A 'doomer' conundrum

The ‘doomer’ community in Portland was all aflutter Monday with two different, yet equal choices to make as to what prominent doomsday seer they should go see to get a complete, truthful picture of the economic deflationary depression we find ourselves entering into without “official” government acknowledgement.

In Westbrook, an event procured by the University of New England held at the Westbrook Performing Arts Center played host to M.I.T. professor Noam Chomsky. He’s been called by many one of the foremost thinkers in our time, and was set to speak about how odd it is that while people in Arab nations are uprising against governments for various rights, Americans seem to be more than willing to lay face down and take it from this corp.gov – allowing entry into our private lives and private parts – removing even the veneer of freedom in a land that no longer resembles the one we inherited.

Here in Portland, at the Wishcamper Center at USM, Nicole Foss aka “Stoneleigh” from the economic blog “The Automatic Earth” was making an appearance to talk about the causes for and ways to cope with the new, greater depression.

As described by Wikipedia, which does the best job of wrapping it up in one sentence, a ‘doomer’ is “one who believes that Peak Oil will cause the collapse of industrial civilization.” Basically, although we will never “run out” of oil, the increased supply required to fuel current population growth and the sort of economic “good times” (aka “growth”) oil barons helped bankers manipulate over the last 110 years that kept all us, to quote Henry Kissinger, “useless eaters” happy, just isn’t going to seep out of the ground like it used to.

So for me, because Mr. Chomsky, while touching on certain economic themes close to a doomer’s heart, is a guy who still hangs on to the belief that we’re somehow going to be able to work together to magically eliminate corruption and save the scraps of the current system, the choice was easy. For a more realistic view, and some hardcore doom, I went with Nicole Foss. Plus, I have to admit a huge contributing factor in making the decision. The 4 bus to Westbrook during rush hour is jam packed; I could walk to USM.

So there I was, eagerly waiting the start of Ms. Foss’ presentation in Lee Hall, a large room in the new Muskie School complex. While sitting in the chairs that while new, ironically were better suited for the chair-through-windows looting that will occur as we descend deeper into depression than they were for sitting, I mused to myself how much money was wasted during our growthapalooza on buildings like these that will serve no purpose when the grid goes down. I thought it odd, too, that the talk we were about to listen to would focus on the mistakes made in part by the very type of students to come out of one of these public policy-maker factories. Then I remembered our new mayor taught here. Then, I thought “oh, s___!” And finally, the program started, clamping down the brakes on the in-my-mind horror train, The Irony Express.

For those in the standing-room only audience that had followed Foss’ work, her overall message remained unchanged, though it was nice to see it all laid out, chronologically and presented as an entire package. Foss lays out the history of credit booms and busts, going back to the Tulip craze of the 1720’s right up and through the first great depression. Then came the description of the current credit build up, only this time was different – this time our growth depended on Fossil Fuels. She explains that this credit crunch was bound to happen, showing how a boom crunches in cycles throughout history and even without the problem of increasing fossil demand versus flattening or declining supplies; we would have dropped us into this “recession.” The problem, she explained, will be facilitating a return to the post World War 2 economic system we all are clinging to right now, the idea of infinite growth. She showed, with plenty of evidence that it can’t happen mathematically, scientifically or continue as it is as I am writing this now, superficially propped up by government.

Instead, she told the audience that we are going to experience a world-wide deflationary depression “at best just as bad as the Great Depression, but more likely much worse.” She showed the beginning of the current credit expansion, which took off in the early 1980’s, and told us to “expect the value of your assets to at least return to levels not seen since the 1970’s, and more likely much lower.” She advised people to maintain liquidity, invest only in hard, tangible assets and to stay away from equities, as markets are certain to crash in the near term. Before I left, a member audience asked about the future of the younger generations, and Ms. Foss replied, with a heavy heart, “It’s a horrible thing that we (baby boomers) have done to you.”

These aren’t the type of messages you are going to hear, the truth, come from the mouths of Brian Williams-types on the media owned by, from the President who’s advisers, cabinet members and campaign contributors personally profit from, or the congress members who insider-trade in, the system that is beyond repair and will not resemble anything us useless eater consumers remember. Kicking the can, finger pointing, protection from prosecution and computerized money manipulation will be the game the one-per centers play until it’s too late and we’ve dished out all the liquidity in the system there is for them to grab. This useless eating citizen is going to hold on to the cash and buckle in for what promises to be the advanced ski trail downhill ride of 2012, avoiding every tree in my path as long as I can.

Grab your ski poles.

(Jeffrey S. Spofford manages circulation for The Portland Daily Sun.)

Decking the Halls with Christmas Balls

While walking toward the corner of Elm and Congress yesterday, I looked up after a woman behind me screeched, “holy s*, its f*ing huge!” Knowing she couldn’t mean me, I decided to scan my surroundings to see the object of her enthusiastic yelp, and there it was. Majestic and almost too girthy to fit between the light posts adorned with banners suggesting we ‘love Portland more’ in front of city hall, was the city’s official Holiday Tree.

The Portland Police cruisers came first, officers inside of which were all excited to perform the quick left and quick swing around to the right that definitely looks the coolest when performed in a Crown Vic. The cruiser maneuvers served to close Congress, forcing oncoming cars down Elm. The semi with the tree, freshly cut from South Portland, barreled past, ushering both the tree and the holiday season to our city.

Standing in Monument Square watching the crane erect its sturdy arm to lift the tree into place, I heard the sounds of excitement come from the crowd that turned out to be, courtesy of the seasonably mild weather we’re having, pretty large. Santa Claus made an appearance. The ‘Tax The Rich’ placard-holding-guy even showed up. Television cameras were properly aimed and the newspaper photographers were in place. Seeing the tree go up, I started to get all excited about the holiday season. I thought about how nice the tree would look all lit up and thought about the other decorations the city puts up around town. Then I remembered the best part about Christmastime decorating in Portland.

The return of the Christmas Balls.

With a slight turn to the left, I saw one dangling there. I quickly looked all around. Every light post had a ball. The time and temperature building had its special cornucopia-style lights. There were big ones, little ones, round ones and oval. The Christmas balls were firmly in place. The tree’s arrival suggested the season was nearing. The balls confirmed that suggestion as fact.

Art can be a controversial thing in this city. From forty-five thousand dollar benches to waves of steel, it is sometimes whispered by others and on my mind that Portland shouldn’t waste its money on frivolous pieces. But when it comes to the lighted balls, the display of which in my opinion makes Portland one of the prettiest cities in the country during the holidays, I could care less about the cost. They are truly the most beautiful pieces of public art I have seen anywhere.

So next Friday, after our mad rush to buy foreign made plastic consumer goods we don’t need, stop by the tree lighting and at the same time, see the Christmas Balls lit up in all their glory - serving their purpose as the holiday season’s official beacons of Portland.

There’s a lot at ‘stake’ with question 2.

