A scholar's take on Haiti's painful history

This review was first published in the March, 2012 issue of the Sturbridge Times Magazine.

Haiti The Aftershocks of History

By Laurent Dubois

Metropolitan Books Henry Holt and Company, 2012

Hardcover, 370 pages

ISBN-13: 978-0-8050-9335-3

List: $32.00 Amazon: $18.88

It would be one of the greatest acts of moral vandalism in history. A man who had defeated the Ancien Regime in the service of the French Republic and held a territory in its name would die of betrayal by the new regime in a mountain fortress.  In real terms he had betrayed the state, as he was governing in the interests of the people.  Rare as that is in a statesman.

              I saw the picture of that man in a resplendent uniform with coal black face on a library bookshelf as a boy.  It was the cover art that fascinated me and led me to the reading of Toussaint Louverture’s biography.  The book was part of a series meant for young students.  It was the compelling story of a slave who started a nation.  That nation’s history has always been as compelling.  Some would call it tragic or even comic, but there have been instances of triumph and glory.

              Laurent Dubois has retold the story in his book, Haiti The Aftershocks of History.  There are more romantic books on Haiti. The Serpent and the Rainbow comes to mind with its alternative pharmacology and rural societal persistence.  Kenneth Roberts’ novel, Lydia Bailey, has an account of the battle of Crête-à-Pierrot that is as inspiring as his description of General Dessalines is menacing.  Even Black Bagdad, by the occupying Marine officer, John H. Craige, is a romance of sorts.   Of course, a book with the title, Best Nightmare on Earth can only be about a place of chaos and fun.

             Yet such books are each only a small part of the story.  All too many of my fellow citizens only know of Haiti as the place where the earthquake took place.  One would suspect that fewer than one in a thousand realize that the country is our oldest sister republic in the new world.  The great value in Mr. Dubois’ book is that all the players and actions are there in one volume.  The book is not written in a sensationalist style.  In listening to his interviews on radio, I thought it would be.  Even so, it goes along smoothly, not that he does not show his sympathies.  Obviously, he feels Haiti has been done hard by.  Any observer would find it difficult to avoid that conclusion.

               Laurent Dubois is not new to the subject.  A previous book, Avengers of the New World is a history of the Haitian Revolution. He has written other books about the country.  His official positions include Marcelo Lotti Professor in Romance Studies and History and Director of the Center for French and Francophone Studies at Duke University.  He occasionally dabbles in other subjects.  Well, more than dabbles.

               Villains abound.  First up are the French.  On the island of Saint-Domingue, the Gauls set up the most profitable plantation system in the Western Hemisphere, if not the world.  They ran it on the backs of Africans, worked so that more had to be constantly imported.  Cost control was such that the slaves not only had to toil in the fields for the planter, they had to grow their own food as well.

               When the French Revolution broke out, the slaves took the opportunity to end their bondage in alliance with the Republicans.  When Napoleon took power he tried to reinstitute slavery.  After a valiant resistance, the Haitians merely waited until Nap’s army was debilitated and gave it a push and secured their nation.

               France was not done.  Having lost the war, they demanded an indemnity.  Talk about bad taste.  Whatever happened to vae victis?  Hungry for recognition, Haiti gave in.

               Other European powers leaned on Haiti.  Germany was stalwart in applying force to get her way.  It appears our sister republic could not count on appealing for enforcement of the Monroe Doctrine.

               Uncle Sam’s hands are not clean.  Recognition was refused until the Civil War.  We were slow to the game, but played hardball when we got up to bat.  In 1914, a warship sent a detachment ashore to seize gold from the Haitian National Bank.  American bankers who had made bad loans had the US Government enforce their contracts in the grand tradition of privatizing profits and socializing losses.  Then, Marines would occupy the country.  We left eventually, achieving little as we usually do in our occupations.

               After Duvalier fils’ exile and some sub par elections, we came back to make Haiti a better place in 1994, again.  We brought some other do gooder nations with us.  With all the help the US and the international community had provided, the last thing the country needed was an earthquake.

               Haitian governments could meet the definition of a failed state, what with almost a constitution du jour with each new chief executive.  That does not mean a failed nation.  The Haitian peasant held onto the land won from the French with tenacity unrivalled in history.  The country folks on their smallholdings fed themselves and exported coffee.  Even the vastly powerful United States left after the Haitians tired of us earlier in the 20th Century.

