September 10, 2009--Mid-Coast: Diversity
We were meeting with a real estate lawyer yesterday morning about the possibility of buying the cottage we are renting and when he learned we were from New York City he said, "How I love visiting there. There is so much diversity. Which I love. People from so many backgrounds all coming together. It's the great American salad. The best hope for the future. If we are ever to get along, we have to find ways to live together like that."
But at the risk of disillusioning him and not wanting to deter anyone from visiting--New York right now needs all the cash-paying visitors it can attract--I said, "In many ways you’re right, but don't overlook the diversity that’s right here." He looked at me curiously. Having lived along the mid coast of Maine most of his life, he clearly wasn’t thinking about things quite this way; and so I added, "If you had driven by the Bristol Diner this morning where we were having breakfast, and looked through the windows, even at ten miles an hour, it would have looked like a bunch of white people having coffee together." He nodded slowly, not yet getting my point, "And if you were to look in the window of Balthazar in New York City where we go for coffee when we are in town, it would look a lot more diverse. Mostly white people, certainly, but there would also be a smattering of Asians, African-Americans, and waiters and staff from Latin America and South Asia. People from all over the world; but staff aside, the customers, though they might look more diverse than those of us who were in the Bristol earlier today, and though at the diner there may have been eight to ten people and in Balthazar at any time there might be well over a hundred, I would suggest that there may be more diversity here than in Soho, in New York City."
“I’m not following you,” our well-traveled lawyer said, “How can you compare the two. New York is the proverbial melting pot while up here wherever you look you see your relatives. We’re that small a place. How diverse can that be?”
“Fair point,” I responded, “but let me try to spell this out a bit more. Admitting in advance that we are quite smitten with this place—why else would we be considering buying a house--and therefore my perceptions may be both superficial and influenced by romantic notions, I tried to explain.
“At the diner today we sat in a booth next to a retired school superintendent from central Ohio. He and his family vacationed here for decades, in part to be near other members of his family who lived in the area, and then when he retired they bought a house next to his brother’s and moved here permanently. That was about twenty years ago. He’s a remarkable man, Rod is, who is full of stories about his days in the Midwest and from more recent years about living here where, among other things, he spent time working for the sheriff’s department. I had wondered about that, his interest in both education and law enforcement, but then just this morning he filled in the connecting pieces. His father had worked for the Ohio State prison system, among other things transporting prisoners all over the country. Young Rod accompanied him on some of these trips and while on the road with his dad had a chance to visit many penitentiaries. In fact, before becoming a teacher and then a school principal he worked in a prison in Ohio and has some fascinating stories about his life there. Some of the stories are quite chilling, but he told some this morning with the same soft smile that characterizes him when talking about his family and the rest of his professional life.”
“I know him,” our lawyer broke into my narrative, “Rod Swank. He’s a very fine fellow and just as nice as you describe him.”
“Well then you know that he had a bad fall last January and broke his shoulder? It required surgery and he is still recovering from it. He needs someone to help him and thus with him today, as she is every morning since they like us come to the Bristol most days for breakfast, was a local woman, Lynne, whose family here goes back many, many generations. As she was telling us the other day, if you go to the South Bristol Historical Society there among their documents are hundreds and hundreds of old photographs taken by members of her family. And the current generation still pretty much lives in this area. In fact, Lynne said, that when she was in school there were only ten students in her class and many of them, just like you said, were her cousins. She is as nice and welcoming and as salt of the earth as you could ever hope to find. Full of passion for life and interested not just in local goings on but everything happening in the larger world. Again this morning, from the Portland newspaper that she was reading, she turned to us and with appropriate indignation pointed to a big ad for BMWs and said, ‘Can you believe anyone spending more than $70,000 for one of these big cars when you can get a perfectly good one for less than half that price and then you could use the rest of the money for all sorts of charitable things?’ Of course she was right and we know from other things she has told us about her own life that if she were the one tempted by one of these BMW guzzlers she would be just the person to buy a less expensive car and use the extra money to help others since that’s what she’s spent a large part of her life doing—helping members of her family when they’ve had needs and others as well. Including right now with Rod, who does need her assistance an which she joyfully offers.”
“I think I know her too,” our lawyer said. “Lynne Drisko from South Bristol. She is just as you say and many in her family are exactly like her. Fine people.” Then he added, “I’m seeing your point, but continue, you mentioned there were about ten of you at the diner today.”
“Well, I don’t want to keep you all morning. I’m sure you have other appointments.”
“I do, but please go on. Tell me about a few others.”
