Category Archives: Culture

Culture, Newburyport, MA, the quality in people of Newburyport and Newburyport’s society, that comes from a concern for what is excellent in arts, letters, manners, scholarly pursuits, etc.

A New American World Order

My father was a very smart and courageous man. He lived through the depression, served his country and received a Purple Heart in World War II. He deftly navigated the charters of the corporate and social world of New York City, and then reinvented himself at the age of 72. At almost 90 he looked at the financial landscape, and I think looking back at the different things that we talked about, he knew on some very profound level, that economically things were going to go into a tailspin. And he was tired. He was ready to go.

He knew exactly how he wanted to go and was very clear about it (I had hoped that he would make different choices, but he did not), and what I discovered was that, pretty much, aside from myself, no one was listening. But my Dad was very much in control of his own destiny, and things did go the way he wanted them to go, whether anybody wanted them to or not. And frankly, his timing was pretty good.

And what I see today is that President Obama was always very clear in what he would do as President of the United States. Either many Americans weren’t listening, or they believed that he wouldn’t go though with it, that it was only “empty campaign rhetoric.”

And in some ways it seems to me that the wealthy (Rush Limbaugh, by his own admission, is no exception) are furious that he intends to actually go through with what he promised, ie that they are going to pay higher taxes. And it seems to me as if we are on some level, this was actually articulated by some cable TV shows last night, playing a game of chicken, or witnessing a power play, between the Obama Administration and the wealthy. This is what I think. That they want his administration to fail because they don’t want to be told what to do by a man who is Afro American, and they do not want their taxes to go up, and they don’t have, it seems to me, much empathy for the folks that have less money than they do.

They are staging a weird sort of protest against what they, I think rightly, see as a reorganization of a social order. The wealthy white man might no longer be in control. Better to humiliate President Obama, take a loss for a certain amount of time, send the Democrats permanently into the wilderness, and return to a free market economy, hopefully with no or little restriction, business as usual, just like the good old days of the last eight years.

This is what I am thinking and hoping. That because they haven’t been listening, and they are so intent on their own agenda, that they have misjudged the new president, severely. President Obama is very clear on what he wants to happen. And I hope, among all the noise, and smoke and taffy, that the old world order of the wealthiest in this country getting pretty much a free lunch, compared to the rest of the country, is dead on arrival. And that we continue to see a new America emerge and once again reinvent herself.

Science and Taxes

I remember when the Bush Administration lowered the capital gains tax to 15%, my father was horrified. The ordinary American he told me was still paying 25% in taxes on a CD that they had in the bank. He was also aghast at the the Bush Administration gradual repeal of the estates tax. My father believed that the wealthy in America were the ones to pay the most taxes. He predicted that the extreme “Voodoo” (ironically dubbed by George Bush the elder) economic policies of the Bush Administration would lead to fiscal chaos for the United States of America. I wish he was around for me to say from Newburyport, MA, “Dad, wow were you ever right.”

My father was a tax lawyer, one of the first. His job was to help wealthy Americans avoid paying taxes. But what I discovered was that he used his influence as a tax lawyer to persuade folks to give to things like research for mental illness and the cure for cancer.

My father believed in and encouraged investing in science, even when the government, in the dark ages, under the former Bush administration refused to do so, by refusing federal money for stem cell research.

I briefly got to know an artist by the name of Eliza Auth and her husband Tony Auth, the syndicated political cartoonist and cartoonist for the Philadelphia Inquirer, who has been mentioned before on the Newburyport Blog. Tony Auth graciously gave this political cartoon that appeared in the Philadelphia Inquirer on May 27, 2005 to my father for his 90th birthday, and also gave me permission to use the image on the Newburyport Blog.

Tony Auth, May 27, 2005, Used with Permission

So on November 4, 2008 we as a country decided to put away childish things, voted for a candidate who wanted to once again embrace science, and go back to a more realistic tax structure. And all of a sudden the country, or as the media would have us think, is surprised and some of them aghast.

This is my theory, and I think it’s one that my Dad would have agreed with, that for eight years under the Bush Administration, the wealthy have had a basically, pretty close to, almost, tax free, relatively speaking, free ride. And possibly that part of why the market is down so much, is a petulance on the part of the 15% capital gains folks on Wall Street, that the existing tax disparity might have only been an eight year Christmas present by the former Bush administration.

