A Thanksgiving Past

At any given moment, a simple passion may cry out from deep within your soul. It may carry with it a melancholy ring that only you can hear. It will resonate to the rhythm of your beating heart. And when it grows loud enough it will either cause you to burst out laughing at seemingly nothing at all, or it will edge your eyes with tears.

How many times has either of these things happened to you? You’re standing at the kitchen sink drying dishes and staring off into space while everyone else is rummaging about behind you. Then all of a sudden you start to laugh at what looks like "nothing at all" to everyone else in the room.

Now everyone wants to know what’s so funny. The problem is that it may not be all that easy to explain so you just say, "Oh, I just remembered something."

"Well, what did you remember?"

You’ve rattled their cage and you know they’ll get mad if you don’t tell them what you’re thinking so you go through this long drawn out explanation. And it never comes across with the same heartfelt magic that it held in your mind’s eye no matter how hard you try.

So after sharing that precious moment that caused you to burst out laughing for no reason at all, they look back at you with this really straight face and say, "I guess you had to be there."

And then there are those times when you just happen to nonchalantly cast your gaze out the window at something. Without even realizing it you’ve drifted off into another dimension. Suddenly, something from long ago that touched your heart in a monumental way materializes in your mind’s eye.

It’s okay because you’re by yourself so you go with the flow, seize the moment, and let yourself have a good cry. There isn’t one amongst us who doesn’t need one of those every now and then. They clean your soul. They’re good for you.

What happens next is that somebody comes bouncing into the room in a bubbly fashion and they can’t wait to tell you something funny that just happened in the bathroom. So now you’ve got to quickly snap out of it and dry your eyes, and blow your nose, and pretend that you’re getting a cold so they won’t suspect anything.

Nobody likes getting caught in the middle of a soul-cleansing cry. It’s almost embarrassing. Having a good cry for yourself is a very private moment that you rarely care to share. Left to yourself, after a good cry like that you’ll more than likely go on with the rest of your day feeling quite refreshed.

Scenarios like those happen because the longer you meander along this journey, the more memories you’ll gather along the way. Sometimes the person with whom you share that memory with no longer walks amongst us. In such case, those memories are meant for you and you alone.

Now before I go any further, I just want to ask you one question. "When you share a moment with someone who no longer walks amongst us, don’t you honestly feel like you really are with that person again for that moment?"

It is for that very reason that I love the Shakespearian quote which says "There are more things in heaven and in earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy (sic)."

For you see, time is a necessary evil in so many different ways. It sometimes passes in the twinkling of an eye, and at other times it just seems to stand still indefinitely. Funny how it never seems to do either one when you want it to.

Because of that, what is here today will most assuredly be gone tomorrow. I honestly do believe that that is very lesson God had intended to write upon the bitter chilly winds of November.

That’s why they shake the very last of the dangling autumn leaves from the trees and whisk them away forever. It’s almost as if the November winds are nature’s street sweeper. They come to sweep away the dust and debris left behind by Spring, Summer, and Fall, so to clear the path for old Man Winter.

I can’t count how many times I’ve stopped dead in my tracks to admire the color of a fallen maple leaf. Neither can I count how many I’ve collected over the years thinking I’ll make something with them one of these days. I never did make use of a single one.

I especially liked those great big maple leaves that burst from center with almost every color of the rainbow. I’ve always wanted to tape one up on my window so the sunlight would filter through it like a prism and light up my room with warm colors on a cold winter’s morning. But I never did do that either.

What I did do was push them all together into a great big pile so I could do a running somersault and back flip ass over teakettle into the middle of them. I’ve also crawled in underneath them to lie in waiting to frighten the dickens out of an unsuspecting victim. And I did all that even knowing the consequences before hand.

Later that night when I stripped down to my birthday suit I’d leave behind a pile of leaf dust on the bathroom floor so thick you could scoop it up with a dustpan without needing a broom. Ah, but to lay back in that porcelain tub full of steaming hot water to relax those aching bones after a bitter cold day of frolicking in the leaves was somewhat of a spiritual rebirth if I do say so myself.

I have always loved November. When you’re a little kid, November feels like the long and winding road that stretches out towards Christmas. Even still, it is a road that is not without its own rewards and pleasures along the way.

Walk with me and we’ll journey down the corridors of time. We’ll revisit a few experiences from a past life. And although none of these things will ever be again, they’ve left such an indelible footprint on the sands of my hourglass that they hold a remarkable influence on my growing up in Everett experience.

Let me show you what I mean.

The "Ghost of Thanksgiving Past" stops at the threshold of a door marked "Thanksgiving 1967" and gestures its spiritual finger to look inside. Huddle close to me now because this one might tug at your heartstrings a bit.

