Growing up in Canton
The 7-year-old political operative
I remember my first political thought. I was seven years old and it was 1976. We were on the school bus, presumably taking us to 2nd grade, and for some reason we were talking the presidential election. Of course, most children that age are influenced by their parents’ choices, as overheard at home, but we made them our own. Since this was Massachusetts, more kids voiced support for Jimmy Carter than for Gerald Ford, but not me.
No, I had a clear preference that was not the Democratic presidential candidate. It’s not that I was a big Gerry Ford fan. My reasons were much more personal. I warned my classmates that if Carter was elected they would feel the difference in their lunch bags.
I was convinced that, as a peanut farmer, Jimmy Carter would see to it that peanut prices would go up and we’d all see less peanut butter in our PB&J sandwiches in the future.
Okay, so I was a muckraking ideologue back then. I’m much more subtle now.
Photo credit: Richard B. Russel Library for Political Research and Studies, University of Georgia.
Preserving Scout camp for new generations
Wow, this brought back memories. The Boy Scout council where I grew up is renovating Camp Squanto, their summer camp in Plymouth, Massachusetts. They plan to spend about $3 million building a new dining hall, a welcome lodge, and other improvements.
I spent a couple of weeks over a few summers there in my youth in the early 80s. Usually, I would spend a week with my troop and then a second week with a couple of friends in the “provisional” troop, which was a catch-all group for scouts whose troop wasn’t at the camp.
I remember that my first time there, I had to take my swimming test at the beginning of the week so they would know my proficiency and where I could swim. Unfortunately, the tests took forever and I happened to be the last kid to go. Also unfortunately, they had a problem that year with eels living under the swim docks and a few boys got bit. Nothing serious, mind you, but somewhat painful. It added an air of … challenge to the swim tests. In fact, just before my turn, the boy before me was bit in the arm and had to be taken up to the aid station.
They had a problem that year with eels living under the swim docks. It added an air of … challenge to the swim tests.
The lifeguard who remained looked at me and said, “Well, you’re the last one, so you may as well try it.” Wait, what?! From his point of view, I was the last kid left so the worst that could happen is that I got nipped too. From my point of view … I could get nipped too!
As an accommodation, he allowed me to swim closer to shore and further from the dock. Gee, thanks. As a result it was the fastest swim test on record. I barely even got wet, I swam so fast. I jumped in and did the required manuevers as fast as possible: crawl, butterfly, hold my breath under water, tread water. Mark Spitz had nothing on me. And I did it the whole time with my eyes closed. I didn’t dare open them under water for fear of seeing the gaping maw of an eel coming at me. Did I mention the little buggers were just a couple of inches long? But in my imagination they were six-foot Moray eels.
Oh, I passed, by the way.
Fighting naval battles for glory and honor
Tales of a dishwasher in an Italian restaurant
When I was in high school, I held several different jobs, including working in the Canton (Mass.) Public Library as a book clerk. But I also worked as a dishwasher at an Italian restaurant called Capriccio’s, also in my hometown of Canton.
I didn’t earn a lot of money working as a dishwasher, but I did come away with a lot.
It was a nice place, but not too upscale. You can’t be too upscale in a local mall. And working there was kind of a family tradition. My sister Francesca had worked there as a waitress and my brother John worked there later, first as a waiter and then as a line cook. He was my connection to the job.
It was quite an education in having a work ethic for a 16-year-old kid. I usually worked the weekend evening shifts. I’d come about 4 or 6 pm (one dishwasher started earlier and the second would come later), and the night would start out slow. If I was lucky, they would have me doing some prep work, slicing cases of mushrooms or opening up can after can of tomatoes for sauce or, if I was unlucky, peeling a giant stockpot full of onions. (The trick is to hold the onion under running water.)
The rhythm of the kitchen
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