The Great Food Robbery

Diagonally across from where High Street intersects with Ferry, now stands a high rise brick apartment building. Back in the very early sixties, that was a large Flying A gas station. They stored the big trailers used as the food concessions for the Everett High Football games on this lot. On the night before the Everett High Football games, they stocked these concession trailers with fresh food.

The year was 1961. The bigger kids from our Arlington Street neighborhood had approached me with an offer I couldn't refuse. They wanted me to be the Gozinta to rob these trailers. What's a gozinta? The guy that actually "goes-into" the trailer to pass the goodies to his accomplices on the outside.

Why me? I was a skinny nine year-old third grader. Not only was I small enough to easily fit down through the skylight, but I had earned a reputation for stealing comic books from the corner variety store down on Ferry Street. And there is honor amongst theives - right?

Before the bigger neighborhood kids would trust me in such an important role, they put me through a series of tests. The first test was to observe how I steal funny books at Manny's little variety store. Manny's variety was located in Henry Gray's auctioneer building on Ferry Street. It's that large apartment building with the sub shop in it now that stands between the corners of High Street and Arlington Street.

That sub shop was was once Manny's Variety Store. Before Manny took it over, Cassie owned it. After Manny retired, Tommy Gear took over. He later turned it into TeeGees Sub shop, and a few years later, expanded his services to offer pizza. I don't know what name it goes by now, but I understand it's still a pizza and sub shop.

Looking at the size of the place today, it amazes me at how Manny ever had enough room to squeeze everything he had in that little variety store. Of course, when you're a little kid, the whole world around you seems larger than life.

Along the left side of the store was a soda counter with a half dozen stools. He kept the cash register at the end of the counter closest to the front door. Just past the soda counter was a big glass display of penny candy. Along the back wall were shelves of canned goods and such, as well as the milk and eggs display cooler.

On the right side of the store were free standing shelves, and there were more shelves along the right wall. Towards the front of the store on the right hand side was the magazine rack. It ran parallel to the front window so when you were checking out the comic books, your back was to the front window. The display case hid the lower half of your body from Manny when he was busy at the cash register, the soda fountain, or the candy counter, which was most of the time.

It was nothing out of the ordinary for a group of kids to be standing there thumbing through the comic books. There was always something going on at Manny's. He had a busy little shop for himself there. I'm sure he did all right.

What I would do is start thumbing through a magazine. When I finished looking through that one, I'd put it back neatly on the rack and scratch my stomach as if I had an itch. That gave me the opportunity to undo a button on my shirt. I repeated the procedure until three of my shirt buttons were undone.

Now I would start to pick up two of the same magazines at a time. One to thumb through, and the other to slide inside my shirt when opportunity knocked. I didn't rush the job. I took my time. Please keep in mind that I was only nine years old. And we think the kids today are out of control.

Three was my limit. Any more than three and it got too bulky to comfortably button up my shirt and stroll nonchalantly out the door. I mean really, he must have caught on by now. I was doing this at least three times a month, and didn't stop until my elders introduced me to bigger and better things.

Next stop, Kresgies on Broadway in Everett Square. They instructed me to steal a wallet at Kresgies. Why? Well, for one thing, the last thing they would expect a nine-year-old kid to steal was a wallet. They kept a close eye on the kids in Kresgies.

Right outside the store on the corner of Norwood Street and Broadway was an observation booth with two policemen in it. Somebody once told me they operated the traffic lights from that booth, but I never knew for sure. The popular belief amongst thieves is that the people at Kresgies felt that the observation post was a deterrent to theft. That misperception on their part left them wide open to the more skillful juvenile shoplifters. Stealing the wallet was a piece of cake.

My third and final test was at Noyse Stationary on Broadway. They were militant about shoplifting at Noyes. So much so, that they made it uncomfortable to shop there. My instructions were to steal whatever I wished, so long as it impressed them. So I stole an entire set of acrylic paints which included mixing palettes, horsehair brushes, and three 7" x 9" canvas boards. Yes, they were impressed.

On Friday afternoon, just hours before the big heist, I sat on the front steps of the laundry mat with Donny (who was six years older than me) on the corner of High Street and Ferry. We watched two canteen trucks pull up to the parked trailers. It took them about an hour or so to load the trailers with the necessary food and supplies for the big game on Saturday.

