Highway driving in Rhode Island can be dreary in March. Until the forsythia arrives, and unless the hawks are hovering, there are few highlights on the major roadways. So yesterday’s trip from Barrington to South County and back was a rare treat for me, since I passed Pogo Dave coming and going.
It was my first (and second) Pogo Dave sighting. I passed him on Route 4 sometime before noon and then on I-95 heading back to Providence around 4:30. He drives an All-American red, white and blue automobile with a bull’s head and horns on the hood, various gizmos and stationary bikes mounted on the roof. The car has a sign that reads: “This car is powered with insanity.” A North Providence native, also known as Dave Clayman, Pogo Dave has been parking his car on roadsides throughout Rhode Island performing on his contraption and spreading the gospel of nonsense for 16 years. Somehow, despite driving about 33,000 miles a year in this state for the past 11 years, I’ve never seen him before…until twice in one day.
With the international holiday of pranks, hoaxes and practical jokes set for Friday,* perhaps we should consider making Pogo Dave Rhode Island’s official April Fool. (Although Love 22 might give him a run for his money. We might have to put it to a state vote, as we did during the debate over what should be the official state drink: Del’s lemonade or coffee milk?)
The tradition of April Fool’s Day hoaxes goes back centuries, but the practice seems to have really taken off in modern times. Among the best last year: Starbucks, the coffee chain that sizes its cups as “tall,” “grande” and venti” – a language I generally refer to dismissively as Starbuckian – showed it had a sense of humor by announcing two more sizes: the 128-ounce “plenta” and the two-ounce “micra.” Google changed its name to “Topeka” for the day. And England’s Guardian newspaper announced that after 188 years of printing ink on paper, it would be switching exclusively to publishing on Twitter, after management decided that any story can be told in 140 characters.
Rhode Island hasn’t been at the forefront of a good April Fool’s Day prank in a long time, at least according to the humorologist at the University of South-Central Rhode Island who is often consulted in these matters.
This week’s question: Who is Rhode Island’s April Fool?
* A partial list of tomfoolery that may also include parodies, satires, spoofs, lampoons, follies, frolics, wisecracks, gags, japes, capers, larks, farces, send ups, takeoffs, mockeries, fakes and forgeries.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Monday, March 21, 2011
Roger and We
Following up on last week’s question on how to celebrate Rhode Island’s 375th anniversary – gift ideas under consideration: wampum or Cumberlandite – it looks like the City of Providence wants to party like it’s 1636.
On Wednesday at 5:30 p.m., the Greater Providence Chamber of Commerce will conduct a Providence 375 Informational Workshop. From their press release:
Among the events: a “My Providence” video contest; a special WaterFire in honor of the 375th; Providence’s Independence Weekend celebration and fireworks; a “Providence 375” gala honoring individuals who exemplify Williams’ legacy and ideals; a National Park Service-sponsored Shakespeare in the Park production; a “Roger Williams Paddle” led by Rhode Island Blueways; a “What does the American dream mean to you?” public art installation at Roger Williams National Memorial; an exhibit on Williams’ “A Key into the Language of America” at The Haffenreffer Museum of Anthropology; The Manton Avenue Project’s “375 Roger (Over and Out): the happy-birthday-Providence-plays”; and more.
Conveniently missing from the hoopla is another Roger Williams project announced earlier this month – one that would flesh out the founder’s reputation as a slave trader. In his later years, Williams wasn’t quite the idealist he had been as a younger man. The decades after that moment when Narragansett Indian Sachem Canonicus and his people gifted Williams the land that would become the Rhode Island Colony were marred by conflict between cultures, culminating in King Philip’s War during the 1670s. According to Julianne Jennings, a Native American and former Rhode Island scholar now studying in Arizona, Williams and other colonists held a town meeting on August 1676 that resulted in an agreement to send the community’s American Indian prisoners to the Caribbean, Portugal, Spain and Africa, where they were sold as slaves. (The fact that Williams’ house had been destroyed by native factions in the burning of Providence during March of that year might have contributed to the cranky old free-thinker’s judgment.)
State officials have agreed to a request to erect a plaque somewhere in Providence that will focus on Williams’ role in selling American Indian war captives into slavery. They just haven’t figured out where or when. Given the tendency to deify our historical figures into the realm of myth and legend, there’s probably some resistance to permanently installing a monument to the Bad Roger legacy during the same year we’re celebrating the 375th anniversary of Good Roger’s landing. But there shouldn’t be.
Inherent in every holiday named after a person is the hypocrisy of sanctifying those who were flesh and flawed. The cracks in the faces of the four presidents on Mt. Rushmore are not just weather-related, but metaphoric, a visual reminder that we put masks on our heroes, and don’t really want to see them in their stark complexity. To schoolchildren from Woonsocket to Westerly, Roger Williams is the George Washington of Rhode Island. (Although Washington, truth be told, was no great fan of Rhode Island, skipping it on his horseback journeys until we knuckled under and ratified statehood.) We have this permanent image of Preacher Williams in the long coat and the pilgrim’s hat greeting the local tribes with “What cheer,” befriending natives and colonists regardless of their cultural, political or religious beliefs, and setting the tone for the best of Rhode Island’s ideals and aspirations. As Rhode Islanders, we believe that before there was an American dream, Williams dreamed it. But the truth is far more complicated. Wherever you shine a light you'll see shadows. Which is fine. An exacting curiosity in pursuit of truth and knowledge is always healthier to a functioning society than mindless PR. Anniversaries aren’t just about celebrating the past. They are about surviving it, hopefully with a few lessons learned along the way.
