RichardHowe.com – Voices from Lowell & Beyond

Time of the End of the Season

Time of the End of the Season

By Bob Hodge

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Bob Hodge grew up in Lowell and went on to graduate from Lowell High (1973) and University of Lowell (1990). He was (and still is) one the greatest runners to come out of this region. He’s also a writer whose 2020 memoir, Tale of the Times: A Runner’s Story, is available at lala books in downtown Lowell and in Kindle format from Amazon. The following is an excerpt from his novel-in-progress.

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Just one more meet for sure unless I do well then, I get to go to New England’s again up in Maine this year. Everything is happening fast I’m a senior I got my drivers license –have to chuckle thinking about that one and now we moved and Dad remarried seems like everything changed and somewhat came together overnight.

Amazed to get that letter from KU and Bob Timmons Jim Ryun’s Coach I mean is he really interested in me? Probably sent the same letter to hundreds of kids anyway I mean I ain’tnothing special. I really got to do something about my hair what a rat’s nest I got here and graduation coming up I’m just gonnasuck it up and get the mop cut off.

I did and it felt good, I felt lighter but the trip to the local barber was torture and I had to listen to the asshole barber make fun of my hair in front of all the old neighborhood barstools and punks.

What the hell am I going to do with myself all I want to do is run myself into the ground geezus there has to be something wrong with me but it’s the only thing that lasts.

“Hey Willy, you with us?” “Yes, sir Mr. Cut, I didn’t quite hear you.” The class laughed and Mr. Cut shook his head. “Willy, you’re a space cadet you need to pay attention in my class.”

Cut was okay but his class was a bore– but at least it was easy and I could do no worse than an average grade good enough and almost over.  Just get me outa this place even when it’s good I still don’t feel right feel like the only person in the world standing in one spot and everyone else moving all around me.

I took the bus out to the stadium with the football team since I was the only cross-country runner with any season left. I met up with Coach Wild a real misnomer given how laid back and calm the guy was. He wanted me to start out and run our two-mile road loop “Willy, give it a good effort.”

I had no idea so I ran pretty nearly all out and when I came screaming back in to the stadium parking lot Coach Wild nearly swallowed his pipe. “Willy you just ran a 9:25!” “Well Coach, maybe it’s short.” “Willy, I measured it in my car and it’s a deuce, now trust me on that.”

He then had me run it again and I ran the same exact time. “Willy, you got a shot to win at All-State I only ever had a couple of kids ever run that loop under ten minutes holy friggincow man!” It was a pretty tough loop with a half mile long hill in the middle of it. Probably, and I sensed that I had run the workout way too fast but with my current mindset I really only had one gear and that was run until you nearly drop and then pick it up.

I jogged a few laps on the track and stretched out while watching the footballers go through their paces. “Man, I thought, “football is dumb-umb.” My fiend Chris came over “hey Willy, good luck at States.” “Thanks, good luck in your game, Coach and I should be back from Boston in time for the second half.”

Most of the footballers thought that they were God’s gift but when they had to sit there and applaud my sorry ass as I walked up on stage to collect that athlete of the year award a few years ago and get my photo in the papers ha. The paper had called me the “Sophomore Sensation” and later a group of footballer cretins had driven by me yelling out the window “hey look it’s the sophomore sucksation.”

I had recently been running more miles sometimes doing two runs a day but coach had warned me about doing too much and I was still growing and all that. I respected coach a lot and I knew that he had been a good athlete a middle-distance runner whose close friends called him “feets.” But I figured if I listened to him I would not be looking to win states or would I have been the AOY.

I had been reading about the great runners of the past mainly their biographies because I could relate to them and none of them ever talked about “burn out.” Famed New Zealand coach Arthur Lydiard explained that a program too heavily based on interval training on the track as was practiced in the United States was the culprit and not plenty of moderate paced running that built the aerobic house.

The books provided motivation and methodology and I read them over and over again and passed them around to my teammates. I was a student of running I wanted to pursue it doggedly and was willing to exclude things that seemed to interfere. But now high school was coming to an end and college was not at all certain so how would I be a runner then and more importantly why?

It was a lot to think about so I focused on the dream of glory.

Coach gave me a ride home and wanted to talk strategy “now Willy you need to establish good position but don’t…..” His voice trailed off in my head– I had heard it all before ignored it and did what I always do because win or lose you will be tested.

