Love And Rockets

Proving it's never too late on a hot summer day to get out and do something, we moved out for an ice cream, lo' about 8 o'clock.

Help me, Mr. Cone in Chicopee.



We grabbed a table while Kelly went up for the ice cream. The Bloggerette is old enough now to know exactly what type of product can be found at such an establishment, and watched with bated breath for mommy to return with the goods.

Wait for iiiiit....



Wait for iiiiiit....



Here it comes!



While messily scarfing down some coconut-hot fudge and carmel ice cream, there could be heard in the distance the crackles and pops of backyard fireworks off in the distance, another icon of summer. Then I remembered reading that Chicopee was having a festival of some sort going on this weekend. A Chicopee-ite munching on a cone at a neighboring table alerted us to the fact that the real fireworks were going to be on at about 9:30.

We hurried up with the eating, packed up and scooted across town, soon cramming one more vehicle into an utterly jammed Szot Park parking lot. Then it was a short stumble in the dark towards the brightly lit commotion that was Chicopee's Fest-Of-All.



To say it was crowded would be an understatement.



We toured the expansive set up spread out all around the park, with many many tents and much food and spirits for the so inclined. But time was getting tight. A policeman directed us down to the playing fields, which we found covered wall to wall with folk revved up for the show.



We grabbed a seats just as the lights went down, and the fireworks went up.



It was a darn good display.





From what I've seen over the years, Chicopee's pretty much always delivers.



As the finale died down the lights came up. And the scramble for the exits began.



Most people were heading back to the main festival grounds, where food and drink were still flowing.



We held back, and waited for it to clear out a bit before mixing into the fray.



We had plenty of time. After all, we just got here.

When Deval Comes To Town

I was just stepping out the door Thursday, to look for something to take pictures of before the sun set, when Kelly mentioned that Governor Deval Patrick was having a town-hall style meeting in Chicopee. Outside, behind the library. In half an hour...

...Photo subject attained.

I zipped over to the library and arrived with a couple of minutes to spare. There was a reasonably good crowd already assembled, with more coming in by the minute...



...and the major local news people positioning themselves for optimal coverage.





Here and there in the crowd were people who came prepared to put there opinions across; indicating that this visit might not be a cake walk for Patrick...



Surprisingly, there was a minimal wait, and the soon the governor came through the library doors and into the round.



Chicopee mayor Mike Bissonnette gave an intro speech lauding the governor's frequent appearances here in the western side of the state, and handed off the mike to Patrick.



Patrick made some opening statements laced with a little levity, to set the meeting off on an amiable footing, then got right down to business and began taking questions.



Until now, I'd never seen or heard the governor speak live. But I have to say, I was impressed with his character and personable-ness.



The man is a charmer, obviously knows his business, and proved himself to be ready to take on the folks that had taken their time to show up here, surround him, and pummel him with questions.



He treated each person with his full respect and attention, whether or not he had the answers they wanted to hear.



I'm not a reporter, so I mindlessly showed up without any of the proper reporting tools (eh, pencil and paper...) necessary to relate an accurate account of what was said and by whom. For that info, you'll have to dig around at other sources. So, the following is mostly a visual account with whatever generalities I managed to retain in my weary late afternoon brain, and just a sampling of the many people who stood up to question the chief administrator of Massachusetts. (If I misstate anything, please feel free to correct me in the comments section below the post and I will fix...)

Several of the first round of questions were predictably concerning budget cuts to public school funding, and teachers' insurance, unions and the like.



Other questions, like this emotional one from a Ludlow resident, were about funding new programs to help victims. I was busy messing around with the camera and unfortunately missed the specifics of her particular program, but it must have been a good one, judging from the positive reaction of the crowd.



This man, an Iranian immigrant who gave a fiery and complicated account of how much he had lost in his personal life trying to -in his words- help save American lives, questioned why funding was cut to free legal services that could have helped him out. Deval did his best to mollify the man. But when he asked Patrick for his personal sign-off on some court paperwork, the governor respectfully recused himself and said he would have some people contact and help direct him through proper channels...



This older gentleman had some forthright questions about what the kids are (or are not) learning about abstinence in schools, and his his views on abortion...



At one point he must have made security inch just a step closer, when he proclaimed that if he killed the governor, he'd be considered a murderer, but if he performed an abortion he would not...



The governor agreed to disagree on the abortion issue, and stated that he personally believes teaching abstinence simply doesn't work, to a round of applause from the audience.

Others had questions about funding that would affect their specific businesses, like these two masseuses from Easthampton.



This gentle-speaking man had questions about the slow progress or outright vanishing of several shared parenting initiatives that have attempted to been put through state congress, and inequities of the court systems' decisions regarding parents and their children.



As far as the stalled initiatives, Deval stated plainly that he did not have an answer.