Where should the “Roger Williams, slave trader” plaque be placed?
On Wednesday at 5:30 p.m., the Greater Providence Chamber of Commerce will conduct a Providence 375 Informational Workshop. From their press release:
HOPE FREEDOM ROOTS INGENUITY
A celebration to honor Roger Williams’ legacy and ideals
In 1636, Roger Williams and a small group of followers landed on the shores of the Seekonk River in Providence’s Fox Point. From May-October 2011, Providence will commemorate the 375th anniversary of the colonial settlement along the shores of the Great Salt Cove.
Among the events: a “My Providence” video contest; a special WaterFire in honor of the 375th; Providence’s Independence Weekend celebration and fireworks; a “Providence 375” gala honoring individuals who exemplify Williams’ legacy and ideals; a National Park Service-sponsored Shakespeare in the Park production; a “Roger Williams Paddle” led by Rhode Island Blueways; a “What does the American dream mean to you?” public art installation at Roger Williams National Memorial; an exhibit on Williams’ “A Key into the Language of America” at The Haffenreffer Museum of Anthropology; The Manton Avenue Project’s “375 Roger (Over and Out): the happy-birthday-Providence-plays”; and more.
Conveniently missing from the hoopla is another Roger Williams project announced earlier this month – one that would flesh out the founder’s reputation as a slave trader. In his later years, Williams wasn’t quite the idealist he had been as a younger man. The decades after that moment when Narragansett Indian Sachem Canonicus and his people gifted Williams the land that would become the Rhode Island Colony were marred by conflict between cultures, culminating in King Philip’s War during the 1670s. According to Julianne Jennings, a Native American and former Rhode Island scholar now studying in Arizona, Williams and other colonists held a town meeting on August 1676 that resulted in an agreement to send the community’s American Indian prisoners to the Caribbean, Portugal, Spain and Africa, where they were sold as slaves. (The fact that Williams’ house had been destroyed by native factions in the burning of Providence during March of that year might have contributed to the cranky old free-thinker’s judgment.)
State officials have agreed to a request to erect a plaque somewhere in Providence that will focus on Williams’ role in selling American Indian war captives into slavery. They just haven’t figured out where or when. Given the tendency to deify our historical figures into the realm of myth and legend, there’s probably some resistance to permanently installing a monument to the Bad Roger legacy during the same year we’re celebrating the 375th anniversary of Good Roger’s landing. But there shouldn’t be.
Inherent in every holiday named after a person is the hypocrisy of sanctifying those who were flesh and flawed. The cracks in the faces of the four presidents on Mt. Rushmore are not just weather-related, but metaphoric, a visual reminder that we put masks on our heroes, and don’t really want to see them in their stark complexity. To schoolchildren from Woonsocket to Westerly, Roger Williams is the George Washington of Rhode Island. (Although Washington, truth be told, was no great fan of Rhode Island, skipping it on his horseback journeys until we knuckled under and ratified statehood.) We have this permanent image of Preacher Williams in the long coat and the pilgrim’s hat greeting the local tribes with “What cheer,” befriending natives and colonists regardless of their cultural, political or religious beliefs, and setting the tone for the best of Rhode Island’s ideals and aspirations. As Rhode Islanders, we believe that before there was an American dream, Williams dreamed it. But the truth is far more complicated. Wherever you shine a light you'll see shadows. Which is fine. An exacting curiosity in pursuit of truth and knowledge is always healthier to a functioning society than mindless PR. Anniversaries aren’t just about celebrating the past. They are about surviving it, hopefully with a few lessons learned along the way.
Where should the “Roger Williams, slave trader” plaque be placed?
Monday, March 14, 2011
Rhody Sampler
Wienerpalooza
We had a serious wiener conversation in the office the other day. At issue was the correct spelling of one of Rhode Island’s culinary delights – the New York System Hot Wiener – which has nothing to do with New York and is traditionally spelled “weiner,” at least if you go by some of the oldest establishments in the state: the Original New York System Hot Weiner joint in Providence; Cosmic Steak, Pizza & Weiners in Warwick; Moonlight House of Weiners in Woonsocket; the Wein-O-Rama in Cranston and the Weiner Genie in Lincoln. Of course, not every wiener business spells it the same way. In some locations, the word is “weiner” on the building and “wiener” on the road sign (or vice versa). Our grammar Bible, the A.P. Stylebook, has no entry for wiener. So we are left to our own devices.
Maybe in the future, when other states eventually catch on to the culinary glory of “an arm all the way with an Arizona” – steamed buns stuffed with wieners, meat sauce, mustard, onions and celery salt running from the cook’s palm to the shoulder washed down with a coffee milk – we can do what the Scots do with whisky. Whisky made in Scotland, better known as Scotch, is spelled with no “e;” whereas it’s whiskey if distilled anywhere else. One day, perhaps, only Rhode Island wieners will be spelled officially as “weiners.” (Smells like legislation brewing.) Until that happens, however, we chose “wiener” essentially for grammatical clarity – and also because most of the modern restaurants that get into the wiener business spell it the dictionary way. It may not be as much fun as perpetuating a deliberate typo but it provides a bit of editorial sanity when we have to write about gaggers.