Political Insight

My father, who was very astute at politics, once told me that the “establishment” wanted then President Clinton to fail because they didn’t want a “cracker,” ie “poor white trash” in the White House. Conservative Republicans trying to impeach the president over a blow-job would seem to confirm my father’s observation.

So I believe conservative Republicans when they say that they would like President Obama to fail. This is a “cracker” with a twist. He’s Afro-American.

Socially conservative Republicans are also so radical in their dislike for anyone who is tolerant of abortion or gay rights, much less making legislation etc. for those causes to happen. There is no room for compromise on those issues. That’s why I’m so proud of my friend Frank Schaeffer, a once a radical social conservative Republican turned moderate, who lives right here in our Newburyport community and writes often for the Huffington Post and has scores of best sellers.

I am proud, relieved and moved by our new president, but there surely are folks out their in our nation who would and are and have been trying to destroy him. Being accused by Sarah Palin of “Palling around with terrorists” is only a glimpse of what is out there. “Live and let live” does not appear to be the guiding principle.

So yes, President Obama can be gracious and hope for bi-partisanship, but, I don’t know where the quote comes from, “We have met the enemy and the enemy is us,” but it seems applicable, unfortunately, in this case.

The other thing that I’ve noticed is how the media is twisting facts to get attention. This includes places like the Huffington Post. I watched the exchange between Senator John McCain and President Obama on the new possible presidential helicopters. Senator McCain approached the subject with a little humor, it was obvious that this was something the two of them had talked about. President Obama was downright funny in his response, and Senator McCain was smiling and nodding his head.

One would never know this by reading or listening to the media. It was war between the two once presidential candidates. And either Senator McCain was a soar loser, or President Obama was put on the spot, depending on the coverage. Neither was true. This is getting old.

I always wondered why my father watched C-Span so much. I now know. Unfiltered information, from which a vastly intelligent man, like my father, could draw his own conclusions. His daughter is now learning, and I wish I could call him up and let him know.

Newburyport Stories

I open the present my son gives me for Christmas, a book. A skull with a cigarette on the front cover. My face obviously gives my skepticism away.

“No, Mom, really, he’s on the New York Times best seller list, I promise.”

I feel slightly better when I find out that the skull was painted by my favorite painter, Vincent Van Gogh. To say the least, I am still skeptical.

My son to reassure me, sits me down and reads the first short essay/story. It’s about germs. I’m still not won over.

But after all, this is my own beloved son, and I want to make at least some attempt to appreciate his thought out present to moi. So I plunk myself down in the comfiest chair I can find, and proceed to read the skull book. By the fourth essay/story, I am howling with laughter, and offer to read my son some of the stuff in his now much appreciated present. He declines.

The 8th essay/story is about a New York City woman, who could have been any number of characters that I’ve known so well. And I begin to wonder that maybe these stories have a lot less fiction in them than I first supposed.

And having struggled with, in what fashion to continue the Newburyport Blog, an idea begins to form. Stories, maybe fiction, maybe true, centered around my beloved New England seacoast city of Newburyport, MA, my stories, but hopefully somewhat universal as well as local.

What woman, Newburyport or elsewhere, hasn’t stood in front of the mirror and wondered about “midriff bulge.” Another version of, “Am I fat?”

What one of us, while considering the problem of “midriff bulge,” hasn’t also considered a personal financial fate in these lousy economic times.

Instead of “preaching” about historic preservation, and preserving the historic quality of this wonderful historic town, an experience of what it is like to live in an historic place, day after day, and how that adds to an unquantifiable quality of life.

Instead of talking about how upset I am about specific “restoration” and building projects, why not talk about historic preservation and boob jobs, hoping that people will start rating planning and historic preservation projects as a “double D boob job” as the worst, to a “braless wonder,” at their very best.

In December 2008 I find I am weary of pissing off my fellow Newburyport citizens, living under a constant risk of being sued or being threaten of being sued, and this appears to be a possible solution.

After trying to find every possible book by the skull guy, I finally Google him. And I find that, yes David Sedaris has not only been around for quite a long time, and I am very late to the David Sedaris planet, but also even that he has been on David Letterman a lot, no less, much less a visit to one of my favorites, Jon Stewart. From here on in, I vow to myself, I will trust my son’s taste in literature, even if the cover contains a picture of a skull.