I had a lovely conversation yesterday with one of our most loyal and complimentary readers who, when the stars are properly aligned, I meet up with at the last delivery of the morning in Payson Park. I asked her what is now in Portland the question of the hour, “How are you ranking the mayor race?”

She told me she wasn’t sure, and asked my opinion. I went over my feelings of my personal ‘top five.’ We both agreed the Civic Center was a colossal waste of money, and that what little the state legislature could accomplish this year in the form of a voter registration over-haul should be left to stand. Then came question 2.

Harness Racing action at Scarborough Downs

Like most Portlanders I’ve spoken to, she was against voting to allow a replacement for the old, decrepit Scarborough Downs to be built in Biddeford, which along with it would come the preservation of the generations-old harness horse racing industry in the state and, oh yeah, slot machines. And when it came to gambling, I could see her point. We all feel Maine is better than having to allow cheap Atlantic City-like amusements to raise a few bucks, and that was her concern as well.

But there are so many things at stake that are all loaded into this referendum. The issue of whether or not there should be gambling isn’t one of them. We’ve been there and done that when we voted to allow a casino to be built up in the boonies last year.

I’ve grown to hate the word “jobs.” It’s the catch-phrase for everything politics that will come to define “empty promises” by the time the politicians that abuse the word get into office to find they’re powerless and incapable of creating them. So for question 2, I’ll use the term “employment,” which is what a yes vote to question 2 will provide not just to the 300ish people working at the new Biddeford Downs or the hundreds of construction people it will take to build it, but the thousands of people that are supported by the harness racing industry the ‘evil’ slots that come with question 2 are designed to prop-up.

A trip to the horse barns on the back lot of Scarborough Downs helps tell the story. There you will find hard working Maine families, their children in tow, tending to their horses. Horsemen, representing farms and thousands of acres of open farmland across our state, are there working at the site daily, not knowing whether they will have a job next year. Farmers that mow hay, employees at feed stores, blacksmiths and horse trainers are also at the edge of their saddles.

It’s been argued that the owners of Scarborough Downs could build a new racetrack in Biddeford anyway. “They’re already operating a race track without slot machines now, so if they want a new facility, build it!” That’s a fair take for people who haven’t been to Scarborough Downs lately. With both off-track betting and just an overall dying interest in the sport, a Sunday race might attract one hundred people maximum. The grandstand at the Downs, once filled with people on a race day, stands deserted now as horses race by. To preserve the industry, the farms and the farmers in this state, they need another way to draw people in. The median 55 year old female slot demographic, skipping a trip to Cumby’s for their Maine State Lottery scratch tickets and hauling their husbands to the track, is just the ticket, pun intended.

Without that influx of people, a new facility would be almost as senseless as trying to keep the current one open and once the Scarborough property, up for sale, eventually is sold; sold-out and out-of-business will be the tradition that is harness racing in Southern Maine. Not only will the jobs created by establishing a new resort facility be lost, but ones that have existed for generations. All this, because some of us Portlanders would never dream of pulling the lever of a slot machine and think that no one else should either.

Let’s help people in Biddeford gain employment and preserve the harness racing industry across our state with a ‘yes’ vote on question 2. Let’s get those scratchers to skip buying a ticket, take the Grand Marquis down to Biddeford, pull a lever and maybe watch a race or two.

Cumby’s will do just fine.

The Nathan Clifford Hostage Crises

It was after walking past a lonely snowman waving to the street below from an empty classroom and a pile of telephone books, delivered in early summer, left to rot away on its front door I found myself sitting at a well-worn school lunch table in the chilly basement of the Nathan Clifford School Wednesday night. Seventy people from the neighborhood that forms a triangle between Brighton Avenue, St. John Street and I-295 had gathered there at the urging of fluorescent fliers affixed to telephone poles suggesting we would learn what the future may hold for the abandoned school building.

Ed Suslovic, city councilor for the district and homeowner in the neighborhood I’ve dubbed “South Oakdale,” began the meeting by introducing us to Aaron Duffey. Aaron stood up, and gave a brief synopsis of who he was and why we were there. He explained that in addition to the future of the school, which would be saved for last, we also would include a discussion about the potential redesign of the six-point intersection of Deering and Brighton Avenues and Falmouth and Bedford Streets and any other neighborhood-specific issues.

We also heard from a ranking member of the rarely-heard-from Woodfords-Oakdale Neighborhood Association. I put two and two together and determined that with our councilor’s blessing and Aaron’s inclination to lead such an effort, we were witnessing a (welcomed) secession from that association and forming our own.

And so it went. The intersection discussion was up first, followed by neighbors discussing how to handle noise complaints, a possible change in how the neighborhood on-street parking is handled, graffiti and the increase of theft instances. After forty minutes of back and forth on these issues, we got down to the business of Nathan Clifford.

Ed introduced us to the school committee member for the neighborhood, Laurie Davis. Laurie explained how the school committee had not yet voted to turn the building back over to the city. The audience piped up and naturally inquired as to why, and it was learned that the issue “hadn’t come up” before the committee. She continued by telling the crowd that the school finance committee wanted to “have assurance” from the city that the committee “would get its fair share of the proceeds” from a future sale of the building. It turns out laying the hand out on the table showing the “it’s all about the money” card might not have been a good idea in a room full of what rapidly turned from concerned neighbors to frustrated abutters.

Sensing I think the mood of the crowd, Ed loudly accused the school committee of “holding the neighborhood hostage” with their “back room deals,” preventing the city from moving forward with a plan, which we had yet to learn about, for the building. Laurie was on the defensive, saying, while standing beneath steam radiators with their paint peeling, that the school committee felt that it should be rewarded for their investments in and taking care of the building through the years. She insisted that she had “no idea” that having a large building sitting abandoned in the middle of a residential neighborhood was an issue that was raising the ire of its abutters. Yelled one neighbor in response, “How could you not know that?”

Nathan Clifford School on Falmouth St.

Ed took over to introduce us to Dr. Monroe Duboise. He is the director of the USM SEPA Project and Maine ScienceCorps and is an Associate Professor of Applied Medical Sciences at USM. It was nice to see him. I first met Monroe back in March, when I went to see him in his laboratory to discuss a plan he had to turn the Nathan Clifford School into the Center for Science, Technology and Human Innovation.

It was an exciting plan. It was to be a “venue for engaging citizens of all ages in exploration and learning at the creative frontiers of science, technology, engineering and mathematics.” A center like no other in the state, with the closest such place being the Boston Museum of Science. It was a plan that would preserve architect John Calvin Stevens’ original intent for the building as a center for learning. It was an idea which would preserve amenities like the playground and green space behind the building for community use. It was the ultimate plan.

When we spoke back then, Monroe indicated to me that he felt like he would have all his ducks in a row, have a 501.3.c formed to raise funds and be able to start a build-out by the end of September. Remembering this as September past, I lost hope as I continued to walk by the empty building thinking that perhaps Monroe had given up on the center after being tangled in the viscous back-room bureaucracy that is Portland. But he hadn’t, and he presented his plan to everyone in the room. It was warmly received.