That said, don’t be surprised if a rogue weiner slips into our writing every once in a while.
The reason this came up is because colleague Chris Church wrote a story in the March 10 edition of The North East Independent about the North Kingstown House of Pizza winning an award from the Web site Fork in the Rhode for having the best wieners in the state. The judging was based on sampling more than 100 belly-busters from 34 wiener joints. It’s a nice honor for the Post Road eatery, given that it beat out some classic gagger locales, including the A&W Restaurant in Greenville, Olneyville New York System, Ferrucci’s Original New York System in Arctic, Lumber-Jacks-Pizza ’n Wieners in North Smithfield, Sparky’s Coney Island System in East Providence, Snoopy’s Diner in North Kingstown and (my wiener local) Rod’s Grill in Warren. But another problem with any comprehensive Rhody wiener story is keeping track of all the places that sell them. There’s no telling how many spots were left out of the survey, but Quick Rick’s Sandwich Shop just across the parking lot from our Independent offices sells them, as does Kingston Pizza down the road in Peace Dale. Bishop’s 4th Street Diner in Newport is also a contributor to Rhody’s gagger landscape.
As for the wiener wording, it’s the latest in a long line of Independent grammatical conundrums. Previous discussions – and they can get pretty heated – have established a consistent style for a variety of local terms and cultural references. They include our “two Z” spelling of Verrazzano (the explorer’s name who shares space on the Jamestown Bridge and is spelled differently on various road signs en route; even Wikipedia only gives him one “Z”); our “no H” spelling of jonnycake (even though most Rhode Island jonnycake purists insist that the flour must be made with Rhode Island stone-ground white flint corn to earn the H-less distinction); and whether to “capital the B” in Easter Bunny (A.P., once again, is silent on the matter).
Rhody Universe: Sendai
Odd note from The Weather Channel this weekend, reporting on the earthquake and tsunami that devastated Japan, especially the city of Sendai. According to TWC, Sendai’s closet climatological comparison to an American city is Providence. The two municipalities, both located on the northeast corners of their countries, share an uncanny similarity in average high and average low temperatures, average rainfall and average snowfall.
Happy Anniversary, Rhody
In the spring of 1636, Roger Williams crossed the Seekonk River to what would become the Rhode Island side of the New England colonies and dropped anchor in a place he called Providence. That means this spring marks the 375th anniversary of Rhode Island’s founding.
So what would be an appropriate 375th anniversary gift for Rhode Island?
Most anniversary gift lists only go up to 75 or 80 years. According to Wikipedia, the oldest traditional anniversary gift given in the United States (appropriate for age 75) is something with diamonds or gold, although modern lists (up to age 80) have been revised to diamonds or pearls. Traditionally in the United Kingdom it’s oak. Imagine after 80 years of marriage, getting a handful of acorns....
We had a serious wiener conversation in the office the other day. At issue was the correct spelling of one of Rhode Island’s culinary delights – the New York System Hot Wiener – which has nothing to do with New York and is traditionally spelled “weiner,” at least if you go by some of the oldest establishments in the state: the Original New York System Hot Weiner joint in Providence; Cosmic Steak, Pizza & Weiners in Warwick; Moonlight House of Weiners in Woonsocket; the Wein-O-Rama in Cranston and the Weiner Genie in Lincoln. Of course, not every wiener business spells it the same way. In some locations, the word is “weiner” on the building and “wiener” on the road sign (or vice versa). Our grammar Bible, the A.P. Stylebook, has no entry for wiener. So we are left to our own devices.
Maybe in the future, when other states eventually catch on to the culinary glory of “an arm all the way with an Arizona” – steamed buns stuffed with wieners, meat sauce, mustard, onions and celery salt running from the cook’s palm to the shoulder washed down with a coffee milk – we can do what the Scots do with whisky. Whisky made in Scotland, better known as Scotch, is spelled with no “e;” whereas it’s whiskey if distilled anywhere else. One day, perhaps, only Rhode Island wieners will be spelled officially as “weiners.” (Smells like legislation brewing.) Until that happens, however, we chose “wiener” essentially for grammatical clarity – and also because most of the modern restaurants that get into the wiener business spell it the dictionary way. It may not be as much fun as perpetuating a deliberate typo but it provides a bit of editorial sanity when we have to write about gaggers.
That said, don’t be surprised if a rogue weiner slips into our writing every once in a while.
The reason this came up is because colleague Chris Church wrote a story in the March 10 edition of The North East Independent about the North Kingstown House of Pizza winning an award from the Web site Fork in the Rhode for having the best wieners in the state. The judging was based on sampling more than 100 belly-busters from 34 wiener joints. It’s a nice honor for the Post Road eatery, given that it beat out some classic gagger locales, including the A&W Restaurant in Greenville, Olneyville New York System, Ferrucci’s Original New York System in Arctic, Lumber-Jacks-Pizza ’n Wieners in North Smithfield, Sparky’s Coney Island System in East Providence, Snoopy’s Diner in North Kingstown and (my wiener local) Rod’s Grill in Warren. But another problem with any comprehensive Rhody wiener story is keeping track of all the places that sell them. There’s no telling how many spots were left out of the survey, but Quick Rick’s Sandwich Shop just across the parking lot from our Independent offices sells them, as does Kingston Pizza down the road in Peace Dale. Bishop’s 4th Street Diner in Newport is also a contributor to Rhody’s gagger landscape.