               Mr. Dubois is a fine writer.  Aftershocks was difficult to put down. His book is a history and not a polemic.  Still, it is hard for a reader to avoid a conclusion.  Intervention well meaning or exploitive is colonialism.  The world should leave Haiti to its own devices.

               They may not build a tourism industry, but why would they want to be our playground?  Les Haïtiens may not split the atom any time soon, but neither will the hotshots at the Kennedy School of Government.  The message to bankers should be, take your chances and don’t expect a bailout.  Maybe we should have said that to Morgan and Goldman in 2008.

               Let Haiti be Haiti.

A Sunday trek to Howard's Drive-In

Below is my review of the West Brookfield institution, Howard's.  With one tweak, it is as it appeared in the August issue of the Sturbridge Times Magazine.

Summer in West Brookfield means Howard’s Drive-In.    It is possible that there is someone in town that has never participated in the seasonal ritual of al fresco dining, but it is hard to avoid.  Not that one would want to.  The true townie element, if they played sports as kids, celebrated victory or consoled defeat at Howard’s.  Mom and dad tagged along and even if not natives, usually became hooked. 

Another aspect of Howard’s charm is the time machine quality.  There may not be waitresses on roller skates as in the fifties, but Howard’s appears to have changed little.  Since I’ve been a West Brookfield resident, there has been no major alteration.  Oh, the menu has been tweaked and there is a tent out back, but in front, if there has been any perceptible difference, it has escaped me.  We all need a little constancy somewhere in life.

Still, as magical as that Norman Rockwell American nostalgia experience is, it can’t be enough.  What is on the bill of fare must satisfy the inner man and woman.  The quaintness can only work its magic for so long.

Fortunately, Howard’s does have what it takes.  Where it shines is Massachusetts soul food, clams.  Being from near the coast of the Bay State, I thought moving inland away from the land of the clam shack would leave me desolate.  The fried clams at Howard’s are as good as anywhere else.  If you are on a budget, the fritters will do.  If fried food is not for you, steamers are available.

All the other seafood is worth it and the servings are more than ample.  The Captain, as the fisherman’s platter is called is large and will suffice for two people with moderate appetites.  The Junior version will satisfy one.  Everything on the Captain can be ordered on it’s own.  Lobster is on order as a plate or roll.

The menu is not limited to what the ocean yields.  Steak, burgers chicken and even a veggie burger are on tap.  There is a generous selection of appetizers from potato skins to deep fried mushrooms.  Granted, a menu with such a variety will not be in the Michelin guide, but one can leave full and happy.

Then there is dessert, specifically ice cream.  There are lots of flavors.  To moi that is irrelevant as my choice is monster cookie dough.  My daughter would die for peanut butter Iditarod, but she is not full grown.  Hard and soft ice cream as well as frappes, sundaes and flurries are all there.  

It all seems to run smoothly, and customers get to see little of what it takes to keep Howard’s on track.  The man behind that is Mark Adams.  Mark is West Brookfield born and bred, and has lived in town his whole life. 

So why is Mark running Howard’s and not Howard?  Howard and his brother opened their drive-in in early post-war1947.  They would be ancient if they were still at the helm.  Mark purchased it from local entrepreneur, Melvin Dorman in 1980.  As venerable as Howard’s looks, it was demolished and rebuilt in 1985.

The building may not be original, but it is hard to think the business operation has changed appreciably.  Mark said that now and again he’ll add or drop something.  Why change a winning formula?

Mark is at Howard’s most every day during the season at 7:00 a.m.  When you meet him at that time of day, he is attending to details before the 11:00 a.m. opening.  It is a long and busy season.  He agrees, he must like it well enough or he would not keep at it.  It is many hours, but when it closes in autumn, no hours.  So, it averages out to the same as year round work. 

For us denizens of West Brookfield, season’s end always comes too soon, and opening day, never soon enough.

Dark Progress, Kurt Vonnegut and Technology

The book review below appeared in the November, 2012 issue of the Sturbridge Times Magazine. I was prompted to write it after viewing a TED talk that made clear the insight of Kurt Vonnegut.

Player Piano

By Kurt Vonnegut

Dial Press, 2006

Originally Published 1952

Paperback, 341 pages

ISBN 0-385-33378-1

List: $15.00 Amazon: $10.20

There's a great big beautiful tomorrow

Shining at the end of ev'ryday

There's a great big beautiful tomorrow

And tomorrow's just a dream away

The quotation above is the first verse of the theme for Walt Disney’s attraction “Carousel of Progress.”  Carousel of Progress premiered at the 1964 New York World’s Fair where I saw it.  I next viewed it about 17 years ago at Walt Disney World.  It captivated my then three-year-old daughter who demanded to see it many times.