After the Science Center presentation, the crowd’s attention refocused on the school committee member. Someone asked when the school board would act to turn the building over to the city. An answer of “soon” wasn’t enough, and another asked how long. When three weeks was suggested, another person made her promise.

Until then, the Nathan Clifford School, with its rooms left trashed, yard strewn with glass and the heat set to fifty remains the hostage of the school committee for a cut on the deal. It’s hard to say what those back room discussions might be, but my “back-room-mind” guess is that the school committee would much rather see the building chopped up into condos by the highest bidder and get their double-digit percentage of the proceeds. Based on that thought, it would seem that adding to the kitty to them is much better than turning the hostage over to the city so we can lease it to some non-profit for a nominal fee, and they are going to hold out until the city promises such or the roof falls in, whichever comes first.

And with such an exciting plan on the table, that’s a shame.

Another 40 on the road to oblivion

I couldn’t even begin to imagine closing down a newspaper with a circulation of twenty-two thousand subscribers in the immediate greater Portland area, but that is what occurred on February 1, 1991 when the Evening Express left the local media machine for good under the headline “Goodbye.”

Circulation was on the decrease, it was argued. Why publish a hyper-local paper when the Express’ sister publication, the Press Herald, was publishing a state-wide paper with a reach from Kittery straight on up to Bangor? Better, they could merge the Express newsroom into one and put out a product that was all things to all subscribers, and save a little money in the meantime.

The Express was a relic of turn-of-the-twentieth century newspapering that occurred in cities across the country. Then, cities of all sizes were host to multiple daily newspapers representing a whole spectrum of views. The Press Herald itself is the result of a merger between the Portland Press and the Herald Advertiser.

Hyper-local papers: Our past, our future.

I believe the newspaper industry, as well as the economy in general is returning to the local ideology of those earlier times. In decline since 2007, the large regional newspaper model has told its own story in a slew of dismal headlines. Yesterday’s announcement that the Press Herald was eliminating 40 jobs was no exception. It’s truly a shame and didn’t need to happen.

Just like the current downturn we’re experiencing as a nation, the downturn in the newspaper industry started as far back as thirty years ago. Decisions that took what were local, sustainable papers and turned them into the infinite growth machines they became by expanding their reach both geographically and editorially have plateaued. First came the geographic expansions of the 1970s. Papers would go further and further away from their home bases, adding motor routes to service new subscribers until they were as far as they could go and be deliverable by seven in the morning. Soon, regional distribution centers were opened across the paper’s new regions to centralize the management of all the new routes.

A few years after the routes were established, the editorial expansions began. Former local, but now regional newspapers opened bureau after bureau and staffed them with reporters and support personnel. Indeed, some of the best local reporting came out of regional newspapers in the 80’s and 90’s. Sure, the papers had lost focus on their original urban cores, but the honey pot was where the mall was, proof of which is on display here locally on Spring Street in SoPo, where in 1989 the Press Herald built its cavernous printing facility with the intention of moving their entire operation there. The city of Portland somehow convinced them not to abandon their downtown offices, however. The paper remained there until just last year. The South Portland facility sits largely unused to this day.

All of these decisions served the infinite growth beast that until 2008 was our economy. The expansions served to increase ad sales and subscriber growth right up until the best year regional newspapers will ever experience with regard to revenue came and went, 2006.

Then the e-brake was applied to the idea of infinite growth, and with it a whole slew of other industries. Papers that had grown ten-fold in a relatively short amount of time were forced to cut back dramatically. They did so in the exact opposite direction they grew. First the bureaus were closed and editorial staff members were laid off.

Then came the catch-22. I was sitting in my car in a parking lot in Bangor at 1:30 in the morning on a Sunday four years ago waiting for the truck carrying the Sunday Telegram to arrive after having lost a coin toss to cover for the vacationing Bangor area circulation manager. The truck arrived, carrying 700 papers that were to be handed out to twenty-five different carriers for delivery. The routes that originated from that parking lot stretched from Bar Harbor all the way to Houlton.

I sat there and just shook my head thinking about the average revenue of $1.25 per paper versus what we were forced to compensate the carriers, which at the time was an average of nearly two dollars. I would return to the Press Herald building armed with Power Points explaining why these routes needed to end, if for anything else to stop the bleeding of red ink. But we couldn’t stop them. The paper had grown too big. We needed every bit of circulation we could scrape together, to continue to charge the ad rates that supported the operation. Even as subscribers disappeared from routes, we would still have to deliver them, I was told.

Now, carriers on rural routes at regional papers across the country are being compensated to deliver newspapers at rates that exceed revenue even closer to their cores as their own coverage cutbacks and internet competition for regional and state news eats away at subscriber bases. Add to that the ever increasing cost of fuel to transport long distances, and you have a recipe for disaster. The mistakes, decisions and big dreams of the baby-boomer newspapermen have come crashing down around them, and they still haven’t come to terms with the new reality that is on the horizon for newspapers, industry and the economy in general best stated by author James Howard Kunstler in this paper Tuesday: “to contract, de-globalize, downscale, and go local.”

So the layoffs at large regional newspapers, including the one in our own backyard, will continue. The times that allowed for anything in our economy that was large in scale are drawing to an abrupt close. I wonder now after the inevitable closure of some of the larger papers, if executives will be able to look back and see how things might have been different if they maintained their original turn of the twentieth century local sustainable model? Things would certainly be different.

You might even be reading the Express right now.

The great gentrification

A few weeks back, an acquaintance on Facebook posted that she was, yet again, being woken up by the early morning sound of construction on Munjoy Hill. The comment didn’t surprise me; Munjoy Hill has gone through a huge transformation over the last twenty years. The gentrification is well under way, working to displace the very people that have made Munjoy Hill into the “East End” it is today in favor of the well-off people that, after raising their kids in the suburbs, have decided to reclaim their youth and “move back to the city.”

It’s a story that has happened in every East Coast city to the south of us, and is starting to reach the point of no return here. Places like SoHo in New York, or Kenmore Square in Boston — places that used to be the center of specific cultures that transformed cities from the wastelands they had become due to suburban sprawl into the places, after having screwed them over in the 1950s, wealthy people wished to return to. I quickly responded that the sound of construction she was hearing would soon be followed by the sound of a moving truck hauling her butt to Riverton. She responded in agreement, saying “I give it a year.”

Back in the day, the Hill was the place where the older twenty-something guys who liked to party, with Miller High Life and a bowl, holed up in sketchy apartments that attracted the high school girls we would all pine after but couldn’t get and because high school dudes didn’t have access to the aforementioned bait. Parties, crime and good times were the way of the day. Over time, young people, drawn to the hill for the low rents, started to move into the area, replace the high life with a bottle of red, paint their front doors some off-the-wall color to stand out, plant a sunflower and voila — the culturally diverse and desirable Hill was born. Now, like all affordable housing in the city for working people, we find ourselves in danger of losing it.