Newburyport Twitter Wakeup Call

This is something that I never thought I’d give a rip about, so it surprises me that I do. Something so global and is in fact so much Newburyport local.

Some full disclosure here. For 3 years I worked as one of then 75,000 (the number has since grown) editors for the “Open Directory Project” or as it is often know as “DMOZ,” the directory owned by Netscape and used by Google. Most of my ever ongoing “training” at DMOZ, was catching people trying to scam the system, as well as adding really good websites to the directory. I was constantly amazed at how many and how often and how sneaky people were. It was a real wakeup call for moi.

And yesterday I watched the CEO and co-founder of Twitter, a very, very smart (vast understatement) and personable gentleman, Evan Williams, talk about his ideal for Twitter. Twitter is also not making any money (yet).

This is who it appears is making money, Social Media Optimizers (SMO)s. From what I can make out in my small amount of research (and yes this is cynical and possibly jaded on my part) the gig was sort of up for the Search Engine Optimization (SEO) folks, when Google wanted relevant content and lots of it. Schmoes like me can rank high for key words that SEO’s used to be able to persuade folks to pay unbelievable amounts of money for.

When I went on Twitter and searched “SEO,” what I saw were lots of “tweets” from SEO’s saying how stupid people were about Twitter, what a sham a company was if they didn’t insist on a SEO firm using Social Media like Twitter, and a certain implication of the large amounts of money to be made off of Twitter ignomaniacs.

What was interesting to me, was that this was not the tone or goal, at least from what I heard, from the co-founder and CEO of good old Twitter. Quite the contrary. He said he thought at this point Twitter, I believe the word was “impossible” to use, the plan was for that to end, and the whole thing was suppose to be fun. The aim did not seem to me to scam people out of large amounts of money.

And the other thing that I sort of read between the lines, that many large companies now almost feel compelled to set up Twitter accounts, even Newspapers, which Mr. Williams, it seemed to me, seemed to be quizzical about.

I’m guessing that it is all those SMO’s out there who used to do SEO that are now scaring their website customers into have things like Twitter accounts, so that, yes, the SMO’s can make tons of money, because most folks are Twitter ignorant, and need to pay someone mucho money to do it for them.

Maybe I will become a Twitter addict, Mr. Williams did say it was addictive and was supposed to be fun. But, I wonder how many Newburyport businesses, in this lousy economy, will feel compelled to pay good money to SMO’s to make sure they stay relevant and solvent.

Artists Creating Jobs

One of the things that really gets me about the new stimulus package, that better get passed, the Republicans better not screw this one up, is the outrage about giving money to the National Endowment for the Arts (NEA).

This isn’t just outrage by Republicans, but on places like CNN too. “Can you believe this? This is really the last straw–money for the NEA.”

Excuse me.

Artists help the economy in all sorts of ways, and unfortunately, very few of them get to reap the rewards, and get lots of scorn, apparently when Mr. Bush’s bushwhacking of the NEA and the arts in general, is now beginning to be realized as not such a good idea.

Take Newburyport, MA for example. In the late 1970’s and early 1980’s when Newburyport was making a comeback, downtown Newburyport had been rescued and restored, but the rest of the town needed a little sprucing up.

Who moves in? Who “discovers” Newburyport, MA? A lot of artists among other folks, that’s who. From writers, to visual artists etc. They added to the vitality of the town, helped make it an attraction for tourists, new restaurants and shops etc. And now Newburyport, MA is too expensive for most artists to live in. An old, old story.

Artists have a nose for what is the next “in” place. Soho and Chelsea in New York City are two other examples. Artists moved in, and then so did expensive stores, real estate went through the roof, lots of property taxes and jobs at all the new restaurants and shops. And can most artists afford to live in those places either? Rarely.

Do artists get credit for job creating, real estate creating. Apparently not by this United States Congress, because it looks like help/funding for the NEA is going to be axed from the hopefully will be passed stimulus bill.

Shapewear and Tummy Control

Because of the financial melt down starting in September 2008, which effects folks in Newburyport, MA too, I find myself watching the business channel on TV. Believe me this is something new. Five months ago I wouldn’t have been caught dead watching the business channel on my Newburyport Television.

Apparently even the business channel on TV needs to liven things up, and there are gorgeous celebrities. The “hook” on this particular business segment, is how they got to look so spectacular.

