Goodfellows52: The little town of horrors, and a monster storm ma...

Goodfellows52: The little town of horrors, and a monster storm ma...: This is scary stuff.  Don't look now, Terri, but something wicked comes your way. Anthony makes is way through the throng of visi...

The little town (Salem) of horrors, and a monster storm makes Halloween a real horror show

This is scary stuff. 

Don't look now, Terri, but something wicked comes your way.

Anthony makes is way through the throng of visitors to Salem, Mass.

Old headstones from the 1700s line Old Burying Point Cemetery in Salem, Mass.

Checking out an above-ground crypt in Salem.

SALEM, Mass. — A young man pretended to fall dead on a crowded sidewalk. A woman stepped out of a parked car and rushed over to draw a chalk outline around the body.

Pedestrians laughed as they maneuvered around the victim, who abruptly stood up, jumped into a car and drove off with a giggling woman, leaving the outline of the body intact.

Sounds strange? Not in this city of the damned.

Welcome to Salem — a community that dresses up each Halloween to proudly tout its infamous past. For the entire month of October, Salem goes out of its way to give visitors the creeps. 

You might just call it the Mardi Gras of the East. 

Who needs ghosts and or the undead when the living dress in strange costumes and parade through the narrow streets of a city where 19 men and women were accused and convicted of witchcraft and later hung at Gallows Hill in the 1690s.

Last Saturday, the three of us decided to join the rest of the trick-or-treaters to roam these haunted streets for a third tour of Salem.

It never gets old, and it is always a bizarre experience.

I used to work with this poor soul.

We were aware that Hurricane Sandy was closing in on the Eastern seaboard, but that didn't deter us from our visit even though the monstrous storm was right on our heels when we returned to Maine

My wife and son enjoy Salem's macabre atmosphere. They are always keeping an eye out for orbs and their ears open for hair-raising screams and that occasional bump in the night.

According to paranormal enthusiasts, there are  plenty of wandering ghosts who apparently won't let go of their former lives in a city where religious malevolence triggered hysteria and the persecution of its citizens, many of whom met their deaths at the end of the hangman's rope or died in prison.

Our first stop

Burying Point Cemetery is usually our first destination. For some visitors, above-ground crypts and old headstones give this cemetery a gloomy feeling.

There are some famous chaps buried in this ancient place. According to graveaddiction.com: "One of the most famous people buried in the cemetery is Justice John Hathorne, the great-great-grandfather of writer Nathaniel Hawthorne. John Hathorne was a judge during the witch trials, and he had a bad reputation. Nathaniel Hawthorne was so ashamed of his ancestor's role in the trials that he added a "w" in his name to make it different."

I am sure Burying Point takes on a new look and feel in the dark, but that could be said of all graveyards, especially ones with a mysterious past.

So much to do

If you need a respite from the macabre or the crowds, head over to Pickering Wharf and inhale those refreshing sea breezes. Better yet, take a mile walk on a jetty to check out Derby Wharf Lighthouse. While you are there, take a good look across the bay to catch a glimpse of nearby Bakers Island.

There are many small shops pedaling the gothic lifestyle. Get your palm read by a psychic who seems to have a handle on everybody's future. 

Several years ago, Terri met Salem's official Witch of Salem — Laurie Cabot — a charismatic women who charmed my wife. Terri somehow convinced Ms. Cabot to take a picture with her — at no charge.

It was a bewitching experience for both women.

During that same visit, we toured the House of Seven Gables and squeezed through the secret passage that features a narrow flight of stairs. It is a tight fit for a big man like myself, and I saw one tourist suffer a serious bout of claustrophobia as she struggled to reach the top of the stairwell.

According to www.7gables.org: "When you arrive at The House of the Seven Gables - which constitutes its own national historic district on The National Register of Historic places — professional guides will warmly greet you for an unforgettable historical experience. Outside, spectacular seaside gardens await you. Inside of The House of the Seven Gables, also known as the Turner-Ingersoll Mansion, you will discover a mysterious secret staircase where you least expect it! Built in 1668, this is the oldest surviving 17th century wooden mansion in New England. The House of the Seven Gables inspired author Nathaniel Hawthorne to write his legendary novel of the same name."

There are numerous tourist destinations including the Pirates and Witch museums, and of course, The Friendship of Salem — a 171-foot replica of the 1797 East Indiaman. And don't forget about the living who enjoy making spectacles of themselves with their outrageous costumes.

I enjoyed spending 45 minutes watching a baseball game being played by men dressed in Civil War-era baseball uniforms on Salem Common, — nine-acre park that is overlooked by an imposing statue of Puritan Roger Conant who founded the city.

But one of the best moments during my visit was having my son take a photograph 

of the two of us standing next to the same gazebo that Terri stood on 24 years ago.

I often wonder where those wonderful 24 years have gone. I guess that's why Salem's stubborn ghosts try to hold to their past.

For me, I try to hold on to every minute I have with my family in this lifetime.

Goodfellows52: A quiet Patriot departs

Goodfellows52: A quiet Patriot departs: AUBURN - I was watching the last debate  between President Obama and former Massachusetts Gov. Mitt Romney tonight when I began thinking ...