Carousel of Progress captures part of the American spirit first noticed by Alexis De Tocqueville in the 19^th Century.  Progress was and would be a constant feature, if not defining characteristic of our nation.  Certainly, my baby boomer generation thought that way, at least until the Viet Nam War. It is also true that materially life has only gotten better.  What could go wrong?

Everything.  At least Kurt Vonnegut thought so.  Kurt Vonnegut was an American novelist of the last century who lingered on into this.  Not the least of his formative experiences was being captured at the Battle of the Bulge during World War II and living through the firebombing of Dresden.  Dresden was arguably as horrible as Hiroshima.  There is lingering controversy as to whether or not the raid was at all necessary.  Vonnegut did not believe it anything other than an atrocity.  In what is his most famous book, Slaughterhouse Five, he recounts his work recovering bodies.  The main character, Billy Pilgrim, becomes “unstuck in time” and is taken to the planet Tralfamadore.  Time and space travel are among the reasons Vonnegut was considered a “Science Fiction” writer.

Player Piano, his first novel, can’t be thought of as science fiction.  It is more the result of an acute sense of observation.  Vonnegut saw a technological advance.  He reasoned that more improvements would occur and compound.  The result would be a change in the status of man versus machine not to the advantage of our species.

In 1949, while working at General Electric, Vonnegut saw the future.  Machinists were expensively doing the milling of parts for jet engines.  A computer operated milling machine was built and took over from the skilled workers.  The men who developed the new equipment exulted about all the machines that could be “run by little boxes.”  The author agreed, but was not optimistic about what it meant for society.

Has constant technological improvement been a benefit?  Depends on whom you ask.  Cheerleaders are happy to point out that even with dislocation, there is a net increase in employment and standards of living after every advance.  Generally, an artisan craft is eliminated and lower skilled work expands.  Textile mills wiped out weavers, as a class.  Their higher paid employment was taken over by machines with lower wage armies replacing them to labor at work that took less if any skill.   Consumers got more, if not better goods at cheaper prices. To the weaver, this was no improvement.  Protests and sabotage happened but as it was only a minority harmed at any one time, they were not all that effective.  It was such that the term “luddite” is considered an insult by most.

This has been seen in many industries as technology changes a society, from the beginnings of agriculture to the computer.  What Vonnegut saw was the end of productive employment for most if not all of humanity. 

If the computer could do machining, what could it not do?  In Player Piano, all factory work is gone and even higher-level skills get eliminated as soon as machinery and programming is perfected.  A small elite controls everything.

Needless to say, class conflict is a problem.  What to do with all the superfluous workers?  In the novel the government employs them in a grand make-work scheme called the Reconstruction and Reclamation Corps. It is known by the slang name as the Reeks and Wrecks.

The army also absorbs a significant portion of the idle manpower.  Class conflicts are obvious as they are not trusted with weapons until overseas. 

Alas, when people have no feeling of being needed, as in Player Piano, there can be nothing but class resentments.  A revolution is attempted, but the masses do not really know what they want and it collapses.

So how does Player Piano hold up today?  Actually, the flavor is antiquated.  It’s as if the culture of the 50s did not end even though the society was turned on its head.  Dad goes out to work on Reeks and Wrecks and comes home to dinner with mom and the kids and then the family watches TV.  A woman’s place is in the home, other than maybe as a secretary.  The idealized domesticity of mid-century never stopped.

Vonnegut did not predict the digital revolution.  All the techno programming is done on magnetic tape.  This is understandable in the early 50s.  Had anyone predicted even the 8-Track revolution back then, he could be considered no less than a prophet.

So why should Player Piano resonate today?  The author may have missed the science, but as to the progress of technology, he was dead on.  Machines advance daily in areas previously the province of the human.  

Some improvements are devoutly to be wished and bring benefits many of us have experienced.  Robotic surgery is getting better all the time.  It will not be long before it is completely autonomous.  I assure you, we all want more precise, ergo less painful and invasive operations.

The bad news is good-bye jobs.  You may have heard that that JC Penney will be eliminating checkout clerks in it stores.  This is driven by the chain’s struggle to be profitable.  If the people versus machine question comes down to corporate viability, we lose.