After stepping up to the threshold you’re likely to see an image that matches today’s illustration almost to a tee. That illustration is a 3D recreation of our kitchen up on Foster Street. If you were to peek out that window behind the roasted turkey you’d be looking straight into Al Vega’s kitchen window.

Our story unfolds on the last school day before the long Thanksgiving Day weekend. I just stepped into the kitchen after getting home from the Parlin. I’m fifteen years old and only a half a year away from getting my license. And man, am I psyched.

Erase the image of the roasted turkey from your mind’s eye because it isn’t even in the oven as yet. At this point in time it’s still wrapped in towels and soaking in the kitchen sink.

My mother doesn’t even acknowledge my presence. She's sitting by herself at the far end of the kitchen table with her hands folded on her lap. Her eyes are closed. She is completely oblivious to the world around her.

She’s whispering quietly to herself while slowly rocking back and forth in her chair. That’s when it dawned on me that I’ve inadvertently happened upon a very spiritual moment. For the very first time in my life I’ve caught my mother in the middle of a most sincere prayer.

When she opens her eyes and looks up at me she wipes the tears from her eyes with her apron and says, "I didn’t hear you come in. How long have you been standing there?"

"I just got here. Is everything all right?"

"Yes, everything’s fine. I’ve got so much to do if I’m going to get this turkey cooked in time for Thanksgiving tomorrow," she said leaping out of her chair and dashing over towards the kitchen sink. It was obvious that she didn’t want me to know that she’d been crying, so I just pretended not to know.

"Your new Lafayette catalogue came in the mail today," she said over her shoulder while fiddling about with that giant turkey.

How many people out there still remember Lafayette Electronics? Radio Shack eventually swallowed them up back in the day when Radio Shack was a real electronics store. Today it’s only cheap imitation of its former self.

The Lafayette catalogue was jam packed with enough components, and gadgets, and kits, to set an inquisitive young mind on fire. I looked forward to each new catalogue almost religiously. I’d sit for hours on end thumbing through it pretending I had a million dollars to spend.

They had everything from kits to build analogue music synthesizers to sound snooping listening devices. They weren’t as technically oriented as HeathKit was, but that didn’t keep me from going off on a tangent every time I thumbed through their catalogue.

So there I sat at the kitchen table thumbing through my catalogue in my own little world while my mother worked on that monstrosity of turkey in the sink. All of a sudden she just burst into tears. She completely caught me off guard.

"Ma, what’s the matter?"

"I haven’t heard a word from Billy in weeks. I can’t help but to think the worst," she cried.

My oldest brother, Billy, was off fighting in Vietnam. He wrote at least one note to my mother every week since the day he left so she’d know he was all right. Not hearing a word from him in weeks was eating away at her.

I took her into my arms to comfort her. And all I could think to say was, "Please don’t be afraid. If anything went wrong somebody would have notified us. No news is good news they always say."

"I’ve thought about that, too," she said drying her eyes. "Even if he was missing in action they would notify us. So you’re right, no news is good news. I just can’t imagine why he doesn’t write."

"Knowing Billy, like I do, he’s probably out partying with a bunch of girls in the middle of nowhere having the time of his life," I tried to reassure her.

"He wouldn’t do that," she replied. "He’s engaged."

She obviously doesn’t know him like I do, but this was not the time to point that out. My only reply to that is, "I’ll bet ya ten to one we’ll get a letter from him soon. More than likely the army’s having a hard time getting a surge of mail through for the holiday season."

"I never thought of that," she said. "That is a possibility."

She had her good cry. She needed that. We actually had a fun Thanksgiving that year even though in the back of our minds we were all worried about Billy. We kept each other’s spirits up. That what families do - right?

I’m gonna jump ahead another 24 years to 1991. I was living up in New Hampshire at that time. I had come down to spend a couple of weeks with my parents in Everett. At the age of 46, my brother, Billy, had passed away after a long illness. It was my duty to be their rock through it all.

On the night following his funeral, I was standing at the kitchen sink doing the dishes so my mother could take a nap. She’d been through so much. So just as I had finished up I kind of stood there staring out the window off into space.

I was remembering the first Thanksgiving Day football game Billy took me to down at the stadium. He brought me down to the bottom of Cabot Court with all the other bigger kids from Arlington Street (including Pat Hughes) and said, "We’re all gonna hop over the fence at the same time so the cop’s can’t catch us. As soon as you get inside just run in any direction."

"How am I gonna find you?"

"You’ll find me, don’t worry. You’re not leaping into outer space, you banana head. We all find each other eventually. We always do."

