J.R. shot Tony Soprano?

Along with this week's coverage of the final Sopranos episode and last week's unjailing/rejailing of Paris Hilton, many media outlets, notable Greater Boston, have had good discussions about the newsworthiness of these events and the general topic of the media's coverage of popular culture.

In 1980, I was editing the Saturday edition of a small, suburban newspaper. I had the first and second pages filled with local stories and a few wire service pieces. I had deliberately left out the UPI story about "Who Shot J.R.?" from the previous night's Dallas show. If anyone care about it, I reasoned, they would have watched the show or taped in on their Betamax.

The executive editor, who doubled as the sports editor, stopped by with the Friday night local sports articles, looked at the layout, and went bonkers. "You're leaving out the biggest story of the year," he shouted.

So, knowing the importance of the weekly paycheck, I found the executive editor's reasoning persuasive and made room for the J.R. story. I should note that I was making about $4.00/hour, close to what I could have made at the neighboring McDonald's. Every day, however, I had my name in the paper every day, spelled correctly and not in the police log. I even had a my picture above my occasional editorial column.

I'd probably make the same first decision again. Although I am a fan and a student of pop culture, these stories don't need to be everywhere all of the time. If I want the latest in sleazy intrigue, I don't turn to Jim Lehrer or our local weekly, The Landmark. Fox News Channel will certainly get me all that I need and can stand.

From backhoes to Bach

It was a day to stand watch with amazement as threads from long ago loop through each other and stretch on to the future. The day had three simple chores at my father's house - meet with the folks who'd be installing propane tanks, meet with the engineer who'd be designing the new septic system, and taking a carload of sauna wood from the basement to the camp. - followed by an evening of music at the annual piano recital.

And, here's how it went:

• The guy who'd be installing the propane tanks (with his grandson doing most of the heavy lifting) went to trade school with my father in the 30s. He still thought my father lived on Pine Street in Gardner, at my grandparents' home. I explained how this house came to be and how my grandparents moved next door in the early 60s.
  
• The guy with the backhoe would be digging the test holes for the septic system. I recognized the last name. He was a few years younger than me, but I knew his older brothers.
  
• I didn't know the engineer, but he had a Grateful Dead sticker on his truck. A woman from the engineering company had married into a large family who shared a camp at Queen Lake. We often see her husband paddling his kayak around the lake.
• The fellow who is refinishing the floors in the house is a long-time friend of Mike's and, in the antediluvian era, was a debating opponent of mine when we were in high school.

I watched as the backhoe operator dug three big holes in the front yard, where the septic system has been. It may be too wet there. (For readers who don't own property in Massachusetts, this work is required to meet Title V requirements. Title V specifies how water and sewer systems must be built to ensure clean water in neighboring wells and in other water sources. When you sell a house, not only must the system pass inspection, but you must guarantee that it will work for one year.) Plan B led to three big holes in the woods behind the house. As I watched the operator dig three more holes, I studied the pine trees that I used to climb as a kid. The trees are taller now and the lower branches have fallen away, so climbing would be tough. The trees are tall enough to block some of the sunlight in the winter, sunlight that my father used to keep his house warm.

Lots of people who can load and unload a truck full of wood after a day's work; some will even cut and split the wood as well. So, loading and unloading a Subaruful of wood shouldn't be front page news, but, for me, it was the mark of a good day. The wood that I brought to the camp will likely give us saunas for the rest of this year. The wood is split small and very dry, so we'll get good, hot saunas quickly.

The piano recital was held in the Town Hall, a classic New England building in the center of town. There were a couple dozen performers, hosted by their teacher. Tess and Krista delighted us with pieces from Scott Joplin while Mike lit up the hall with Mozart's Fantasia in D Minor.

A long time ago, I took a music appreciation course. The teacher, a woman, said that because men do better at math than women, they're more inclined to like Bach. Take that as you will. The only Bach piece played at the recital was by a young boy.

It's said that the mark of a truly cultured person is the ability to listen to the William Tell Overture without thinking of the Lone Ranger. So, as we listen to one of students play Dance of the Hours by Ponichelle, I heard the words to Allan Sherman's Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh.

Do we need a stopwatch or a calendar?

It keeps getting easier for small businesses to put ads on cable television. As a result, you can hear statements such as this, from an auto repair business in Worcester:

Guaranteed fast service, no matter how long it takes.

That turbulence in the water

Fish in Massachusetts are trembling. Sandra and I recently picked up our fishing licenses. They shall know us by our worms.

Or, we might use lures. Or, as the guy at the Phillipston chicken barbecue said, shiners.

The chicken barbecue on Saturday was a part of Phillipston's 50th country fair. We drove through frog-strangling downpours in Fitchburg on our way to the fair, arriving on the town common where not a drop of rain fell all day.

The flea market filled the gymnasium of the elementary school. There you could find Drydene machine lubricant, a rusty electric fence controller, and child car seats into which you could put a child you didn't like very much. There were several two-burner gas stovetops, scary contraptions capable of igniting a kitchen with just a crosswise glance. Still, there were plenty of fun and safe things as well. Most people found at least one thing worthy of purchase. One of the flea market coordinators had purchased and was wearing a beaded necklace that Sandra had contributed.


Mid-day, a pianist was happily playing ragtime tunes on an electric piano in the foyer of the church, the music filling the common from speakers on the front steps.

Inside the old church, quilters from the town and around hung samples of their work from the balcony railings. The quilts, nearly all hand-stitched, were bold and charming. Each had a story that described how and why the quilt was made.

The church had wooden pews, stained dark, with doors for each section. At one time, families would have their own reserved pews.

But, this was a story about fishing. I haven't been fishing in a very long time, since I was a kid and didn't need a license. Back then, the Gardner News published a chart that showed which days in the coming week would be good for fishing. It was about as accurate as an astrological chart, but it was easier to believe. I don't remember why I didn't continue fishing. The last that I remember was working on a horned pout that had swallowed the hook; I was stung a couple of times and fishing stopped being fun.

So, we'll try again. We'll have a family fishing derby this weekend in honor of Father's Day. We will have prizes for the most, least, largest, smallest, cutest, and ugliest fish caught. If we catch something edible, we'll figure how to eat it.

The Massachusetts Wildlife agency publishes a booklet to help us understand the fishing regulations and to know, in case we've forgotten, what a small-mouth bass or northern pike looks like. At the back of the booklet, they publish sunrise and sunset times for the year. (The one we received gave the times for Worcester along with offsets for different places in the state. Boston is about three minutes earlier and Pittsfield is about five minutes later.) For the next week, we'll have the earliest sunrises, about 5:10AM, EDT. The latest sunset, 8:28PM, occurs in late June into early July.