In addition to the rents being artificially inflated by the city subsidizing housing for people who don’t work, the upgrades to buildings by the people who have rediscovered the city have started to push rents from the seven hundred dollar range to upwards of twelve-to-thirteen hundred dollars. The only help available for a middle class worker? An extra shift or a second job.

The city doesn’t care. The political class focuses on the one hundred percent subsidized poor and how they are the ones that need the assistance. The building upgrades are netting more property tax revenue, and “you middle class people can just tough it out.” Adding insult to injury, they even come out with a two percent tax increase this year, which doesn’t hurt the wealthy and isn’t paid by the poor.

It seems to me this city would just as soon trade us in for the “new people” coming to town, and all this supposed “business” the mayoral candidates speak of. It seems that those of us who remain in the ashes of the great gentrification are being told: “You’ll be taxed until you too need subsidization and oh — we have the perfect apartment for you just off the beaten path and out of sight.”

At that point, the perfect utopia city planners have really been after will be realized. Of course, Portland won’t be the vibrant, diverse city it is today, but it certainly will look pretty. How do we stop it? Seek out the candidates that stress the terms “homeowner” and “taxpayer.” Reward the people seeking city office that don’t just talk about jobs that pay 10 bucks an hour answering phones, but jobs that put Portland to work making actual products that people need to live.

Most importantly, stay away from the candidates bringing in large amounts of “campaign money.”

It’s not coming from us.

Portland while you were sleeping

Portland is a very different city after you’ve gone to bed. The utopia that “just needs a little vision” the more polished mayoral candidates speak of and the “total governmental tax burdening disaster but otherwise okay town” the riff-raff decry is riddled with a drug abusing and/or mentally disturbed underclass that roam the streets causing trouble on the entire peninsula and the busier thoroughfares on the other side of 295. Usually an “innocent” travelling the streets will only run into it here and there and give it only a fleeting thought. On Thursday morning, while out delivering this paper, it was blatant, it was everywhere and the scene presented provided me a glimpse into our future.

We begin at the Jetport at 2am, where all was quiet. Approaching Libbytown inbound on Congress Street I started to notice a lot of people walking and biking. A lot for this time of day is more than two. There were five. I thought nothing of it and descended into the St. John valley.

Stopping at the Greyhound station for a delivery, I’m usually tripping or glancing over a “regular” from the homeless community. The people without homes that have lived in the city for an extended time seem to have claimed the St. John valley for themselves. The newer homeless population that moved here based on the true rumors that Portland was the cat’s meow for the almighty hand out seems to stick around the Bayside area where those dreams are realized. Instead of the usual one or two people at the station, there were seven people hanging around – and not the regular faces. The faces there looked even less savory than I had grown accustomed and immune to, so I proceeded to Union Station plaza right quick.

On my way there I passed the building at the corner of St. John and A streets that is always lit up like a Christmas tree, has no signage and always has one or two suspicious-looking people coming and going from it. This morning, business was brisk, whatever it might be they purvey.

Heading to Dunkin Donuts, I saw a man wobbling behind the Dog Fish café yelling toward the sky at the top of his lungs. I continued up Congress. I am not over-embellishing when I say that every single stoop on the portion of Congress between Valley St and Bramhall Square was occupied by two or three people I wouldn’t be having tea with, and at two buildings, entry was being granted to knockers by the way of a guy cracking the door, peering out, and sizing up the visiting company. On a typical morning, you might see two or three people in this neck of the woods total. Thursday, there were 30 peeps, minimum.

I banged a right on Bramhall St, passing three late-teen/early twenties dudes using an orange construction cone as a megaphone. They had made their way up to Maine Medical Center by the time I had exited the hospital. I saw them approach a doctor outside to smoke a cigarette and as I passed in my rearview saw them dropkick the cone in her direction.

Driving further into the West End I saw people everywhere. There are always a few bar stragglers or wayward addicts out and about, but Thursday they were on every street and around every bend. Arriving at Cumberland Farms, I was greeting by a gaggle of early-twentysomethings in the parking lot. The manager of the store, having recently lost the part-time overnight guy, was manning the store. I walked in and said “The city is nuts tonight!” He agreed, and reminded me of a fact a working guy is wont to forget. It was the first of the month, he said, “checks went out.”

“That’s right!” I remembered right then that a percentage my early morning toil went to subsidize a few nights on the town for the very people I was seeing out. I usually don’t notice that our subsidizing of the criminally inclined underclass in our city has occurred until about the eighth of the month when I try to find a snack cake in the city and can’t; It seems the Hostess guy hasn’t figured out how to capitalize on the welfare state through efficient merchandising.

Having been reminded of why the city was so busy, I had a better understanding of the grand weirdness I was witnessing. Continuing forth on Danforth Street, there were four dudes standing next to a fire hydrant that had been opened and was spewing water.

I crossed the interstate from there and headed out on Forest Ave. I nearly squished a guy laying smack dab in the middle of the parking lot at the 449 Forest Ave Plaza, saw two kids armed with felt-tip writing devices at Woodfords Corner and in my rearview, after having passed a wobbly bike rider saw him then cross in front of a cargo van which came to a complete stop to wait for him to move out of the way. Heading further down Forest, I saw four police cruisers pass me, quickly heading in to town.

The quietest part of the city Thursday morning? Riverton. Not a peep out there, which was weird in of itself.

So that is what was happening while you were sleeping and your tax money was subsidizing “less fortunate” people Thursday morning. I thought you might like to know. It’s time to start thinking about when, not wondering if, what the climate in the city will be like after the collapse of the welfare state. Will a given Thursday at around noon start to more closely resemble this past Thursday at three in the morning? Will these people be better behaved when they’re not getting their Ramen noodles and starving? And most importantly, what steps are you taking now to protect yourselves for the eventuality they will come knocking on the door of a North Deering cape near you?

Seeing Portland slowly deteriorate over the last two years in the early morning has given me time to think about these things. Let’s hope our city leaders give it the same kind of thought.

A hurricane of middle class Mainer revenge

Let her rip!

The typical cry of “batten down the hatches” applies of course to the last stronghold the native Mainer has along the coast: commercial fisheries. But to the rest of the residential southern Maine coastline, that over the last fifteen years has been completely usurped by folks from away, bring on the wrath.

Over the course of this week’s media build-up to stormageddon, it was insinuated more than once from a few different sources that we Mainers were taking talk of a devastating storm with a grain of salt. It was assumed that our general malaise was the result of forecasts over the years promising great devastation, but that ended instead in a tipped-over Adirondack.

