Now that all of the frantic activity has died down a bit, I have been asked by many of you to continue the series I started.
First, I am going to skip all of the nicey-nicey things that I concentrated on, and get to the meat of the matter.
I realize that time is running out, and your Town Meeting is coming soon as well as the election in April.
If I can offer insight into what I believe will help you through my experiences, I will do so.
Suffice it to say, Onset and Wareham was a pristine place to live.
The water was pure, the bays and lakes were clear, and it was a safe and close community.
We moved to Jefferson Shores when I was 6 years old. (Still a part of Onset, but with a Buzzards Bay address).
Jefferson Shores was considered to be a "wealthy" neighborhood. Not true. Many people who lived there were very wealthy, and many were "middle class" like my family.
The people that lived in the neighborhood that had money were never standoffish or thought that they were better than anyone else. One reason is that they were not "nouveau rich". Old money never brags. We had the Beatons, the Superintendent of Schools, and many wealthy summer residents throughout the neighborhood.
Our beaches were pure and undisturbed. In a few years we  began to notice pollution and the clear water became hazy and dark. In those days no-one realized that it wasn't right to discharge raw sewerage from a motel directly into the bay, because it was thought that it would all be eaten up and dissipate. The old saying when one had an empty paint can,"just throw it in the pond, lake, bay, etc. It will disappear soon."
How much we have learned since then.
My mother and father worked very hard for us children to have a safe, happy place to live. They, in later years, commuted 4 hours per day so that we could continue to live in Jefferson Shores and not be subjected to moving to a large city. We were protected by news. never heard of rapes, or murders, etc. Perhaps over protective, but our own curiosity and talk among ourselves always taught us what was going on in the "outside "world.
I attended Onset Elementary School, Wareham Intermediate School, Wareham Junior High School and Wareham High School.
The long story about my family life I will leave for another day. On the surface, it was ideal. In reality, my father was abusive to my mother and me especially.
We moved to Billerica , Mass. for one winter in 1961. I was injured in a school P.T. program and spent almost all of the school year in bed or in a hospital. I had a vein ligation on my right leg, and when we  moved back to Wareham full time, I was no longer a member of my class of 1963. I was now a member of the class of 1964, my sister Irene's class, and I was  miserable.
In 1963, I finished my Junior year and decided to join the Marine Corps. We were in the middle of the Cuban Missile crisis, I got my ass kicked by a Marine at a party one night, and the next day I joined. Two days later I was in Parris Island.
For the first few weeks I hoped someone would kill me so I could at least get out of there. Typical in Marine Corps Boot Camp training, even to this day.
But, the Marine Corps took me from being an emasculated young man who couldn't protect his mother, to a very bad ass man that was dedicated to serving his Country and his family. In those days, in the Marine Corps, you were a "grunt". The Marine Corps did not offer what they do today. Basically you were taught how to kill someone in several hundred different ways, and how not to get killed yourself because of your dedication and commitment to your brothers and theirs to you. You had their backs, they had your back. Very simple, very effective.
Thank God for the Maine Corps. Without it, I think I would not be alive today. I would have drifted into show business full time and died of an OD. No question in my mind.
When I was 6 or 7 years old I discovered I had a talent for mimicry. I became a stand up comic-impressionist. My first paid "gig" was my Uncle Jim's bar in Chelsea, Mass. He paid me 25 cents to do my routines and in those days watching a 6 year old kid do Bob Newhart and Shelly Berman routines was a kick.
During my tour of duty I saw things that no human should have to see, all a part of the job as a combat Marine. I saw less than my brothers who went to Viet-Nam for full tours. Ours was a job of "advisers" on a limited basis. We saw fire fights, and saw enough to know it wasn't something we wanted to do for a long period of time, but we were on "short" tours and never lasted over one month at a time. I couldn't even discuss what I did until 1985. I was forced to sign a contract not to discuss my activities or my outfit's. If I did, I would lose all benefits that I was to receive after discharge. No big deal. I wasn't even close to the horror that guys like "Chippy" Hammond, Paul Cardalino, Ted Weigandt and others of the WPD suffered.
Ironically, I was hurt in Cyprus in 1965 and was discharged from the Marine Corps as a disabled veteran. The most ironic part was it was at a time I was actually starting to LIKE the Marine Corps.
God was with me. I am the only one in my outfit that survived the war years. To this day I will not visit or see the "Wall" in Washington or when it travels here.
As much as I disliked my father, it was his wisdom and "pull" that protected me from not losing my benefits after discharge. Sen. Saltinstall was his friend and I know he had a lot to do with me coming home to await full discharge and protected me so I would receive my disability benefits, and most importantly the G.I. Bill.
