History in the Making

It all started back on New Year’s Eve of 2006. That’s almost three years ago now. Man, how time flies. Because both my wife and I were born and raised in Everett, it should come as no surprise that when we decided to spend a quiet New Year’s Eve at home that we’d wind up sitting at the kitchen table talking about the good old days over a cup of coffee.

Before either one of us realized it we had polished off a whole pot of coffee and talked until the sun came up. And it was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, one of my more memorable New Year’s Eve celebrations.

I know what you’re thinking. I know you people. I grew up with you. You’re thinking, “Man, if that’s what you call a wild New Year’s Eve you need to get out more” – right?

Believe me, I’ve had my fair share of New Year’s Eve parties. I’ve spent many a New Year’s Day praying to the Porcelain God. You start to get a little weary of that as you approach the sunny side of sixty, or so they tell me.

So anyway, our conversation turned into one of those classic “Do you remember” conversations. You know, things like “Do you remember how small the bathroom was in Vargis?” And “Remember the balloon breaking contest at the Park Theatre?” And “Wasn’t it a riot how we all hopped the fence at the football games and how the cops chased after us under the bleachers?”

Then Carol told me the story about how she ran across the top of everyone’s desk when her first grade teacher chased her around the classroom down at the Hamilton school. And then I told her that story about the drunk who had just stumbled out of the Brown Derby that we pelted with snowballs when he started chasing after us because we laughed at him.

The memories started to flow in rapid succession. We laughed until we cried. What we never suspected when we first made up our minds to spend a quiet evening at home is that we would embark on a journey beyond space and time to relive the best years of our lives.

Let me put this into the proper perspective for you. Sitting across the table from me was the girl who had swept me off my feet when I was only fourteen years old. It happened on Foster Street. She was walking along the opposite sidewalk with some friends. I caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of my eye as she passed by. Gawd, she was so pretty.

After we passed each other I glanced back to steal another look. I didn’t want to seem obvious or anything. At that very instant she turned around and our eyes met. We had a moment. Our paths didn’t cross again that whole summer.

On my first day of school in Mr. Barbati’s 9th grade homeroom at the Parlin, all the guys were checking out the new girls as they came wandering into the classroom. We’d nod and wink to each other whenever a really cute one stepped in through the door. The next thing you know, in walks that girl I saw on Foster Street. And I’m telling ya right now, as God is my judge, my heart skipped a beat and I couldn’t breathe.

When it came to making a play for the opposite sex in the 9th grade, I was about as smooth as a bucket of gravel. That girl was way out of my league. Even still, I made it a point to strike up a casual conversation with her at every opportunity.

Every so often we’d catch each other’s eye in class and we’d squint our noses up playfully at each other. Man, if she only knew how she made my heart go pitter pat. I never let on. I didn’t dare. Everybody knows that nothing breaks up a good friendship like love.

The years went by like the blink of an eye. I kind of lost track of that girl when we went off to Everett High. Partying up in the back hills of Glendale Park with the hippies kind of threw me a curve. My hippie days were definitely the craziest years of my life.

It makes me laugh now when I think of that Thanksgiving Day dinner when my big brother was off to war and my sister came over with my cute little nephew who couldn’t say “Paul” so he called me “Ba.” We gathered around the kitchen table to chow down on a feast fit for a king when all of a sudden my sister piped up and said,

“Hey Ma, guess what?’

“What?”

“There’s hippies in Glendale Park.”

“There is?”

“Yeah, and they’ve all got long hair and dress sloppy just like Paul.”

“Can you go look at them?” My mother asked.

“Gee, I don’t know,” my sister answered.

That’s all I need – right? So to diffuse an otherwise embarrassing situation I threw my two cents worth in by saying, “I wouldn’t go down there if I were you guys. I hear those hippies are all communists.”

“That’s what Senator Goldwater said,” my mother replied.

People are funny, especially your very own family. My family is the most treasured posession I'll ever have in my lifetime. If there is such a thing as reincarnation I wouldn't mind one bit getting hooked up with that bunch again. They were a riot. As my dad often said, "You crowd will never be able to deny each other. You're all tarred and feathered with the same brush."

And now I'm laughing to myself again because for years my sister thought everyone was saying, "You're all tied to the same bush."

Okay, so let me fast forward in rapid succession for a moment. We’ll speed past the free Hoodsies at the playground on the Fourth of July, the end of summer trip to Canobie Lake Park with the playground teachers, the big bull with the hamburger on top of his head on the Parkway, and the riot that broke out at that night game at Everett Stadium against Somerville.

