Full Moon Theory

Recently on Facebook, my daughter Lisa took a survey.In her survey she asked her friends if they thought a full moon really got lunatics active. At least a dozen responded and all but one agreed. That yes it was true. The one conflicting pollee
to that consensus was of course yours truly. Now this either makes me contentious or a freethinker. As we all know, according to the news media, all poll results are one hundred percent correct. Give or take five or so percent. So this of course makes me contentious.
However in my defense, this is a subject that I have done a little homework on. My mother was confined to Danvers state mental hospital, when I was not quite six years of age. As I have stated in previous blogs, mothers are the most important part of the family. I feel certain that if my mother had got the right mental health care,things would have turned out differently for my father and the rest of the family.
We all have at times, a little mental unbalance, be it anxiety,depression or some kind of phobia. I have a few idiosyncrasy's, that I will probably relate at a later date.
I once visited my mother at the state hospital.Her response to my greeting was "your not my Herman, my Herman is dead". So trying to cope, as a teenager. I thought I had the weight of the world on my shoulders. You know, the stigma of mental illness, peer pressure, insecurity and ignorance. So my solution was to turtle.
I could go on and bore you with my conclusions of how my mother ended up as she did.
But I'm just going to say, that looking back, I now have a different prospective. I'm
sure the patients were drugged to make them docile. Which would account for all the inmates acting like zombies.
It is no wonder she could not accept me. In the state she was in, she probably would not have recognized her husband either.
After researching the history of the hospital. I have decided that the name of this institution is a misnomer. With deplorable conditions and orderlies acting like wardens. The name should have been Danvers state Attic.
I can only wonder? What did this poor little woman do to deserve a fate like that.
I realize that conditions improved in the sixty's. But the fact is she was committed in the late forty's. However in the later years, Priscilla Herrick and her mother,
went to visit my mother. They found conditions to be much improved, over what I had
experienced. And seemed to have bonded with her. They tried to get me to go and visit her with them. But I just could not do it. But I am very appreciative, that they brought a little sunshine and companionship into her life.
So in closing, I put the full moon theory right up there with the tall tales of the Bible and Paul Bunyan. I also do not believe in UFOS and I'm a little skeptical about our walk on the moon.

Two John's part two

I have been getting a few gentile jabs as to why I have not posted the second part of this blog. The reason being was that I was probably hasty in naming the blog.
Although both John's made a lasting impression on me. The John I talk about today had a much more profound effect on my life and my soul.
Of course I am sure you all know I am talking about John Karolides. Not only was he like a father to me,he was also my friend. His passing at an early age was not only a shock,but a great personal loss also.
Ever since I decided to relate how I felt about these two men,I have had a delemma.
How do I put into words how I feel about John Karolides. In my mind John was definitely a paradox. To his friends and associates he was a macho man. You could not go anywhere, with out somebody hollering out a greeting to John. It did not matter if it was in East Overshoe, New Hampshire or local. It seemed like everyone knew him and that he knew everybody.
Even though he intimidated me at times,he was the only person that I really could talk to. I could tell him things that I would never tell anyone else. Not only would he listen to me. He would not make light of what I had to say.He would give me good sound advice,usually with a reference to a similar experience of his own.
John had a real feel for his ethnic heritage and valued his family above all else.
Especialy his grandchildren. It was a delight to see them light up and go racing to greet him yelling "Lumpy' "Lumpy"
I spent many hours with John,hunting,fishing,bowling and just hanging around with him and his cronies.It was always just bullshitting,but I learned a lot about Peabody's leather hay day and the Karolides clan in general.
To me John was the best friend I ever had. He was a man of great character and he was very proud of who he was. I remember fondly his wife Muriel ragging on him for some trivial thing and him pretending to be humbled by what she was saying,all the while winking at me behind her back.And her grinning at me,when he was not looking.

So,as there is many things I would like to say about John, I just cannot find the words.To this day I still get a melancholy feeling when ever I think of him. so the only thing I can say is I am proud to have known him! and every one else in the Karolides clan for that matter.