I passed my GED in the Marine Corps, but when I came home, I found out that the Commonwealth did not recognize it as legitimate, so I took the Mass. GED exam.
When I was finally discharged, I couldn't find work in Wareham.
My folks were moving to the Boston area, in Melrose, and I had a choice to make. Try to find work in Wareham or move myself with them. The house in Jefferson Shores was now to be a summer home. I certainly didn't have work, so I couldn't afford to live there and support the payments, etc.
I tried to find work, but there really wasn't any.
You have to remember that Wareham is not an Industrial Town. Never has been. Of course, during the whaling days in the 1800's and early 1900's, the ship building business was on track, but that had disappeared. The Tremont Nail Factory and Ocean Spray was about it for anyone without an education or training to find work.
I went over to Ocean Spray, at their plant on Cranberry Highway and asked the boss about a job.
I remember it like yesterday. I stood in his very small office wearing my Marine Corps jacket and asked about employment.
He laughed and said, "Kid, you won't make it one day here."
I said, "Bullshit. I am a Marine I can do anything"
He smiled. He said,"You and I are the only white people here. I am the manager. I'll be here. You won't be for long."
He gave me a job, told me to report the next morning at 5:30 a.m., bring a bag lunch and he could put me to work in the processing facility.
I arrived early. Put my jacket and lunch in a little "cub-by" space and looked around. I WAS the only white person there. Most of the workers were Puerto-Rican and a few Cape Verdeans.
The machine separated the leaves from the berries and it was louder than being on board a flight deck on an aircraft carrier. It was hot. Hotter than hell, and I had no idea what I was doing. The men I worked with were friendly and respectful, as I was to them. One man told me,"Son, I feel sorry for you."
I asked why.
He said, "Because this is your first and last day."
I couldn't believe how inept I was at such a simple job. I couldn't believe the heat and the constant re-filling of the machine and the noise that it made.
Abut 1 p.m., I asked a man next to me,"When do we get a break?'
He smiled and shook his head
"We don't get breaks. In a half hour we will have lunch. It is one half hour long, then back to work."
Sure enough the whistle blew, I gobbled down lunch as fast as I could and drank water like I hadn't had any in weeks.
Back to work.
About 5 p.m, I asked the man, "When do we get off work?'
He said, :
"When we are done. Should be about another hour."
That was it.
I walked into the manager's office and stood at his door sheepishly.
"Well, kid," he said, " you lasted longer than I thought."
He handed me a full day's paycheck already made out.
I accepted it gratefully and thanked him for the opportunity.
He smiled, shook my hand and said,"Go move with the family kid and get a white collar job. This business is not for you."
I thanked him for his help, went through the plant to those men I had met, shook their hands and said thank you.
I was actually applauded by the guys I worked the machine with.
"We had money on how long you'd last." One man told me."No-one won. The most anyone bet on was four hours. Thanks for saving me money."
We all laughed and I left knowing that those were better men than I.
They were hard working, dedicated, competent and grateful for the work they had.
I had an immediate appreciation for men like that, and I swore that day I would never "look down" on anyone or their positions in life. I was as humble as I had ever been, and I hope I have never violated that rule of mine.
I never underestimate anyone or think I am better than anyone.
In fact, I believe to this day that every man in that Plant was a better man than me.
So, I moved to Melrose. I knew I couldn't stay long with my folks. My father and I were like oil and water. I sought employment, but, for some reason no one would hire me.
Finally, I ran into a Marine at a restaurant in Boston when I was looking for work. He had been out for about a year, and he asked me if I filled in the military part of any applications. I said yes, always, proud to put I served in the U. S. Marine Corps. Proud to have been a Division sniper. Proud to have served with A-1-6 and TAD to Force recon.
He said, "Don't lie. Just leave it blank.No one is going to hire you. They think we are all baby killers."
I remembered when he said it that ,I was on my way home for leave one time and in those days were were obligated to travel in uniform. I was in an airport waiting to fly to Boston, and a woman came up to me and said, "You son of a bitch. You're a baby killer." I looked at her like she was out of her mind. She started to clear her throat in order to spit a big "loogie" on me. I had heard of this before, but that was the first time I had actually been subjected to it.
I said, "Lady, you spit on me and I will kill YOU."
She stopped short of doing it. Then I said, "Kill ONE baby and look at the reputation you get."
She didn't laugh.
So, the very first place I went after that was to the Boston Five Cents Savings Bank across from City Hall. I filled out the application for a teller's position, and left the military part blank, and was hired.
At last! I had a job and was finally going to be able to move out of my folk's place in Melrose and find a place to live.
Going to leave it here for the day.
I will pick this up again tomorrow.
I am sure I have put most of you to sleep.
PShooter needs all the sleep he can get.

Last edited by danoconnell (2009-09-14 11:39:20)