“Let’s see. Oh yes, there was this young fellow there who only comes occasionally, though usually he gets there earlier than we do. He’s a fisherman. As have been most members of his family, again for many generations. He’s a line fisherman, not a lobsterman. When the weather permits he takes his boat out about 20 miles and works the Gulf of Maine. I asked him earlier today if he had had any luck. He was sitting at the counter and swung around to face us. ‘Well, it just so happened I did. Yesterday I caught a tuna. A big one. More than 300 hundred pounds.’ “Wow,’ Rona said, ‘that’s great. How long did it take you to bring it in?’ ‘Oh, about 20 minutes.’ ‘That’s amazing, only 20 minutes.’ ‘If you know what you’re doing,’ he said to her with a grin, ‘that’s all it takes.’ ‘And what will you do with it?’ I asked. ‘I’m selling it. That’s what we do with them.’ ‘To whom?’ Rona wanted to know. And he went on to tell us about the Japanese tuna buyers who work up and down the east coast. From the east end of Long Island all the way up through Maine. That when he catches a tuna of this size he calls in to someone on shore and when he gets back to the dock a buyer is there who arranges to transport it to the tuna auction in Portland. Then if it tests out to be sushi-grade it gets flash frozen and is shipped off to Japan. “First class,” he said.
He smiled again, still working on his ham and eggs, “It can bring pretty good money. Depending on the fat content. The more fat it has means it’s been feeding on a lot of herring and this brings the best price per pound. Let me see,” he added without us asking, “a fish that size, if you get real lucky, can bring a few thousand dollars. That would be a good day’s work,” he grinned, “Wouldn’t you say? Though don’t mishear me, this sort of thing happens only occasionally. But it does happen. I’d be heading out there today if the wind hadn’t been so strong. It’d be rough out that far. But then there’s always tomorrow.”
“If you tell me his name, I might know him too,” our lawyer said, “Not that many from around here go out for tuna. Could be Isaac, though. Another fine fellow. Also from a good, hard-working family.”
Rona and I confessed that we weren’t sure about his name but Isaac sounded right. Then I asked, “Are you seeing my point now, about diversity?”
“Of course I am. From the beginning I knew where you’d be going with this. And of course you’ve noticed how most of us know each other. At least enough to know what’s going on in each other’s lives and families. But tell me about that place you go to in New York. I think you mentioned it’s Balthazar. I know about it. I hear it’s pretty good.”
“Well, it is. It's one of the hardest places in New York to get a reservation. But in the mornings, for breakfast, if you get there early you can always get a table, and thus many local residents like to stop by for morning coffee. That’s pretty much all we order. Coffee and a bit of bread. The eggs and other cooked dishes are so expensive—I won’t even tell you how much,” he nodded knowingly, having been to New York quite frequently, “that we don’t feel comfortable spending that much for just a couple of eggs. Maybe we’re a little like Lynne and the BMWs. But it’s a great place and we go there as much for the camaraderie with other regulars as for the coffee and excellent baguettes.”
“And your point about the lack of diversity there . . .?”
“As I said, a quick look around Balthazar would suggest much more diversity than on first glance you would expect to find here at the diner. But if you talk to some of the people there—people who we really like and with whom we have become good friends--as terrific as they are, and though they do all sorts of interesting things, you’re not likely to run into a tuna fisherman or someone whose family has been in New York for 300 years or someone who worked in a prison—except maybe as a volunteer—or someone who worked for the telephone company as an installer or someone who used to run a restaurant up in Alaska or someone who had been a big-time corporate accountant before ‘dropping out’ from that and, resettling up here, making a living for a few years as a house painter before working again as an accountant in a small firm of his own before again moving on to own and operate a successful manufacturing business with customers all over the world. That’s John Allen. Someone who is more up on contemporary literature than I who pride myself on reading pretty much anything noteworthy.
“And at Balthazar you’re very unlikely to sit next to someone who is as politically conservative as the contractor I sat next to last week who talked my ear off—without any aggression or attitude—about how Barack Obama is a socialist, who by the way, though he knows my views, continues to look to sit next to us and never fails to ask, if he is just there to get a takeout cup of coffee, how our house hunting is going. And here too, like Rona and I who are in the area for the season, coming to the diner regularly are folks who have second homes in the area. People from all over who love this region and who, back at home, are senior people in banking and finance, white-shoe lawyers (no offense), and of course the occasional writer or artist.”