In retrospect, it amazed me at how five teenagers and one little kid emptied out those trailers in less than ten minutes, but we did. The funny thing is that when my big brother and I showed up at home later that night with dozens of frozen hot dogs, hamburgers, rolls, and giant jars of mustard and relish, my father refused to let my mother put us through the third degree. He just told us to put it in the fridge and go to bed.

It's not the first assault on the concession trailers that really sticks out in my mind. The second one surely does. More than anything, during the second assault, we had hoped to break open the cash registers. They were so rock solid I couldn't even jiggle the cash draw on our first attempt. It was another two weeks before our second attempt.

A couple of the bigger kids worked part time for Henry Gray, the auctioneer. Henry Gray auctioned off used business equipment. Amongst his inventory, he often had several cash registers. This gave my cohorts ample opportunity to do a little in-depth research on the best way to crack open a cash register. Whenever they figured something out, they'd teach it to me. Man, what an education I was getting at only nine-years-old.

On our second attempt, everything went smooth as silk. After breaking open the skylight, I jumped down inside the first trailer. It was a bit of a fall to land on the floor, but I was really experienced at this point. After standing up from my free-fall, I took one step towards the cash register, but the back of my shirt collar got stuck on something and I couldn't move.

Guess what I got caught on? I got caught on the grasp of a waiting Everett police officer's grip. Yep, I was busted. All of that training about how to handle the cops if I ever got caught went right out the window. I never dreamed I'd ever get caught. Visions of playing rock hockey on the chain gang for the rest of my life raced through my mind. I panicked, and burst into tears.

The arresting police officer did something that changed my life. He let me off the hook. But before he did, he had a long talk with me - not to me, but with me. Funny thing was, this officer knew my name, and where I lived, without me ever having said a word. That's how I knew I hadn't fooled anyone all along.

He told me this. "The things you are stealing are costing people money. That money goes to pay the people who sell these things. With that money, these people buy the food they eat, the medicines they need when they get sick, and the Christmas gifts their children have been wishing for all year. Every time you steal something, somebody else has to go without. It's not the thing you stole that they go without. It's the necessities they need to survive on that they would have bought from the money they made by selling the things you stole."

"It's not only the people who sell these things that lose out. The people who work in the factories to package these foods, and the people who work in the bakeries to make the foods don't get paid for the items you stole. Think about that before you steal anything. There may be a hungry baby crying somewhere because his father didn't get paid and couldn't buy the formula to feed that hungry child. An elderly lady could be lying awake all night without rest from the discomfort in her legs because she couldn't buy the pain pills she needed. If you keep stealing, a little boy somewhere will one day wake up on Christmas morning to an empty Christmas tree all because of you."

He made his point. My heart had broken from guilt. I cried bitterly in shame. "Listen to me," he said looking deeply into my eyes. "None of these things have happened yet, but they certainly will if you keep stealing. Come on, I'll take you home."

My father invited the police officer in for a cup of coffee. They sat and talked at the kitchen table for about a half-hour or so. The only thing I remember about the whole conversation was when the police officer said to my father, "He's a really good boy. It's a shame that somebody who could have pointed him in the right direction, abused their influence and led him astray." He looked directly at my big brother when he said it. My brother looked down at the floor in an attempt to hide his guilt.

From that moment on, I saw the bigger kids in a whole new light. They no longer impressed me. Even in all my youth, in some sort of funny way, I kind of felt sorry for them. Because they were so bent on being tough, and always trying to get the one-up on somebody else, it just seemed like they were missing out on so much more. They never bothered with me much after that night anyway, and it was just as well.

The story doesn't end there. It ends about eleven years later. After having just landed a commission to design product posters for an upcoming trade show for the American Biltrite Company in Chelsea, I was coming out of Noyes Stationary on Broadway with an armload of art supplies. Yes, I paid for them.

It just so happens that as I was leaving the store, I ran into that same police officer. He was about to just pass me by because he didn't recognize me. So I said, "excuse me officer." "Can I help you?" he asked. "Oh, you already have," I replied. "You changed my life." After explaining who I was, he replied, "That was you? I often wondered about you."

After a brief, but very pleasant exchange, he said that it made his life seem worth while to have made such a positive impact on someone's life. All of that was such a very long time ago now. I rather doubt that he still walks amongst us. From time to time, I still think about him. And when I do, I look off into the stars and say, "Thank you. Thank you for caring enough to take the time to point me in the right direction."

EHS Football Games

Gate Crashing The Everett High School Football Games!