I see our “pfft” attitude as having a more sinister underlayment. See, back in the 1980’s during our local and state government’s push to build utopia and provide Ramen noodles to “less fortunate” people, also mostly from away, that were too busy making children to achieve full employment – coupled with the Federal government’s decent in to the double-D bosoms of the corporate banking coffers that allowed for inflationary bubbles that included real estate; Mainers who for generations had enjoyed their summers along the coast in cottages built by their forefathers were forced to flee inland.

The property tax bills kept creeping ever higher. First we got to the ten thousand dollar per year mark, then came fifteen. When they got so high, the Mainers still hanging on to the cottages they loved so much were forced to rent out their properties when finally, after only being able to enjoy them for only a few weeks in the year or not at all in order to collect enough to pay the government, we sold them to the rich folks from away who had been renting them.

In the fifteen or so years since most Mainers were forced from the coast like a Kurd in northern Iraq, our cottages have been replaced in large part by glorious McMansions, forever transforming the look of our residential coast, and forever leaving it deserted from September to May.

We remember or have heard stories from family about the devastation caused by the last major ocean storm to cause catastrophic damage, the Blizzard of 1978. Mainers, still mostly occupying the now gated-communities, rebuilt, repaired and fortified the old cottages. The little cottages that made it were of a different cloth and for the most part, the Mainers that owned them could make the repairs on their own. The McMansions don’t stand a chance, and the wealthy folks can’t so much as even roll paint on a wall. Guess who they’re going to have to turn to, to rebuild?

Add to that the logic of renowned economist and NewYork Times columnist Paul Krugman's recent tweet after this week's east coast earthquake; "People on twitter might be joking, but in all seriousness, we would see a bigger boost in spending and hence economic growth if the earthquake had done more damage," and put in motion you have the makings of the ultimate middle class Maine revenge: Jobs!

So let her rip! We'll look at the pictures of the homeowners surveying the damage with one foot out of the Benz and one ear in the blackberry and we'll get to work when the phone calls they make go to the thousands of Maine businesses that will serve to put everything back together.

Of course, if this puppy pushes hard inland, we're all in trouble. I guess I'll bring in the Adirondack from the field where I have beach flashbacks - just in case.

Be safe everyone!

Go-Go Gadget Column!

  All five of you who don’t skip over the opinion page with the sometimes asterized banner atop it may have wondered what happened last week to this very column. Did “they” get to him? Was he silenced for daring to write against the empire? Did he get magically selected for an IRS audit for stating the fact that people here in Portland might be feeling a tad revolutionary?

  Actually, none of the above has happened… Yet. No, instead my column fell victim to the almighty Netflix.

  I plugged back into the grid, fired up the Wii for the first time since I bought it two years ago, and found exactly what the doctor ordered for the (greater) depression-era summer staycation: Inspector Gadget.



The inspector.

   That’s right. They’ve got all 86 episodes of the 1983-1986 hand-animated gems. So, instead of following the corrupt federal corporation posing as government, the inept state government reporting (surprise, surprise) revenue shortfalls from budget forecasts and our city’s clustereff.portland.gov taxation extraction machine; I followed Gadget, Penny, Dr Claw and the comedic stylings of Brain the dog.

  So I had nothing to write about, and I loved it. I can see why the last 30 or so years have been so great for the average American. I had not a care in the world. I consumed beverages high in high-fructose corn syrup, gained 5 pounds on five different varieties of Drakes snack cakes and even read an US magazine to satisfy my news appetite. In it, I even got to see a scantily-clad Miley Cyrus romping on the shore of some exotic locale smoking a butt. Did you know she smoked menthols? Hot.

  As the week wore on, I felt I had separated myself enough from reality to be able to fully function in what is now considered society. I even read a story about a recent visit by former first lady Barbara Bush to the children’s hospital at Maine Med without once even thinking about the irony of naming a center that heals children after the matriarch of a family whose member’s policies and warmongering directives over the years directly resulted in the deaths of hundreds of thousands of children around the globe. Not even once. The kids looked so happy in the picture accompanying the story. Isn’t that cute!

  I no longer felt estranged from society. I could log on to Facebook, and finally commiserate with what I used to consider one-time acquaintances, but now my true friends, about having “a case of the Mondays,” or even the excitement that comes with the Friday afternoon release from corporate wage-slave prisons – Err, rather – Can anyone say “Happy-hour time!?!” Bloomberg in my “news feed” reporting market volatility and Reuters on there spouting this or that about how the Fukushima meltdown is starting to look like a classic China Syndrome scenario and how experts are saying it’s about to set off a chain reaction and life on earth is basically effed? Um, I totally clicked the X and removed that drivel from the feed.

  I even saw postings from friends celebrating the success of rebels in taking down the evil Ghadaffi regime! “Go America!” they were yelling in a nutshell. I liked that my new Netflix-enchanted self didn’t stop to consider how the dictator was taken down not because he was evil, which he was, but rather because he dared to switch from basing his oil sales in dollars in favor of the euro and had recently entered into an agreement with China to sell them Libyan oil. No time for that kind of thinking – Big Brother is on, and Matt might get the boot this week. I figured I would tune back in when the real big brother got around to hanging Mohammar Saddam-style; Dangling the carrot of the noose on the screen and then cutting away right before the floor was dropped out from underneath him. That was fun, right? Totally.

  So as you can see, I was enjoying my week off from thoughts of anything based in the situation of now, which ‘taint pretty and is heading rapidly toward a state of global chaos. I was having so much fun I was willing to stay in this state until I was lying in the burned-out basement.

  Then it happened, an unmistakable sign of the end of days. Higgins is running for mayor. Suddenly, thrust back into reality by thoughts of cheesy-poofs and stinky feet in council chambers, I had no choice. The command was issued from the back of my mind: “Staycation over; Go-go gadget column.”

  See you next week.

The Dow and the ‘R’ word

  Did anyone find Tuesday’s newspaper headlines reading “Markets Soar,” and “Dow posts biggest gains since 2009” as amusing as I did when I first saw them trickle to out to newsstands at 2am that morning? The markets, coming off a huge decline of 634.76 points Monday, managed to eke out a 429.62 point recovery Tuesday. Still being down doesn’t say “soar” to me, but to a populace that the government and their paradigm-defending media treat like short-attention-spanned children, a headline implying great improvement and including positive keywords was just the trick to kick the can and cross a finger another day.

  And kicking the can has really been what the last ten years have been all about. Though not showing itself in an obvious way until autumn 2008 and its recent return to undeniable decline this week, the greater depression that took hold in early 2001 has now advanced to the point where it is no longer possible to artificially inflate the economy by the inventive financial means so masterfully created by the banking sector with the help of loosened regulation.

  As I discovered through recent, totally random conversations, Portlanders are really starting to notice this whole “collapse” thing.

  When I decided that something “just isn’t right,” a few years ago, I went off the “media grid” of smart phones, Hollywood entertainment and spoon-fed news and learned through hundreds of hours of research that in a nutshell the entire globalization experiment launched in earnest after World War 2 is now in the throes of collapse, beyond repair and is disappearing without anything in the wings to replace it. Our federal government, which was co-opted by the corporate globalization movement, has proven ineffectual and at the highest levels has shown time and again to be overtly corrupt. There is no fix for this system – and we’re all just sitting by idly waiting for what’s next.