“And,” Rona added, “when we have contentious discussions in New York City they are not about Obama’s alleged socialism—everyone there voted for him and presumably still supports him—only one waiter during the campaign voted for McCain, though reluctantly after he choose Sarah Palin to run with him. The arguments we had were whether we were for Hillary or Edwards or Obama. Everyone eventually voted for him. If you can believe it, the fiercest fights have been about books and movies. Did we think No Country for Old Men was the best movie of the year or just one of the best. We almost lost a friend ‘fighting’ about this. I mean that literally. When I said I thought it was only OK she stomped out and didn’t return for two weeks. I’m not making this up!
“And one more quick thing,” I continued, checking my watch, “I know you have to go in a minute. And then of course adding to the diversity here there is you and your wife and family. Not only do you have members of your family, as you told us, who are Asian and Middle Eastern, but look what you told us that you and your wife do at Bowdoin College. Your do volunteer work there with students. Didn’t you tell us that you bought this really big house so that there would be room to have students come for visits and stay during some weekends and holidays when they can’t get back home to their own families? I’ll include you, then if I may, in the case I’m making about local diversity. You too help fill out the spectrum here.” I winked at him.
But he had this already figured out, which is one of the reasons why, he told us, that he decided to spend his life here. After law school he of course had all kinds of options but decided to make a life here. “I pretty much agree with you. We do have a very rich life in the area. As you’re saying it’s not all that homogeneous. At times it can get a little insular since there are so comparatively few of us—that’s why I like my visits to places such as New York so much—that diversifies our lives,” he smiled again, “but the interdependence here is something I really like. We’re sort of tribal. How we need each other. Every one of us. They need me to do some of their lawyering and I need them to take care of my health, my house, my morning coffee.”
Rona said, “So that means we might be seeing you one morning at the Bristol?”
“You never know. I’m curious about how your fisherman friend does with his tuna. How much he gets per pound for it. So I might just be stopping by.”
“Well, you had better do that soon. We, unfortunately, have to leave in a few days; but if you help us buy this cottage, well then . . .”
But at the risk of disillusioning him and not wanting to deter anyone from visiting--New York right now needs all the cash-paying visitors it can attract--I said, "In many ways you’re right, but don't overlook the diversity that’s right here." He looked at me curiously. Having lived along the mid coast of Maine most of his life, he clearly wasn’t thinking about things quite this way; and so I added, "If you had driven by the Bristol Diner this morning where we were having breakfast, and looked through the windows, even at ten miles an hour, it would have looked like a bunch of white people having coffee together." He nodded slowly, not yet getting my point, "And if you were to look in the window of Balthazar in New York City where we go for coffee when we are in town, it would look a lot more diverse. Mostly white people, certainly, but there would also be a smattering of Asians, African-Americans, and waiters and staff from Latin America and South Asia. People from all over the world; but staff aside, the customers, though they might look more diverse than those of us who were in the Bristol earlier today, and though at the diner there may have been eight to ten people and in Balthazar at any time there might be well over a hundred, I would suggest that there may be more diversity here than in Soho, in New York City."
“I’m not following you,” our well-traveled lawyer said, “How can you compare the two. New York is the proverbial melting pot while up here wherever you look you see your relatives. We’re that small a place. How diverse can that be?”
“Fair point,” I responded, “but let me try to spell this out a bit more. Admitting in advance that we are quite smitten with this place—why else would we be considering buying a house--and therefore my perceptions may be both superficial and influenced by romantic notions, I tried to explain.
“At the diner today we sat in a booth next to a retired school superintendent from central Ohio. He and his family vacationed here for decades, in part to be near other members of his family who lived in the area, and then when he retired they bought a house next to his brother’s and moved here permanently. That was about twenty years ago. He’s a remarkable man, Rod is, who is full of stories about his days in the Midwest and from more recent years about living here where, among other things, he spent time working for the sheriff’s department. I had wondered about that, his interest in both education and law enforcement, but then just this morning he filled in the connecting pieces. His father had worked for the Ohio State prison system, among other things transporting prisoners all over the country. Young Rod accompanied him on some of these trips and while on the road with his dad had a chance to visit many penitentiaries. In fact, before becoming a teacher and then a school principal he worked in a prison in Ohio and has some fascinating stories about his life there. Some of the stories are quite chilling, but he told some this morning with the same soft smile that characterizes him when talking about his family and the rest of his professional life.”
“I know him,” our lawyer broke into my narrative, “Rod Swank. He’s a very fine fellow and just as nice as you describe him.”