The time eventually arrives when you do outgrow that Saturday Matinee thing down at the Park Theater. That usually happens just about the time you cross over from elementary to the Junior High school. It may seem silly as we look back on it now, but as we begin to grow and mature from one phase to another, there are just some things you must put behind you.

It's not so much that you really don't enjoy them anymore, as it is that your image may suffer if you continue doing it. And we all know how important it is that people think we're cool - right?

Thankfully, in the 1960's, Everett had a great High School Football program, with an excellent stadium to match. Back then, everyone went to the football games - everyone! What was the most fun about the football games was figuring out how to get into the stadium for free. Am I right?

With an eight-foot wall surrounding 90% of the stadium and police watching for gatecrashers along every square foot of it, your options were limited, but there were options.

Option one was the chain link fence that separated the playground on Chelsea Street from the stadium. It was loose on the bottom so you could pull it back and slide under. They did fix it periodically, but we kept breaking it.

One of the down sides to that choice was that you really had to exercise that option an hour or more before game time. The other down side was that this entrance was wide open and in full view to the entire stadium crew. They didn't bother to chase you down if it were only one or two kids. Any more than that and they had you cornered.

Option two, in my opinion, was the most fun. What you did was mingle into the crowd as they walked through the Everett Home team entrance on Cabot Street. I liked the atmosphere of joining in with the crowd there. It was so festive.

It just didn't feel natural to go to the football game without joining the crowd on Cabot Street and seeing that old-timer sitting there with a hundred little brown paper lunch bags full of peanuts singing out, "Peanuts a dime, peanuts ten cents!" In my opinion, the peanut guy added a Norman Rockwellish touch of genuine Americana to the whole affair. I can still hear his distinct voice singing out his little peanut ditty in the back of my mind to this day.

And although as a kid, I had no qualms about stealing absolutely anything from absolutely anybody, I would never steal from the peanut guy. That, to me, was sacrilegious. I always paid the peanut guy, and I always bought a bag of peanuts.

The secret to crashing the Cabot Street entrance was to mingle into the crowd, preferably amongst the kids who actually wore EHS jackets. All you had to do was keep walking, smiling, talking, and acting as natural as possible. Every once in a while the ticket taker pointed you out and yelled to the cops, "Hey, he didn't pay!" What you had to do then is run off into the crowd and get lost. They had so many gatecrashers that they couldn't catch us all.

With all the gate crashers running in all directions, the police got confused. It was rather comical, actually, and it was a lot of fun. If you just looked at the faces on the kids who were running away from the cops you could tell they were having a really good time. If the cops did grab hold of you, then you had to revert to option three.

Option three was a lot of fun as well. That was the old run and leap up to grab hold of the top of the fence down on Cabot Court. Swing your right leg over the top, do the body roll and you were up and over the wall in one leap. The cops were right there, but with so many of us running in all directions, they were virtually helpless.

It was now time to join the rest of the kids from your neighborhood up in the bleachers. Now honestly, it would not be prudent to reminisce about all of these kids crowded onto the bleachers without talking about all the fights that broke out. Many times, these were turf fights - you know, "our-neighborhood-is-better than yours" type of thing.

All along the horse shoe bend in the bleachers is where the GPA partied during the football games. What is the GPA, you ask? That's the Glendale Park Association. That's what all the Hippies called themselves. Believe me when I tell ya, they partied in those bleachers.

Perhaps one amongst you can recall in more detail than I, the last night game that took place at Everett stadium. I was rather young at the time, I really don't remember how young, but the night felt so strange that I honestly believe it was the first time in my life I experienced an anxiety attack.

If memory serves me well, it was a game against Somerville. Forgive me, but I do not recall what year it was. I just remember all hell breaking loose that night. Somebody got stabbed. The whole night had an eerie feeling about it from the very start. The crowd got totally out of control. You could sense it.

What I do recall is how on the following Monday in school all of the teachers expressed their utter disappointment for the way we all behaved that night. Perhaps their disappointment would have made a better impact if they had set the proper example for us all along.

I mean honestly, all throughout elementary school, regardless of which one you attended, you were subjected to a regular dose of insults, accusations, screaming, and unjust punishments. There was never any attempts what so ever to communicate with the student - unless of course, your parents ran the PTA, were on the school committee, or worked in some capacity or another for the city of Everett. If not, there was an imaginary bullseye painted on the seat of your pants, and believe me, they took aim.

Even so, the Everett High School Football games were a lot of fun. After all, isn't that where our theme song originated from? You know the one. Sing it with me ... "We're from Everett - and no one can be prouder - if you cannot hear us - we'll yell a little louder!"