Cabin Fever

The changing of the seasons, always has a had a physiological effect on me. To me autumn has always been depressing. The weather is invigorating, the changing of the foliage to red and gold.Apples,pumpkins, mums and asters. Football, corn stalks and all the Halloween mania is very enjoyable.Yet there always is a feeling of foreboding within me. The turning back of the clocks and the shrinking of daylight hours is very depressing. For someone who enjoys gardening, looking ahead to winter is like house arrest.
Every winter I make a vow, that I will only keep one or two house plants because my apartment is so small. Well I just took a quick inventory and twenty two is the count as we head into February. Now anyone who knows me is well aware of the fact, that I will not be able to resist starting a bunch of annuals from seed come March. So I put a large pot of water to simmer on the stove to keep the humidity level at a point where the plants and I can coexist. I start searching for signs of spring And yes with it getting lighter earlier in the morning and staying lighter a little longer each evening, there are signs that another dreary winter is slowly starting to lose it's grip. Today at the library, I actually saw little eruptions in the mulch, and the tiny shoots of daffodils. Early I know, but a good sign, never the less.I know we are in for more than our share of crappy weather well into April. But, I know I am not the only one who starts searching for signs of spring. I know a person who claims that Groundhog day is her favorite holiday. I know people who venture into low spots searching for pussywillows, and who cut branches off of fruit trees for forcing. And people who cannot wait to purchase that first flat of pansy's
There was a time when seeing a robin was a true omen. But now so many of them winter over,that it seems as though they have adopted that old adage "misery loves company". But soon that dull winter plumage will start working it's way back to it's familiar red. Trees and shrubs will start budding up.The days will get longer. We will turn the clocks ahead. A ump will shout play ball. and we will be back to the most uplifting time of year. Spring the great antidepressant

bobbers

One of the things I loved the most as a kid growing up on the sea coast was fishing. We had the best of both worlds, fresh water ponds, the Ipswich river. Tidal rivers and the harbor.
Shoe pond on McKay street in the section of the city known as Shingleville, was where I got my start. I had a cheap fiberglass rod with a Zebco push button reel. This was strictly worm and bobber fishing. I caught my share of Bluegill and yellow Perch but I never caught a Bass or Pickerel there, but I loved every minute of the time I spent there.
Putnamville reservoir had just been created, when it came to our attention. We kids thought that it was huge. But as reservoirs go, it really is on the small side. Some say that the land was at one time a golf course. But according to Jim Connors (I think) it was farm land and swamp.This body of water is on what I believe is Locust st. or route 35 between Danvers center and route 97. The reservoir is feed by draining water from the Ipswich river. This reservoir belongs to the Beverly and Salem water supply. They acquired the land in the late 40's and had it ready to go in 1951. They also own Folly Hill reservoir, which is one big under ground holding tank. It is Located on the Danvers and Beverly line off of Elliot st. on rte. 62. (We use to have great fun playing in the Folly hill area, but that's a story for another day.) They then drain water from these two spots, into Wenham lake, which is on 1A bordering Wenham and Beverly, via what must be under ground conduits.
I caught my first big bass in Putnamville resevoir and plenty of pickerel. It was really a hard place to fish back then because the newness of it made it rather sterile. You know no blow downs, cat-o'- nine tails or lily pads. Today it looks a lot more natural. Also at that time there was no boats allowed, which was under-standable because it was after all, drinking water.
Wenham lake was a much stricter operation. No trespassing signs were posted every-where The fishing tales were of course Bunyanesque in proportions. So as there was no fishing or swimming allowed , every kid in the area had to try it at least once. Every summer you would see articles about groups of teens getting hauled into the police station. Mostly for skinny dipping. I'm sure a closer look, would turn up some of Curt Gowdy's touted Narragansett GIQ bottles. Kids caught fishing would just get the bums rush. Take my word for it, the fishing was over rated!
Right up the street in Hamilton,there is a place called Pleasant pond. When I was a kid it was called Idlewood lake. This is a reclaimed trout pond. What that means is that somebody with clout, got the fish and game department to kill off all the vegetation and fish in the pond. Every spring, just prior to opening day the state stocked it with nursery grown trout. So the only time we would go there was on opening day. As you know there is a law that states that anyone who goes fishing on opening day must freeze his ass off. By the way the same rule applies for opening day at Fenway park.
Idlewood lake was a fancy name for a little pond with a bunch of summer cottages spread around it's shoreline. As it was a reclaimed trout pond, you could only use artificial lures or flies to fish it. You know yuppie style. So it was not much liked by us kids.
We fished the Ipswich river some. It was really a decent place to fish in the fall. By then the springs high levels would have dropped, plus the syphoning, both legal and furtive, created pools where the fish would be forced to congregate.
Now getting to the salt water fishing. I remember fishing for tinker mackerel from the Hall-Whitaker bridge that spanned the Bass river. I also remember jigging for pollock off of the B&M railroad bridge and catching silver hake one right after another,off the old Glover wharf. A McDonald's stands there today, it's right before you get to the Beverly-Salem bridge. The Glover wharf was a very busy pier.It had fishing boats,barges and tankers tied up to it constantly. It also had a large well weathered warehouse of some sort. This building was a favorite roosting spot for gulls and pigeons. The off white speckled roof with it's own particular odor mixed in with the pungent coal tar creosote pilings and salt water smells, had a very familiar ambiance.
I remember renting rowboats either at Glover wharf or Salem Willows, and catching more flounder with drop lines than you would believe. I remember what seemed like millions of alewife's bouncing all over the shore at the end of the bass river. A nor'easter or some thing must have confused them as there was no stream into Shoe pond. I remember digging my own bait, both earthen and salt. Setting minnow traps in the marshes. Searching for night crawlers with a flashlight. Being cold,wet and smelly! After writing this I can't help but wonder why I don't go fishing anymore. I really should correct this oversight.