  Although no one but perhaps the much ballyhooed “top two percent” of earners laments the loss of the trickle-up society they helped create over the last 50 years, the scary thing for the people I’ve talked to seems to be not knowing what’s coming next. It’s what scares me too.

  I was down at the recycling lot down in Bayside last Saturday talking with one of the guys I know who works for the city, shooting the fecal matter, if you will, about the recycling rumor mill and the new city manager, when the conversation turned toward the economy. We both agreed that things were bad, going to get worse and he mentioned how he was worried about his family’s security as they continued to worsen. He offered an anecdote about last winter’s ice storm and how during it there were four (what he considered to be) unsavory people he didn’t recognize hanging out around his house on Broadway in SoPo. The roads, being totally un-passable, would certainly be difficult to navigate with an emergency vehicle if the suspicious looking dudes decided they wanted to pay a visit and he needed help. He said that he had no way to defend himself, wife or kids – and told me he was thinking, with the hard times ahead in mind that are sure to include a lot of hungry and angry people, of getting a gun for just such an occasion. Without any prompting from me, he mentioned there could even be a revolution in this country if things continued to get much worse. We both ended the conversation agreeing that as long as we were both still running into each other while on the job, things were okay for at least the two of us.

  Then, Monday night after the big Dow decline, I was sitting in my driveway with my son on the tailgate of my truck when my neighbor walked by and stopped to chat. He was with his two boys and we started talking about some of the great fishing his older son had done this year and some of the all time great fishing spots in the state. I asked him how his business was doing, and he said he was having an excellent summer. I told him that was great, because things were tough out there. He agreed, saying that a lot of guys were losing their shirts in the markets and at the register. Then, he turned to be and said “Things are so bad out there, there could even be a revolution” and “A lot of guys I know are saying it.”

  These two “R-word” conversations in particular and others I’ve had around the city recently in general made me feel better because I no longer felt alone. They also scared me because by showing me more and more people were starting to see that this surreal socioeconomic choo-choo we’ve been riding in during this “lost decade” is about to hit the big wall of whatever is next at three hundred miles per hour, the chats made our situation seem more “real.”

  Of course, we didn’t need the Dow drop to tell us that. Sure, it murders our 401k plans, but for the big money, it’s a number that really only effects the so-called two per centers in the wallet. Our wallets already empty, the rest of us feel the impact of collapse like a brick dropped on our collective heads from the top of the Observatory.

  Looking ahead, will some great, currently unknown leader step forward to tell us what’s next, or are we going to have to collectively design whatever it may be on our own? Things will unveil themselves and the natural course of the universe will answer that soon enough. One thing our society’s next evolutionary step is not; is a return to the ways of the late twentieth century we all thought we loved, but turned out to be a mirage that provided the population with a Matrix-like image of an idealized society. It turns out that behind the scenes, while we were taking the Taurus wagon to Disneyland with Bon Jovi blaring, clever elitists were working to squander everything that made America great until there was nothing left. Thomas Jefferson said it best when he correctly prophesized this very moment, saying: “If the American people ever allow private banks to control the issuance of their currencies, first by inflation and then by deflation, the banks and corporations that will grow up around them will deprive the people of all their prosperity until their children will wake up homeless on the continent their fathers conquered." So they have, and so we are. And, unless we figure out how to stop them, our children don’t even have a chance.

  Whatever is coming next, it is time to get past the denial stage, come together and get ready for it.

The Volvo 240 invaded Portland in 1974 and never left!

  When I’m driving around the West End, I don’t notice the relatively clean streets, tree-lined corridors and well-kept buildings. I notice the unusually large number of Volvo 240s.

  There are the ones that stand out, like the unusually beat-up, rear-bumper-on-the-street white sedan parked on Danforth Street or the primer black GL in the Andrews Square area. The others are all well kept and otherwise nondescript. While especially abundant in the West End, they are everywhere in Portland. So much so, it makes me believe Portland has the largest human-to-Volvo 240 ratio in the United States.

  It makes sense. The Volvo 240 is a lot like us. Our city is old, not perfect, but it always runs - reliably at that. It goes in the snow, but slips a lot without the proper traction. Like when our public services department recycles materials from dismantled areas for new sidewalks, you can easily switch out your own parts with a 240 junkyard victim. (Rest in peace, junk yard Volvos. If you were in Portland, this wouldn’t have happened.)

  Anyone who has ever grown up with, been in or driven the 240 in the rest of the country seem to care a lot less about the 240 than people do here in Portland. Maybe it’s because the people here in their mid twenties to mid thirties, the latest caretakers of the fleet, are letting everyone in on the fact that they now know what the older 240 skippers felt while sailing the streets of the city. The feeling you get when driving these machines is much like the feeling you get living in Portland – A feeling of safety; A feeling that no matter what happens anywhere else, (or in an accident with another car on the road,) everything is going to be okay here.

  Whatever it is, I’m glad to see them all out there. I grew up in a 240 family. There was the maroon 1980 244 DL when I was real little, followed by a silver 86 Turbo. When I got my license, I went on to have a couple of my own. I had an 88 sedan and an 83 2-door DL coupe. I loved them all.

  But as technology improved in vehicles, so too did the safety features. Those of us who started families needed to take advantage of airbags and “latch” systems (car seat fasteners) for little ones in the car. Sadly, we had to relinquish our guardianships to the next generation. Thankfully, the next generation took on the task.

  So the unofficial-Official car of Portland, the Volvo 240, lives on for another ten years. The car that perfectly represents both the city and our feelings for it also occupies its boundaries more than anyplace else. We should make it official and proclaim it on the books. We could have a festival with them all on display lined up and down Deering Oaks. Just think how cool the city seal would look with a 240 flying out of it beneath “Resurgam”!

  So, next time you see a 240 around town, thank the driver. Praise them if they have one with the four headlights. Bow to them if their 240 is even older and has two round ones and denotes the number of doors in the badging. They are preserving part of the street art landscape and motorcar tradition that makes Portland so unique.

It’s time to take the “Civic” out of the Center

  Portland was looking pretty down and out back in the mid-seventies. The forest city had just gone through a brutal period of Urban Renewal; Results of which saw the severing of the city in two by an interstate, a massive swath of Bayside obliterated with the Franklin Art and the removal of many blocks in the center of the city to make way for the Spring Street jetliner runway.

  For the latter, I can imagine the area “powers that be” decided they needed something to jazz the street up and bring it to life. Also, Portland didn’t have a venue larger than 3,000 seats with which to attract national acts that would bring people with their money into the city.

  In 1977, the Cumberland County Civic Center was born.