“Well then you know that he had a bad fall last January and broke his shoulder? It required surgery and he is still recovering from it. He needs someone to help him and thus with him today, as she is every morning since they like us come to the Bristol most days for breakfast, was a local woman, Lynne, whose family here goes back many, many generations. As she was telling us the other day, if you go to the South Bristol Historical Society there among their documents are hundreds and hundreds of old photographs taken by members of her family. And the current generation still pretty much lives in this area. In fact, Lynne said, that when she was in school there were only ten students in her class and many of them, just like you said, were her cousins. She is as nice and welcoming and as salt of the earth as you could ever hope to find. Full of passion for life and interested not just in local goings on but everything happening in the larger world. Again this morning, from the Portland newspaper that she was reading, she turned to us and with appropriate indignation pointed to a big ad for BMWs and said, ‘Can you believe anyone spending more than $70,000 for one of these big cars when you can get a perfectly good one for less than half that price and then you could use the rest of the money for all sorts of charitable things?’ Of course she was right and we know from other things she has told us about her own life that if she were the one tempted by one of these BMW guzzlers she would be just the person to buy a less expensive car and use the extra money to help others since that’s what she’s spent a large part of her life doing—helping members of her family when they’ve had needs and others as well. Including right now with Rod, who does need her assistance an which she joyfully offers.”
“I think I know her too,” our lawyer said. “Lynne Drisko from South Bristol. She is just as you say and many in her family are exactly like her. Fine people.” Then he added, “I’m seeing your point, but continue, you mentioned there were about ten of you at the diner today.”
“Well, I don’t want to keep you all morning. I’m sure you have other appointments.”
“I do, but please go on. Tell me about a few others.”
“Let’s see. Oh yes, there was this young fellow there who only comes occasionally, though usually he gets there earlier than we do. He’s a fisherman. As have been most members of his family, again for many generations. He’s a line fisherman, not a lobsterman. When the weather permits he takes his boat out about 20 miles and works the Gulf of Maine. I asked him earlier today if he had had any luck. He was sitting at the counter and swung around to face us. ‘Well, it just so happened I did. Yesterday I caught a tuna. A big one. More than 300 hundred pounds.’ “Wow,’ Rona said, ‘that’s great. How long did it take you to bring it in?’ ‘Oh, about 20 minutes.’ ‘That’s amazing, only 20 minutes.’ ‘If you know what you’re doing,’ he said to her with a grin, ‘that’s all it takes.’ ‘And what will you do with it?’ I asked. ‘I’m selling it. That’s what we do with them.’ ‘To whom?’ Rona wanted to know. And he went on to tell us about the Japanese tuna buyers who work up and down the east coast. From the east end of Long Island all the way up through Maine. That when he catches a tuna of this size he calls in to someone on shore and when he gets back to the dock a buyer is there who arranges to transport it to the tuna auction in Portland. Then if it tests out to be sushi-grade it gets flash frozen and is shipped off to Japan. “First class,” he said.
He smiled again, still working on his ham and eggs, “It can bring pretty good money. Depending on the fat content. The more fat it has means it’s been feeding on a lot of herring and this brings the best price per pound. Let me see,” he added without us asking, “a fish that size, if you get real lucky, can bring a few thousand dollars. That would be a good day’s work,” he grinned, “Wouldn’t you say? Though don’t mishear me, this sort of thing happens only occasionally. But it does happen. I’d be heading out there today if the wind hadn’t been so strong. It’d be rough out that far. But then there’s always tomorrow.”
“If you tell me his name, I might know him too,” our lawyer said, “Not that many from around here go out for tuna. Could be Isaac, though. Another fine fellow. Also from a good, hard-working family.”
Rona and I confessed that we weren’t sure about his name but Isaac sounded right. Then I asked, “Are you seeing my point now, about diversity?”
“Of course I am. From the beginning I knew where you’d be going with this. And of course you’ve noticed how most of us know each other. At least enough to know what’s going on in each other’s lives and families. But tell me about that place you go to in New York. I think you mentioned it’s Balthazar. I know about it. I hear it’s pretty good.”
“Well, it is. It's one of the hardest places in New York to get a reservation. But in the mornings, for breakfast, if you get there early you can always get a table, and thus many local residents like to stop by for morning coffee. That’s pretty much all we order. Coffee and a bit of bread. The eggs and other cooked dishes are so expensive—I won’t even tell you how much,” he nodded knowingly, having been to New York quite frequently, “that we don’t feel comfortable spending that much for just a couple of eggs. Maybe we’re a little like Lynne and the BMWs. But it’s a great place and we go there as much for the camaraderie with other regulars as for the coffee and excellent baguettes.”