Political Science - Everett Style

I don't know how many times I've heard people lament over the under-handed dirty politics in Everett. I've been hearing that since I was knee-high to a grasshopper. So I guess it's true when they say, "The more things change - the more they stay the same."

Although politics bores me to death, I do enjoy the savage amusement of antagonizing people who really get into this stuff. When it comes to talking politics, two different types of people begin to emerge. Those who know absolutely nothing about it (like me), and those who know it all.

To make it easier to understand, I just narrow it all down into a simple philosophy of favoring the politicians that show compassion towards the common citizenry as opposed to those that support the greed of the wealthy. How I find all that out is by antagonizing people who really get into this stuff.

The funny thing about political enthusiasts is that when you can wind them up - the veins on their neck swell up, their temples pulsate and their face turns red. Keep fanning the flames and they’ll soon blast off waving their finger in your face. If you laugh at them while they're blowing off steam, you could cause them to blow a left ventricle.

Believe me, I respect anyone who is actively involved with helping to bring about a positive change. It’s when all they ever do is ridicule and complain that they soon become obnoxious. These tend to be the very same people who get all worked up over every other minor detail in their lives. They can drain more positive energy out of you than the blaring hot sun.

These are the ones who try to rally support against neighbors who park in "their" favorite spot. They just know everyone does it on purpose because everyone’s out to get them. It’s hard for them to understand why everyone else doesn’t think, say, and do everything along the strict guidelines of their preconceived plan.

They’re always the ones shouting out the car window at all the other drivers. Putting up with a world full of inept people like us becomes a real challenge for them.

On the other hand, some of them are totally harmless and quite amusing to watch. One of my fondest childhood memories was watching my father argue with every politician that ever came on TV. He doesn’t even give the guy a chance to talk. As far as he’s concerned, "These politicians are all bunched together trying to make us believe all this nonsense they’re getting on with."

I'll never forget the day my mother had had enough of his arguing with a congressman on TV. He started in with the traditional, "Listen to this jerk getting on with all that nonsense."

"Who?" my mother asked.

"This politician here," he answered

"What’s he saying?"

"He’s getting on with all this nonsense about these other politicians involved with the same people he’s associated with," he explained.

"What people?"

"You know, all that other bunch that’s trying to convince us of the same thing."

"What thing?"

"All that nonsense they keep getting on with," he said sternly.

"What are you talking about?" She asked with one of those really confused looks on her face.

"This guy here that’s getting on with all that nonsense," he said leaning forward in his recliner to waive his finger at the television.

"You don’t even know the guy’s name, do you?" she snapped.

"I don’t need to know his name. He’s all tied in with that other bunch," he snapped back.

"So, what is he saying?"

"He’s getting on with all that same nonsense those other guys are getting on with."

"You don’t even know what he’s saying. Do you? Give me a name. Give me a topic. You don’t even know what’s going on anymore than I do. You just sit there babbling like a blithering idiot," she shouted back.

"I do too know what’s going on! This guy here is tied in with that other bunch that goes around saying all the same nonsense that these other guys are getting on with," he explains.

Now she lets him have it. "You don’t even know who said what, what they’re saying or what it’s all about, do you? You just sit there yelling at a television like an idiot. Get away from the TV if it’s making you angry. Go out in the back yard and let the fresh air blow the stink off of you!" she shouts.

So again he tries to spell it all out for her. "You don’t understand. These politicians are all bunched together trying to make us believe all this nonsense they’re getting on with."

The only response is the bang of the back screen door. She went out into the yard for a breath of fresh air. After all, she’s been a hard working and dedicated mother all her life. She really does appreciate the more important things in her life.

Even if she doesn’t understand that "...these politicians are all bunched together trying to make us believe all this nonsense they’re getting on with."

The Park Theatre

Saturday Matinee at the Park Theatre

It’s a typical wintry afternoon – too dark, cloudy and cold to go out anywhere. So, I'm sitting here clicking through hundreds of channels finding absolutely nothing to watch. On Turner Classic Movies they’re showing, “The Incredible Shrinking Man.” And I’m watching it because – I have an incredibly shrinking social life. The other reason I'm watching it is because it’s triggering a flood of childhood memories.

Totally oblivious to the world all around me, I’m dream traveling through a supraliminal vortex to visit a past life. It’s taking me back to a six-family duplex on the bottom of Arlington Street in Everett, Massachusetts, during the 1960's.