In the morning I walked to the stadium to meet Coach and we drove down to Boston Franklin Park in his car stopping at HoJo’s on the way for coffee. We didn’t talk at all coach knew it was useless to try and converse with me before a race I was in another place.

I did not think about the actual race at all I just let my mind wander off with Joni Mitchells voice trailing in and out the peak fall colors the rapidly clearing sky floating past I was fixin to die a little.

Coach held my racing flats while I warmed up a bit following a ritual ceremony to become the slaughter of the lamb the petard was ticking inside me. Just slip my bare feet into those holy blessed shoes do a sharp stride and BOOM!

I walked the beach barefoot with my pant legs rolled up and a heavy hooded sweatshirt on. I began to jog and immediately felt the tightness in my hamstring conjuring up the Olympic Trials race a spot on the team within my grasp… had to laugh the hand of fate one that got away. As bad as that was at least it was an ending not like that long-ago state meet in cross country at Franklin Park when I was leading the field by fifty yards and ran off course man I have never lived that one down.

Coach was apoplectic, “Willy I told you they changed the course at the end there you pudding head how could you run right past the cones and the kid pointing the way?”

I wasn’t paying attention to coach at practice or in the classroom where he taught Algebra. I wasn’t paying attention to no cones or no kid pointing the way I was possessed channeling Pre, Ryun, Bikila, Halberg, Snell, Clarke all my heroes not to be distracted since I knew that course like the back of my hand until the peckerwoods went and changed it.

I was generally off somewhere else glory be.

I ran some good times that year setting the school records for the mile and two miles but I never did hear anything more from Bob Timmons KU or any other schools so in the end I enrolled at good old State U. just around the corner from my home but because I had done so poorly on the entrance exam I was accepted on a provisional basis.

College—What?

With the help of a guidance counselor I registered for a bunch of classes I already knew I was going to hate. I got a part time job in a supermarket bagging groceries and on my days off I made trips to the mountains or the beach.

I ran twice a day and one week hit 105 miles total. I also ran some low-key road, cross country and track races where I did well even against the older fellas.

The college scene didn’t interest me much and if it weren’t for running I probably would have just got a job and said the hell with that. I thought the whole college gig was bogus fraternities and all that but the thing is I did love to read and learn especially history and geography anything that could make me feel a sense of place or the world and my place in it.

I sat in that old worn out classroom staring out the window just like high school but beginning to get a grip on myself not so panicky or insecure –one day the world was my oyster next day I was flunking out of college.

I figured I needed a reset all the way back to primordial ooze but college was just some type of security blanket keeping me from my true next steps.

A debutante hobo hood.

Everything seemed to be an indoctrination into something dominated by sycophantic types and I wanted no part of it wanted things to be more on my own terms.

I was having trouble being a student while trying to avoid any and all responsibilities. Running was still keeping me afloat on an even keel because it was the only thing that lasted but I couldn’t play along being the dutiful student athlete forever and I knew it but was in denial.

I was reading “Babbitt” by Sinclair Lewis and had just read an essay by Jack Kerouac called “The Vanishing American Hobo” yes, I was reading this not the Economics and Statistics texts I had been assigned.

My elders shook their heads and wagged their fingers at the little subversive some with a look of resignation thinking

“Willy will come around, they all do in the end.”

I spent most of the money I had saved on a bus ticket that would take me anywhere in the country and Canada. I told my Dad I was going on a trip for the summer and intimated it had something to do with school so he wouldn’t know the truth that his son was going rogue with no definite plan.

I packed my rucksack and left early in the morning and when the driver called out “The bus to New York City” I had a moment of intense anticipation and a pang of remorse leaving my family with the wrong impression even though it was the only way out.

I was planning to visit a fellow runner an acquaintance who I had raced against a few times and who lived in Brooklyn in a very small apartment. His name was Pete and he was a law clerk attending law school and a very dedicated runner hoping to qualify for the Olympic Trials.

We would train together for a few days and if there was time he would show me a bit of the city. Pete was five years older than me but we were possessed to a similar degree by athletics and slept ate and breathed it. Pete envied me not having a job but was also worried about me bumming it around on my own a rube and rebel without a clue.

So, he set me up with some fellow runners I could contact and get together with in other parts of the country. I marveled at my luck to get this kind of support from my fellow dreamers– runners stuck together.

I ran early in the mornings with Pete usually a ten miler and when he went off to work I went back to sleep on his couch. I bought a few groceries and made simple meals pasta or cans of tuna. Pete had a nice collection of books for me to browse and read and also played guitar as did I and he let me mess around with it.