They got to look so spectacular because they wear “shapewear.” The business channel can also now show semi unclothed gorgeous females. Sex, business–ever thus.

Having gotten stupid lucky and got the skinny gene, plus doing sit-ups and crunches every night for the last 18 years, not out of virtue, but to avoid massive back pain from years of painting gorgeous paintings, I’ve only accumulated mild midriff-bulge (see earlier entry), and I have obviously been oblivious to “shapewear,” which has been around, I gather, for quite a while.

From what I can make out watching the business TV channel, shapewear came into it’s own around the year 2002. And as I recall that was when former President Bush was at his zenith. I ponder whether this is a coincidence or not.

I’ve had this theory, which will not be completely popular with many readers of the Newburyport Blog, but my theory is that with the first election of President Bush, we as a nation regressed back to the 1950’s. (I’m hoping with our new president, President Obama, that we really and truly are coming out of those dark ages.)

And as I recall, in the 1950’s I watched my mother’s compatriots cram themselves into awful looking girdles, delighted that they looked so slim, despite, what seemed to me to be excruciating agony.

Now I haven’t gone out and test driven a shapewear product, yet, so I have no idea if they even cause excruciating pain or even mild discomfort. And yes, I now realized that almost all of the rest of the world knows about shapewear, tummy control, thigh control, butt control, lots of body stuff control, except moi, since apparently I just came off the planet Pluto last night, where there is no shapewear, tummy control, etc.

But I find it interesting that at the beginning of the 21st century, a form of girdle has come back into fashion. And I wonder, ponder what this says about our culture and society at large.

Humble is In

“Humble” is now “in.”

Humility being a foreign entity, at least often in places like New York City and Washington, D.C., and probably LA as well. Although in places like Newburyport, MA, humility is very common (thankfully).

Noticing how the new president, President Obama stands while he’s waiting for whatever. His hands are clasped in front of his waist. In power, how to succeed in being powerful, hands clasped in front of your waist, a big fat “no, no,” and a big waste of time, in the how to succeed in the being powerful body language thing.

Either President Obama is very comfortable in his own skin, or has never been to a how to succeed in business, power coach, or both. But here he is President of the United States of America.

It’s not apparent to me if the major power folks, who have assisted in causing our major financial meltdown, which is now very much trickling down to our small New England city of Newburyport, MA, have gotten the message yet, or in fact ever want to get the message.

I asked a Newburyport friend, who is in finance, what is happening to some of these powerful financial folks. And I was told that their life styles have been dramatically “cut back,” as in one of their many houses may be on the chopping block.

I inquired if “they” could have any clue that maybe they, along with lots and lots of other folks, might feel responsible for what has happened to the United States, the world, as well as our own little spot in the world, Newburyport, MA.

And I was told, no way would it ever occur to them to own up to their role in all of this mess. It’s, “Give me my two extra houses back, now,” as far as I can make out.

We obviously have a long way to go in coming to terms with the whole concept of the “humility” thing. The frogs (see previous post) get it, they want to be selfish and narcissistic (their words, not mine). Maybe we could all begin to acclimate ourselves to this new “in” concept of humble, by practicing standing, while waiting for whatever, with our hands clasped in front of our waists, just like one of the most powerful men on earth, President Obama,

The Newburyport Library’s Hidden Treasure

I find at the Newburyport Library, which is one of my favorite places in all of Newburyport, and somehow makes paying my property taxes less painful, a small, and what looks like a treasure chest of a section. I decide to keep the “call number” of this treasure chest of a section, a big fat secret, and not to share it with anyone, not even any of the librarians that work at the Newburyport Library in Newburyport, MA.

I impulsively dub this section the, “Everything is going to be all right, really and truly, at least I hope so, ” section of the Newburyport Library, in Newburyport, MA. I spot a book by Stephen Colbert, so I know this finite area contains humorous stuff. Humor being something that I could use a heaping dose of in these scary and uncertain economic times.

And I spot an old friend (my mother used to say, semi rolling her eyes, “Books are our friends”), “Lost in the Cosmos, the Last Self-Help Book,” by Walker Percy, which I snatch from the shelf, as if it might be snatched from my hands, and usher it downstairs to the beautiful granite topped checkout center, before scurrying home with my new found treasure.

And that night I sit down in the comfiest chair possible and start to read, once again, Walker Percy’s “Lost in the Cosmos.”