So now I’m standing there watching these bigger kids do a charge towards the fence so fast that they literally run up the face of the wall and grab a hold of the top. Then they scale over onto the other side. Sounds good on paper, but I’m so much smaller than they are. That fence looks like the Eiffel Tower from my perspective.

"There’s no way I’m going to be able to scale that fence," I protested.

"He’s right, Billy. He’s too little," said Pat.

"Well, what am I gonna do? I’ll have to pay his way in."

"Either that or we can throw him over." Believe it or not, that was Pat’s idea. And that’s what they did, too. They threw me over the fence.

And believe me when I tell ya, when two big goons like that pick up and throw a first grader it is not unlike being launched into outer space. I cleared the top of that fence with ease and sailed towards terra firma with my arms and legs flapping wildly in the wind. Unlike a cat with nine lives, I did not land gracefully. I landed face first in the mud.

To top it all off, what was waiting on the other side to welcome me into my first Thanksgiving Day Crimson Tide Football Game was an Everett cop shouting, "Hey you, come here!" So I did what Billy told me to do. I took off running.

Finding Billy was like looking for a needle in a haystack. For one thing, the crowd was so thick I felt like I was drowning. You must remember that I was probably the smallest kid in the stadium that day. Everyone towered over me. I couldn’t see where I was going so I swear that all I did for the better part of the first quarter was to walk around in circles.

On top of all that, I was scared to death that the cops were gonna catch me and lock me up. So how were they gonna identify me from all the other thousands of kids in the stadium that day? That was easy. I was the only one covered from head to toe in mud. I kid you not.

I’ll be honest with ya, I was having about as much fun as a toothache. There was so much noise going on that I couldn’t think straight. That is so confusing to a kid who can only hear out of one ear.

I could hear the cheerleaders, but I couldn’t see them. I could hear the announcer over the loudspeaker, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. If I could find the exit I’d probably just go back home. That’s how much fun I was having.

Somebody eventually grabbed a hold of my arm and spun me around. It was Billy. "Where have you been?"

"I don’t know."

"You don’t know where you’ve been?"

"No."

"You’re not exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer, are ya?" He laughed.

The kitchen window comes back into focus. I’m not at that football game with Billy after all. I’m standing in my mother’s kitchen at the top of Arlington Street. That’s when it dawned on me that I will never see him again during this phase of my journey here on earth. It hit me all at once and I just broke down and cried my heart out.

From out of nowhere somebody reached out and took me into their arms to comfort me. It was my mom. So 24 years later she returns the favor. Is there anything in this life more precious than that?

Need I list all that I have to give thanks for on this day? On just my precious memories of growing up in Everett alone I could fill volumes. I have family up in Newfoundland, down in Texas, and fighting in the Middle East that I am so thankful for. And I have family right in Everett who mean the world to me.

Count my blessings? I’ve got a million of them. And I am ever so thankful for the moment I just spent with my big brother, just as I am for the opportunity to share that moment with you. I just hope when it comes my time to show up at the Pearly Gates that he doesn’t pick me up and throw me over the fence again. I wouldn’t put it past him.

And when I sit down for Thanksgiving today I will be ever so thankful for that girl across the table who used to twitch her nose up at me whenever I caught her eye back in Mr. Barbati’s 9th grade homeroom at the Parlin some 39 years ago. And we have children, and grandchildren, and many many friends for which we are ever so thankful.

And last, but by no means least, I am truly ever so thankful that ... "We’re from Everett!"

When Eisenhower Steps Down

Heading out for a Sunday afternoon drive is one family tradition that I carried over to my own family from my childhood days growing up in Everett. I laugh to myself now thinking about how whenever we drove past the Woodlawn Cemetery I’d yell out, “Hey Dad, look at all the pity holes!” God only knows where I got that from. It became the conventional family “expression” for years.

Kids come out with the darnedest things sometimes. Like when Carol was a little girl she thought everyone was buying “Walter Wall” carpeting for their living rooms. And when our own daughter was little she thought we drove over the “Mister Griver Bridge” on our way into Boston.

And then there was that time when Jack Chase on the morning news talked about the guerrilla warfare going on in Cuba. All I could think of was that if having to fight the nazis wasn’t bad enough, now we’ve got to take up arms against the lower primates. When does it all end? That’s what I’d like to know.

I felt compelled to write a letter to President Eisenhower about my master plan to end this nonsensical war in no time flat. All we gotta do is throw bananas all over the ground and wait for the guerrillas to come down out of the trees to pig out. Then we’ll open fire and blast them all to kingdom come. Funny how nobody else figured that out yet. Sometimes the grownups get so caught up in particulars that they fail to see the forest for the trees.