At night we did another ten or went to a local track to meet up with a group and run some intervals. Back at the apartment we talked athletics and books and Pete gave me lots of practical advice. He hit the hay early and I would read for some time before falling asleep. I ended up staying for a week and was loath to leave. But it was time to go– next stop Denver CO.

I awoke from my dream state on the couch where I had drifted off after my run and in my dream, I was back in that summer of Willy on the bus to Denver where I had awoken in the night to the sight and feel and smell of a dark-haired woman’s head asleep on my shoulder.

I watched her intently wondered should I wake her when she opened her eyes and looked into mine and right through me and she smiled and lay her head back down and I put my arm around her shoulder held her and fell asleep.

What a summer and now just a memory. I got up to make some tea all a part of the little routine I had established retired from full time work puttering around writing and never getting too far with any of it which was okay—just mental exercise at this point with an occasional eureka moment.

I sipped my tea and remembered calling my Dad from California to tell him I was not going back to school that I had essentially flunked out when I stopped attending classes regularly. I told him I was studying running, how to become a better athlete and I was learning from some of the best in the country—visiting with them and training with them.

“Okay son, be careful and stay in touch.” That was all he said.

I went to shower have more tea and toast and sit down to read my rejections from myriad publishers but there was that one who offered helpful suggestions and encouraged me that what I was doing was a worthy pursuit, that was nice.

I wrote for an hour took another nap eager to return to my dreams, had more tea and went for another easy run on the trails.

Luckiest man alive.

Penny and I got off the bus together in Denver. She was travelling light as well with her rucksack but it was unclear where she was heading, she spoke fluent Spanish and struggled with English. I cursed not paying more attention in my two years of Spanish classes in high school. If I had known I would meet a Penny…

From a pay phone I called my contact in Boulder Jack, a fellow runner who I had met once back in Boston. “Willy, if you are ever in Boulder…” Now here I was. I explained about Penny and initially they were not pleased, “Okay Willy, but besides me and Billy here I got a paying guest coming in next week.”

Jack drove down to pick us up and we stopped for provisions on the way. Turned out Jack spoke passable Spanish and Penny said that she wanted to cook a good meal for us. Jack and I split the cost for the food.

It turned out we all loved having Penny around and one day we drove up to Switzerland Trail and she ran with us for several miles and at that point we were all completely smitten with her. I thought about staying in Boulder, “Willy, you could get a job with me at the café and Penny too.”

Penny called her family in California and they insisted she come right away and “leave the gringo behind.” I told her that I wanted to travel with her but in the morning, she was gone. Jack had given her a ride to the station. My first impulse was to go after her and then I found the note she left me.

Adios la amante…

Willy dream sequence

I awoke and fell out of my little bed not quite sure where I was “oh shit ya I’m at the cabin.”

Dreams sequence won’t let me be can’t write fast enough feel like it’s all shit but it don’t matter no more.

I thought about Penny every day all my life even more so now old aged her note lost but burned in my memory how she lifted me made me a better man. All of nineteen I was.

Boulder was brilliant all of sky and mountains a fairy tale land but the reality of my compatriots working eight to ten hours a day as baristas running on a hope and dream while in noble pursuit left me wanting needing to make further discoveries.

Heading to California but first a friendly competition a mountain race nine miles up Pat’s Peak.

It would be a good test against these mountain types a different breed from the usual track road cross country type athlete. These fellas were kamikaze and usually raced both up and down—no thank you.

The trail was good footing starting out not rocky and rutted like others we had run. After a couple of miles of what felt like easy running one runner started to assert himself—Pablo the local legend. I stayed a respectful distance behind him and the rest of the pack fell steadily behind us. I was happy he took it and I felt sure that I could hang with him but it was getting tough and we were only half way up.

There was not hardly anyone on this section of trail and all I could hear were our breathing and footfalls almost in unison. The altitude was having an affect on me playing with me legs rubbery I decided it was time to shake things up and so I came alongside Pablo but he wasn’t letting me pass he put up a fight all the way to the finish we were throwing round house punches at each other and with the finish in sight without saying a word we joined hands and raised our arms in triumph together.

I stopped momentarily not having reckoned how I would get back down I guess only one way and I started my long walk jog down to the trail head as the round trippers steadily passed me I just walked on and enjoyed the views.

California here I come.