As for the wiener wording, it’s the latest in a long line of Independent grammatical conundrums. Previous discussions – and they can get pretty heated – have established a consistent style for a variety of local terms and cultural references. They include our “two Z” spelling of Verrazzano (the explorer’s name who shares space on the Jamestown Bridge and is spelled differently on various road signs en route; even Wikipedia only gives him one “Z”); our “no H” spelling of jonnycake (even though most Rhode Island jonnycake purists insist that the flour must be made with Rhode Island stone-ground white flint corn to earn the H-less distinction); and whether to “capital the B” in Easter Bunny (A.P., once again, is silent on the matter).
Rhody Universe: Sendai
Odd note from The Weather Channel this weekend, reporting on the earthquake and tsunami that devastated Japan, especially the city of Sendai. According to TWC, Sendai’s closet climatological comparison to an American city is Providence. The two municipalities, both located on the northeast corners of their countries, share an uncanny similarity in average high and average low temperatures, average rainfall and average snowfall.
Happy Anniversary, Rhody
In the spring of 1636, Roger Williams crossed the Seekonk River to what would become the Rhode Island side of the New England colonies and dropped anchor in a place he called Providence. That means this spring marks the 375th anniversary of Rhode Island’s founding.
So what would be an appropriate 375th anniversary gift for Rhode Island?
Most anniversary gift lists only go up to 75 or 80 years. According to Wikipedia, the oldest traditional anniversary gift given in the United States (appropriate for age 75) is something with diamonds or gold, although modern lists (up to age 80) have been revised to diamonds or pearls. Traditionally in the United Kingdom it’s oak. Imagine after 80 years of marriage, getting a handful of acorns....
Monday, March 7, 2011
The Knowaguy State
Long before the age of texting, tweeting and posting, Rhode Islanders had their own brand of social media called Knowaguy. Knowaguy was where we went whenever we needed something. Need a job? A plumber? Someone to take hazardous waste off your hands? Don’t worry. I knowaguy. You knowaguy? I knowaguy. Of course you knowaguy. This is Rhode Island. We all knowaguy. Often it’s the same guy, but that’s a post for another day.
Our longstanding culture of “knowaguy” may help explain a factoid buried in Time magazine’s “Person of the Year” cover story on Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg (the piece came out on Jan. 3, but we’re a little behind in our magazine reading). Time reports that the world’s most popular social platform is used more in Rhode Island than in any of the Other 49. As of the New Year, 65 percent of the Ocean State used Facebook. (The lowest rate, at 30 percent, was recorded by New Mexico.)
In one respect, it seems odd that the nation’s second-most densely populated state (behind New Jersey) would be the most avid users of Facebook, a site that allows people to stay in touch over long distances. But the convenience of remote communication, it turns out, may not be Facebook’s most vital function. The greater lure is the sense of being part of a community.
Rhode Island’s pre-existing social culture as a place of jostling elbows – whether at the big tables of shore dining halls or the cramped counters and bars of diners and pubs – lends itself ideally to the Facebook format. Relationships matter here in a way that they don’t everywhere. And everything is personal.
My friend Tom and I were talking about this subject yesterday, after a round of golf and during a couple of pints in Warren. Although Facebook is a global phenomenon, Tom believes that it still works best in closed or tight-knit communities, like college campuses, from which it originated. Rhode Island is its own campus, its own neighborhood. Historically we have a low migration rate. Most people are born here and die here. Even those who leave usually come back. [Consider the unofficial University of Rhode Island fight song: I’m Rhode Island born and Rhode Island bred and when I die I’ll be Rhode Island dead…] Which is why in this fragmented time, when a nation that used to gather around the TV to watch Cronkite now chooses between 700 channels and multiple types of media, it’s still possible in Rhode Island to have a conversation that the whole state can engage in. It’s like that old “Coffee Chat” segment on “Saturday Night Live:”
Rocky Point Park. The Blizzard of ’78. The Station Fire.
Discuss.
[Side note: Rhode Island itself was once a topic of discussion on “Coffee Chat.” It went something like: “Rhode Island…Neither a road, nor an island. Discuss.”]
There may be other factors for Rhody’s high Facebook use. The Ocean State is first in the nation for access to broadband coverage, which certainly helps. Its unemployment rate (over 11 percent at last count with the national average hovering around 9 percent) is still one of the highest in the country, so it’s possible that more people in Rhode Island have more time to log on. But it’s also just as likely that Facebook is the high school yearbook that you never put away in the closet, and the whole state of Rhode Island is the high school class that never graduated. Part of our identity as Rhode Islanders is knowing (and being interested in) what other Rhode Islanders are up to at any given moment, whether friends, neighbors, strangers or Buddy.
Your turn: Why does Rhode Island use Facebook more than any other state?
Our longstanding culture of “knowaguy” may help explain a factoid buried in Time magazine’s “Person of the Year” cover story on Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg (the piece came out on Jan. 3, but we’re a little behind in our magazine reading). Time reports that the world’s most popular social platform is used more in Rhode Island than in any of the Other 49. As of the New Year, 65 percent of the Ocean State used Facebook. (The lowest rate, at 30 percent, was recorded by New Mexico.)