Automated checkout is the visible aspect of job destruction.  Trades we might think safe are on the chopping block.

There is, on the web, a series of videos by speakers on their area of expertise called TED Talks.  TED stands for “bringing together people from three worlds: Technology, Entertainment, Design.” Some of the orations are brilliant and in others, at least all the words are pronounced correctly. 

One all too interesting talk, posted in September is by a Mr. Andrew McAfee. McAfee is principal research scientist at the Center for Digital Business, MIT Sloan School of Management.  His resume is hardly limited to that job.  He has been studying tech for a long time.

In his talk, there are two quotes that stand out.  First, “Just in the past couple years, we've seen digital tools display skills and abilities that … eat deeply into what we human beings do for a living.”  Second, “Within [our lifetimes], we're going to transition into an economy that … doesn't need a lot of human workers. Managing that transition is going to be the greatest challenge that our society faces.”  They should change his title to the Kurt Vonnegut Professor of Human Redundancy.

If those quotes don’t scare you, this one should.  The first decade of the 21^st Century “is the only time we have on record where there were fewer people working at the end of the decade then at the beginning.”  Andy is telling us the great job destruction has already started.  Next big quote, “We ain’t seen nothing yet.”

So okay, tech can’t do everything.  You might say over the road truck drivers are safe.  McAfee got to ride in the Google autonomous Prius.  The driverless car worked flawlessly on the highway.  Andy does not see it a long time from the Prius to the Mack Truck.  Maybe the young fellow thinking of driving the big rigs should contemplate another trade, but what?

After his scary discussion how jobs are toast, he ends with a mealy mouthed pronouncement how humans will be freed up to use our creativity to solve our problems.  Moi, I think trends that already exist will continue.

Like Vonnegut’s dystopia, we will move towards more made work.  Some of it might be continuous fixing of bridges and roads as in Reeks and Wrecks.  The bigger model is the wars we are now pretending to fight.  The War on Drugs will continue and expand.  A nation that is half drug users and half drug fighters sops up a large number of unemployed.  The War on Terror can do the same, fighting opponents real and imagined.  Does not the nation cry out for the TSA keeping kids safe as they get on the school bus?

I have not yet mentioned the most disturbing point made by Mr. McAfee.  Andrew noted an algorithmically generated piece published in the Wall Street Journal that he called "perfect."  Now, it was perfect in the sense that there were no mistakes.  It could not be called stylistically excellent.  H.L. Mencken does not fear from the grave for his reputation.  Still, where this is going is obvious.  I am sure the editor of this publication is thinking about the progress of that algorithm with every article I file.

To view Mr. McAfee’s talk, go to http://www.ted.com/talks/andrew_mcafee_are_droids_taking_our_jobs.html

Let's Get Syrious

Below is my column as published in the April, 2012 issue of the Stubridge Times Magazine.

The late Boston talk show personality, Larry Glick, had a tag line he would say on his overnight show, “We’re going to get the story behind the story.”  One might think it the essence of journalism.  Not in planet America.

Bashir Assad is the newest bogeyman in the Middle East.  This is not to say he just arrived.  He and his dad before him have ruled Syria for decades.  It is that we are just getting around to noticing him.  

         He is not a nice guy.  In the Middle East that’s how it is.  Mr. Nice Guy lasts about a nano-second.  There is a saying in that neck of the woods that says it all, “You must kiss the hand you cannot bite.”  The question is, so what happens when he goes? It is not being asked.  Anyway, who cares? I doubt La Hilary has a clue. She didn’t with Libya.  Après le dénouement is not addressed in all the news coverage.

         In fact the coverage, such as I've heard, is laughably superficial. The Middle East is a tough neighborhood with fault lines Americans can hardly imagine.  National Public Radio, Fox, CNN and any other outlet that proffers radio news have been vapid.

         Now, let me be a bit superficial myself. Not an expert on Syria, but here goes. You got your Sunnis including Sufis. They are not in power, but want it. Suffice it to say, as is presented to American audiences, Sunnis are the garden variety Muslims who are not Shia.  I wasn’t kidding about superficial.

         Next are Alawites. The president is one and they are the power. They have reason to fight to the bitter end, because if they lose, the end will be bitter. Existence for the sect has been precarious, as it always has been for minority confessions in the region.