A quiet Patriot departs

AUBURN — I was watching the last debate  between President Obama and former Massachusetts Gov. Mitt Romney tonight when I began thinking about a former South Dakota representative and presidential contender who died this week at 90 years old.

George McGovern was a liberal Democrat who lost in a landslide to Richard Nixon in 1972. What intrigues me more than McGovern's fine political career was his distinguished service as a World War II pilot.

He was a sincere and brave man who interrupted his studies at college and enlisted right after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. He flew missions over Italy, Austria and Germany and earned the Distinguished Flying Cross after his plane was shot down.

McGovern flew the B-24, a pig of a plane that was difficult to maneuver. Pilots who flew this heavy bomber watched the bicep in their right arms become enlarged because this beast was so difficult to steer in battle.

He was a rare and sincere breed who demonstrated his integrity by putting it all on line for his nation in a war that consumed the entire planet.

Stephen E. Ambrose wrote an excellent book, "The Wild Blue: The Men and Boys who flew the B-24s over Germany, 1944-45." It featured McGovern's dangerous missions as a pilot who flew with the Fifteenth Air Force's 451st Bombardment Group stationed in Italy.

The book ended with a fascinating episode in a bloody war that haunted McGovern for most of his life. The former U.S. representative spoke about this devastating moment during an interview on a television station in Austria 40 years later.

After one mission, there was a 500-pound bomb dangerously hanging from the rack. McGovern and his crew had two alternatives: Ditch the aircraft or jettison this bomb to safely land the plane.

The crew eventually freed the bomb, but it dropped on a farm house around noon that day. McGovern figured he had wiped out an entire family on the border of Austria and Italy.

Well, during that TV interview, a farmer called the station and told McGovern he got his family safely out of harm's way before the bomb struck his home.

Imagine how relieved McGovern must have felt. After all, this was a man who risked life and limb for his country, but despite the scourge of war and the psychological scars he was forced to sort out throughout his civilian life, he never lost hope or his belief in mankind.
 

Goodfellows52: The kindness of others

Goodfellows52: The kindness of others: “Kindness is a language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see.”  ― Mark Twain AUBURN - I am seeking revenge against a pair ...

The kindness of others

“Kindness is a language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see.” 

― Mark Twain

AUBURN — I am seeking revenge against a pair of Samaritans who had the gall to be nice to me.

Can you believe these guys! The nerve of them for being decent and kind people!

I want my pound of flesh (see Shakespeare). And remember, no good deed goes unpunished. 

It was an extraordinary act of generosity committed by two of the finest human beings to walk the planet.

Now I want to pay them back, and the only way I can is to return the favor and be nice to them, too. They won't see it coming, but no doubt they will be looking over their shoulders. They know I am out there, dreaming up some devious plan of my own act of kindness.

The two conspirators are named Mike and Don - two common names for two uncommon men who exude decency and integrity. These are smart guys who give a damn about the right in things in life. These are guys with common sense and believe in the greater good.

They have their heads on straight, which means they will never have a future in American politics. Their reputations are beyond reproach, and I wouldn't get within 10 feet of them if they weren't such wonderful human beings.

Here's what these guys contrived to trigger my tirade.

Don is my neighbor who offered me the heating oil in his tank at no charge to me. He made the wise choice to switch to natural gas, shaking off the shackles of greedy oil companies. He is a great guy who shares his vast knowledge with me, and I of course, can always use a few pointers as a home owner. 

Anyway, his oil tank needed to be removed as well as the oil in it. That's where Mike, a co-conspirator, comes in.

Mike is an adept plumber and another fine example of humanity. This young man served his country in the United State Air Force as a mechanic repairing the feared B-1 bombers in Saudi Arabia for 10 years. Mike's experiences in the Middle East remind me of T.E. Lawrence, who tried to unite the tribes at the conclusion of World War I.

Don needed a plumber and Mike needed work, and the both of them decided to be nice to me. The two also became friends, and like expatriate Rick Blaine and French inspector Louise Renault in "Casablanca," it just might be the start of a beautiful friendship.

Well, after Mike transferred the oil to my tank and removed Don's tank from his cellar, my honest plumber and friend knocked on my door to inform me the job was completed. He had quoted me a ridiculously reasonable price to transfer the oil a couple of weeks ago.

"Hey Mike, how much do I owe you," I asked.

"You are all set," he said with a wide smile.

We looked at each other. "C'mon, what do I owe you," I demanded.

"We settled it between ourselves," Mike explained.

That was it; the deal was sealed - without my say in the matter.

That meant I was on the receiving end of about $440.00 worth of free oil thanks to the kindness of two gentlemen. My tank is nearly full because of these thoughtful jokers.

I offered Mike coffee, paying for lunch, frozen vegetables from my garden and the keys to my car.

OK, well three can play at this game as I figure out how to respond to such kindness.

They better keep looking over their shoulders. I am going to get those guys and it will be pretty.

Goodfellows52: We're all shook up

Goodfellows52: We're all shook up: I feel the earth move under my feet I feel the sky tumbling down I feel my heart start to trembling  Whenever you're around - "...