Speaking of trees, and speaking of going for a Sunday drive, there was this one incident I shall never forget for as long as I live. It happened when I was about seven years old. We were driving along a country road in Sandown, New Hampshire, when all of a sudden I saw this sign nailed to a tree that said, “Beware of the Ku Klux Klan.”

So naturally I asked, “What in the heck is the Ku Klux Klan?” You would not believe what my mother told me. I sure got an earful that day, believe you me. I never once thought that right here in these United States of America, in the land of the free, and the home of the brave, that there were people out there who hated other Americans because of the color of their skin.

That was a rude awakening for me. Up until then the difference in color between my skin, and the color of my best friend’s skin who lived next store had never occurred to me. I must have noticed it, but it somehow just didn’t register, I guess.

So I suppose the real reason as to why I was so taken aback about what my mother told me was because those people hated my best friend without even taking the time to get to know him first. What’s even worse is that they’ve never even seen him. How do you justify hating somebody you don’t know or have never seen?

I was soon to discover there was all kinds of hate going on in the world around me. Up until now, I was completely oblivious to all of that. Later that night I was sitting up on the top bunk watching my big brother, Billy, tune an old “F-hole” acoustic guitar that he never did learn how to play. So I asked him if he ever heard of the “Ku Klux Klan.”

We got into this long conversation about people who spend their entire lives hating other people. That’s when he told me that they came up with a dirty name for just about every kind of person that walked the planet. They had a dirty name for people with different colored skin, and Jewish people, and Irish people, and Italian people, and German people, and people from Puerto Rico, and Chinese people, and Mexican people, just to name a few.

Now that I think of it, he didn’t leave anybody out. Everybody had a dirty name. What it boiled down to is that if you live and breathe, they’ve got a dirty name for ya. This is another one of those “nobody gets left behind” deals.

“Just make sure you never use that kind of language outside, okay?” He warned. “You could really hurt somebody’s feelings, and if they get mad enough they may just break your face over something like that.”

So now I’ve got all these new words stuck in my head that I can never use. Do you have any idea how frustrating that is to a little kid? I felt like running down into the cellar with a towel wrapped around my face so I could scream those words a few times just to get them back out of my system.

Needless to say, I felt compelled to pass all of this newfound knowledge along to my best friend who lived next door. He’s a year younger than I am so I was certain this was going to be just as much of a rude awakening for him as it was for me. And because his skin color is different from mine I thought he’d find it interesting to hear what kind of dirty word somebody dreamed up for people who look like him.

Believe it or not, he already knew all that. This kid was only six years old and he already knew all of the derogatory terms associated with every kind of person. He even knew a couple that my big brother never mentioned. And I’ll be honest with ya. I was a little ticked off that he had never shared any of that with me before.

At the supper table that I night I couldn’t wait to enlighten my family to the fact that I had come of age within the realm of slanderous remarks. So I turned to my big brother and asked, “Do you know what you are?”

“No, what?” He asked innocently enough while digging into the mashed potatoes.

“You’re white trash.”

My father looked at me like I had two heads. My mother’s jaw dropped. Carl doubled over in laughter so hard that no sound was coming out. Then I turned to my sister and asked, “What are you looking at, honkey?”

“Where in the world did you hear that kind of language?” My mother demanded to know.

“Billy and Stanley taught it to me. Want to hear what else I know?”

My mother took one stern look at Billy. He immediately raised his hands and said, “Now wait a minute. Don’t take things out of context. He was asking me about the Ku Klux Klan so I was just explaining about all the hate words people use to hurt each other’s feelings. I even told him never to use those words.”

“And I didn’t either,” I explained. “Those are the words Stanley taught me. He never said not to use them so I did.”

We had a long family discussion at the supper table that night, let me tell ya.

All of this seemed to unfold just before the first presidential election that I was ever aware of in my life. I was born about four weeks after President Eisenhower was sworn into office. I was smack dab in the middle of getting potty trained when he ran for his second term.

I remember how we raised our glass of milk in tribute to President Eisenhower during the “Pledge of Allegiance” on the Big Brother, Bob Emery, TV show, but I do not remember Eisenhower’s election. My potty training I do remember. What I remember is leaning over the hopper with my pants down around my ankles shouting, “Somebody wipe my bum!”

I’m far less codependent than that now. Just in case you’re wondering. Other than that, It was the Presidential election of 1960 that left such an indelible footprint on my impressionable young mind that it shaped both my political and social outlook on life for the remainder of my journey here on planet Earth.

