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Page 6, THE MEDFIELD PRESS, April 9, 2009

www.wickedlocal.com/medfield

THE MEDFIELD PRESS

OPINION

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Things we want to see happen in the future

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More involvement in local politics

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Better, more responsible voter participation

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Check in with the local library

This year the Town Election ballot had no contested races. We’d like to see more participation in the political process in town. Maybe monthly citizenship forums could keep next year’s elections in the public consciousness between now and then, so there’ll be more people running for public office.

The March 30 election, in which Treasurer Georgia Colivas and Town Administrator Mike Sullivan were neck and neck for the Trust Fund Commissioner post, shows that even without contested races, one vote can make a difference. We’d like to see more voters take the time to vote responsibly for all the town’s elected posts, which are all important.

If you’ve got thoughts or ideas on how to make the library better, give them a call at 508-359-4544 and tell them what you’re thinking. The Library is actively soliciting new ideas.

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Better attention paid to the risks and prevention of Lyme disease

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If you’re not volunteering, make some time to pitch in

Lyme disease cases have been rising in Norfolk County. If you didn’t make it to the April 7 forum on prevention of the tick-borne illness, check out the Medfield Press article on the subject printed last week at our Web site, wickedlocal.com/medfield, and keep yourselves safe this spring when the weather warms up.

Follow the example of Volunteers of the Year, Scout Leader Gary Wheeler and Girl Scout Tess Komine, and pitch in where and when you can. Volunteering helps the community, looks good on a resume and could bolster your work experience in between jobs, if you can find a way to apply your talents to a particular cause.

Letters welcome The deadline for letters is Monday at 5 p.m. for Thursday’s publication. Letters must be signed and include a daytime telephone number for verification only. Letters should be no more than 350 words, and we reserve the right to edit all letters for clarity and space. Address letters to the Editor, The Medfield Press, 254 Second Ave., Needham, MA 02494.

MEDFIELD PRESS 254 Second Ave., Needham, MA 02494

Editor — Rob Borkowski 781-433-8353 Photo Editor — Erin Prawoko 781-433-8374 Chief Executive Officer — Richard J. Daniels Advertising Director — Anne Marie Magerman CNC West Editor-in-Chief — Richard K. Lodge, [email protected] Managing Editor, Daily — Matt Cook, 781-433-8335 Managing Editor, Weeklies — Jeff Adair, 508-626-3926 Advertising Sales — Jeff Motta, 508-634-7537

GENERAL TELEPHONE NUMBERS

Circulation Info – 1-888-MY-PAPER Sales Fax Number – 508-634-7511 Main Telephone – 781-433-8307 Editorial Fax – 781-433-8375 Classified Number –1-800 624-7355 Arts/Calendar Fax – 781-433-8375

My kingdom for some cable! During the ice storms this past winter, we didn’t lose power or heat, have to move to a shelter or take refuge on the roof to wait for rescue boats. So it would probably seem silly for me to complain about the two weeks we were without AT LARGE cable TV. That said … Those were the PETER worst two weeks of my life. OK, so maybe that’s a CHIANCA slight exaggeration. It’s just that I’d never realized the comfort we took in the soft glow coming off Larry King’s wrinkled face, or that the kids got from the canned laughter taking up the empty crevasses of our household via the Disney Channel. Without it we were faced with an unexpected need to fill that void with something else. Like, you know, conversation. So you can appreciate the severity of the circumstances. At first I thought we could fall back on the hundreds of kids’ DVDs we’d accumulated over the years — silly me. “But those are BORING!” they declared, in that way they have of talking in unison whenever I suggest something really stupid. And it didn’t take long before we were reminded of what happens every time our family attempts a board game: It quickly devolves into spectacular moans of exasperation and accusa-

tions of barefaced cheating, followed by fisticuffs. And the kids weren’t much better. We made the best of it the first week — we spent an inordinate amount of time gathered together around my Blackberry, trying to get some hint about what was going on in the outside world. But by week two we knew we had to take some action before we all wound up curled up on the couch in a fetal position, humming game show themes. In fact, we actually resorted to buying rabbit ears and simply watching whatever we could get to come in over them, primarily fuzzy old Victor Borge specials. “This is just what my childhood was like!” I would declare, shifting the metal prongs forward and back, prompting my kids to look at me like I’d just said I’d grown up slaughtering mastodons for food. Then, the next snowstorm hit, and it was a doozy. Faced with the prospect of another weekend snowed in behind closed doors with no TV, we took what we saw as our only recourse: We bundled everybody up and stepped out into the tundra. We figured if we were lucky, we might all freeze to death. But wouldn’t you know it, that’s not what happened at all. It was snowing so hard we al-