Jack and Billy and I bought some cheap beer, hot dogs and veggies for a salad and had a little party my going away the next day. I had never been to California but I did have a contact in Oakland and another in San Diego. A small slice of the running community stopped by to send me off including Pablo my rival on the mountain. I tried to convince him to compete in cross country nationals at least but he just smiled “Willy, I been there done that nothing left there for me. I got my job making deliveries and good thing because I got five kids and another on the way.”

Pablo was 35 years old but he could pass for a teenager. Most of the runners here were serious racers either on their way to the top or heading back down to the bottom. I didn’t meet many “fun runners” though we racers certainly had our share of fun chasing our ultimate potential.

Jack and Billy took me to the bus stop in the morning and I climbed aboard with my rucksack and a shopping bag full of peanut butter sandwiches. The plan was for me to stop back by here on my way back east if things worked out that way hey, that’d be alright.

Figured I would never get lucky enough to meet up with another pretty girl on a bus trip but I was wrong. The bus barely left the station when a young woman sat beside me and introduced herself. “Hi Willy, I work with Jack at the Café he told me to look out for you, my name is Maureen all the guys call me Mo.”

“Oh Wow, Jack never said anything.” Mo smiled, “Ya, I asked him not to wanted to sneak up on you take you by surprise.”  Well this really is the summer of Willy then and Mo told me her story heading home to San Francisco for her brother’s wedding. “Hey Willy, how you feel about weddings?” “Fine, long as it’s not mine” “You want to come as my date? I just broke up with my boyfriend.”

“Love to, but I don’t have any threads and no money to buy any.” “My brothers got you covered and you can stay at my parents house with me until I head back after the wedding.”

I told Mo all my hopes and dreams and plans and schemes and it turned out she had many of the same dreams as an athlete she had been a California State Champion in the 1500M. How did this happen to Willy never had a date in high school and meet two beautiful women in just a few weeks.

By the time we hit the state line Mo and I were making out and holding hands and all that good stuff another Greyhound romance, who said bus rides were long and boring?

Mo’s family were wealthy and they lived in an actual mansion on a hill. I felt out of place right from the get go. Her brothers looked at me as if I were some kind of stray their sister picked up on the bus well I guess that’d be right. I went along with things for a few days enjoyed the extravagance, one day I asked Mo, “honey don’t you feel embarrassed?” “Why Willy?” “I mean all this wealth and so many we know going hungry.”

“Willy, my family do a lot of giving but why do you think I am out in Boulder making coffee?”

“I know Mo, you want to make it on your own.”

When everyone was occupied I packed up and snuck out the back door down to the highway and stuck out my thumb. And there she was like a Beach Boy’s vision of California, good blonde in a VW Bug pink convertible with the license plate, BUBBLZ. I threw my rucksack in the back and hopped in, she never even asked where I was heading.

Summer of Willy was now on steroids.

Time of the Season:

An Adventurous Palate

An Adventurous Palate

By Leo Racicot

When I was a kid, I wouldn’t have anything much to do with food. I wasn’t an eater and found most meal items our mother presented alien and strange. I remember a slab of cheese looked and tasted like a piece of plastic, and said so. A hamburger (it had to be plain — no mustard, mayo or ketchup) on a plain bun or a peanut butter sandwich on Wonder bread were all I tolerated. Back then, Diane was the big eater in our family; she’d dig into double portions on everything. Our mother would say, “Leo, you’re going to turn into a peanut butter sandwich one of these days!”  So, it was a shock to family members and longtime friends when I developed an adventurous palate, began branching out on what I’d eat, or even sample. Looking back, I credit Lowell’s rich ethnic diaspora of cuisines from other lands with freeing me from my peanut butter prison. Lowell Technological Institute drew and continues to draw a large Indian student population with its renowned engineering program. In the 1970s, the catastrophic wars in Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam brought an influx of Southeast Asian refugees, and their food and traditions to Lowell. Over the years, Mexicans, Hispanics, Africans, Cubans, Dominicans all settled in Lowell where they hoped to make new beginnings, fresh starts. In 2025, a walker in the city can’t go far without passing by restaurants featuring tasty delights from these many cultures.