In one respect, it seems odd that the nation’s second-most densely populated state (behind New Jersey) would be the most avid users of Facebook, a site that allows people to stay in touch over long distances. But the convenience of remote communication, it turns out, may not be Facebook’s most vital function. The greater lure is the sense of being part of a community.
Rhode Island’s pre-existing social culture as a place of jostling elbows – whether at the big tables of shore dining halls or the cramped counters and bars of diners and pubs – lends itself ideally to the Facebook format. Relationships matter here in a way that they don’t everywhere. And everything is personal.
My friend Tom and I were talking about this subject yesterday, after a round of golf and during a couple of pints in Warren. Although Facebook is a global phenomenon, Tom believes that it still works best in closed or tight-knit communities, like college campuses, from which it originated. Rhode Island is its own campus, its own neighborhood. Historically we have a low migration rate. Most people are born here and die here. Even those who leave usually come back. [Consider the unofficial University of Rhode Island fight song: I’m Rhode Island born and Rhode Island bred and when I die I’ll be Rhode Island dead…] Which is why in this fragmented time, when a nation that used to gather around the TV to watch Cronkite now chooses between 700 channels and multiple types of media, it’s still possible in Rhode Island to have a conversation that the whole state can engage in. It’s like that old “Coffee Chat” segment on “Saturday Night Live:”
Rocky Point Park. The Blizzard of ’78. The Station Fire.
Discuss.
[Side note: Rhode Island itself was once a topic of discussion on “Coffee Chat.” It went something like: “Rhode Island…Neither a road, nor an island. Discuss.”]
There may be other factors for Rhody’s high Facebook use. The Ocean State is first in the nation for access to broadband coverage, which certainly helps. Its unemployment rate (over 11 percent at last count with the national average hovering around 9 percent) is still one of the highest in the country, so it’s possible that more people in Rhode Island have more time to log on. But it’s also just as likely that Facebook is the high school yearbook that you never put away in the closet, and the whole state of Rhode Island is the high school class that never graduated. Part of our identity as Rhode Islanders is knowing (and being interested in) what other Rhode Islanders are up to at any given moment, whether friends, neighbors, strangers or Buddy.
Your turn: Why does Rhode Island use Facebook more than any other state?
Monday, February 28, 2011
Skimming Buddy
Last Thursday Half Shell received an advance copy of Buddy Cianci’s memoir, so naturally we spent the weekend reading it. Although written with New York author David Fisher, it’s a Buddy yak and yarn all the way, filled with every Buddy-centric story we’ve come to know and love, from stacking dead bodies like Lincoln Logs during the Blizzard of ’78 to the media circus of Plunder Dome, toupees to cigarettes, mobsters to marinara sauce.
Starting with the title, “Politics and Pasta: How I Prosecuted Mobsters, Rebuilt a Dying City, Dined with Sinatra, Spent Five Years in a Federally Funded Gated Community, and Lived to Tell the Tale,” the memoir is both self-serving and self-deprecating in equal doses, much like the former mayor himself. Love him or loathe him, readers should give Cianci credit for his frank, behind-the-scenes look at public service and private demons, told in a voice that is unmistakably his own, quick-witted and still advertising. (Throughout the book Providence is regularly referred to as “the great city of Providence,” a mantra that the former mayor can’t help himself from repeating.)
While the rest of the country might wonder what all of the fuss is about, there is much for Rhode Islanders to feast upon. Consider Buddy’s description of the Providence he inherited as mayor. After chronicling the city’s former glory, he writes about what it looked like in 1975:
A legendary campaigner, who always believed that there was “no substitute for hitting the streets and shaking the hands of voters,” Buddy was beloved by Providence residents because he never missed a graduation, communion, confirmation, bar mizvah, Little League opener, breakfast, picnic, wedding or parade if he could help it. He recalls one trip to a Portuguese Democratic Club event:
The book is filled with such moments, making it a fun read for the Rhodyfile. From time to time, in the middle of a sentence or a paragraph, he’ll just start pitching Providence with a line like: “…by the way, if you’ve never been to Providence you are missing a wonderful experience; come for WaterFire…” He considers himself the city’s greatest salesman (it’s hard to argue the point) and believes his most important lasting accomplishment was raising the self-esteem of Providence residents.
Amid stories of clashing egos and politics as usual, Buddy articulates the patchwork ideas that became his vision for Providence. They include a commitment to historic preservation (“In Providence history was our future.”); an emerging realization of the importance of celebrating the city’s diversity and ensuring fairness (“To me all people were equal; they were all potential votes.”); the significance of a thriving arts community to restore the city’s vibrancy ("I used artists as the shock troops of neighborhood rehabilitation...We had more artists per capita in Providence than any American city...Artists value space above comfort, and that's what we could offer them."); and a mayor’s most critical responsibility (“The single thing that every northern mayor is judged by is how quickly the streets get plowed after a snowstorm. Snow is apolitical; there is no Democratic or Republican way to clear the streets.”)
Buddy doesn’t ignore his other legacy, the criminal assault charge that forced him out of office the first time and the federal prison stint for being found guilty on the charge of conspiring to violate the RICO act. He explains his version of events, diffusing any painful memories with trademark one liners (“According to a Brown University poll, on the day I was indicted my approval rating actually went up four points.”)
