: 5%
Foreign born Europeans (not naturalized): 3%
Etruscan-American: 1.5%
Boston Brahmin Blue Blood: 0.5%
Hispanic or Latin: 8%
Asian or Pacific Islander: 20.5%
South Vietnamese-American: 12%
Foreign born Vietnamese (not naturalized): 4%
Chinese-American: 3%
Korean-American: 1%
Tibetan-American: 0.5%
Cape Verdean: 4%
Some other race (including one or more claimed and Native Amercian): 1%

For a frame of reference, Wikipedia provides the following stats: "As of 2000 the population of Dorchester was 92,115 and the ethnic makeup was 36% African American or Black, 32% White non-Hispanic, 12% Hispanic or Latino, 11% Asian or Pacific Islander, 1% Native American, 4% some other race, 5% two or more races."

The article's anonymous author also notes that when Dorchester was annexed to Boston in 1870, the town was primarily rural with a population of 12,000. After annexation, the population grew to 150,000 in 1920. Though it shrank after 1950, it is on the rebound and increasing again.

These more recent, unofficial numbers and additional categorization lends credence to the accepted notion that Dorchester is a neighborhood open to anyone who cottons to moving here. It also speaks well of Dorchester that so many cultures co-exist side by side with little strife and nary a kerfuffle. Dorchester really is Boston's most welcoming neighborhood where opportunity abounds. Immigration is up along with accompanying gentrification. Dorchester remains an affordable neighborhood overall, however, and hence the net gain in population.


Be warned, the statistics cited in this article have not been verified by an independent agency, nor are they endorsed by or reported by the federal government or any other official or quasi-official municipal agency. Figures were determined by a secret formula and direct observation by the Illumadotti. Inquiries as to methodology and sample populations can be directed to that organization's secret address.

Limerick Challenge

I was recently asked, "Do you know any limericks about Dorchester?"

It's sad to say, but I don't. Boston's poetry scene seems to be centered more around Cambridge than the Dot. During my extensive excursions, I can't recall meeting one poet. I haven't seen any poetry readings advertised at the Mud House in Neponset, the Sugar Bowl in the Polish Triangle, or at Dot 2 Dot halfway between Peabody Square and Lower Mills.

This doesn't mean there aren't any Dot poets. The longer I live in Dorchester, the more surprises I discover. I expect tomorrow I'll learn that all the garrets between Virginia and Monadnock Streets are packed with wan consumptives wiling away their parting hours penning poignant verse. For all I know, a 'Dorchester Vortex Sutra' has already been composed and it has influenced the latest generation of hipsters.

Our editor has been thinking of imposing some structure on the Dot Matrix rather than inflicting whatever catch-as-catch-can whims onto the general public as has been our usual modus operandi. The idea of a Doggerel Day has been kicked around for awhile so maybe it's time to start a new format. For the foreseeable future we'll feature Doggerel Tuesdays, meaning that Tuesday editions of the Matrix will feature poetry. Some of it may be good but we suspect much of it will be of the other variety as befits the definition of doggerel. Quality doesn't matter so much as heart and good intentions.

Anyone who wants to submit some poetry, good or bad, limerick or free verse or rhymed and metered, earnest ode, is welcome to do so. Just email it to whaleheadking at earthlink dot net. If selected, not only will it be posted here, but we will include an uncritical review and a link to any site the author may maintain. Sorry, we cannot offer payment. The income this blog earns wouldn't feed a guinea pig. Your work will be read, however. That much we can guarantee, even if only by Whalehead King. If that doesn't seem particularly awesome...you're right. It's not, but that's all we can guarantee at the moment. Please limit subject matter and theme to Dorchester, Mass.

While I don't know any Dorchester limericks, I suspect there are more than a few out there. We'll see what gold pans out next week.

Mayor Menino is following me

I checked my email today and I found a fine how-do-you-do. Tom Menino is following me on Twitter. He doesn't give his official title, but his picture curdles milk so there's no doubt who it is: Boston's chief executive. He is following me and 2216 other people as of this moment. It will no doubt be more by the time I am done spellchecking this essay. No one can argue that the incumbent isn't trying to keep in touch with what's going on in the neighborhoods. I am tempted to make up more folderol than usual.

Tweet: "I saw Tom Menino's profile on a slice of moldy American cheese, the processed kind that doesn't normally get moldy, just hard." Not really. Just practicing. I didn't even count the letters and spaces. You can follow me on Twitter to see the edited version.