For you see, growing up on Arlington Street had exposed me to just about every different kind of person imaginable. We had people with different colored skin. We had people who spoke other languages. And we had people who practiced other religions.

Those were the only differences amongst us. As people in general, we said and did all of the same things. Everybody played "hide-and-go-seek,” “stick ball,” and “one foot off the mud guard” just like everybody else. And everybody else put their pants on one leg at a time just like me so I couldn’t see what the big deal was over those other minor differences.

So anyway, the talk around town back in 1960 was all about this new presidential election they had going on. I didn’t want to sound stupid or anything, but I was a little nervous about this upcoming election.

Eisenhower had been our president since the day I was born. My dad told me that before becoming president, Eisenhower was the five-star general who led our country to victory over the nazis. I had a Jewish friend who had told me some gawd awful things about what the nazis had done to his grandparents.

Knowing that Eisenhower had led our armed forces to victory against such an evil foe gave me a sense of comfort and security. With Eisenhower at the helm, my country was in good hands. I do realize that I was very young and a bit naïve, but that commercial they showed on TV that said “You can rest easy tonight because your National Guard is awake” made me feel safe.

Besides, along with all of the other Everett kids, I used to follow behind the Yankee Division of the National Guard during the Memorial Day parade all the way down to the Glenwood Cemetery. I’d jump out of my skin when they fired off that twenty-one gun salute. After which we all scurried around to collect the spent shells.

At the end of the Memorial Day ceremonies, we followed the National Guard all the way back to the Armory on Chelsea Street. When we got there they had enough sandwiches, cup cakes, potato salad, and Coca-Cola to go around. Those guys were really good to us kids.

The Yankee Division of the National Guard looked some sharp whenever they came marching down Broadway. They never once ceased to impress me. They came from every race, every religion, and from every nationality imaginable, but that didn’t seem to cause any division amongst them. They stood together as one ready to face whatever horror fate threw at them to defend the principles upon which my country stood.

When you add all that up, I was a bit nervous about taking on a new President. Like it or not, it was going to happen anyway without any regards to my sentiments. And as somebody somewhere once said, “The best way to cope with inevitable change was to help bring it about” so I was determined to get enthusiastic about taking on a new President, whether I really wanted one or not.

There were a lot of peculiar similarities going on politically back then. For one thing, we had a governor named, “Endicott Peabody.” Whenever we went for one of our traditional family Sunday drives along Route 128 I’d see a sign for Peabody. Right after that was a sign for Endicott College.

On our way back home those signs spelled out our governor’s name in the right order. I often wondered if somebody didn’t purposely plan it like that. I often recalled that thought several decades later as I passed those signs again on my way up Route 128 to attend classes at Endicott College.

Another peculiarity was that each of the competing campaigns in the upcoming presidential election had a delegate from Massachusetts. On the Republican ticket was Henry Cabot Lodge. He was a former U.S. Senator and the current Untied Nations ambassador. Richard Nixon chose Henry Cabot Lodge as his Vice Presidential running mate for two good reasons.

Henry Cabot Lodge had a long history of foreign relation’s experience. Nixon was hoping that would offset his opponents many years on the senate foreign relations committee. Another reason he chose Lodge was to pull the “favorite son” advantage in Massachusetts out from under the Democratic Presidential candidate. It was a shrewd political move that entailed many a strong implication.

Henry Cabot Lodge came from a long line of well-established Protestant Boston Brahman families. Such a distinction carries little influence today, but back then it meant everything. Those roots would cause a serious tremulous effect on the Democratic Party’s strong Massachusetts political base.

The Democratic Party’s presidential candidate was the young Senator from Massachusetts, John Kennedy. He chose an older well established southern gentleman named, Lyndon Johnson, as his running mate. Lyndon Johnson was the Senate Majority Leader from Texas, and he carried enough political clout to hopefully swing the otherwise strong southern Republican states away from Nixon.

Now I know that sounds like a lot of inside political rhetoric for a seven-year-old kid to spew out, but I had an edge over most of the other kids my age. That advantage was solely based on the fact that my mother and my father stood on the extreme opposite ends of the political spectrum over this election, and I was forever getting caught in the crossfire of their verbal political rants.

My father was convinced that if elected, the Vatican would dangle John Kennedy’s political views like a puppet on a string. He felt that a Kennedy administration threatened the separation of church and state as outlined by our forefathers in the “Declaration of Independence.”

He justified his fears on the fact that the Catholic religion does not view the Holy Bible as the definitive authority on theological thought. In the Catholic religion, the Pope defines authoritative theological thought and the Catechism exists to educate the laity to those principles. My father never knew any of that before this presidential election, but the Republicans wasted no time in using this known fact as a scare tactic to dissuade a predominately Protestant population from ever voting for a Roman Catholic President.