Two John's part one

No I am not going to talk about toilets or a hookers customers.I am going to talk about two men who had a big influence on my life.
The first one was John Szymanski, who I met at the end of 1957. He had just been assigned to the First National store in Danvers square. He had arrived to replace Henry Blaise, who was leaving to become manager of a new supermarket. Which was located on Cabot street, near Gloucester crossing in Beverly.
Although Henry had hired me in August of that year, I was not upset to see him go. Henry was very hyper and fidgety, and he made me very nervous. Although I had worked at plenty of little jobs, lawn mowing,paper route etc. this was my real first step out into the world of gainful employment. So with Henry constantly running around like a chicken with his head cut off, he made my start a FSN a very anxious one.
To this day I still cannot figure out what made Henry Blaise tick. I could name a long list of people who toiled for him and went on to become store managers or assistants. So in this case using a sports analogy."your only as good as your players" must apply.
John came to the Danvers First National after a stint as a regional manager. The scuttlebutt was that he was coming off a nervous breakdown. As I got to know John, I could see exactly what had happened to him. They had promoted him to a territory in east Overshoe Maine. As super markets were just coming into being at that time, most of the stores in his territory were still little one man operations. So it was easy to see why he became very frustrated with his input and the fact that his family was still back on Loris avenue in Peabody. So the fact that the company was trying to make it look like they were being compassionate and giving him a nice soft place to land. It was really a punishment detail. John was very out spoken and that's what got him into trouble. This I can say with certainty because the same type of punishment was doled out to me, more than once in my time spent with FSN. The fact that the Danvers stores went on to become the flagships for the Somerville division is a tribute to John. So you can see I never bought into that nervous breakdown crap.
Although John came to Danvers with the reputation of being a no nonsense disciplinarian. It was at that time one of the best thing to happen to me. At that time in my life I was a insecure teenager who had just started a new job and High school, all within a few months. I cannot down play how important this job was to me. As soon as I turned sixteen the bureaucrat who monitored the state wards in the Beverly area, was hounding me constantly to start paying my freight. This was a very annoying person. His clothes looked like he had swiped them from a wino and then slept in a mud puddle with them on. That plus the fact he did not have the aura of someone who was to swift! Common sense and tact were definitely not his forte. I just wanted to hold my job,pay my share of my keep. And avoid him at all cost.
Getting Back to John, I did not know it at the time but he became a father figure to me. He was the first adult male that I used as a role model. To this day I am guilty of quoting him. I clearly remember the first time I asked him what he thought of the job I had done. His reply, after looking over what I had done, was "it's expected" Well I did not know what to make of that. As time went by I became to realize that this was the most organized person I had met or would ever meet. John's reputation was that he had a system for his systems. As I said before, supermarkets were in their infancy and store managers ran their stores as they saw fit. How ever as the procedure manuals started to emerge any one who had worked for John would just shake their head and say big deal we've been doing that all along. The reason I managed to advance at FNS was I remained a disciple of John who's motto "Have a plan-work the plan" was exactly what I did. I only wish I had followed the same philosophy in my personal life. I busted my hump for John. I did not want to screw up,because I did not want him to become upset with me. That's how I think most boys probably feel about their fathers. And if anybody needed a father figure at that time it was me.
In a future blog I will talk about another John, a person who I dearly miss.