Potential mayors might want to consider his sage advice. The book is a primer for anyone looking to run for office in Rhode Island. (“Don’t get between a voter and their bingo card.”) He even offers tips for marching in a parade. (“For obvious reasons, never, ever march behind a horse...Never march behind a bishop either, because he’ll stop frequently to bless people, and they make the sign of the cross, so they can’t clap for you. And don’t march in front of the parade queen’s float because no one is going to be looking at you.”)
It’s all here. Putting guards armed with shotguns on garbage trucks. Canceling The Who concert at the old Civic Center. Saving the Ocean State Theatre from the wrecking ball. Flirting with casinos. Putting police on horses and replica gas lamps on Federal Hill. Bringing the Providence Bruins to town. Trying to get Frank Sinatra’s mother’s doctor’s kid into Brown. (He couldn’t.) Attracting the X Games and Gravity Games. Becoming a champion of gay rights. Building a public ice skating rink in a derelict part of Downcity. Pardoning the Big Blue Bug. Commissioning the sloop Providence. Welcoming trolleys and gondolas. Launching the nation’s first tax-free arts district. Going on the radio with Imus. And much more. Good Buddy. Bad Buddy. Every Buddy in between.
What is your favorite Buddy story?
Starting with the title, “Politics and Pasta: How I Prosecuted Mobsters, Rebuilt a Dying City, Dined with Sinatra, Spent Five Years in a Federally Funded Gated Community, and Lived to Tell the Tale,” the memoir is both self-serving and self-deprecating in equal doses, much like the former mayor himself. Love him or loathe him, readers should give Cianci credit for his frank, behind-the-scenes look at public service and private demons, told in a voice that is unmistakably his own, quick-witted and still advertising. (Throughout the book Providence is regularly referred to as “the great city of Providence,” a mantra that the former mayor can’t help himself from repeating.)
While the rest of the country might wonder what all of the fuss is about, there is much for Rhode Islanders to feast upon. Consider Buddy’s description of the Providence he inherited as mayor. After chronicling the city’s former glory, he writes about what it looked like in 1975:
Our downtown was practically deserted; the once grand hotel, the Biltmore, was closing; and, perhaps symbolically, the week I was inaugurated a crane was pulling out the grand piano from the second floor. The situation was so awful that even the American Bible Society, one of the last successful businesses we had, had packed its Bibles and moved out of town. Let me illustrate it this way: On the night of my inauguration the police got an emergency phone call that several monkeys were escaping from our zoo. You know you’re in trouble when your monkeys are trying to get out of town.
A legendary campaigner, who always believed that there was “no substitute for hitting the streets and shaking the hands of voters,” Buddy was beloved by Providence residents because he never missed a graduation, communion, confirmation, bar mizvah, Little League opener, breakfast, picnic, wedding or parade if he could help it. He recalls one trip to a Portuguese Democratic Club event:
They roasted a pig over an open fire and then proudly explained the old tradition, the guest of honor gets to eat the eye. I looked at this big thing looking right back at me and I thought, Eat the eye? You gotta be nuts. But there were a lot of potential votes watching me. I gotta eat the eye. I took a deep breath and swallowed it. Then I looked at the crowd and said with as much disappointment as I could pretend I felt, “What? I only get one?”
The book is filled with such moments, making it a fun read for the Rhodyfile. From time to time, in the middle of a sentence or a paragraph, he’ll just start pitching Providence with a line like: “…by the way, if you’ve never been to Providence you are missing a wonderful experience; come for WaterFire…” He considers himself the city’s greatest salesman (it’s hard to argue the point) and believes his most important lasting accomplishment was raising the self-esteem of Providence residents.
Amid stories of clashing egos and politics as usual, Buddy articulates the patchwork ideas that became his vision for Providence. They include a commitment to historic preservation (“In Providence history was our future.”); an emerging realization of the importance of celebrating the city’s diversity and ensuring fairness (“To me all people were equal; they were all potential votes.”); the significance of a thriving arts community to restore the city’s vibrancy ("I used artists as the shock troops of neighborhood rehabilitation...We had more artists per capita in Providence than any American city...Artists value space above comfort, and that's what we could offer them."); and a mayor’s most critical responsibility (“The single thing that every northern mayor is judged by is how quickly the streets get plowed after a snowstorm. Snow is apolitical; there is no Democratic or Republican way to clear the streets.”)
Buddy doesn’t ignore his other legacy, the criminal assault charge that forced him out of office the first time and the federal prison stint for being found guilty on the charge of conspiring to violate the RICO act. He explains his version of events, diffusing any painful memories with trademark one liners (“According to a Brown University poll, on the day I was indicted my approval rating actually went up four points.”)
Potential mayors might want to consider his sage advice. The book is a primer for anyone looking to run for office in Rhode Island. (“Don’t get between a voter and their bingo card.”) He even offers tips for marching in a parade. (“For obvious reasons, never, ever march behind a horse...Never march behind a bishop either, because he’ll stop frequently to bless people, and they make the sign of the cross, so they can’t clap for you. And don’t march in front of the parade queen’s float because no one is going to be looking at you.”)
It’s all here. Putting guards armed with shotguns on garbage trucks. Canceling The Who concert at the old Civic Center. Saving the Ocean State Theatre from the wrecking ball. Flirting with casinos. Putting police on horses and replica gas lamps on Federal Hill. Bringing the Providence Bruins to town. Trying to get Frank Sinatra’s mother’s doctor’s kid into Brown. (He couldn’t.) Attracting the X Games and Gravity Games. Becoming a champion of gay rights. Building a public ice skating rink in a derelict part of Downcity. Pardoning the Big Blue Bug. Commissioning the sloop Providence. Welcoming trolleys and gondolas. Launching the nation’s first tax-free arts district. Going on the radio with Imus. And much more. Good Buddy. Bad Buddy. Every Buddy in between.