That angered my mother to no end. She viewed that as a slanderous political attempt to distort the facts before an uneducated voting public. “This nation was founded on the principle that every one has the right to observe their own beliefs without religious persecution,” she cried. “And besides, John Kennedy is a decorated World War Two Veteran. If he’s good enough to fight for this country than he’s good enough to share in all of the rights and privileges inherent in its Constitution.”

Okay, so maybe I was only seven years old, but so far my mother’s line of reasoning made a heck of lot more sense than anything my father had to say. I say that because amongst my Catholic friends I saw a new sense of pride and patriotism emerge because of Senator Kennedy’s candidacy.

They now felt as though they were just as much a part of the American political process as anyone else. Senator Kennedy’s nomination brought millions of alienated Americans into the fold. And even though I wasn’t Catholic, just by seeing that spirit of hope in my Catholic friends made the whole world seem like a better place. I was beginning to like this spirit of change already.

The other thing my father focused on was that John Kennedy was a new comer to the political arena who had relatively no experience in the affairs of state as a prerequisite to holding the nation’s highest office. My mother had another good come back for that one, too. In her opinion, there’s nothing worse than to keep voting incumbents into office.

“Nothing ever changes when you do that,” she said. “Once they learn all the loop holes and how to hide all that money they pocket on the side, their constituents take a back seat to their own hidden agendas.” Here it is 48 years later and you still can’t discredit that theory.

Another significant event unfolded during that presidential campaign that really threw a lot of public support behind the Democrats. The Reverend, Martin Luther King was unjustly imprisoned for participating in a peaceful civil rights march in Georgia. Richard Nixon refused to get involved in the incident. Senator Kennedy, however, took the time out from his campaign to get Dr. Martin Luther King out of jail.

Shortly thereafter, Martin Luther King’s father came out publicly to endorse Senator Kennedy’s candidacy. That meant the world to my mother, and she didn’t waste any time in unloading both barrels at my dad over that one.

“If Nixon cared anything at all about what this country stands for he would reached out to somebody who was exercising his constitutional right to peacefully demonstrate against the unlawful bigotry going on in this country,” she said. My father stood speechless over that one. He knew she was right. You could see it written all over his face.

In so many ways, the 1960 presidential election was a milestone in the historic timeline of our nation. It was the first time that the newly admitted 49th and 50th states participated in the national election. It was also the first time that an orthodox Roman Catholic successfully won the nomination of his party to seek our nation’s highest office.

Al Smith was actually the first orthodox Roman Catholic to seek his party’s nomination back in 1928, but did not succeed. Like Kennedy, Al Smith championed the cause of racial equality in America, a concept that was virtually unthinkable in his time.

There was yet another significant milestone to the 1960 presidential election. It was the very first time in the history of mass communications technology that over 65 million viewers coast to coast watched a live television broadcast of a debate between the two presidential candidates.

And even though I was only seven years old at the time, it was that televised debate that shaped my political viewpoint for years to come. Let me tell you about that night. I still remember it as if it happened only yesterday.

It happened on a Sunday night. My mother let me stay up way past my usual bedtime on a school night because this was such an historic moment for all of the above reasons. My dad wasn’t too keen on the idea as I remember, but since my mother was so militant about it he didn’t dare challenge her on this one. And I had to agree with my dad that we’ve never seen my mother get so riled about anything as she did this election.

She had been talking about this upcoming debate all week. Come hell or high water, she was hell bent on making my dad come face to face with the issues, and the candidates. “If you can convince me that Nixon isn’t a back stabbing, two faced liar, then I’ll vote for him, too,” she assured him.

As if you couldn’t tell by that let alone, my mother never trusted the Republican Party. On the other hand, you might think for all intent and purposes that my dad was a staunch conservative. Nothing could be further from the truth.

My dad was one of the most open minded, easy-going people you’d ever meet. That’s why my mother couldn’t understand as to why he commonly voted Republican. And she was determined to break him of that existential character flaw as she saw it.

On the night of the first Nixon-Kennedy televised debate, my dad leaned back on the couch and threw his feet up on the coffee table. That’s just his laid back persona coming back at ya. This guy never got riled up about anything. He was willing to sit through this debate, but only because my mother was making him do it. If given the choice he’d just as soon turn off the TV, snap on the radio, and listen to sports talk on WMEX instead.

His commitment to vote Republican in this election had nothing at all to do with the issues or the candidates. He only voted Republican because Eisenhower was a Republican and he worshipped the ground that Eisenhower walked on. The only reason he was voting for Nixon was because he was Eisenhower’s vice president. That’s all there was to it. And that is exactly what ticked my mother off.