  And at the time, it was not only a great idea but sorely needed. Things here in Portland then seemed like they do now in places like Las Vegas. The economy just quickly died, leaving a formerly prosperous city figuring out what to do about it. And to a huge degree, the Civic Center and the business it brought here helped to make today’s Portland one of the most (long-term) economically viable and desirable places in this country to live.

  But the whole Greater Portland area has grown up from those times. We have morphed from a little city with a bunch of farmland around it to the economic nucleus which props-up the rest of this state, no matter what our Governor might think of us. We no longer need to publically subsidize large multi-purpose spaces.

  You only need to look to the awesome plan for Thompson’s Point for proof. While this wouldn’t be the case 30 years ago, Portland is viable enough now for a group of private investors to spend massive amounts of money to build an arena ten times better than the Civic Center that can perform all its major functions.

  It’s time to open the whole drab Civic Center area up to investors that could potentially create another awesome project out of it. Government is learning right now that they can’t build and operate this kind of project any more, and probably shouldn’t have in the first place. So, here we are. Now, we need to convince our government to get out of the arena business and put it up for sale. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t still spend the 33 million dollars you might, but shouldn’t decide to spend to renovate it.

  That kind of money needs to be spent to further improve Portland’s future. The money could go a long way to building a light rail trolley system that has tracks coming in from Westbrook, Riverton, No Deering, the Jetport and South Portland. You could even use it to do something radical with the Franklin Street corridor. With homelessness on the rise, a permanent homeless solution could be found and funded, enabling the further revitalization of the Elm/Preble/Oxford portion of Bayside. Most of all, we could feed every mouth in this region by quickly re-establishing our local food system that grows and raises everything we need within a quick horse cart ride.

  But for any government entity to continue to publically subsidize these types of large twentieth century public arenas, when as we’re seeing now everywhere with debt that publicly subsiding anything doesn’t sustain itself long-term, seems like a bad idea to me. That money, that reported ten extra dollars on the county portion of the property tax bill, can be better spent elsewhere.

What will the game changer be?

  I feel that we’re in a moment of flux. The bread and circuses parade that is one-two-ing us at every turn with murder trials of pretty white girls, perjury trials of sports figures, rape trials of top level monetary policy makers, ineffectual congressmen and media conglomerate malfeasance is swamping the airwaves. Everything presented to us feels contrived in a fashion that seems to serve one purpose: To focus our instinctual abilities away from what may lie ahead.

  A few weeks ago I asked if “you could feel it,” but found out from readers that while there was certainly a feeling of something not right in the world, it was impossible to put a finger on exactly what “it” is.

  Human nature is a phenomenal force in this universe. One of the most phenomenal things about it is that as a human, you are remiss to try to explain in a five paragraph essay its intricacies, and an attempt to do so would be an act of arrogance. Sometimes our place in this world is best explained in one’s gut; on your own and to yourself. In my gut I know that everything we’re being spoon-fed by the media machine in these last ten years has nothing to do with, and is not sufficiently preparing us for what’s to come.

  What my inner gut is telling me when I talk to people, when I stop to feel how nature is acting while outside gardening, when I read what people in local humanitarian organizations are saying, is that people are sensing something big is afoot - A game changer. But in what form will that game changer manifest itself?

  Will it be governmental? Will government end its corruptive ways on its own and return itself to being for and by the people without the engagement of the citizenry? It seems as if the United States has passed the point of no return in this regard. Will it come in the form of a massive change in our government with the help of a modern-day Spartacus to lead us to revolution? There is certainly a case to be made for that in the history annals of human civilization. Will government perform yet another black flag operation to further oppress us and take away more of our freedoms? Nothing hides economic malaise better than an allowed attack on a harbor or a metropolitan building complex to provide tens of thousands of jobs in the industrial military complex or in airports ripping off Grammy’s diaper.

  Will it be natural? Will the changes to our earth increase at a faster clip? The weather over the last few years and the steady increase in seismic activity certainly adds to the feeling. Massive dust storms in Phoenix and massive draught in many parts of the world are even making the headlines on a daily basis.

  Or, will it be cosmic? Will there be something to Hopi prophecy and the end of the Mayan calendar? Could it be that we are witnessing the death throes of a global control structure designed to oppress? Everything we think we know and have been told or taught could be deemed unimportant and we could be playing witness to a human enlightenment that reveals the truths about ourselves and our place in the universe. We could potentially be the witnesses of something beautiful. God, I truly hope that is what this feeling is. I can’t take an extension and continuation of the now; and a World War exploding out of the untelevised monetary, resource and cyber battles going on between the sovereigns of the world right now is something no sane human being wants.

  Whatever the game changer may be, this surreal period in time we find ourselves living will be rapidly exposed for what it is or isn’t. My gut is telling me that “it,” in whatever form “it” takes, is going to make itself known sooner rather than later. I can’t wait.

  So if you can feel it, hang in there. “It” is coming soon.

Scuttling the Hannaford brand is ‘essentially’ hard to swallow

  Three weeks ago my wife, son and I were enjoying dinner at a friend’s home when I noticed the latest addition to their mustard collection. My friend Drew is somewhat of a mustard connoisseur. We both believe that our mustards need to be hot – very hot. Hot enough to require the assistance of the fire department-hot. We discussed different mustard brand names when the conversation turned into a discussion of different brand names in general. Then, Drew turned to me and said “What I really don’t like is how Hannaford has replaced their Hannaford brand with something called My Essentials.”

  This was news to me. I usually go grocery shopping once every two weeks. I told him that I hadn’t seen the My Essentials cans on the shelves at my Forest Ave Hannaford and supposed that he was mistaken and the My Essentials was just an additional brand brought into the store. I couldn’t imagine that Hannaford Brothers would scuttle a long-known brand that to a lot of Mainers is considered a “name brand,” as opposed to a cheap-looking “store brand” like, say, Wal-mart’s “Great Value.”

  Come to find out, Drew was right.

Saying 'so long' to yet another Maine brand

  I was at the Forest Ave Hannaford last Saturday morning doing my “grocery thang.” I navigated through the veggies, grabbed a couple things from the deli and rounded isle four to grab a couple cans of Hannaford French-Style Green Beans. I looked down to the middle row where before me was a sea of canned green beans and couldn’t find it. Focusing harder, there it was. The My Essentials French Style Green Beans stacked oh so neatly with a little one inch by one inch sticker that confirmed Drew’s story. The sign read, printed in a super-small 6 point font, “This My Essentials product has replaced the Hannaford Brand.”

  I picked up a can and gave it a gander. It was cheap-looking. The font describing the product, the picture of the beans and the white background looked as though they had been focus-grouped down in some white-walled room in Arkansas. One could literally cut out a “Great Value” label from a Wal-Mart can, paste it over My Essentials and not tell the difference. I put the can down, picked up a can of Green Giant, and continued shopping. As I did, I noticed the slow rotation that was gradually replacing most of the Hannaford products I had been used to buying for so many years. It was awful.