What is your favorite Buddy story?
Monday, February 21, 2011
Miss America Hopeful Runs on Dunkin'
Miss America pageant contestants are rarely chosen for their oratory. But despite her rather good showing overall during the most recent competition, Deborah Saint-Vil, Miss Rhode Island 2011, made an even greater impression in media limbo than on the judges. And it wasn’t a swimsuit or evening gown that did it. It was a factoid.
Given a chance to introduce herself and represent her home state, Miss Rhode Island declared: “With the most Dunkin Donuts shops per capita in the nation, I’m wired up and fired up tonight! I’m Miss Rhode Island!”
The comment went viral the moment it came out of her mouth. Saint-Vil may not have won – on this snowy President's Day we are reminded that a Rhode Islander has as good a chance of becoming President of the United States as Miss America – but her pronouncement got more play on the blogosphere and Twittersphere than any of the Other 49 sparkly wannabes. It was also featured in a Miss America sum-up on “The Soup,” the E! network’s pop cultural gumbo of favorite TV moments from the past week.
While some Rhode Islanders cringed at the reference, most national commentators seemed charmed by it. One blogger noted: “(must be Dunkin Donuts Co. is based out of Rhode Island?)”
Uh, no, actually. That’s one of the odd twists in this tale. Dunkin’ Donuts is a Massachusetts chain. But in Rhode Island, travel distances are measured as much in Dunkin’ Donuts as miles. You can’t jog a 5K anywhere in the state without running into one.
How did this happen? Probably because our two favorite things are: 1) Coffee and 2) Anything fried in dough. The recent news that greater Providence (including the Fall River-New Bedford, Mass. region) remains the doughnut capital of the United States, with 25.3 doughnut shops per 100,000 people, surprised no one hereabouts. (Boston came in a distant second.)
But for those who’ve got their crullers in a twist because Miss Rhode Island bragged about our Dunkin’ mania, consider what she might have said:
What should Miss Rhode Island be most proud of?
Given a chance to introduce herself and represent her home state, Miss Rhode Island declared: “With the most Dunkin Donuts shops per capita in the nation, I’m wired up and fired up tonight! I’m Miss Rhode Island!”
The comment went viral the moment it came out of her mouth. Saint-Vil may not have won – on this snowy President's Day we are reminded that a Rhode Islander has as good a chance of becoming President of the United States as Miss America – but her pronouncement got more play on the blogosphere and Twittersphere than any of the Other 49 sparkly wannabes. It was also featured in a Miss America sum-up on “The Soup,” the E! network’s pop cultural gumbo of favorite TV moments from the past week.
While some Rhode Islanders cringed at the reference, most national commentators seemed charmed by it. One blogger noted: “(must be Dunkin Donuts Co. is based out of Rhode Island?)”
Uh, no, actually. That’s one of the odd twists in this tale. Dunkin’ Donuts is a Massachusetts chain. But in Rhode Island, travel distances are measured as much in Dunkin’ Donuts as miles. You can’t jog a 5K anywhere in the state without running into one.
How did this happen? Probably because our two favorite things are: 1) Coffee and 2) Anything fried in dough. The recent news that greater Providence (including the Fall River-New Bedford, Mass. region) remains the doughnut capital of the United States, with 25.3 doughnut shops per 100,000 people, surprised no one hereabouts. (Boston came in a distant second.)
But for those who’ve got their crullers in a twist because Miss Rhode Island bragged about our Dunkin’ mania, consider what she might have said:
“Hello, I’m Miss Rhode Island. Our founder’s skeleton was consumed by an apple tree root!”
“I’m from Rhode Island, one of only two states that never ratified the 18th Amendment declaring Prohibition! Isn’t that right, Miss Connecticut?”
“In these difficult economic times, I’m proud to be from Rhode Island, home to the first discount store in the United States!”
“I’m Miss Rhode Island, home to the world’s largest bug! It’s a big blue termite – 58 feet long and 928 times actual termite size! And it lives rent-free on a roof overlooking a highway in Providence!”
“I’m from Rhode Island, where the weather is always changing, which is why we have a corrosion test site at Point Judith where material samples sit exposed for years and are analyzed to determine the toll taken by ocean air and the sun!”
What should Miss Rhode Island be most proud of?
Monday, February 14, 2011
Valentines and Oysters
On the calendar of holidays in New England, Valentine’s Day fits like a sourball in a Whitman’s Sampler. There’s nothing natural about it. Unlike Halloween (pumpkins and crows), Thanksgiving (Pilgrim hats and turkeys), Christmas (snow on evergreens), New Year’s (First Night), St. Patrick’s Day (Irish pubs), Easter (spring returns!) and Fourth of July (grilling and fireworks), Valentine’s Day has no organic relationship with the region.
Look around. There are mounds of snow and potholed roads everywhere. It’s cold and slippery. Nothing says “Be My Valentine” like a yearning for rock salt and Icy Melt.