Supposition

Today I am going to reflect on my memories of the Emmanuel Congressional Church in Ryal side. And try to relate how it laid the ground work for how I feel about religion, and why I could be rightly called an agnostic.
As you know I spent my formative years living with the Thibedeaus. Nanny insisted that we had to attend Sunday school every week, and to go to all the other church services as we grew older.
Thibedeau being a name of French extraction, meant that they were probably of Catholic faith. Which is possibly why I never saw a Thibedeau in the Emmanuel church. For that matter I do not recall any of them ever attending any church.That's not to say they were atheists,It just means that I was ignorant of their persuasions.
Lookng back at the reason we went to the Emmanuel church, I think it was twofold. One it was the only church in Ryal side, thus it was in walking distance. And two, I am inclined to believe that ABC's and bible study were prerequisites for receiving the monthly stipend. What I remember most about that little church was how beautiful it was. With it's bell tower instead of a steeple, it looked more like the Alamo then a rustic New England church. Once inside the big double front doors, I delighted in the essence of fresh cut flowers and some kind of pine smelling oil that was used on the pews. The light reflecting through stained glass windows and the altar cloths with the bright colors of which ever holy season it happened to be. It was a indeed special feeling. To this day I do not let my cynical feelings for the people who ran the church, or the hypocrites who attended it, effect the warm feeling I had for that beautiful little building.
I say had! It was a sad day when it burned to the ground.Today there is a real ugly looking monstrosity in it's place. As this modernistic horror has no steeple or tower, the beautiful old bell was just plunked down on the pavement out front. One can only gather that it was a very insensitive afterthought. This new building looks like it was built to lure UFOs
As I said before growing up as a state ward, you learn real quick that you are nothing but a second class citizen. Even though the Emmanuel church was right across the street from the grammar school, it was a world away in morality.At the grammar school,the students treated you like an equal. And the teachers treated you the same way they treated all the kids.
Across the street,the minister and the deacons,elders,church fathers or what ever silly assed title they went by, treated you like you were a leper. Any time one of us rifraff came near any of the adult church people they would get that look on their faces, like they could smell a fart, or had just stepped in something. Their demeaning looks and condescending ways, made their holier than thou attitude a joke. So of course we became experts at skipping Sunday school classes or services. Any day it was not pouring rain we would go in the front door of the church, down to the lower level where classes were held and out the side door. It was easy to dodge the teachers as these people were usually old maids or swishy types who usually sat down to pee. As I related before, Nanny's rule. No matter what the weather,you go out doors to play. So skipping Sunday school in the middle of the winter was a piece of cake. Out the side door and right into the bordering woods. Here was a path that bordered a stream that lead straight to Bates Park avenue. Here we would while away the time until the church bell tolled, to call the hypocrites to the Sunday service. Also signaling the end of Sunday school.
I could go on about my dislike for my real or imagined treatment at that church but it would be redundant. I became very cynical at a young age. Most of the things I was told about and read about in the bible, I equated to tall tales like Johnny Appleseed or Robin Hood. Cute but probably not true. So did I want to be a hypocrite, I thought not. I'm sure I am at some other things but not religion.I feel that most larger denominations are a legal scam, and that most minister and priest are scammers.
How ever I have had experiences with a smaller church, where I found the people to be upright,honest and sincere. Although I could never accept their beliefs, I have to admire their strong conviction.So I have ended up with this concept. You have to let your conscience be your church. When you do good you are elated. When you do things that bother your conscience you feel uneasy and embarrassed. Some times you can atone by apologising and and attempt to do better.Some times if you are a cement head like me,it takes many years to realize that your conscience is bothering you about things you did years ago. So all I can do now is try not to make the same mistakes all over again. So I guess my concept is "let your conscience be your guide"

Homage

Today I am going to pay homage to all mother's and mostly to Helen Thibedeau a.k.a. Nanny. The reason I am singling her out and not my children's mom's, is because I am mostly going to be referring to her every day chores of raising and tending to a household full of state wards,a granddaughter and a disabled husband. As far as my children go I hope they don't make the same mistakes that I did. That being taking their moms for granted.

When I think back of my days in Ryal side, it amazes me how, as a kid I never comprehended what a hard life Nanny had.

I will start with what little history of the Thibedeau family that I know Charles Thibedeau.We all referred to him as Pa. He spent all his time other than the summer months, sitting in a wooden rocking chair, muttering to him self "I wish I was dead!". Every twenty minutes or so, he would head for the cellar and have a cigarette, and then back to the rocker. Pa kept his Lucky Strikes up on a rafter in the cellar, because nanny did not allow smoking or imbibing in her house.(I was know to filch a Lucky or two in my day.)