“And your point about the lack of diversity there . . .?”
“As I said, a quick look around Balthazar would suggest much more diversity than on first glance you would expect to find here at the diner. But if you talk to some of the people there—people who we really like and with whom we have become good friends--as terrific as they are, and though they do all sorts of interesting things, you’re not likely to run into a tuna fisherman or someone whose family has been in New York for 300 years or someone who worked in a prison—except maybe as a volunteer—or someone who worked for the telephone company as an installer or someone who used to run a restaurant up in Alaska or someone who had been a big-time corporate accountant before ‘dropping out’ from that and, resettling up here, making a living for a few years as a house painter before working again as an accountant in a small firm of his own before again moving on to own and operate a successful manufacturing business with customers all over the world. That’s John Allen. Someone who is more up on contemporary literature than I who pride myself on reading pretty much anything noteworthy.
“And at Balthazar you’re very unlikely to sit next to someone who is as politically conservative as the contractor I sat next to last week who talked my ear off—without any aggression or attitude—about how Barack Obama is a socialist, who by the way, though he knows my views, continues to look to sit next to us and never fails to ask, if he is just there to get a takeout cup of coffee, how our house hunting is going. And here too, like Rona and I who are in the area for the season, coming to the diner regularly are folks who have second homes in the area. People from all over who love this region and who, back at home, are senior people in banking and finance, white-shoe lawyers (no offense), and of course the occasional writer or artist.”
“And,” Rona added, “when we have contentious discussions in New York City they are not about Obama’s alleged socialism—everyone there voted for him and presumably still supports him—only one waiter during the campaign voted for McCain, though reluctantly after he choose Sarah Palin to run with him. The arguments we had were whether we were for Hillary or Edwards or Obama. Everyone eventually voted for him. If you can believe it, the fiercest fights have been about books and movies. Did we think No Country for Old Men was the best movie of the year or just one of the best. We almost lost a friend ‘fighting’ about this. I mean that literally. When I said I thought it was only OK she stomped out and didn’t return for two weeks. I’m not making this up!
“And one more quick thing,” I continued, checking my watch, “I know you have to go in a minute. And then of course adding to the diversity here there is you and your wife and family. Not only do you have members of your family, as you told us, who are Asian and Middle Eastern, but look what you told us that you and your wife do at Bowdoin College. Your do volunteer work there with students. Didn’t you tell us that you bought this really big house so that there would be room to have students come for visits and stay during some weekends and holidays when they can’t get back home to their own families? I’ll include you, then if I may, in the case I’m making about local diversity. You too help fill out the spectrum here.” I winked at him.
But he had this already figured out, which is one of the reasons why, he told us, that he decided to spend his life here. After law school he of course had all kinds of options but decided to make a life here. “I pretty much agree with you. We do have a very rich life in the area. As you’re saying it’s not all that homogeneous. At times it can get a little insular since there are so comparatively few of us—that’s why I like my visits to places such as New York so much—that diversifies our lives,” he smiled again, “but the interdependence here is something I really like. We’re sort of tribal. How we need each other. Every one of us. They need me to do some of their lawyering and I need them to take care of my health, my house, my morning coffee.”
Rona said, “So that means we might be seeing you one morning at the Bristol?”
“You never know. I’m curious about how your fisherman friend does with his tuna. How much he gets per pound for it. So I might just be stopping by.”
“Well, you had better do that soon. We, unfortunately, have to leave in a few days; but if you help us buy this cottage, well then . . .”
posted by Steven Zwerling at
1:29 AM
3 Comments:
Hi, Steve! From your article about diversity in Maine, I have a connection. I am the retired school superintendent's daughter who married a golf pro and moved to Georgia. Our only child (a Georgia peach) loves Maine so much that she'd like to live there one day, perhaps in my parents' house. The Bristol Diner is a truly remarkable treasure!
Well, I'm fascinated that there is so much diversity in Maine. Still, by and large, though as in Maine so in Montana, there are various, me, I think I'll stick to my old, young, black, white,Domenican gay, straight, Italian, French, Irish, British, Asian, Swiss, male, female who are doctors, writers, theatre directors, cooks, waiters,journalists,secretaries,accountants,
professors, opera singers, jazz musicians, photograhers, and sometimes just unemployed friends in between friends in New York City.
PS
Not to mention the smoked fish and cheese salesmen,architects, designers,furniture sales people, computer fixers, and my pal, the butcher at the Essex Street Market.
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