It’s Saturday morning, I’m eight years old, and up at the crack of dawn. At this hour in the morning there’s nothing on our little black and white TV but a test pattern. I’m watching it anyway. They’ll soon play the national anthem against a backdrop of all kinds of patriotic film clips. After that comes a half-hour of the Little Rascals, and then a whole hour of the Three Stooges, before all those Tex Avery cartoons come on. Man, this is the life!

But wait, – it gets even better. Today’s the day we all go down to the Park Theatre on Chelsea Street to see, “The Incredible Shrinking Man.” Last night at the supper table, my older brother, Billy, read the reviews out loud from the Record American. I got so excited I blurted out, “Can we go, Ma? Can we go?” “Only if you eat your vegetables,” she’d say.

Who is she kidding? Of course, she’s going to let us go. This is her only chance to unload four unruly kids for a whole afternoon. She’ll have the house to herself with nothing to contend with but peace and quiet for a change. You know we’re going to the show. You can make book on it.

Everything about going to the Saturday Matinee at the Park Theatre is an experience in itself. For a mere quarter, you get three cartoons, a Three Stooges short, a feature length movie, and a bag of popcorn. Plus, if you’re lucky enough get a star on the back of your ticket, you’ll get a chance go up on stage, blow up a balloon, and win a punch clown to the envy of all your friends. “Wow,” after this, there’s only heaven!

The pilgrimage to the Park Theatre is a venture to behold. After stepping out onto the the sidewalk and heading uphill, we’ll join up with every other kid from Arlington Street. By the time we round the corner onto Foster, we'll have met up with all the other kids coming from Foster Street, Villa Ave, and Pleasant View Ave.

For each corner we turn, and each new street we venture upon, another whole slew of kids come out of nowhere to join the expedition. From above, we must look like the “Million Man March.” Once we arrive at the back of the building, we'll crowd together to squeeze through that dank alley between the theater and whatever that brick building was next door. If it doesn’t sell toys or candy, kids couldn't care less what it does.

After tunneling through that dark alleyway, we step out into the sunlight on Chelsea Street, rubbing our eyes to adjust to the light. We are now confronted with yet another, “Million Man March,” comprised of all the kids from the other end of the city. Every single kid in the city of Everett that can walk, talk, and chew gum, now stands in a uniform line that stretches past the I. C. Hall, all the way up to the pharmacy on the corner of Broadway.

Once those French glass theatre doors swing wide open, they will consume every last one of those hyperactive juveniles in one mighty swallow. After pushing and shoving your way to the front of the concession stand, it’s time for the mad dash to secure the best seat. It takes three or four trial-and-errors until you find one you don’t stick to from all the gum, candy, and God only knows what. If you’re new to this scene, you might be foolish enough to sit down in front. After getting bopped off the bean with handfuls of popcorn, Goobers, and Junior Mints, you’ll know better next time.

The standard operating procedure is to consume your entire box of popcorn during the first cartoon. During the second cartoon, you rip and tear the popcorn box into the shape of a pair of underwater goggles that fit snuggly over your ears. To sit and watch a movie at the Park Theatre without your popcorn-box goggles on is almost sacrilegious.

You’ve still got another cartoon, and a Three Stooges short, before the featured presentation. That gives you enough time to eat half of your Junior Mints. You stick the rest in your pocket for ammunition. Now, take that empty Junior Mints box and tear off the flaps on one end. You now have your noisemaker to blow during the balloon-breaking contest.

Everyone knows the attention span of a kid – right? I’m sure nobody knew it better than the theatre manager, Leo. Near the end of the Stooges Short, we’d start getting a little antsy and the noise level would slowly begin to rise. That’s when the ungodly feedback from the PA system would crackle over the film sound track and Leo would shout at the decibel equivalency of a thermonuclear explosion. “If you kids don’t quiet down we’ll shut off the movie and send you all home!”

He’d threaten us with that three or four times before he’d shut off the movie and switch the lights on to emphasize the seriousness of the matter. The ushers walked up and down the isles, flashing their lights on various groups of kids for no other reason than intimidation, of course.

Once the featured movie started, things got serious. If you got out of hand during the featured presentation, they threw you out. Many amongst our ranks proudly boast of having earned the honor of being escorted like a common criminal out onto the sidewalk. It’s almost a rank of distinction. It becomes the talk of the neighborhood. “Did you hear what happened on Saturday? Paul got thrown out of the Park Theatre for throwing a Junior Mint.” I felt like a celebrity. Everyone was talking about – me!