  After I left the store, knowing full well that more than likely the products were the same contents with just a different label, I asked myself whether this brand change was something that was bothering just me and Drew, as we’re both a little quirky. I certainly hadn’t seen anything in the news about the change and it seems as though Hannaford is trying to quietly extinguish the Hannaford brand in the stores. After a little search, I found out we were not alone.

  I discovered an online message forum that was full of messages from Hannaford customers that shared the same feelings. Comments included “My Essentials sounds lame, bland and cheap” and “As a Mainer, it’s kind of depressing to see Hannaford losing its regional identity.” The last quote served to describe exactly how I feel.

  In stories about Hannaford-parent Delhaize America’s decision to replace all of their store brands, including the Sweet Bay and Food Lion chains’ individual banners with My Essentials, Delhaize explains that they want to increase sales of their generic foods in all their stores. In all their chains, with the exception of Hannaford, it appears that their store brands were not performing well, and My Essentials was the answer to turn that part of their business around. The My Essentials switcharoo has apparently been in the works since July of last year, as a quick search for the My Essentials trademark with the U.S. Trademark office shows that the My Essentials trademark was filed on July 29, 2010. In their other chains, the change to My Essentials is being heralded in the stores and in the media as a good thing. In Hannaford country, it’s happening quietly. Why? It is because it’s a bad idea for the Hannaford chain.

  From a global corporate governance standpoint, the change makes sense. Delhaize will save money by only having to produce one product for all their stores. They even insist that having one brand will enable them to better leverage themselves when purchasing from suppliers. And, the increased sales they expect will certainly reap benefits for investors. Maybe their plan to increase profits in all their stores, even if there is a little dip at Hannaford from formerly-loyal customers, is more clandestine. In one online comment, a Hannaford customer writes: “The rollout of My Essentials at DZA's Hannaford banner is off to a rocky start. Shoppers have noticed, for example, that the 8 ounce light yogurt under the Hannaford brand has been replaced by a 6 ounce My Essentials container with no price change to account for the 25% shrinkage.”

  But to me, if there are enough people that feel the same way I do about the Hannaford brand going the way of Jordan’s Ball Park Franks and Deering Ice Cream, the increased revenue Delhaize is forecasting from increased sales at their other chains and charging the same price for less could potentially be off set by a large decrease of store brand sales in their Hannaford stores. Then what? Will they scuttle the name all together and one day invite us to shop at the Forest Avenue Food Lion? The quick wave of the hand and executive board room decision thousands of miles away from Portland that eliminated the Hannaford brand could make that happen, too. Hannaford would of course claim this would never happen, but what would the leaders of Hannaford say about discontinuing the Hannaford brand if asked in 2006?

  So for me, because nothing says “I’m cheap” to dinner guests like a spice rack full of cheap-looking spice bottles, when my bottle of Hannaford Basil Leaves runs out, I’ll spend the extra buck and buy McCormick, all the while lamenting over the loss of yet another Maine brand to global corporatism.

Let’s give Forest Avenue the “Main Street” treatment it deserves

   It’s starting to come together.

   Forest Avenue, for years victim to the automotive age with its wide expanse, barren landscape and an overall feel that makes you want to do exactly what the road is currently designed for – drive right through it – is being thoroughly studied by an official city committee for aesthetic, pedestrian, public transport and even traffic flow improvement.

   Available for public consumption at portlandmaine.gov/forestave.htm, the plan is a great start. I love the way the design team has included more trees, lighting fixtures that are sure to attract foot traffic after sunset, brick crosswalks, and bike lanes. The plan, which starts at Woodford’s Corner and heads inbound right up to the interchange with 295, serves to reconnect us Deering types with the rest of the city.

   Landlords along the entire stretch who may have a hard time finding tenants will suddenly find themselves staring at waiting lists of businesses looking to locate here. Because Forest Avenue has been treated like a slow-speed turnpike over the last 40 years, there just hasn’t been much incentive to do anymore than standard upkeep. Building owners, noticing the changes, will want to make aesthetic improvements to their buildings to attract higher rents.

   The first thing I think of as a Portland taxpayer, of course, is the cost of all these changes. But it seems to me that a major investment on what is THE main street for this side of town will only serve to pay itself back many times over. Based on the presentation I saw, building values and hence tax revenue is sure to go up. Fees collected from building permits issued to landlords, businesses and even homeowners looking to capitalize on the revitalization for increased equity, cash flow and value will add to the pot. The new jobs that could be potentially created at any new business and the retail or service sales they garner will only serve to improve our local economy as a whole.

   No initial plan is perfect, and there are some things that I would like to see that are missing. The Metro is a great service, but as anyone who takes the 2 bus inbound can attest, it’s not particularly reliable time-wise once car traffic picks up. It may be the pipe dream of a train-enthusiast; but a dedicated, center track trolley going all the way from Riverton to Congress Street would do a lot to not only get people in to town, but also attract peninsula-dwellers to Forest Avenue to help pay for the improvements in the plan with their commerce.

   I would also like to see more formal planning surrounding the exit 6 interchange with 295. The Maine DOT has put off performing any improvement work, which is badly needed no matter what for safety alone, until our local study is complete. Before making any changes to exit 6, the DOT will take the city’s findings into consideration. No matter what they come up with for an exit layout, a huge key to a successful reconnection of Forest Avenue with the peninsula would be to eliminate the ability of vehicles to simply yield and instead make them come to a complete stop when exiting the highway. It is too dangerous to walk beneath 295 any other way.

   The final wish of mine lands squarely in the hands of the University of Southern Maine. USM owns the building that serves as not only the gateway to their campus, but also as the gateway to Forest Avenue. For the last few years, the front of the building facing our “main street” has been locked shut.

   On the website for the Glickman Family Library, the university claims the building was designed to “symbolize a gateway to USM, and to serve as a tangible reminder of USM’s presence in the community.” Former University President Richard Pattenaude even spoke about the important symbolism of having the front door facing outward toward the community in his library dedication speech. Today, the only way to enter the building is around back and the inviting picnic tables that used to encourage students to gather on the front patio have been removed. The front of the building is also now especially unwelcoming at night, as when the sun ends its day, so too does any light in the front of Glickman. The library’s neighbor, Oakhurst, has done its part for the block by renovating the building that used to house World Over Imports; the university needs to “tear down that wall,” or at the very least, unlock the front door and flip on a light at night.

   All in all, plans designed by cities can never be all things to all people. The Forest Avenue Transition plan, even in these early stages, is about as close to accomplishing that feat as I have seen come from the city in a long time. If the city, businesses, homeowners, the state DOT and USM can all come together, and some add-ons mentioned here or brought forth by others can be molded in, this project would be everything 1970’s Urban Renewal wasn’t and the “all things” I never thought possible.

   To get there, it certainly deserves the support of us all.

(Jeffrey S. Spofford is the circulation manager for The Portland Daily Sun and can be reached by emailing jspofford@maine.rr.com.)