We were told that his condition came about from his days in the war. I never saw anything to substantiate this. I never saw it in his bearing. Although he did spend time on and off in a veterans hospital. I do remember one occasion where one of his sons, or son-in-law slipped him a pint of whisky.Well when nanny found out, she went spastic. This led me to believe that pa's inflection was more alcoholism and despondency, rather then war injuries.

They say he was a fine finish painter in his day. Both of his sons were house painters also, and like most tradesmen of the day, hard drinkers.

Shirly Thibedeau, granddaughter. Why she lived with nanny is a mystery to me. Nanny's son Bud(Charles Jr.) his wife Franny and other daughter Barbara, lived in a house on Bates Park avenue. Bud would come and visit almost every day, but Franny would just stay in the car and wait for him. I don't recall ever seeing her in the house.

So with those two and five or six state wards living there, Nanny had her hands full. I have only

mentioned the three Thibedeau's who resided on Virginia ave. The others I will get to on another day.

Monday-After getting breakfast for everyone, making brown bag lunches and sending every one off to school. Her days labor really started.Back in those days Monday and only Monday was washday. So with nine people this was quite a load.

I know the load was nothing like it would be today, because of rules and life styles. In those days her rules were strictly enforced. The rules on dress for the kids was this. School clothes-one outfit per week (barring any calamity)to be taken off and hung up after school. Play clothes put on until bedtime, then hung up and pajama's donned.

The same rules applied one set of play clothes and one set of pajamas per week, unless of course the calamity factor.

The washing would take the better part of the day. Done in the cellar by a big wringer type washing machine. After the load was agitated in the tub the dirty water was pumped into the over sized soapstone set tub. After the tub was refilled and emptied again (rinse) she would then hand feed each item through the wringer, and then put it into large wicker laundry basket. Then the machine was refilled with another load, that was left to soak. She would haul the basket full of wet clothes out to the backyard, to be hung out to dry. In the mean time she would strip down all beds and put clean linen onto them.

As the afternoon waned, she would start making supper. (breakfast,dinner,supper was the terminology back then) This was the the main meal of the day. (Just picture yourself making a Thanksgiving dinner for nine guest. every night and at noon on Sunday.)It was always potatoes

vegetables and a roast or fowl or fish.Also there was always a desert. The word was that she ran a restaurant in Vermont when she was young,and her cooking certainly gave credence to that fact. Plus her rule that there was to be no snacking between meals, (we were not even allowed to open the refrigerator) made for very clean plates.

After she had cleaned up the kitchen (store leftovers, wash dishes, pots and pans and tidy up in general) She would sit and crochet for awhile and then shortly after us kids were in bed she would follow suit. (as hard as she toiled,it's amazing that she stayed stout)

Tuesday-The routine would start all over again except Tuesday was the day to take the wash off the line. To be sorted ironed and put away. This was a major project in it's self as there would be no trace of the two days labor,when she sat down to darn or crochet that night. This was the days before wash and wear clothes, so the women felt as though everything had to be ironed.I mean everything,skivvies,wash cloths,handkerchiefs,everything! Trousers,shirts,dresses,that sort of thing was done standing up with a steam iron and ironing board. Many other flat items,towels,socks,etc. were done setting down at a roller type contraption know as a mangle iron, which nanny was quite adapt at. (see picture)

Wednesday- Again the routine, today was the day to scrub,vacuum and mop the whole upstairs,bathroom included. Also this was the day to dispatch one of us kids to Davidson & Walors meat and grocery store on the corner of Bridge st.and Livingston avenue to give them the weekly shopping list. Nanny had a charge here,that was paid monthly when the check from the state arrived.

Thursday-again with the routine,today the scrubbing of downstairs took place. (another nanny rule-take your shoes off before coming inside.In the summer we left them outdoors,in the winter we entered through the bulkhead and left them in the basement,)

Also in those days neighborhood vendors were quite prevalent.The most well know was of course the milkman who made his rounds every day. Also every Thursday the fish monger would arrive in a truck or van with a heavily iced down variety of fish. This person being either a local fisherman or kin of one, would be of course pushing what ever fish were running at that time. Beverly being a predominately Catholic community and also a seacoast community, guaranteed that every one would dine on great fish on Friday.(Catholics were not allowed to eat meat on Fridays back then)

Also the baker was a regular to the neighborhood. I remember Cushman's driver delivering bread to us. But he very seldom left any pastry, as nanny seemed to enjoy making cookies,cakes and pies.