Within the twinkling of an eye I had already gone through one marriage, and was back on the street fending for myself again. I laugh about it now, but all I had to my name was a beat-up Pinto stationwagon, a suitcase full of clothes, and an acoustic twelve-string guitar named, “Teacup.”

I lived through the 80’s like a carefree bachelor enjoying all of the benefits and privileges associated with the title. Maybe it’s me, but I don’t care how many one night stands you rack up, without that certain someone in your life it all starts to feel pointless after awhile.

There was an emptiness in my heart that I just couldn’t fill. Time was marching on and I was just going through the motions wandering aimlessly through life. You never think about how someday you’ll turn forty. That is like so far off into space that it doesn’t seem like it’ll ever happen to you.

It was around that time that I was walking down Elm Street minding my own business when I inadvertently came face to face with somebody I hadn’t seen in more than twenty years. It was none other than that very girl who swept me off my feet back on Foster Street when I was only fourteen years old.

As you might expect, one thing led to another and sixteen years later that girl and I are sitting at the kitchen table in southern Indiana talking about the good old days growing up in Everett over a cup of coffee. Isn’t life strange?

It wasn’t until my fortieth birthday that I found my true soul mate. Funny thing is, I was fourteen years old the first time I ever laid eyes on her. I knew there was something extra special about that girl. I just knew it.

I honestly can’t say which was more the defining moment in my life, that day on Foster Street, or that day on Elm Street. They happened twenty-four years apart from each other. And those twenty-four years passed by like a streak of light.

Like everybody else, I’ve often questioned what the heck this life was supposed to be all about anyway. I expected to find this great big one size fits all philosophy that would cover everything. What I did find was so pure and simple that it staggers the imagination.

If you were to list all of the defining moments in your life you’d realize that they took up only a very small portion of your time. And not all of those defining moments are happy. Some of them will absolutely break your heart, but consider this. Every time your heart breaks your character grows stronger. The key is to develop that inner strength. You do that as you wander in and out of your true-life experiences.

None of us are a complete separate entity unto ourselves. We tend to think so at times, but the truth is, we are a communal animal and we do need each other. It took me all these years to realize that. I didn’t discover that on a PBS documentary, nor did I read it in a book somewhere. I learned that from my life experiences growing up on Arlington Street.

My family was more than just lower income. We were dirt poor. There were times when my mother stood gazing somewhat bewildered into the kitchen cupboards scratching her head over what condiments to mix together to provide at least one night’s nourishment for four kids.

And it never seemed to fail that it was times like these when out of the clear blue Mrs. Forgione would lean over the rail on the back porch and holler, “Grace, could you send Paul over? I made way too many raviolis and meatballs and I’d hate to throw it out.”

Throw it out my foot. I’d step into her kitchen and she’d have this giant pot bubbling on top of her stove that could feed the entire Yankee Division. You could hear through those walls down on Arlington Street. She knew what was going on next door.

She not only sent me back home with that giant pot of mouthwatering raviolis and home made meatballs, but she’d also throw in a fresh baked loaf of Italian bread to soak up the gravy with. Now what, in God’s name, would ever possess that woman to do something like that?

Because of Mrs. Forgione, I cannot nonchalantly pass by someone who is desperately in need. Contrary to popular belief, he who dies with the most toys does not win. It is he or she who reaches out to that crying voice who wins. You mark my words.

Call it socialism if you want to, but without that spirit of people helping people, Everett would have never been what it was. What made growing up in Everett so special was that we had neighbors who knew each other, who cared about each other, and who helped each other out.

And yes, there were those amongst us who looked down on those in need, but they stood out like a sore thumb. What they missed out on was becoming a part of that spirit of camaraderie that rang so true throughout the people from Everett. I wouldn’t want to have missed out on that for all the riches in the world.

We often boast about growing up in a time when the kids could safely play out on the sidewalks up until the streetlights came on without any adult supervision. We brag about the free Hoodsies we got at the playground on the Fourth of July. And we take pride in the old adage that if you fought one kid from Everett, you had to fight them all.

The way we grew up in Everett was the way life should be. People should care about each other. People should help each other out. And most importantly, people do need to love one another. For without such sentiments we never would have known the likes of Mrs. Forgione, Leo Brotman, Anthony Sarno, and Lenny, the singing bus driver.