Regular readers of the Dot Matrix know that while Whalehead King is not beholden to the current municipal administration, he is not entirely against it either. Why me, Mayor Menino? Why select me for your special attention? I am not your enemy, though I am certainly not your friend and whatever I have to say, especially in the space of a gross of characters, cannot interest you. I think you are more interested in me following you than the reverse. Sorry, I'm not signing up. I see your name and the results you leave in your wake enough as it is. I don't need regular updates of your gross of characters as you choose to delegate their release.

Don't worry. I read the papers. I am up to speed on what is unfolding in City Hall's bunker and I have my opinions. I keep most of them to myself. Your soiled laundry isn't mine to rinse and strain and hang out to dry. I can't say I appreciate your attention. In fact, I would prefer you unsubscribe. If you really want to know what I think, why don't you follow this blog rather than my Twitter account. It's in the Dot Matrix that I describe what I experience as a Bostonian, and, more importantly, as a Dorchesterite. I see my traffic goes up when your name is mentioned. I can only conclude your minions are at work. I can't imagine that as many people in the world are googling Tom Menino as they are Nicolas Sarkozy. In the country of the seeing, the tongue-tied man is king.

So now I am a bit larger a mote in the Mayor of Boston's eye than I was yesterday. I cannot say I am flattered so much as I feel damned. Luckily, I don't conduct business with the city and I have learned where to park to avoid tickets. If the my Little Ninja motorcycle gets any unjust tickets soon, you'll read about it here.

Tweet: "I just parked my yellow Ninja 250 in Franklin Park in front of the back gate." Just practicing again.

If you are interested in past observations of Boston's incumbent mayor, please click on the links to mayor or politics below.

This town needs a good zeppelin

Say what you will about Dorchester, Mass. but big ideas get floated here and not all of them go down in flames. There's been some discussion about opening a zeppelin school in Dorchester as a way to build community pride while providing vocational training in a specialized field.

Advertising dollars are short this recession and the Hood Dairy has decided not to sponsor thier blimp this year. The DirectTV folks have been floating a blimp over Fenway, but no one has gotten very excited about that. A group of Dorchesester philanthropists have entered negotiations to purchase a second-hand zeppelin and operate it out of the industrial area by the Dutch Maid Bakery, near where the duck boats are maintained.

The idea is to plaster the word 'Dorchester' on one side along with a distinctive image emblematic of the neighborhood, a sleeping baby perhaps. The other side will be rented out to advertisers for the highest bids. Ad revenue will pay for maintenance and fuel as well as subsidize a school for inner city youth to train them in zeppelin mechanics and piloting skills. It's a unique proposition with no competition. A little slipshod, cursory research reveals no other municipal blimp programs in the US.

The neighborhood of Dorchester fills many niches and this is just the latest. Dorchesterites dream big and they aren't discouraged by long odds. The bigger the idea, the higher it will float.

Flaherty-Yoon

Candidate Flaherty is tag teaming together with Dorchester's own Sam Yoon, against the incumbent in what is turning out to be an interesting mayoral election in Boston. When I first heard the news at Saint's Diner this morning, I wasn't impressed. I've had some hours to think about it though and I've heard a range of opinions and I think I am for the coalition (thanks, Yellow-Eye!).

There's always been a strong Southie-Dot axis (we call it Dot Ave in both neighborhoods) and marrying these two councillors-at-large into a single ticket brings out both of their strengths. Flaherty's been around awhile. He knows whose bread needs buttering. I'm sure he's got the dull knife ready to do it. Yoon has a heart of gold and he's smart enough not to tarnish it. Yoon may be relatively untested, but he hasn't compromised his principals yet. Not an easy feat for a politician. If Flaherty and Yoon are an odd couple, so were Oscar and Felix and, years after the fact, you know exactly who I am referencing. Flaherty-Yoon can make an enduring mark.

In twenty years, no one will know who Menino was or why his name appears on odd monuments around Boston. That's a statue that will make babies cry so let's hope it never gets cast in bronze. While I don't necessarily think Flaherty is tinder, I know that Yoon is spark. The two of them together just might generate enough heat to fire up Boston's potential more than the status quo. Maybe.