My mother hated Nixon with a passion. When he didn’t lift a finger to help the Reverend Martin Luther King it fueled her passion even more so. And the fact that Senator Kennedy did, meant everything to her. If John Kennedy didn’t win this election she was going to pack her bags and go back to Newfoundland. That’s exactly what she said.

Having grown up on the sidewalks of Arlington Street, I’ve learned when to keep my big trap shut. Those who don’t, often wind up with a fat lip and a black eye. My best chances to make it through this night without getting caught in the inevitable crossfire was to kneel down at the coffee table with my sketch pad and to keep my opinions to myself. Tensions were running high and one false move could land me in bed for the night.

You could tell by the way my mother sat all tensed up in that over-stuffed comfy chair that she was poised for battle. That chair was so comfortable to lean back on that it was hard not to fall asleep, especially when listening to Marlin Perkin’s monotone dialogue on “Wild Kingdom” or three and half minutes of “Meet the Press.”

Needless to say, all through each of the candidate’s opening monologues my mother kept pointing at the television and shouting, “See, what did I tell ya?” from across the room. I had no idea what she was talking about, and obviously, neither did my dad. His only rebuttal was, “Will you please keep quiet long enough so I can hear what they’re saying, for God’s sakes?”

When she finally did settle down so we could hear what was going on, this is how it all came across to me. Kennedy expressed a deep love for our country and all of the principles for which she stood. He was disappointed that the current administration failed to enact and enforce civil rights laws to ensure that “ALL” Americans could enjoy the basic rights and privileges as granted in the United States Constitution. He promised to change all that.

Kennedy also blamed the current administration for the deteriorating condition of our inner city slums, and for its lackadaisical support for our public education system, which was falling way behind most other countries. Then he criticizing the current administration for not enthusiastically supporting a more aggressive space program since ours was leaps and bounds behind the Soviet Union.

Nixon said that Kennedy was way off base on his civil rights issues because our constitution guarantees every citizen equal opportunities already. Now I’m thinking that might not hold so true up in Sandown, New Hampshire.

Nixon said that Kennedy’s passion to revitalize our inner city slums sounded good on the surface, but it’s a costly proposal that will raise taxes and cause an unnecessary economic burden on the voting taxpayer.

When Kennedy suggested a tax structure that would tilt the scale to tax the rich and powerful to help boost the lower and working class, Nixon implied that Kennedy’s proposal was socialistic in nature. And then Nixon tried to convince everybody that our space program was every bit as aggressive as that of the Soviet Union’s even if they had already fired rockets off into space that safely landed back down onto earth. That was something we hadn’t done yet. He wasn’t very convincing even to a seven year old.

Kennedy reminded Nixon of the famous Kitchen Debate in which the vice-president responded to Nikita Krushcev’s boast that the Soviet Union was ahead in the space race by saying, “Yes, but America is way ahead in color television technology.” Kennedy then asked, “Of what value is color television technology to our children’s future in compared to outer space exploration?”

In the end, Kennedy promised a more stable economy based on a broader trade market. He promised to enact and enforce civil rights laws so that “ALL” Americans could partake in the American Dream. He promised to begin revitalizing our inner city slums so that the lesser privileged of our society might live with dignity. And he reiterated his stand that our public education system must compete with those of other nations.

Kennedy also promised to build and develop a stronger military defense system while reaching out to our allies to help participate in defending the entire free world from the threat of communism. And he promised that under his administration, America would harness the technology to safely land a man on the moon within the next ten years.

To all of that, Nixon responded with a promise to continue on the path of the current administration. In that way, there will be no new social programs to cause an increase in taxes. Maybe it’s me, but Nixon left little to get enthusiastic about in hopes for a brighter future.

Before sending me off to bed that night, my mother explained what a significant historic even it was that I just witnessed. “You just watched a decorated war hero who faced untold horrors to serve his country. He also overcame overwhelming odds because of his diversity to become a candidate for the highest office in our country. And he is committed to the principle that “all men are created equal.” That’s something our founding fathers wrote into the “Declaration of Independence” two hundred years ago. As you may have noticed, the other candidate never even mentions that.”

“If he wins,” she said, “millions of Americans who were once alienated will have reason to believe in all of the principles upon which our forefathers founded this nation. And maybe, just maybe, old wounds will heal, and we will finally learn to live together as one without anybody calling anybody else a dirty name. You do understand how important that is, don’t you?”

Oh boy, did I ever. I lied awake in bed that night listening to my mother and father out in the living room go back and forth over why they were each going to vote for the other candidate. They never did change each other’s mind. If that night changed anybody, it changed me.