But he did iterate that while the laws are written with the children's interests first, he followed that in practice most of the custody cases are indeed awarded to the mother. But, Patrick noted a study that said in the majority of cases where custody is contested, the father wins. The man strongly doubted that study.

This man from Northampton came fully prepared to do battle, and had Patrick on the ropes several times concerning the clear cutting of Massachusetts forests. The man stated that the massive cutting that is going on right now, coupled with the proposed biomass plants coming on line, will create incredible devastation to our forest land.



Deval countered that there was a moratorium on forest cutting until things with the biomass plans are resolved. But the man rebutted that a loophole in the moratorium allows preexisting cutting contracts to continue which, according to him, is 90% of the planned cutting anyway, so there really is no moratorium in effect.



He was prepared, clear-speaking and determined; and left an impression on the crowd. And I suspect, on Patrick.

There was a UMass student concerned about funding for student grants and loans that would have helped her immensely.



And finally, the question and answer session wrapped up with a lady who gave an impassioned plea to fully legalize medical marijuana, in order to ween people in serious pain off of more addictive medications. The session had gone even longer than the hour and a half the governor promised, and night was falling quick.



He made a few final statements, and a seemingly satisfied crowd dispersed.



I have to give Patrick kudos for coming here to listen and speak to the citizens of Western Mass. Whether or not the visit will (or can) have any effect at all on the mechanizations of a bureaucracy flirting in the red and whether or not his policies land in your favor, Patrick did present himself as compassionate, insightful, and knowledgeable; and I rode away with a reassured understanding of the man in the governor's chair...

Interchange

Wednesday's misty/foggy atmosphere made for some cool scenery as night time came about. I stopped to take this pic of a trucker taking a break in Holyoke, across from Barnes and Noble,



...then on the way home with trucks on the brain, I decided to stop and get out near the Mass Pike exit 6 interchange, where it meets route 291, for a couple more.



Chicopee touts itself as the "Crossroads of New England", and this is the actual crossroads they're talking about; where the Turnpike meets interstate 91 (via the short route 291). Looked at it on a road map, this interchange does indeed form a huge cross in lower New England.

I parked near the intersection at a tractor trailer lot and rushed across the on-ramp, with the camera already mounted to a tripod and set for a couple quick pics. The idea was to get in a couple shots from the median dividing the entrance/exit to the pike before a curious state trooper might pass by and ask some potentially unanswerable questions. But sure enough, not 10 seconds after I planted the tripod down on the median who should come around the corner but a statie. I held my breath, but he must have been en route to bigger fish; he whipped by giving me a sideways glare as he passed...



I got my pictures and skedaddled.



The parking lots all around here are loaded with tractor trailers parked overnight or dropping off trailers or refueling or idling while their drivers check in at one of the several nearby motels or diners or fast food joints.



The most prominent feature at the crossroad is a tall, waving, top-hatted man in white...



It's a statue that's now become kind of iconic in this area. For a long, long time it was painted like Uncle Sam and graced the dealership lot at Mutual Ford on Bay Street in Springfield. I remember seeing that big Uncle Sam from my earliest memories, it stood there for over 30 years. That dealer had since closed up, and about 10 years ago the statue was painted all white and transplanted here; given new life greeting weary travelers as they get off the Pike.



I've heard the statue is also used as a visual marker for the C-5 Galaxy pilots flying low as they go to and from the nearby Westover air base...it certainly stands out above the terrain...

Sherman's March

Wednesday night's outing brought me by the long standing AMF Bowling Lanes in Chicopee.



I have a special affinity for these lanes. Back in the early 90's I was deep in the midst of a long running and in retrospect, pointless, wallow in self pity. One day my cousin Nuno sought to help drag me out of my funk by recruiting me to join him, his then girlfriend, and my Uncle in, of all things, a bowling team. My uncle was a serious bowler but Nuno, Kathy and I had never played for anything more than the rare recreational game. But I committed and picked up a used 12 pounder and pair of shoes cheap. Suddenly this weary-eyed, cynical loner found himself immersed in the Sunday morning bowling culture. We hit the lanes every weekend and I have to say, it did provide me with something to look foward to. My cousin, a bit of a history buff and dramatist, came up with the grand name for our team: "Sherman's March", in reference to that Civil War general's epic rampage through Georgia to the sea. I thought it was hilariously stupid, but went with it.

For a team with 75% lack of any experience, we did remarkably well and actually finished out the season ranked in the upper third of about a dozen teams. It was a roller coaster ride; Sometimes we lost bitterly, and sometimes embarassingly. Sometimes though, we destroyed teams much better than us; and we marched, like Sherman, to the sea. I'd go home feeling absolutely fantastic, and enthusiastic for the next game; it was a bowler's high.