I'm skeptical and I am not in favor of change for change's sake. That said, I also think there is such a thing as too much mediocrity. I don't think any Bostonian would complain about a little more meritocracy. That's what Yoon promises and that is what Flaherty is introducing to his platform by inviting Sam Yoon into his administration. It's a win-win for both men and a win for Bostonians.

Another 4 years of Menino anyone? You can unbuckle your seat belt. Despite whatever enthusiasm the Flaherty-Yoon ticket generates, the incumbent's minions and henchmen can be counted on to turn out in force. Some zombies are kept breathing with a promise of regularly scheduled trash collection. It will be an interesting election but I suspect the result will be a bit more of plus ca change plus c'est la meme chose. A revolution is coming, but will it be this year?

Alive and in technicolor

Though full of slapstick, melodrama and overacting, Dorchester, Mass. is no silent movie. Quite the reverse. Firstly, it's real life. Secondly, it's quite noisy.

The heavy rumble of the Red Line rattles Dorchester's spine and, where the Red Line ends at Ashmont, the Mattapan High-Speed Trolley carries on the work. The High-Speed is a tad less loud, but it passes through Cedar Grove Cemetery and the T wouldn't want to wake the dead, would it? At least the T stops running some time after midnight. Dorchester is home to an elevated highway (I-93) that runs at second story height and is clotted and congested with cars and tractor trailers all hours of the clock.

Babies squawl in Dorchester. Kindergartners swear like soldiers. Their pipsqueak voices lend an alarming novelty to trains of connected curses and anatomical combinations they cannot really understand...or can they? After becoming accustomed to the local argot, playground profanity becomes a part of Dorchester's atmosphere, like the sound of flower petals gently patting the pavement when a zephyr blows inland off Dorchester Bay.

Pots and pans clatter over the course of a day. They make as much noise as the shopping carts pushed by the can men and bottle collectors who start their rounds an hour or so before sun-up and continue the rest of the morning until a little after dawn has faded into noon. Garbage day is a busy day in Dorchester as rag men and scrap dealers patrol the curbs. There is treasure to be found in Dorchester.

Coffee shops, diners, lunch counters, fine restaurants, pizzerias, Chinese take-out joints, bakeries, and barrooms buzz with the talk of the neighborhood. Dorchester is anything but silent. It is busy and burbling, percolating with vitality and street smarts, with pep and persistence, with zip and with zing. Silent Dorchester? Far from it. Dorchester is alive and loud . It's also in technicolor.

Estrogen and tonic

Dorchester, Mass. is home to Boston's most refreshingly resilient women. You can cast your vote for mayor, but the real people who can turn this city around reside between Washington Street and Blue Hill Avenue. While some talk about charter reform has been bandied about the electorate recently, no one has proposed what would probably be the most effective form of reform: a Dorchester-based matriarchy.

You may argue that this form of government has some reverse sex-discrimination issues. I reply, let the best women do the job for which they'll be elected. I'm not talking about an Amazon kingdom [sic] but a council of legislators who have experienced the best and worst Boston has to offer: the single mothers, the married mothers, the mothers who are involved in commited relationships without the benefit of legally binding contracts, the women who know how to balance a budget with no fat to cut and keep miniscule economic units running within an unfathomable machine between booms and busts. With that much common sense and hard sense around one table, Boston would have the best bond rating in the world.

Bad economy? The women of Dorchester know how to weather that and come out ahead at cycle's end. Tight credit? Dorchester's women know how to haggle and leverage advantages. Slow job growth? Dorchester women know how to keep many hands occupied and out of mischief.

Sam Yoon was right about this: Boston needs change. Business as usual is working but business could be better and Boston needs a shot in the arm. Mr. Yoon was partly right with his prescription. There does need to be less testosterone at the top. Boston needs a shot of estrogen and tonic. What neighborhood is better equipped to provide it than Dorchester, a place where households defy all odds to keep their hearths welcoming, nourishing places where the next generation of upwardly mobile citizens learn their lessons, get their bearings and learn to stand on principals.

There is a League of Women Voters in Dorchester. It's about time there was an official League of Extraordinary Gentlewomen ensconced in City Hall. This would at least be a layer of bureaucracy that people could identify with. Everyone has a mother and most people have a sister. Quite a few men have girlfriends. Few Bostonians have their own lawyer.