Thinking back on all this now makes me realize as to how overwhelming all this was to a seven-year old kid. I just recently found out that there are people out there who hate my best friend because of the color of his skin. If that don’t beat all, I now realize that there are other people who would never vote for some of my other friends because they go to a different church.

This is a bitter pill to swallow. It seems like as every new day passes, somebody new comes up with another reason to hate somebody else. If we keep this up we’ll soon be separating the Tootsie Roll eaters from the Malted Milk Ball enthusiasts. And I’m telling ya right now, I’m joining up with the Malted Milk Ball bunch, and I don’t even care if they’re Democrat or Republican. So there!

The candidate my father was committed to promises that under his administration nothing will ever change. We’ll just keep on doing what we’re doing because it won’t cost anybody anything. At least that’s how it sounded to me.

I never told anybody this before, and the only other person who knows this is now in Heaven. But on that night I buried my head into my pillow and cried my eyes out. I cried because everybody hates each other. Before all of this everybody was getting along just fine, and now we’ve got all these dirty names to call each other. What’s Santa Claus gonna think when he finds out what we’ve been up to?

My heart was broken. I didn’t want everybody to hate each other anymore. I just wanted us all to get back together again to play “hide and go seek” under the streetlights down on Arlington Street.

All of a sudden I felt somebody rubbing the back of my head. When I looked up from my pillow through teary eyes I saw my big brother, Billy, standing over me. “What’s a matter, squirt?” He asked. So I poured my heart out to him.

“Come here, squirt,” he said sitting me up on his knee. “Everybody doesn’t hate each other. I know it seems like that, but never mind what’s going on in the grown up world. That’s always messed up. Just think about the way it is right here in our own neighborhood.”

“When we buck up sides to play stickball do we care what color somebody’s skin is or what church they go to? No, of course not. That never enters into the picture. We pick the fastest runner or the best hitter. And when we run out of good baseball players, we pick you. Other than that, we couldn’t care less if somebody’s got blue skin, or if they worship a Jelly doughnut – right?”

That made me laugh. I knew what he was saying was true. The world outside may be an ugly place, but we’ve got a pretty neat thing going on down here on Arlington Street. I just hope that never ends.

I asked my brother if he thought Senator Kennedy could possibly fix all of the things that were going wrong in this world. He assured me that if Kennedy wins it would certainly be a step in the right direction. “All we gotta do now is keep our fingers crossed and hope for the best,” he said with a reassuring smile. I slept soundly after that.

I never said a word to anybody, but I ended my prayers every night by crossing my fingers up to God in hopes that he would help Kennedy win. I was now prepared for the changing of the guard. If Kennedy wins I’ll be all right when Eisenhower steps down.

That’s the way it was down on Arlington Street some forty-eight years ago. And the rest, as they say, is history. I needn’t tell you who won that election. What I can tell you is the noticeable change that came over some of my friends because of how it all turned out.

Kids who once scoffed at politics in general were now more interested in what was really going on in the world around them. They had a new sense of pride that I’ve never seen in them before. And with all of that behind us now, we could all get back to playing “stickball,” and “tag rush,” and “hide and go seek” in the middle of Arlington Street. That is until somebody yelled, “Car’s coming!”

My politics never changed from the mold that was cast on that night when I was seven years old. If you were to ask me if I am a liberal or a conservative, I honestly wouldn’t know what to say. On some things I’m one way, and then I go completely to the other end of the spectrum on others.

What I do believe is that it is our responsibility to help each other just like President Kennedy said. It doesn’t matter what color we are or what church we go to. Everybody should have the same rights as everybody else. Inclusion makes your family grow larger. Exclusion breaks everybody up into smaller groups. And that is the very intent of those who seek to prosper on the "divide and conquer" principle.

I pray that nobody comes up with any more dirty names for each other. I pray that we care more about each other than we do for green pieces of paper with pictures of dead presidents on them. And should anyone try to break us apart, I pray that we will all stand together as one, roll up our sleeves, ball up our knuckle bones, and take care of our own.

And I pray that we leave behind for our children’s children a world where they can feel safe playing out on the sidewalk just like we did. And that’s as deep as my politics go.

Take a step back and look at my house. Step back even further to see my whole neighborhood. Even further than that and you'll see my hometown. What you’ll see is all kinds of different people joined together by a thread that runs so true through their veins that binds them together for all time.

That’s who we are we. That’s who we’ll always be. That’s what makes us proud. That’s what makes us special. And in case you’re wondering where we all came from --- “We’re from Everett!”

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!”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

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