We're all shook up

I feel the earth move under my feet

I feel the sky tumbling down

I feel my heart start to trembling 

Whenever you're around

- "I feel the earth move"  Carole King, composer

AUBURN - We happened to be standing together in the center of the parlor when we heard a roar and felt the entire house shake beneath our feet.

We stopped talking and stared at each other as the house rattled around us. The rumbling lasted for about 20 seconds.

My wife thought a tractor-trailer rolled across the front yard and just missed our home.

I figured our furnace was on the fritz.

Then I stepped outside to listen for one of the many freight trains that pass through Auburn every evening. 

There was silence. Everything was quiet.

I was no longer puzzled. I concluded that Maine and many parts of New England had just experienced earthquake, and it was a doozy by this region's standards.

My wife watched Facebook light up with people from across that state reporting that they also felt the ground violently shake.

They were not alone. It was a moving experience.

I tried to call my sisters in Massachusetts, but I couldn't get through due to the volume of calls.

This was one of those moments in my life when a phone call does a body good.

When I did reach them, my sisters were as excited as the rest of New England. Both my sisters thought they were going crazy when the quake struck. We ruled that out when we confirmed that a quake had just rocked the area.

Terri scanned Web sites, searching for any morsel of information that a strong quake had just rattled most of New England.

About 30 minutes later, we learned that a 4.0 earthquake shook up everybody across the Pine Tree State. The epicenter was located in Hollis Center, which located 20 miles west of Portland and 100 miles north of Boston.

Anthony and I headed outside with a flashlight to check for structural damage to the house. We did find small cracks in the cinder blocks of the foundation and the asphalt in my driveway developed a couple of small fissures. But a chisel and cement can fix the cracks. I wasn't concerned.

I experienced a smaller earthquake years ago when I was working at the Patriot Ledger in Quincy, Mass. I was on the second floor of the newspaper's offices when I notice my editor's computer screen rock back and forth, and he was not sitting behind it.

Over the past, three decades, I have felt the earth rumble underneath my sturdy legs three times, and an earthquake had nothing to do with those moments. My enduring marriage, the birth of my son and the death of my mother were events that rocked my world.

But on Tuesday, October 16, 2012, Mother Nature sent us all a stunning reminder that she has the final say when it comes to all matters of the Earth - and our lives. 

Goodfellows52: Sea of tranquility

Goodfellows52: Sea of tranquility: Why do we love the sea? It is because it has some potent power to make us think things we like to think.                                   ...

Sea of tranquility

Why do we love the sea? It is because it has some potent power to make us think things we like to think.
                                                         - Robert Henri

PORTLAND — Staring out over an ocean without a cell phone at our disposal is not an issue for this family of three.

But I am willing to bet there are millions of poor souls who are tethered to technology and would find it impossible being alone with their thoughts and without a cell phone on a empty beach.

In an age of constant texting, Twittering, iPods, iPads, Facebook, television, radio and email, face-to-face conversations appear to be taking a back seat to social media. I will never understand it, and I am not going to make an effort to do so.

I have heard about the endless Tweets (I am not a subscriber) where somebody announces that they are standing on top of the Eiffel Tower. If I had an account, I might be tempted to write back: "Jump!"

Sure, this blog is coming to you from Auburn, Maine via the Internet. A handful of people from around the globe have seen or read it, and I thank you all for taking time out of your mind-numbing schedules to take a peek. I also understand technology isn't going away, and I do use it at home and at work.

I write because I enjoy it, and I hope you enjoy these essays, too, and if you are bored stiff, turn the page or move on to the next blog. I understand.

Like writing, I love exploring Maine's 3,478 miles of coastline and hiking the Pine Tree State's wooded trails without being intravenously hooked up to some form of technology. We often forget about our $10 Track Phone as we meander up and down the grassy paths. We purposely leave the damn thing in the car when we are on the beach. The last F--- thing I want is a phone call when I am about to plunge into the surf with my son.

Disappearing into the woods or sea is the only way I can find peace of mind in a world where an eight-hour news cycle is now eight minutes. Thanks to all this technology, we are multitasking and living life to the 100th power with no end in sight.

Whew! I get tired of thinking about it. 

That's why nature is rejuvenating and doesn't make me feel obsolete in this throw-away society.

It explains why this family of three hopped into the car and headed to Portland to traverse the Eastern Promenade's coast and inhale it's soothing sea breezes on a Columbus Day morning. My family is like a lifeboat in a raging storm of endless technology. They throw me a rope when I feel like I am about to go under.

It was a chilly 60 degrees, but there were plenty of friendly faces to wish us good morning as we all took our brisk walks. I like that — a face-to-face encounter with a polite stranger. That was as refreshing as the salt air. 

After touring the promenade, all three of us sat on a beach wall and didn't say a word. The cell phone was back in the car and we don't own an iPod. They were only few people walking the sand.

Just plenty of silence as we listened to the gentle surf lap the beach. Sometimes less is more and silence is golden.

And the absence of technology on a sunny, fall morning really is a beautiful thing.