most couldn’t see the street, but there was a refreshing lack of wind, and we found the driveway was already slick enough to slide down on our plastic sleds. “It’s actually … nice out here,” said my daughter Jackie, and she was right — it reminded me of that time on “The Simpsons” when Bart and Lisa’s favorite show got cancelled and they suddenly began romping playfully outside as if it was the first time they’d been there. And yes, the irony of the fact that a TV reference was the first thing to pop into my head is not lost on me. Sure, when the cable company finally connected us a few days later, my kids did come running out to meet my car as I drove up the driveway from work, yelling “Daddy! We’ve got cable! It’s a Christmas miracle!” But at least now I know we don’t need TV — and we can turn it off whenever we want without suffering too many ill effects. As long as no one good is on Larry King, that is. Note: This column appeared originally in GoodLife magazine. Visit GoodLife on the Web at wickedlocal.com/goodlife. Peter Chianca is a managing editor for GateHouse Media New England. Follow him on Twitter at twitter.com/pchianca. To receive At Large by e-mail, write to [email protected], with the subject line “SUBSCRIBE.”

Flaherty:Living to see change By Tim Flaherty SPECIAL TO THE PRESS

Back in June of 1956, my grandfather, Joe Marchionette, took my family to Hyannis, Cape Cod for a weekend vacation. While driving in his Chevy Coupe through the town of Wareham, he stopped at a roadside stand where young black teens were selling fresh strawberries. This was my first personal encounter with African Americans. The girls were very pleasant and appreciated the business. My grandfather handed one of the girls a $10 bill. She had to make change and with that she quickly ran with the $10 bill in her hand, waving in the air into her family home. She got the change from her mother, who was waiting at the kitchen door. When the girl returned my grandfather tipped the girl. She was delighted and with that, we were on our way. Sometimes the unexpected seeds of enlightenment are sewn in the earliest times of our lives. In the late 1950s members of the Medfield Park and Recreation Committee took all the members of the Medfield Little League to Fenway Park to watch the Red Sox play a game against the California Angels. As young kids, we were all excited to be sitting behind the Sox dugout. None of us ever heard of the pitcher, Earl Wilson, but we could see that he was African American as he stood on the pitch-

ers mound. His fastball dazzled the opposing batters and before the end of the game, he had hit a home run and had pitched a no-hitter. He made an impression on all of us that day, especially after hearing that he told a reporter that the day was just like any other at the ballpark. This was such a modest statement from a man who became one of the first black stars to play for the Boston Red Sox. What impressed us most was how this man handled the pressure in a baseball city that had few black role models. When the Sox started the next season in Winter Haven, Florida, Earl Wilson wasn’t allowed to stay at the same hotel or even eat at the same restaurants with the rest of the team. We were all shocked and dismayed when we heard of this racism, but what could kids do about it? In summer of 1963, Grandfather Joe, my brother Dennis and I drove in his beach wagon to the summer home in Parsonsfield, Maine. It didn’t take all that long to get there and after a quick lunch, we sat in the living room, turned on the television and watched what was going on in Washington, DC. Martin Luther King Jr. was delivering his speech at the Washington Monument. From a very stark black and white picture on the tube, came forth his vision and dream. We never thought we were witnessing histo-

ry in the making. The one thing we asked ourselves was how much longer would African Americans have to struggle? King was setting the example with oratory and action, but there was still a great deal more that had to be accomplished. In 1967 during spring break, I went to Daytona Beach, Florida with four friends. We were driving all the way and most of the time we were awake to see the Deep South. As we drove through North and South Carolina the scenery started to change. It was very wide open in such a green countrified setting. While driving through Georgia, we watched stretches of poverty fly by our windows. There were shacks where black people lived in boarded pine houses that were unpainted, gray and weather-beaten. After driving for 24 hours we finally reached Daytona and checked into a motel. The next day we were about to drive to the beach. I asked the lady who owned the motel where the nearest Catholic Church was as Easter Sunday was in just another two days. She turned, looked and pointed at the highway and recommended I travel about 3 miles down the street where stood a Catholic Church. She said it was the best one because they “didn’t allow coloreds” to enter. Although I was taken back by her remark, it wasn’t long before I saw that Day-

tona Beach had a remote section for African Americans as well. Was this separate but equal? Was this any way to talk about and confront the issue of race? The grains of sand have reached their destination through the hourglass. After all the generations of struggle, it seems that now we’ve made another stride towards bridging the color gap. America chose Barack Obama as the nation’s president. King’s dream is still alive. His vision has lasted to the present day with a fire and energy that could not be silenced. The torch is now in Obama’s hands as he has gone from the page to the stage. Some people thought that America wasn’t ready for a black president. But with his eloquent dialogue he gave people a message of hope, one of pride and national harmony. Whether it’s the simplicity of buying some strawberries, cheering on an athlete in his cause against bigotry, mythologizing the Rev. King, or taking a personal stand against extremism, we gain a better understanding of our world and the people who live in it. We carry on with the expectation that people can be as strong as ever with a drum beating, a band playing and a flag waving. We are forever like the stars streaking across the night sky that come crashing to the earth, scratching the surface and making our mark.