Another peddler who came around two or three times a year was the knife sharpener. The one who came to our neighborhood was distinguished by a loud tinkling form of music. You knew he was coming,while he was still a few streets away. The theory being this would give you time to round up your knives and any small hand tools that might need sharpening. He would sit in the bed of his truck or van and by pumping a pedal make his sharpening stone rotate. Usually of Greek or Italian ancestry with his swarthy complexion, drooping moustache and leather apron he would make sparks fly, much to the neighborhood kids delight. (today's useless serrated knives had not arrived yet)

Later in the day the delivery from Davidson and Walor would arrive and nanny would stock all the can goods on the shelves in the cellar

Friday- the routine continues, This was the day for baking all of the above mentioned goodies and sundry kitchen chores. I am not exactly sure what transpired, but the kitchen is where she spent the day. Besides making a big meal six days a week,she had a lot of other little irons in the fire. There was always an ailing kid, who needed nursing, first-aid or discipline.
Or one of her many other little chores. Like watering her flower gardens or making soap.(made from lard renderings, bacon drippings and lye, harsh but effective)

Saturday-No school, so the routine was different. This was the day nanny monitored chores for the kids.Window washing, raking, rug beating etc, Saturday noon was beans and hot dogs time. There would be a big pot of beans, usually Friends or B&M, pea or kidney and sometimes yellow eye. Nanny thought Van Camp's or Campbells was sacreligious. Because no right minded Yankee

would make beans with tomato in them. (to this day I despise B&M and Friends)
Another big pot would be full of boiling water and hot dogs. Setting on top of the pot would be a colander full of rolls. The steam would soften the rolls almost to the point of being mushy.

The afternoon we kids were free to go play. I think this was Nannys favorite time. She usually sat and crouched on Saturday afternoons. I could hear her singing as she made the needles fly. Also this was a reprieve from cooking a big meal for her, as Saturday supper consisted of canned soup and sandwiches.

Sunday- After breakfast we kids would don our Sunday best (Same dress rules applied) and head of to Sunday School. While we were gone nanny would be in the kitchen going all out to put on a Sunday feast. This meal was her pride and by far the fanciest of the week. Quite often the minister of the church and his family would dine with us.

After everything was cleaned up nanny would get into the back seat of her son-in-law's car and her daughter and husband would take her for a ride. I know that sounds silly but that was a big deal back in those days.

I am sure I have missed many of the things that nanny did daily. And I am sure that my children do not know half of the things that their mothers did. Or still does for that matter.

So I maintain that only mother's should be eligible for Sainthood!

Integrity

I'm finally going to do what was expected of me when I started this blog. I am going to go on a rampant harangue. Today I read an article on the CNN web site by a Ms. Pepitone. The gist of her article is alas! the whole world is picking on the poor misunderstood cable industry.According to her, theirs is the one industry, where competition hurts the consumer. This is pretty amazing as it is a well know fact that in the real world competition is better for everyone. It is also why uncle Sammy frowns on monopoly's. She claims that for the conceivable future cable bills will rise dramatically. The reason being advertising prices are falling. high definition and the real bad guys like Direct TV, Apple and Hula. com. Their main bitch about high definition is it cost more to upgrade equipment.and also that the other competition is offering their wares much cheaper.Now this is clearly a Blivet!
I am not sure on the exact amount of minutes. But it is well known that the majority of shows give you under 18 minutes per half hour of actual show time. Just like the shrinking candy bar,you get less and pay more. The reason is to squeeze in more commercials. So while Ms. Pepitone shills for the cable companies,The fact is this is a smokescreen. If You sell 12 minutes at at eight hundred dollars a minute or 8 minutes at one thousand dollars a minute are you not better off? So if the advertising price drops a little,but the amount of ads goes up a lot.Where is the loss. The snake oil salesmen that represent cable have proudly replaced used car salesmen
and lawyers as the number one shysters in the country.
The practice of elevating the volume for commercials is not something new. But contrary to what some people think it has reached an insulting level. If anybody thinks that the best way to get some body's attention is to scream at them, they are sadly mistaken. But that's just what cable and satellite carriers do, and it is a perfect fit for their snake oil salesmen image.Snake oil salesmen and carnival barkers used to work hand and hand.One selling you a magic elixir while the other screamed at you to come see the bearded lady.
One last thing before I go. I decided that I was sick of cable pushing me around.So I figured I would get DirecTV. Part of the reason is at that time they touted the fact that they had more HD. were the only one's with the MBL package and all at a lower prices, that you could lock in for a year.Well this sounded great because every time you turned around Comcast upped it's prices.
To digress a bit Verizon is practically a clone of Comcast, as they love to stray far into the grey areas. When I moved 4 years ago I signed up with Verizon for a telephone package that cost 30 dollars a month.Well anyone who knows me, knows I hardly ever make out going calls. Or use the phone much at all. Well the last bill I got from them was 52 dollars. So I looked at my bills and every month it would go up anywhere from 70 cents to a dollar.So I call them and ask how come my bill had almost doubled. So with out giving you the reply verbatim. The answer was something like this. Well sir, we really value your business, but due to exuberant conditions beyond our control the secondary main mashagoobie bar tends to fluctuate!
Is that all I can do for you today sir? Thank you for calling Verizon.