         The Alawites are a mysterious group.  They have survived by being out of the way, up in the hills.  Under the Sunni Ottoman regime, they were oppressed. After World War I, under the French mandate in Syria, they saw their opportunity and joined the colonial military.  The Long Hill Institute for the Study of Middle-Eastern Politics, our official think tank, has come up with a law of existence for the region.  That law, briefly stated is, Always be as armed as you can if you want to survive.

         The sect is considered syncretic, that is, they have bits and pieces from other faiths.  It is said they see Plato and Socrates as well as Christ and Mohammed as incarnations of God.  They don’t really talk about it all that much and officially claim to be Shia.

         Then come the Christians. They are somewhat with the Alawites as their fat would be in the fire if the Alawites were done in.  Don’t think so?  When we brought good government and nirvana to Iraq, the Christians had to flee for their lives next door to bad old secular Syria.

         There are also your Druze, Yazidis, Shias and some others. Get ya scorecard! Ya can't tell the players without a scorecard!

         Of course, the press is painting the opposition as the spawn of Gandhi and Mother Teresa.  In our last adventure, Libya, the rebels were portrayed as freedom fighters against a horrible regime.  What did the Jeffersonians do to the dictator when he came into their power?  Why of course, they gave him a fair trial.  Well, no.  He was savagely dispatched with a video of it on youtube.  

         There has been an ongoing oppression by a heavy-handed regime a bit further south.  The Shia in Bahrain have been subject to brutality by the Sunni minority. Bahraini protests have been going on for a lot longer than the flare up in Syria, yet the ruling family is getting a pass.  Gee, why is that?  Two words, docking rights.  Yeah, the US Navy gets a warm official welcome.  Can’t let ethics stand in the way.

         So what do we get out of this? Dunno. Are there hydrocarbons? Are the Israelis and Iranians in play?   Given our national predilection for quagmires, not much good can be expected from this quick sand.

         We’ll end by quoting another dead guy.  The late Social Democrat John Roche related an Irish saying that one should never get involved in the religious wars of churches to which one did not belong. Don't know much about Paddy Proverbs but this one sounds reasonable.  Let’s act out of character and leave Syria alone.

The Café at Five Loaves Bakery

The review below was originally published in the Sturbridge Times Magazine, December, 2011 issue.

The Café at Five Loaves Bakery

It is only by accident that I know of the Café at Five Loaves Bakery.  If it had not been for a gift certificate from Spencerians, it would still be unknown to me.  What is even more startling is that is has been in existence for five years. 

The Bakery itself has been around for nine years and has a table at the West Brookfield Farmers Market.  Tragic as the end of the market season was, it forced me to turn off Main Street/Route 9 in the center of Spencer to find the bakery and its lovely breads and pastries.

Mechanic Street is not a picturesque side road.  Some of the buildings do look like a rehab is in order.  Others have been kept up, but age is apparent.  Nothing about the street would give one to expect much. 

The shop itself is pleasant inside.  The front consists of a counter and dining room.   It was not an ultra modern space that you might see on a cooking channel venue.  As it was mid-morning when we came, it was a minute before it dawned on us that there was more to Five Loaves than Five Loaves.  We grabbed some apricot pinwheels and an almond cream croissant, and left planning to return for a dinner.

A shock was in store for us.  On a Wednesday night, three of us walked in expecting to be seated immediately.  The dining room was full and the night was booked solid.  This in Spencer?  It was unexpected to say the least.  We were advised politely to make a reservation.  A full house augurs well and we took the hint.

The next Wednesday saw us happily seated with our enthusiastic waiter asking us if it was our first time as he brought us bread and whipped butter.  He said we were in for a treat and was telling the truth.  He patiently went over the appetizers and entrées we inquired about.  As the menu is new every week, the idea of “specials” is superfluous.  We knew what we each wanted.

For an appetizer, or “small plates” as they are termed on the menu, our daughter, Bríd, ordered the duck rillettes.  It is duck in the consistency of pâté with a fig jam on the side as well as slightly spicy mustard and caramelized onions.  It was to be spread on pieces of Five Loaves bread and was delicious.  How do I know?  Bríd has mentioned it wistfully several times since.

My wife Robin had the panzanella, a tomato and bread salad.  It also included artichokes and had a buttery flavor.

I had the ribollita, which is a Tuscan style bread and vegetable soup.  The wonderful Five Loaves bread absorbed the broth.  I could have stopped there and been happy.