By page two I no longer smile in anticipation, but begin to frown. By page four I turn back to the copyright page to find out when this book had actually been written–1983, a while ago. By page eight I call it quits.

The book no longer seems like a witty commentary on the society in which we live. It seems bitter, angry and confused about the direction that society is taking. I am beginning to understand a) why “irony” has been getting such a bad name lately and b) why this book has been sitting on the shelf and does not have a long waiting list instead.

I wonder out loud to myself if it could be possible that we as a culture could have actually outgrown an angry 1980’s ironic phase?

And I think about our almost president to be Obama. Over and over again the one thing people seem to agree on, and still seem to agree on, is that here is a man that does not appear to be angry, when in fact, many think he should be.

And last night as I flip through the channels looking for the latest inaugural news, on one of the cable channels I come across someone who says that they think that it is “ironic” that our new president will be inaugurated the day after Martin Luther King Day.

I think to myself that I in fact I do not think that this is “ironic” at all, now that I am coming to the conclusion that it may be possible that “irony” may indeed be going out of fashion.

Instead I think of it as what a wise friend of mine calls “God’s pinky.” Possibly that this “coincidence” could be the god of my understanding indicating that electing the first African American president is a very good thing.

The Early to Mid Twenties Thing

Having talked to various young men and women in their early to mid twenties, in Newburyport and elsewhere, I am beginning to think that the early to mid twenties thing may be as difficult in its own way as the teenage years thing.

I have two wonderful Newburyport neighbors who are somewhere in their late thirties and early forties, closer to, and therefore with better memories of, the age of the twenty age thing than moi.

They tell me that it is a teetering transition time between adulthood and childhood (I naively thought this took place at 18) and it’s best to throw them to the wolves.

My son seems to agree with the throwing to the wolves thing, at least when it comes to the female member of the parenting part. I am all in agreement, with the great hope that the journey to adulthood thing, not only has been set into motion, but is chugging down the adulthood path at some sort of consistent regularity.

However, it is not necessarily easy to have gone intensely down the parenting highway at a good clip for a good couple of decades, get off at a 30 mile an hour thoroughfare, Newburyport or elsewhere, and be able to actually slow down. The brakes get quite a workout. I am, however, more than ready to enjoy the scenery.

Others who are older than my Newburyport neighbors, with children who are in their 30’s and 40’s tell me a different story. They look at me with either a smile or a frown, and tell me, “They never really leave home.”

And at least for me, while my parents were alive, that was indeed true. I might not have actually been present at their actual dwelling or in contact at that actual moment, but there was always a sense of “home,” one that, yes, might have evolved over the years, but still, in whatever shape it took, existed in a very tangible way. And I didn’t comprehend that I had stood on that foundation, with both obliviousness and confidence, until that foundation was no longer there.

Turning Heads in New York City

I was in New York (City) visiting my Dad and had lunch with him at his favorite eating lunch haunt in Mid-Manhattan.

It was one of those gorgeous New York spring days, and I walked back to where my Dad lived. And, as usual, when visiting my father, I was dressed in my “New York best.”

And I found as I walked North, I turned heads.

When my father got home that evening from work (yes, in his eighties, almost to ninety, my father worked, and loved to work), I told him that walking home I had “turned heads.”

He looked at me with that beady, quizzical look of his as if to say “Beany (he used to call me “Beany”), you are a woman of a “certain age,” and women of a certain age simply don’t’ turn heads.”

But I’d say to him, “No, Dad, really.”

When I was down visiting in New York one Christmas, when it was one of those blessed Christmases when it was actually warm outside, my son and I took a cab to his quintessential New York walk-up apartment near 42nd street, to bring back some of the Christmas presents that he had received. And we walked back to where my Dad lived, winding our way though a ridiculously packed Rockefeller Center.

Bakers don’t walk in New York, they stride. And yes, I was dressed up in my New York finest. And my son, who was also striding along side me, would say things like, “Mom, did you see that guy, he was trying to pick you up, and he was half your age!”

He recounted this amazing occurrence to my father when we arrived back at my father’s dwelling. My Dad gave him the same beady, quizzical look. And my son said to him, “No, Poppy, it’s true, really, the guy was half her age.”

When my Dad was ill and dying, I didn’t do any striding around New York City. It was more sort of stumbling blindly. And I noticed something–I sure as hell didn’t turn any heads.