So I see DirecTV has got a good deal for new customers, and I had just purchased a 42 inch HD Samsung flat screen television. So I call them and arrange to have them hook me up. When the technician shows up to install the satellite dish, I find out he does not have the right equipment for HD. Seeing as how I had just got a HD TV , I told him to forget it, If DirecTV could not install HD then I would stay with the dastardly Comcast.
Well a few days later DirecTV calls and asks me if the technician shows up with the proper equipment will I reconsider. My reply is yes.
A few days later he shows up and installs a dish and a HD receiver and I am set to go. Then the saga began. Two weeks later I am called to the Danderoo's office and I get thoroughly chastised for allowing DirecTV to put a satellite dish on the roof. My reply to Dan is what's the big deal, the other units have satellite dish's on the roofs. He says that is old equipment belonging to a company called DISH. He said they were booted out of the Salisbury Housing complex and had reneged on removing their equipment. He also said that SHA was slated to get new roofing the next year, so he had left them up figuring he would have the roofers remove them then. He said that under normal conditions he would call DirecTV and have them come and remove the equipment they had installed on my roof and in my unit. However while he was on vacation five other units seeing what I had done, followed suit.So if he punished me for doing something with out authorization he would be punishing them also. Of course the theory being that by them seeing the DirecTV guy working on my unit it was something I had permission to do.So I ended up with a scolding and promised to get permission for any stunt I might pull in the future.

In the meantime I get my bill from DirecTV. It had arrived right away as you know TV bills are paid before the month and not after. I promptly pay the bill. Three days later I get another bill.
I figure it is just a clerical snafu and I put it into the circular file. At the end of the month I get two more bills. Well it's time to call DirecTV and get things straightened out.Well if you have ever called their automated phone system you know that they take great delight in their monkeyshines. With of course the hope that you would get exasperated and hang up. And if you really think you are going to talk to a real breathing person with an accent you can understand,forget it. When after a few hours of mental abuse you finally get someone,neither one of you has a clue of what the other one is saying. Again the theory being if they stonewall you enough you will give up. Sort of like the wizard of oz. So anyway I talk to Abdul and explain what transpired and that I only had one dish and one TV. His gibberish seemed to slow down,so I figured he got the gist of my tale of woe. And the fact that I was not two months in arrears on a phantom bill..
So figuring everything was hunky-dory, I await the next months billing. Surer than shit,I get two bills again. So again with the phone nonsense. By now they know me, so their dodging and weaving is done by their cruelest sadists. The same results,this time I ask Ahab if you think I have two units,why don't you just put them on the same bill?. He assures me everything is hunky-dory
Needless to say this turns into a long running saga. One think I learned is there are no supervisors or executives at DirecTV. If there is they are hiding behind that partition with the great and wonderful OZ.
The next thing that happens is that I get a bill from a collection agency.They state that I am eight months behind on my bill, and that they were going to kick ass and take names..
So now I am really starting to get pissed. The phone rings and it is Fred R.Tough from the collection agency and he's acting like I raped his mother at high noon on the alter of the Emmanuel congregational church. After he stopped ranting, my question to him was hey numb nuts,how come nobody has shut this phantom satellite dish off?
Anyway these assholes called me two or three times a day for the next week.That's when I decided it was time for me to hire a lawyer.I never hired a lawyer in my life. I trust them about as much as I trust the Bulger brothers..That afternoon on my way home I heard the WBZ call for Action segment on the radio.So I figured what the hell, I'll give them a call.
They had a set time of between 11 and 12 for listeners to call and ask for help.So I did. I explained to the girl, just exactly what had transpired and that I had asked DirecTV and the goons at the collection agency to come to my apartment and see for themselves,that what they were claiming was rag time. I also told her that I had asked the Rhode Scholars at the collection agency and at DirecTV, to show me, two work orders signed by me. She promised to help.
The next afternoon she called and said that the people at DirecTV had stonewalled her.(what a surprise) She then told them that WBZ radio was going to air a segment telling their listeners
my story and of what a people friendly outfit DirecTV was. This young lady was pissed at them after just one call.
The next day she called and said she had just got a call from somebody from the office of DirecTV's president, and that I was right they had made a mistake. I thanked her very much and hung up the phone. The asshole from the collection agency was due to call, and I just could not wait. I was going to ream him a new rectum, just to show there was no ill will.
But he never did call. I am still waiting for an apology from both parties. I am sure hens will be able to whistle before that will happen.
So as far as the people at cable crying,the people at Verizon gouging and DirecTV lying,and the media smooching all three of them on their rear cheeks. I say that old adage "figures don't lie but liars can figure! is a perfect fit for these four groups.