But, I didn’t.  We all had entrees coming and were not budging.  Bríd had the Seafood Risotto.  She termed the risotto as a binder to hold together the generous amount of flavorful scallops, clams and shrimp.

My selection was the pan-seared salmon with citrus herb butter.  With it came a broccoli rabe.  Both were to my liking.

The crispy chicken in tomato butter sauce and asiago cheese with pasta was Robin’s choice.  A tasty and hearty dish for a cool night was her verdict.

For dessert, Bríd chose the rasqpberry linzer tart.  With its almond crust, it was more like a wonderful, rich cookie.

Robin ordered the pumpkin cheesecake.  She bakes a mean cheesecake herself, yet could only compliment the lightness and flavor of her dessert.

I had the lemon cloud, which looked like a pale version of crème brûlée, but with rich lemon flavor.

The café and bakery are the project of Darren and Connie Collupy.  It started when Darren was laid off after having been a chef for 20 years.  He started baking in the home oven,  Rather than blow it out, the bakery moved out.  Connie had a career in the front end of restaurants, but Darren gave her bakery OJT.  Then came lunch on 13 Mechanic Street.  Two years ago, dinner was added.

One should not throw around superlatives lightly, but we found a gem.  I almost feel like a traitor to myself in reviewing The Café at Five Loaves Bakery.  If this place becomes too popular, reservations may need to be made months in advance.

This is a find.  Don’t come unless you have confidence in your own ability to choose a wine as it’s BYOB.  

Dinner is Wednesday through Saturday.  Whenever you come, it might be a good idea to make a reservation, but Wednesdays are the big night.  There is a three course special for $20.   The Bakery is open mornings and for lunch Tuesday through Saturday.  The phone number is (508) 885-3760.  The website is http://www.fiveloavesbakery.com/ 

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The Student Loan Crisis Solved

This is my regular column from the March 2012 Sturbridge Times Magazine.

Is there a crisis in education? I’m not sure, but someone thinks so. A headline from from USA Today back in October screamed “Student loans outstanding will exceed $1 trillion this year” beating out credit card debt. That may or may not be reason to panic. It could be that American youth have stopped buying X-boxes on plastic and are making a serious study of Plato and Socrates. Okay, I’m worried.

It was 1968 and a couple of more politically aware friends were going to speak to the local representative of a candidate for president. I cut a class to go with them. Though still ashamed of my dissolute academic career, what I heard that day has stuck with me. The fellow we spoke with made the point emphatically that his man saw equality and amity between classes and races hinging on education. Everybody says such blather, but the office seeker in question was George Corley Wallace. Yup, the man who had stood in the schoolhouse door to stop integration felt that if we all just got enough schooling, we could sing kumbaya together.

One should not try to make windows into other’s souls, but I’m not sure if Wallace was sincere. Certainly, the sentiment is part of the fabric of our nation. Universal education will lead us to the promised land. For some, it has, if that promised land is parts of metropolitan parks taken over by the Occupy movement. Granted, it’s not where they thought they were going to end up when they signed those first student loans freshman year.

Who would have predicted that an educated population would end up as a surplus supply of workers no one wants? Seymour Harris did some sixty years ago. Harris, a professor of economics at Harvard wrote The Market for College Graduates. His idea was there would be too many grads for too few jobs. He was laughed at, and though you can get many of his books on Amazon, The Market for College Graduates is not among them. To be honest, Harris predicted a collegiate job collapse a few times. Hey, if you foresee disaster long enough, a Katrina’s got to hit.

In the end it was all too predictable. How many middle managers does America need, especially as business has been squeezing middle management for years? Harris might have been wrong for a time, but education can’t be the answer. A national desire for universal sheepskins, if successful would be catastrophic. The day would come when you would hear people say, “Call a plumber, the pipes are frozen,” only to hear, “There aren’t any, but I can get you a sociologist.” “Anyone know when the garbage man is going to get here, it’s getting to be a mess,” would be answered with, “No, but I’m sure we can get a Ph.D candidate studying the Post Modern Novel as soon as you want.”

I only listen to radio in the car. On one sojurn I heard a program with a recording of an occupier telling how he had been promised a ticket to the middle class with his degree, but had only debt slavery to look forward to. Though one might suspect he could not name the person who had made the promise, we cannot deny that it is or was until recently a common article of faith. So there is an army of post college lads and lasses who bestirred themselves to live in semi-organized squalor* to protest, well, whatever. There was no coherent statement of views.