Finishing so well, we decided to ride that high again and re-upped Sherman's March for a second season. We came back to the lanes significantly more seasoned and focused and determined to win. Unfortunately, though we had all gotten much better, except for my uncle none of us had yet mastered the true bowling skill of spinning the ball with english, by turning it across the lane to nail those strikes like the pros do. Our skills remained amateur: step to the right or left, line it up and slam it straight down the lane to your target. The method worked well against a full frame of pins, but was nearly useless against a 'split' situation, where there were 2 or 3 pins left standing on opposite sides of the lane, with a wide space between them. The worst type of this bad situation was the feared "7-10 Split", where the pins on the farthest corners of the frame were left standing, making it nearly impossible to knock down both with one straight-thrown ball...

But this is what I faced on my final turn in the final game of what would turn out to be my final season. We had made up for our lack of true skills by learning how to hit the target pin with just the right edge of the ball, thereby knocking the pin in a desired direction to hit the others, like in a game of billiards. It was simple physics...but the 7-10 split...

Stepping as far over to the very edge of the lane as possible, lining the ball up with the edge of the dreaded 'gutter' and with the target pin seemingly a mile or so in the distance, I took a deep breath. This was it; the score was close and if I made this impossible shot and miraculously knocked down both pins, I'd pick up the "spare", and we'd still be in the game with the potential to end the season with a win.

The plan was to hurl the ball down the very edge of the gutter, for the entire length of the lane, hopefully grazing the pin directly from the side, and sending it at a 90 degree angle into the pin on the other side of the lane. Crazy. Impossible. I leaped foward and swung the ball loose. The 12 pound ball ripped away, teetering along on the very edge like on a tightwire down the lane. The slightest variation in the roll would mean an embarassing gutter ball, and the long slink back to the bench...I crunched over clenching my fists, eyeing the ball's improbable progress, and as it got more than half way down the lane I could hear a low "wooooaaahhhhh" getting louder behind me...three quarters of the way, oh my god almost there...the "WOoooaaaAHH..." behind me got louder...then, too far away to even hear it, the heavy ball just barely knicked the pin and sent it flying across the lane, itself just knicking the other pin, toppling it!

The oposing team behind me erupted in a full throated "WOOOOAAAAHHH!!!!" and I nearly dropped to my knees, pounding the air with my fists. I turned to see a couple old timers from the other team shaking their heads in disbelief, a couple of others laughing and congratulating me. I thanked them and looked over to our bench for my team mates, riding the utterly highest moment of my bowling career...but the bench was empty.

Nuno was talking with someone a couple lanes over, about football no doubt; and Kathy was apparently in the bathroom. My uncle was totally missing in action. Nuno came strolling over a minute later and said what was that? did you get it? Yeah, I got it.

We went on to finish the season again in the upper third of the rankings. I won a league award for "Most Improved" bowling average. For several years we tossed around the idea of continuing on with the league , but other obligations and commitments had since come up, preventing our return. Sherman's March would never tear through the AMF Chicopee Lanes again.



But the seeds of Nuno's original plan had taken hold; the whole experience would be an instrumental puzzle piece in eventually getting me out of my lonely funk, and for that, I must thank General Sherman.

From The Wayside

It was such a (relatively) warm evening on Wednesday, I got the hankerin' for a little drive and some night-picture taking. Chicopee Falls was the first destination and we stopped outside the crumbling home of the former massive tire manufacturer (and former massive employer), Uniroyal.



While I was taking pictures of the building from the roadside, a security guard came zooming up the road in his car, stopped and told me that it was illegal to be withing 90 feet of the building. I was pretty dubious about that, figuring I was well within my rights to be taking pictures from a public roadside. But he apologized and said it was a new law they actually just informed him of last week. It was for liability reasons, in case some of the building happens to crumble. Hmm, I was close to putting my foot down on this one and refusing to stop taking pictures, since I was after all standing on a public roadside and outside the fenced in area. But he was polite about it, and I had already taken several pictures, so I decided against making a big deal out of it. This however makes the third or fourth time where I've been asked to stop photographing in a place I assumed was a public area and there were no signs saying otherwise.



It would be nice if there were clearly defined rules about where pictures can and can't be taken. I generally go by the rule of thumb that if you can see it from a public space you can photograph it, as long as it's not expressly forbidden and you're not invading anyone's privacy.

From the falls, it's a quick drive up Front street to get to the center of Chicopee. Setting up a tripod near the St. Stanislaus Basilica still a little wounded from the security guard encounter, I watched a couple of policemen drive by but was happy to see that they hardly gave me more than a passing glance.



On to Chicopee center and a couple more scenes before packing it up...



The rules for public photography seem to be such a grey area. I've experienced and seen other people restricted from taking pictures in malls, flea markets, town meetings; places where the general public are allowed, yet photography is sometimes disallowed, or allowed as long as it's not arbitrarily considered a nuisance...



Until the rules are clear, it'll be a long process of trial and error, and security guard encounters...