Let’s face it. Cold hearts don’t melt in February. The pagan origins of St. Valentine’s Day refer to the time of year when the birds start to mate. But this month I haven’t seen any birds mating. I’ve only seen birds freezing. They’re hungry. They’re miserable. They’re wondering when the snow and ice will clear and the frozen ground will once again offer up wormy breakfasts.
Most of us know the feeling. Valentine’s Day would be better if it were moved to the summer. Possibly August, which has no national holiday. Days and nights of August in Rhode Island have the sensual, languid quality one would like to see in a Valentine’s Day. If I am overemphasizing the passionate and romantic aspect of the occasion – what the Greeks called “Eros” – it’s only because I feel as if I’m drowning in a media flood of florists and wineries, candy makers and chocolatiers, barbershop quartets and restaurants advertising candlelight dinners, all of them banking on Valentine’s Day as a lover’s holiday.
Maybe there’s a reason why every year Valentine’s Day is considered the holiday most overrated and least anticipated by a majority of Americans. At least locally, Providence just isn’t as sexy as Miami or New Orleans in February. Perhaps we would be better off downplaying “Eros,” and emphasizing the various other aspects of love – “Storge” (familial), “Philia” (friendship) and “Agape” (selfless love for others). I mention this even knowing that reducing love to four chambers of the heart is inherently problematic. Google “kinds of love” and you’ll see links numbering them at 4, 5, 3, 9, 7 and 8 varieties on the first page scroll.
Adding to Rhode Islanders’ Valentine’s Day angst this year is the news that wild oysters are “functionally extinct,” meaning that the world’s most popular aphrodisiac is going the way of the Dodo. For those of us who would prefer a platter of Moonstones, Watch Hills, Rome Points and Ninigret Cups to a chocolate box of nuts, fruits, nougats, caramels and creams, the worry that wild oyster extinction will endanger love on the half shell is almost paralyzing. (It’s an irrational worry; but aren’t they all?)
At least in Rhode Island, valentines and oysters are members of the same species. But don’t take my word for it. New York City’s Aquagrill considers Rhody oysters to be the best on the market. Here’s what the owner had to say about Moonstones in an article on “26 Oysters You Should Know This Valentine’s Day” for The Feast:
The proof is in the shucking. He also carries Watch Hills, Rome Points, Ninigret Cups and Potter’s Moons, which he describes as his “second favorite oyster.”
The other benefit of combining oysters with Valentine’s Day is that, if you find the right kind, you won’t have to spring for pearls.
What is your Valentine’s Day ritual?
Look around. There are mounds of snow and potholed roads everywhere. It’s cold and slippery. Nothing says “Be My Valentine” like a yearning for rock salt and Icy Melt.
Let’s face it. Cold hearts don’t melt in February. The pagan origins of St. Valentine’s Day refer to the time of year when the birds start to mate. But this month I haven’t seen any birds mating. I’ve only seen birds freezing. They’re hungry. They’re miserable. They’re wondering when the snow and ice will clear and the frozen ground will once again offer up wormy breakfasts.
Most of us know the feeling. Valentine’s Day would be better if it were moved to the summer. Possibly August, which has no national holiday. Days and nights of August in Rhode Island have the sensual, languid quality one would like to see in a Valentine’s Day. If I am overemphasizing the passionate and romantic aspect of the occasion – what the Greeks called “Eros” – it’s only because I feel as if I’m drowning in a media flood of florists and wineries, candy makers and chocolatiers, barbershop quartets and restaurants advertising candlelight dinners, all of them banking on Valentine’s Day as a lover’s holiday.
Maybe there’s a reason why every year Valentine’s Day is considered the holiday most overrated and least anticipated by a majority of Americans. At least locally, Providence just isn’t as sexy as Miami or New Orleans in February. Perhaps we would be better off downplaying “Eros,” and emphasizing the various other aspects of love – “Storge” (familial), “Philia” (friendship) and “Agape” (selfless love for others). I mention this even knowing that reducing love to four chambers of the heart is inherently problematic. Google “kinds of love” and you’ll see links numbering them at 4, 5, 3, 9, 7 and 8 varieties on the first page scroll.
Adding to Rhode Islanders’ Valentine’s Day angst this year is the news that wild oysters are “functionally extinct,” meaning that the world’s most popular aphrodisiac is going the way of the Dodo. For those of us who would prefer a platter of Moonstones, Watch Hills, Rome Points and Ninigret Cups to a chocolate box of nuts, fruits, nougats, caramels and creams, the worry that wild oyster extinction will endanger love on the half shell is almost paralyzing. (It’s an irrational worry; but aren’t they all?)
At least in Rhode Island, valentines and oysters are members of the same species. But don’t take my word for it. New York City’s Aquagrill considers Rhody oysters to be the best on the market. Here’s what the owner had to say about Moonstones in an article on “26 Oysters You Should Know This Valentine’s Day” for The Feast:
I’ve had these since I opened. Some of my favorite oysters. It’s almost like a meal, a perfectly balanced oyster. Sweet, salty, bitterness, but everything comes together in your mouth. Rhode Island is one of my favorite states for oysters.
The proof is in the shucking. He also carries Watch Hills, Rome Points, Ninigret Cups and Potter’s Moons, which he describes as his “second favorite oyster.”
The other benefit of combining oysters with Valentine’s Day is that, if you find the right kind, you won’t have to spring for pearls.
What is your Valentine’s Day ritual?
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