It was as if in my grief, I had become invisible, or if not invisible, then sending out a grief aura, that folks in New York would like to avoid.

I thought of the old saying that goes something like, “When you smile the world smiles with you, when you cry, you cry alone.” (Of course this is not true everywhere, people in other parts of the country actually do respond with empathy to grief.)

And I came up with my own version of the old saying. It goes like this: “When you stride confidently in New York City, no matter how old you are, you turn heads. When you stumble in grief, you become as invisible as the ghost of the loved one that you mourn.”

Newburyport Walking

I walk. That’s what I do. Some people ski. I walk.

I have my Newburyport route, so when it’s time to take a break, I don’t even have to think about it. Set myself on Newburyport walking-autopilot, and off I go.

People ask me, “You walk everyday, how much?”

And I say, “Two miles.”

And invariably they say, “That’s not enough.”

And then I think to myself (I never, ever say it out loud, I’m far, far too polite), “Look at me and look at you. Who’s in better shape. I don’t even have midriff-bulge (yet).”

When I was pregnant, my father announced to me one day, that after my pregnancy, I would get the dreaded midriff-bulge, and that it would never, ever go away.

It’s been a few decades since I last gave birth, and I look into the mirror and go, “Do you have mid-drift-bulge yet? Is this mid-drift bulge?” And after all these years, I’ve decided that my father was wrong. I only have, decades later, a very mild case of the midriff-bulge thing.

Actually, as an entire family, we never got the dreaded obesity gene thing. No, we all eat like birds, and when something goes wrong, we end up not having any appetite, and lose tons of weight, as well as any mild midriff-bulge thing that we might have actually acquired along the way, instead of the other way around.

People, who don’t have this very fortunate gene, always look at us and say things like, “You look so gaunt.”

And I want to say something like (but I never, ever do, I’m far, far too polite), “Don’t you wish sister.” or “Don’t you wish you dope. You have the midriff-bulge gene, and you’re just jealous as all get-out. You’re dying to look gaunt.” (No pun intended.)

But instead, I just smile, and say what a friend of mine calls the “Cheerio prayer.” I say “Oh.”

And then I sometimes, if it’s me that’s been told I look, “So gaunt,” I add, “I guess it’s from those two miles of Newburyport walking.”

Newburyport’s Guardian Angels

I’ve just come back from seeing my son perform a “solo performance” that he wrote–an independent study for college. My son graduates from college this May.

Sitting in the dark theater surrounded by his adorable, wonderful and boisterous fellow travelers, I forgot that the amazing versatile and gifted young man on stage, performing this remarkable, poetic piece, was the child that I gave birth to.

In the audience were two people from Newburyport, Massachusetts.

The first was Greg Moss, who cast my son in a play that he wrote and directed called “Yoohoo and Hank Williams.” An incredibly poignant play, performed at the Black Box at the Tannery, a play I’ve always wanted to see not only at the Fire House, but always thought it was worthy off-Broadway.

Greg Moss’ mother is Maureen Daly, who was my son’s kindergarten teacher. Mr. Moss’ father is yes, “Mr. Moss”, Myron Moss, my son’s poetry teacher his senior year at Newburyport High School. A family that so lovingly has book-ended my son’s earlier education.

Suzanne Bryan, my son’s high school theatre teacher, was also in the audience. “Mrs. Bryan” was one of his first high school “guardian angels.” Without Suzanne Bryan, there would have been no college “solo performance” this April.

When my son was going through the Newburyport school system, I would hear parents complain and complain. But I was always amazed at the men and women who showed up everyday, who had a gift that I could never imagine having, and cajoled, inspired, were exasperated and proud of my child. I always tried to thank them.

And there were many “guardian angles.” One always worth mentioning, Bernadette Darnell. There would have been no college experience, period, with out “Mrs. Darnell.”

I hear parents say to me today, “Ah, but your son’s experience was so different from our child’s experience.” I just say “Oh.” But, what I would like to say is, “Hush, be still, listen. If you open your eyes you will find your child’s guardian angels. No one has taken them away. They are most definitely there. There is a treasure hunt ready to happen.”

The guardian angles all through the Newburyport school system, made my son’s college experience possible. It is in part because of their dedication, warmth and caring that he will graduate from college this May. And for that I can never thank them enough. I know I am proud. And I am sure that they are proud too.

Mary Eaton, Newburyport