Back to Ryal side

I am just going to list a few more of my childhood memories from Ryal side. I'm sure the only one this keeps awake is me, but be that as it may,here goes.
The pastures and wooded area near our house, was owned by one time Beverly mayor and classic old coot Parker Davis. This tract of land is all houses now. It was about fifty percent woods and the rest was fields. It was a good sized area it ran from Western avenue west to Bradstreet avenue in Danvers and from Bridge street south to Shortell avenue,which ran parallel to the Porter river. I have to believe that area was much bigger than Milne's hundred acre wood. Why they called Bradstreet ave.,Shortell ave. and Western ave. avenues is beyond me .They all were long stretches of road. The difference between what is considered a street and avenue is very confusing to me. In Ryal side all most all side roads are called avenues. In other parts of Beverly they are mostly called streets or roads. Suffice it to say if the way is short, I believe it is an avenue, if long its a street.
As kids we spent many,many hours in this area. Some times it was sports or make believe or just roaming around. Parker Davis's house sat on a hill at the top of Sunnycrest ave. Back then Sunnycrest,Netherton,Virginia and Hayes avenue were the only roads that bisected his property. At the end of the pasture closest to his house was "Look Out rock". This was a gathering spot for the neighborhood kids. From there about half way into the woods ran a stream that eventually ended up in the Porter river. (Remember the old adage,How far can you go into the woods?)This stream was fed from across Bridge street in the low area that I referred to when I was reminiscing about ice skating.
one spring I remember finding a nest of pheasant eggs not far from that brook.I also really miss the rush I would get when ever I flushed pheasants out of the tall grass as I roamed about.
I never saw a deer in that area, but in this day and age you can't walk in a wooded area with out practically tripping over one.For that matter the same could be said about turkeys. In my day plenty of pheasant,squirrels and fox,but not a deer or turkey to be found
Also that spring an incident got me a ride in the back seat of a patrol car.For some reason that escapes me a bunch of kids,at least ten of us wandered up to a fairly large building at the rear of Porter farm dairy. This building was on Netherton avenue and backed up to a field on the Davis property. At the bottom of that field down by Hayes avenue where John Tolvanen lived, is where we played baseball. So something had to get our attention. Because we never went up around those buildings. But this day we did.One thing lead to another and somebody threw a rock through one of the windows.The next thing you know everybody is throwing rocks and glass was shattering and flying all over the place.Seeing how there was about sixty windows in this structure,we wreaked a lot of havoc.The next thing I know, the owner comes flying around the building and guess who he grabs. The other kids are taking off in all directions, but not me this guy has got a good firm grip on the scruff of my neck. The police came and took me home to face the music. I am sure I was in deep shit.But I do not recall nanny's reaction or the punishment.I do know I did not have to worry about being a fink, because that dairy man knew all us kids.I just happened to be the closest one that he could get his hands on.
I don't recall any kid saying he or his parents had to pay to fix windows and for many years that ugly building stood there sans repair.I wonder if it is still there.
To this day that dairy remains a mystery to me. In front on the building we trashed was a small cinder block building. In this building they bottled the milk. And since I never once saw a cow anywhere in Ryal side. I have to wonder where the milk originated.(I know this is udder nonsense)But I will say this, at their ice cream stand on Bridge street they had great tasting ice cream.

By the way,after you go half way into the woods you have reached far. After that you are on your way out.