So what next. The last time this happened, young Americans of the college going demographic protested the draft. It was one thing to take kids from trailer parks and projects. Quite another, youth who perceived themselves as the managerial class. They had not done well on the SAT to slog through the jungle. Once the draft ended, the collegiate class went on with their lives, albeit in a world changed a bit by the so called counter-culture.

What is happening now is not so simple. There is a war on, but no one is conscripted to fight. The jobs are not there and the student debt looms. Add to that the loans cannot be discharged in bankruptcy. Decades ago, some cute grads declared insolvency shortly after college. They had no assets other than a degree and future earnings. The sharpies should have been thrown out of court, but they ruined it for those who needed it. An army of former students faces payments they will never get ahead of with burger flipping jobs.

In order to help our youth out of eternal debt peonage, the Long Hill Institute of Educational Policy has come up with the only compassionate solution. It is time to reinstitute debtors' prisons. It will take a constitutional amendment, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Instead of dead end jobs for peanuts, there will be dignity.

The youth who could not finish the great American novel because he had to spend so much time on his pizza delivery job will now have more than enough. The theater major who couldn't get a job directing will now be able to do prison musicals. Think Prisoner's of Love from The Producers. Didn't get into Harvard Law? There's always room in the clink for a jailhouse lawyer. The vistas will open wide as the gates close shut.

*Squalor it can only be. Trust me on this. I've had the pleasure of spending time on bivouac. Camping is fun if your credit is good at Eastern Mountain Sports and you can come home soon.

My Summer Non-Vacation Part II, Lunch in the North End and Saint Agrippina's Festival

It’s been a long hot summer here in Nova Anglia.  Still, we have not had the drought experienced by our countrymen and women in the South.  Moi, I have been enjoying it.  We could go into a ten-snowstorm winter as payback 2011-2012.  Count your blessings.  

Family members met at Rabias on Salem Street in the North End last Sunday.  It is one of my sisters’ favorite restaurants.  One thing I like about it is, you can be as obnoxious as you want and they can’t throw you out through the glass window.  In the sultry summer days, the front is taken out.

Of course, I am of an age that such behavior has ceased.

Really, one does not go to Rabias to act up.  It is the cucina that is the draw.  I much enjoyed the Ravioli d’Aragosta.  It’s has a lobster filling and a champagne rose sauce and caviar.  Chef Boyardee, eat your heart out.

I did get to taste my sister’s Gnocchi Con Pesto and it was superb.  My son got Powered Up Pasta from the specials menu and it is not well named.  It would better be called a big seafood platter with a great sauce and adequate pasta.

My wife got the Carbonara.  It was tasty, but the pasta was underdone.

Everybody enjoyed the deserts.

One cavil, the servers hovered a bit too much.  It has been explained to me as a trick of the trade.  The day was a bit slow and the staff did not want to be sent home.

Rabias is lovely and though the service was a bit overdone, it did not materially hurt the experience.  A warm day in the North End in a restaurant open to the street is enjoyable in most circumstances.

Then out into the street.  Sunday in the North End in summer means a feast.  The camaraderie and theater of the feast might be the main reason folks of Italian descent never give over to secular humanism.  Reason is nice, but to get together with paisans and have a life is bella.

Of course, the people who spawned Aquinas know something of ratio.

We enjoyed the bands and the statue of Saint Agrippina di Mineo.  Then again, we were tourists.  I know people from Brimfield who vacation during the big weekends.  So I wonder if some residents have feast fatigue?  Then again, there may be competitive juices flowing.  After all, there will be another feast in a week and maybe the Saint So and So Society might want to husband its support for their team.

Just so you know, Saint Agrippina was a virgin martyr beheaded for her steadfast faith during the reign of Emperor Valerian.  As poetic justice, Valerian was captured by the Persians and his head used as a mounting block by the Shah.

Too much of a good thing in hot weather means dehydration.  We stopped into the Cheese Shop because of the proffered Italian ices.   The cool relief of the concoction was pleasant, but regretted right away.  There were samples of soppressata on the counter.  Had I not had the ice, there might have been an embarrassment if I could not resist over sampling and it would have been necessary to take home a few pounds.  Maybe that would not have been a problem?

My Summer Non-Vacation, A Day Trip to Cape Ann

I don't really have a summer vacation, but did take some day trips.  The one below is an excursion to Cape Ann that appeared on Page 26 in the July issue of the Sturbridge Times Magazine.