A citizen of Dorchester is called a Dorchesterite, this includes both genders because English doesn't distinguish. In Italian, they are divided: Dorciestriano for a man and Dorciestriana for a woman. In the 1960s and early 70s Dorchester's women would be called Dorchesterettes! with an exclamation point added for extra allure. If I may borrow a hackneyed metaphor to title Dorchester's women, I suggest we call each one a pillar of the community. Every man in Dorchester should wear a hat. That way they can tip thier hat in respect to the Dorchester women they pass on the street.

She inspected restrooms for a living

It's been a long time since any parent was pleased by the prospect that their child decided to become a professional poet. Among the arts, this is the most cash-poor of professions, with low entry barriers and paltry rewards beyond the boasting rights of being published. I think the last poet to actually make a living from this craft was Rod McKuen, so that shows the depths to which poetry's respect has sunk. If you aren't familiar with Mr. McKuen's work, spare yourself the trouble of looking it up. Write a poem yourself instead.

I usually get lumped in with the poets wherever I land rather than with the more important kinds of writers. I'm no journalist no matter how hard I try to report the facts as I find them. Though I do write essays, I craft them with a turgid, alliterative prose fond of lists, a-la Walt Whitman, and dense with hermetic allusions. Too clever by half, I allow my free associations to guide my plot, such as it is, and even I never know where we will end up by paragraph's end. This is my style, for good or ill, and I enjoy it. What this gives to the reader, I have little idea but I haven't received many complaints beyond a recurrent observation that I sometimes resemble a donkey's back side. Be that as it may. In the right light, though I may not be the man some girls think of as handsome, being WK has its advantages.

I was once acquainted with a poet who, like most, couldn't make a living writing poetry. Her day job was travelling from town to town as a public rest room inspector. She would rate the general conditions and cleanliness of public toilets. As far as I know she never visited Boston. Who knows how many pages of demerits she could have written here? The funny thing is, she would boast about her paying profession. For her, it was a badge of authenticity. She could spin poesy as ethereal as gossamer, one syllable hinged to the next in a Jacob's Ladder that, when read aloud with halting...emphatic pauses, would allow the listener entrance to a world of spirit past the grime of day-to-day existence. Her passion was poetry, something which no one cared about. Her work was inspecting toilets, something that everyone does though few of us are paid for passing judgement.

She considered herself a poet of the highest order. The more she was acknowledged as a poetess, the more haughtily she would proclaim, "I'm a restroom inspector by day!" She wasn't a pretty woman. She looked like what you would expect a restroom inspector to look like, no insult intended to those who practice this trade. She would bring her infant daughter with her, one of her criteria being, "Would I change a baby's diaper in this stall?" She would brag that she brought her daughter to highway rest areas all over the Northeast. This isn't the kind of childhood I would wish on anyone but it may explain a social misfit's most deeply seated motivations. The poet in question didn't come from a long line of restroom inspectors. She seemed to have landed into it by chance and, having found something she was good at, she stuck to it. Like her poetry.

What does this have to do with Dorchester? A frequent critique is that I praise Dorchester much as this poet crowed about her career. I have landed in a place that isn't quite where anyone would want to spend their days and, to compensate, the Dot Matrix is dedicated to spinning gold and self-esteem out of manure. This isn't exactly true and I will tell you why.

Dorchester is not a pit stop where people answer the call of nature and don't care what they leave behind. Dorchester is a place where families are raised and futures find their foundations. It is a place that people move to by choice because it is the best option available, not because it is the only option available. Decisions aren't reached randomly in Dorchester, they are by design. After Dorchesterites make their move by conscious choice, they start to build on the community's strengths to enrich themselves and their surroundings. Though fertile ground, Dorchester is not where people flush their deposits. It is a place where they deposit their wages into bank accounts and all their actions accrue accumlated interest.

When I publicly state my affection for my surroundings, it isn't because I am trying make a silk purse out of a sow's ear. I am genuinely glad and grateful to live in the biggest and most diverse part of Boston that coincidentally happens to be the best. I am not masking shame with false pride. Dorchester is a place with a deficit of hubris. I report events as I find them, pressed through my patented Whalehead filter which many have tried to copy or mock with only partial success. Dorchester is good and there is no changing that bedrock fact. If you don't believe what you read on these pages, this says more about you than it does about Dorchester. I am happy and I know many other people who are equally happy and they wouldn't trade Dorchester for any other locale in the world. Dot pride is more than a state of mind. It is a way of life.

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.