Those people made significant contributions to our community and in turn, they've enriched our lives. And unless we mimic the examples they set for us, we’ll just go on crying over how the world’s gone mad without ever lifting a finger to do anything about it.

Nobody’s going to magically appear out of nowhere to fix up this mess. It’s all up to us to. It’s time we opened our eyes, rolled up our sleeves, balled up out knucklebones, and started taking care of our own.

Together we can put this crazy planet back together again. It doesn’t start at the top and work its way down. No structure is any stronger than its foundation. We are the foundation. We are the people. If it’s ever gonna get back on track it must begin right here at our level.

Yes, it is time for change. We’ve been buffaloed, and lied to, and cheated, and swindled to a point where we honestly think that what we once had as a community is gone forever. That’s bullshit.

What made Everett such a wonderful place to grow up in was “YOU.” Don’t you see that? If each and every one of us reverted back to the basics we learned growing up on the sidewalks of Everett the entire whole world around us would feel the reverberations of the spirit that runs so true through our veins.

It’s time we reached out to one another. It’s time we regrouped. And it’s time we asserted ourselves. If anybody can make a significant difference in this world we can because "We’re from Everett!"

And don’t ever think that just because you’re getting on in years that you don’t count. That’s another crock the mainstream media dishes out to you. Just by the fact that you’re still here means that your purpose for being hasn’t fully played itself out yet.

Hey, and that even goes for all you people that didn’t grow up in Everett, but keep stopping by regularly to enjoy the nostalgia. We’ve got em coming in from all over world, and they number in the hundreds.

You wanna be one of us? Reach out. We’ll grab a hold of your hand. We’ll fill you with a spirit of camaraderie with the likes of which you’ve never known in your lifetime.

But would we treat you as an equal? You bet your ass we will. There are no bonds of friendship stronger than what comes from the heart of an Everettite. Trust me on that.

So after spending a quiet New Year’s Eve together with my soul mate from Everett expressing these very sentiments, we thought we’d log on to Google to see if we could find anything nostalgic about growing up in Everett. We found nothing. Not even the City of Everett’s web site had anything historic whatsoever on it at that time. You can only imagine how disappointed we were over that.

After watching the college football games that New Year’s afternoon, I sat down to the computer and began to program the very first “We’re From Everett” web site. Sixteen days later we were up on line. On the second day I got an email from somebody who grew up down the Lynde. On the third day somebody else wrote to me saying, “Long overdue, thanks.”

As each day passed more and more people trickled in. By the end of our first year we had racked up over a hundred emails and thirty thousand visitors. That was over 100,000 visitors and 437 emails ago.

This labor of love has had its rewards, believe you me. Over 11,000 people have downloaded my guitar instrumentals. More than 7,000 people have downloaded those songs I recorded on a battery operated open-reel tape recorder back in high school. And some of the heartfelt sentiments people have written in response to my efforts have touched me so personally that they’ve brought tears to my eyes.

And take a look at all of the pictures that so many generous people have shared with us. Each one spawns a floodgate of memories, and enriches the growing up in Everett experience for us all. The more we share with each other, the better the over all experience becomes.

And do you know what? We’ve still only touched based with a fraction of the people who grew up in Everett. Help me get the word out. Call people you haven’t talked to in ages. Rattle their cage. Stop people on the street. Email them if you have to.

Tell them that we all got back together again. Tell them that everyone from every neighborhood, and from every generation, is openly invited. Because the more people we get to come back into the fold, the stronger does that spirit we had growing up in Everett grow.

Somebody go over there and knock on Nicky Saia’s door. Tell him to turn his computer on, and tell him to go to werefromeveret dot com. And if he gives you any back talk just tell him that Paul Huffman is gonna make him write out fifty characters if he doesn’t do what he’s told.

We are only hours away from history in the making. We are about to choose a new president. And we are about to begin a brave and bold new chapter in American history.

Don’t be afraid. The time has come to make this change. We'll face this bold new begining together. At least this time it really is going to be for the people, of the people, and by the people. You mark my words.

Reach out to each other. Hold on to each other. Lift each other up. Help each other out. Talk to each other. Listen to each other. Take care of each other. And most importantly, love one another. You belong to a united and strong lifelong fraternity. You’re one of us. And – “We’re from Everett!”

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P.S. I almost forgot something. I've got something a little extra special for you on the Media 3 page of our "Growing Up in Everett" web site. You'll find it at the bottom of the page. Here's a link to make it easy on ya.

Growing Up Everett Media 3 Page