Truth is, they were asking for it. They had an intermission during the Featured presentation so you could go up to the concession counter and buy more candy. Now, did they really expect three thousand jittery kids hopped up on candy to sit still for 3 hours to watch a movie? I hope not!

The best part of the whole experience was “The Balloon Breaking Contest.” That was a riot. How many times did you flip over your ticket to see if you had a star? Every time – right? And how many stars did you get in your lifetime? Throughout my entire childhood, I only got one star. I will fondly remember that one time until the end of my days.

During intermission, Leo blasted over the PA system, “Turn over your ticket. If you’ve got a star, come on down onto the stage.” A dozen kids hysterically jumped for joy, and the rest of us watched with envy as they clamored up onto the stage. After checking everybody’s hands for hidden tacks or pins, Leo handed a balloon to each of the contestants. He then shouted, “Put it in your mouth – and blow!”

We all stamped our feet and screamed hysterically. It didn’t matter if we knew any of the kids up on stage or not. We really didn’t care. It was just another opportunity to vent all that energy we had stored up from consuming a pound of candy. The bigger the balloons got – the louder we screamed – until suddenly, “Kapow,” we had a winner.

The winner got to choose a gift from the pegboard they brought up onto stage. Most of the time, they chose the blow-up-punching clown, perhaps for no other reason than it was the largest of all the gifts. That’s what I chose the day I had a star. Yep, I won. I got one chance in lifetime to compete for the brass ring and I won. That was my fifteen minutes of fame.

When it's all over, the lights come on, and the curtains close. Stepping out of the Park Theatre was like coming up out of mine shaft. You had to rub your eyes to readjust to the daylight, and breath in slowly to take in the fresh outside air. The experience was so exciting; you were exhausted. We had so much fun we rarely remembered what movie we just watched.

The Park Theatre made Saturdays worth living for when you were a little kid growing up in Everett. It saddens me dearly to walk down Chelsea Street today. Very little remains to commemorate those golden memories of yesterday. Where the Park Theater once stood, now stands a mini high-rise of steel and glass with very little character. I gaze upon the modern structure with a cold indifference and think to myself, “Ah, but there was once a time.”

Who Are We Really?

Yes, we’re from Everett – but who are we really?

People from Everett can adapt to just about any environment.

That statement is so TRUE! Whether it’s a vulgar group of derelicts slurring their words while confidently drinking the rest of the crowd under the table at a bar, to a consortium of sophisticates in an academic gathering - your experiences growing up in Everett have got the situation covered. Be it ever so humble – there’s no place like Everett!

We’ve grown up with drug addicts, alcoholics, health nuts, Wiccan witches, Jesus freaks, musicians, artists, philosophers, neurotics, autistics, mathematicians, introverts, extroverts, as well as the physically and mentally challenged. We’ve dealt with liars, and cheaters, and trustworthy humanitarians. Amongst our ranks stand ex-cons, clergy, law enforcers, and non-conformists. We’ve even got people who are all of the above. We know people who have traveled the seven continents, and others who have never ventured across the street.

We’re Protestant, Catholic, Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, and atheists. We’re African, American Indian, Asian, Brazilian, French, German, Irish, Italian, Middle-Eastern, Spanish, and Portuguese. Take a walk through our neighborhoods and you’ll hear the native languages spoken. We’ve eaten tortolinis, kanishes, guacamoli, sauerkraut, pot roast, and egg rolls.

We know the best wines, can tell a Boticelli from a Davinci, know the difference between a mitochondria and the endoplasmic reticulum, and we understand the space-time continuum of the grand unified field theory of relativity. We can calculate angular velocities, compose music, fix cars, and build gazebos.

If you reach out to us - we’ll respond in kind, and if you ask of us – we’ll answer. We can be forgiving, and we can be vengeful. Sometimes we act a little ignorant, and at other times we are unquestionably pedantic. And if you mess with us – we’ll break your face!

So, the next time you find yourself in an unfamiliar circumstance, take a deep breath, reach down deep within your soul, and call on all of those life learning experiences you’ve accumulated while growing up in Everett. You’ll do fine. There isn’t a situation or a challenge you can’t handle. Remember – obstacles are what you see when you take your eyes off the goal.

And should anyone, from any walk of life, turn on you with that challenging look in their eye and ask, “Who do you think you are?” Stand tall, throw back your shoulders, and proudly shout, "I’m from Everett!"