The pictures were taken by Edith Jacobs who was also our guide.

A day away at the other Cape, to Rockport on Cape Ann

Upon arriving in Rockport, the salt sea air refreshingly lets you know, you are not in Central Massachusetts. The Bay State’s other Cape, Cape Ann, isn’t as large as the one named after a fish. The beaches are not as wide. Charming it is though, more so, maybe due to the smaller area. To get from one end to the other does not require a major highway.

The most well known part of Rock- port is Bearskin neck. It is a haven of artists and galleries. This is understand- able, as the view of the harbor scene from the back of most shops would make any artist want to set up an easel. There is the famous Motif #1, a red fishing shack with colorful buoys hanging on the side. It is the most painted subject in the US.

Bearskin neck has more than the visual arts. Look out into the sea, there are a lot of buoys like those on motif #1. They mark submerged lobster pots. On the neck is Roy Moore Lobster Co., in business since 1918. There are worse breakfasts than lobster with drawn butter. 

On the walk back from the neck, our guide led us down small side streets that leave the tourist behind, such as Doyle’s Cove Road and Old Harbor Road. She showed us moorings for all kinds of small boats at the town owned wharf. Don’t expect to bring your yacht up here tomorrow and claim one. A town native friend had to wait 24 years for a parking spot for his lobster boat. 

As we walked back through town, we passed the Shalin Liu Performance Center on Main Street. It is an edifice that is out of place yet fits in. It is out of place because it is new construction in a town of old structures. It fits in because it ap- pears to be in harmony with the other buildings. The acoustics are marvelous, but that would be so in most halls built to such a purpose. This hall has a huge window fronting on a lovely view of the harbor.

There is in Rockport, for some, well, or many, an obsession to create beautiful spaces. There are gardens in public places and in private yards. Every year, the garden club holds a tour where the public can see exquisite plots that have been lovingly pre- pared. This year it will be held in early July

Corinne Waring lives on the shore and has one of the gardens featured in a past tour. Horticulture by the sea poses its own challenges. A recent storm had killed part of a tree with the salt spray. There are ad- vantages such as access to abundant seaweed that is as good a fertilizer as any commercial product. Corinne drags it from the shore and makes beautiful flowers.

Our next destination would be Halibut Point State Park. Despite the name, fish had nothing to do with it. Halibut Point is a corruption of Haul About Point where ships would tack to round Cape Ann. The first part of our walk was through a narrow path bordered by thick brush. It had the flavor of a maze that one could be lost in forever.

It was not to be. We would emerge into an area of large rocks down to the sea. Amongst them were numerous tidal pools. It took a bit of agility to jump from rock to rock, but not Olympic level. A boat that crashed aground here would break up in an instant. Looking up from the beach was an enormous pile of rock in regular shapes. Part of the reservation is a series of quarries. That pile of rocks is stone that did not be- come part of wharfs or buildings. It did not look stable, but as people were on it and nothing happened, it must have been okay.

All that hiking builds an appetite. It was a short drive to “Lobsta Land” in Gloucester. In spite of the name and its homage to the local patois, we were there for something different. Our guide swore by the coconut battered shrimp. They were large and covered in panko coconut batter with a Thai salad and honey-ginger dip- ping sauce.

Our guide would not let us leave without the seafood chowder (or chowdah) experience. The Causeway Restau- rant in Gloucester has the Cape Ann rep for that soup, and it was chunky with fish. The long line meant it would be wise to order take out. We dined in the shadow of the fa- mous fisherman’s statue on Gloucester Harbor.

Not everything in Cape Ann is ocean-themed. There is the curious Paper House at 52 Pigeon Hill Street in Rock- port. Wood frame and floor, but all else is paper. Built in 1922 out of newspaper and still standing. Walls and fur- niture are all newsprint. The builder was an engineer who probably just wanted to see if he could do it, or maybe he was just an extreme recycler.

We were not done indulging ourselves. Our last stop was the Cape Ann Brew- ing Company. There must be an ordinance across the peninsula that you must have a view of the sea in any commercial establishment. Whether porter, pale ale or the honey pilsner, it all complemented the declining light.

Sadly, the declining light meant it was getting time to leave. Home to Western Central Massachusetts, but we’ll make that 105-mile trip to the North Shore again. Cape traffic isn’t all that bad, if you pick the right one.