Indian Food

It was one of my work study students, Samir, who introduced me to Indian food. An engineering student who hailed from RIshikesh, Samir had an interesting background; his father had been a disciple of the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi in the 1960s and had actually met and gotten to know The Beatles during their time at the Maharishi’s ashram when they were studying Transcendental Meditation. To earn money to attend college in America, Samir worked shining shoes for tourists from the time he was 8 or 9, saved up his earnings and said he polished so many shoes, his hands turned black from the polish. One evening, when I found him in the staff lounge where he’d taken his meal, my nostrils were filled with a savory fragrance of triangular-sized pastries. I asked him what they were and he told me “These are potato pea samosas. Try one”. The look and smell of them were too hard to resist. Samir was delighted to find I liked them and explained that they’re usually served with a chutney sauce. He was such a mannered boy, he apologized for not having any chutney to go with them. Years later, when I was working and cooking for the Sheas in Cambridge, Ms. Shea requested I learn how to make chutney for the table. I found the very idea daunting but soon learned that chutney was so easy to fix and I came to enjoy making it so much, I’d whip it up without being asked, just for the heck of it. It, and jambalaya, became my favorite dishes to make. I sang the praises of Indian food so vociferously, Samir put me wise to an Indian eatery downtown on Middle Street, Bombay Mahal (which later changed its name to Spice House) and I went and found its offerings so very tasty: Aloo Gobi, Palak Paneer, Butter Chicken, Masala Dosa, Dal Makhani, Naan. it made me a fan such that every Friday, I’d pick up my paycheck, head down and have my lunch there. I did come to love the place and the people who ran it.

This somewhat related story comes to mind — any member of the public can come into a state facility and utilize its services. Visitors to O’Leary Library didn’t have to be university-affiliated, One such visitor was a fellow named Richard Sjogren. Richard was a very tall, very lean gentleman. He had the whitest, most spidery fingers and hands I’d ever seen. He was special needs and spoke in a high-pitched voice that reminded us of Billie Burke, the actress who plays Glinda the Good Witch in the original WIzard of Oz. Richard sported a Swiss Alps hat and lederhosen (even in winter) and looked as if he was about to head for the mountains for a yodeling contest. The poor soul needed a hand tying his shoelaces but was a form of idiot savant because he was capable of speaking and reading Sanskrit and other complex Indian dialects. He and Samir would have long exchanges, and Samir confirmed for me that Richard, indeed, was able not only to converse but converse ably and fluently in these ancient tongues. Samir would say a lot of native Indians couldn’t grammatically manage what Richard managed. Fascinating.

Whenever I visited my dear friend, Priscilla, in Arlington, Mass., we’d hit either Haveli or Punjab in The Center. An absolute love for Indian food was among our common interests. Priscilla and I became good friends when we worked together for Cambridge Public Libraries. In the late ’90s or so, when the aging Main Library building was closed for major renovations and the staff had to be housed in a makeshift library in The Longfellow School up the street in East Cambridge for a long period of time,  she and I set out exploring various restaurants in nearby Inman Square and discovered Punjabi Dhaba on Hampshire Street, an utterly charming place where the food was served on silver military tins and trays (You’d swear you’d been plunked down in Tooting or Wembley, London, or in an outpost in a Rudyard Kipling story. The food was delicious; we very many times had to scramble to finish our meal and scurry back to Longfellow lest we be late from our break. But the rush was well worth it.

And I’ve written before about the sumptuous feast laid out for me and another guest in their home by ULowell PhD candidate, Susheel Deshmukh and his pretty wife, Manisha. Nicer people you’d be hard-pressed to meet. They cooked up a storm that would have been enough to feed an army of people and I sampled everything they set before me, a culinary banquet and an evening never-to-be-forgotten. I bent their ear so often about the wonders of Northern California that, last I heard, they’d decided to make their home there…

In Cambridge, on the steps leading down to The Red Line subway, there was a hole-in-the-wall store. It sold lottery tickets, candy bars, chewing gum, stuff like that. Over to the right of the shop was a hot case containing fresh samosas, curry pies. I could never resist stopping for a samosa which I liked taking down to the area where the trains came in, munching on it hungrily on cold winter days. The warmth of the pastry combined with the condensate emanating from my mouth made for a quick, appealing eating sensation, just as in those days when I used to grab a cone of salty hot French fries at Elliott’s on Elliott Street in Lowell on snowy cold  days, popping one tantalizing fry after another in my mouth as I made my way home up Appleton Street as evening came on…

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Samir

Maharishi Mahesh Yogi with the Beatles

Bombay-Mahal Restaurant, Middle Street in Lowell

My dear friend Priscilla

Susheel Deshmukh

Alewife Quick Bite store

Samosas with tamarind date chutney

Indian food spread

Seen & Heard: Vol. 2

Welcome to this week’s edition of Seen and Heard, in which I catalog the most interesting things I’ve seen, heard and read over the previous seven days:

Film: Frankenstein (2025) – I’m not a fan of horror movies but I understood that this new Frankenstein movie, currently on Netflix, was unlike the 1931 film that starred Boris Karloff and more like the 1818 novel by Mary Shelley. The book, which was published just five years before the first textile mill opened in what would become Lowell, was influenced by the turbulent political, scientific, and societal shifts of that time. These included the French Revolution, the onset of the Industrial Revolution, and the Scientific Revolution which raised questions about the role of God as the creator of all things. I thought the new movie was excellent. It’s a period drama that gets at the deep questions raised by the book while being very entertaining. It moves to second place on my list of favorite Frankenstein movies, just behind Mel Brooks’s Young Frankenstein from 1974.

Podcast: Access with Alex Heath and Ellis Hamburger – Access launched as a podcast last September by Vox Media. The two hosts, Heath and Hamburger, are longtime tech journalists. This show provides an inside view of how today’s tech industry works with special emphasis on AI. This episode was recorded during the recent Consumer Electronics Show (CES) in Las Vegas, the annual gathering of companies and innovators who unveil the latest consumer electronics. This episode featured an interview with Alex Himel, the head of “wearables” at Meta (Facebook) with a focus on Meta’s smart glasses. In general, smart glasses made their debut about five years ago but felt underwhelming. Technology never stands still, so much has improved with  Meta seen as the leader of the pack by a considerable distance. Two things contributing to this was Meta’s partnership with Ray-Bans to design the glasses along with the integration of the latest AI which makes the glasses far more functional according to reviewers. I have a deep distrust of Meta/Facebook so I won’t be submitting my order for these anytime soon, but I do see many uses for them so hopefully some more palatable competitors will soon offer models with equal functionality and style.

Book: The Restless Republic: Britain Without a Crown by Anna Keay – In January 1649, the English parliament, backed by the army, charged King Charles I with treason, held a trial, and then executed him by chopping off his head. For the next dozen years, England operated as a republic, governed at first by a Parliamentary committee but then by Oliver Cromwell, as the king-like “Lord Protector.” Competition among the various factions remained intense, but Cromwell, through the strength of his personality and good relations with the army which he had commanded, held things together. After his death in 1658, however, the government became so unstable that in 1660, Parliament invited King Charles II, the son of the executed king, to return from exile and re-establish the monarchy. Charles agreed and was restored to the throne. In her 2022 book, Restless Republic, Keay, a noted historian of that period, tells this story through the lives of nine diverse individuals who played important roles in the events depicted in the book. Rather than a traditional top-down political history, this book reads like an adventure novel although the outcome is never in doubt. I am especially interested in this period of English history because of the profound impact events in England had on those living here in Massachusetts at the time. 

Newspaper: “Indiana Rising” in New York Times, January 9, 2026. Living in New England, big time football has always meant the Patriots, at least since the start of this century. The last time college football had any great interest for me was on November 23, 1984, when Doug Flutie led Boston College to an upset victory over Miami in the Orange Bowl. Now, when I turn on the TV on a Saturday afternoon in the fall, I’m struck by in-person crowds of 100K or more filling stadiums in much of the rest of the country for college football. I watch those games the same way I watch soccer or rugby or lacrosse or any of the other sports which display impressive athletic ability but which I lack a solid understanding of the attraction. That said, the story of the Indiana University football team has caught my attention this year. Until now, Indiana was noteworthy for having the most losses in college football history. But this year they were undefeated and have one last game, that being for the National Championship on Monday, January 19, 2026, coincidentally against Doug Flutie’s former foe, the Miami Hurricanes. Although Indiana’s quarterback, Fernando Mendoza, won the Heisman Trophy this year and will likely be the top pick in the NFL draft, I’m more intrigued by the team’s coach, Curt Cignetti. I’ve watched several Indiana games this year and have never once seen Cignetti smile, even after a big victory. He first came to my attention two years ago when, during a press conference about new recruits, a reporter asked how he was able to convince anyone good to come play for the team with the worst record in college football history. His blunt response: “It’s pretty simple. I win. Google me.” The clip went viral, so viral that I, with zero interest in Indiana football, saw it many times. He seemed pretty arrogant, but when your results back up your words, it’s not really arrogance anymore. Anyway, Cignetti has made a fan of me, so I’ll be rooting for Indiana over Miami next Monday night.

Bequests and Budgets

Bequests and Budgets – (PIP #92)

By Louise Peloquin

     Proverbs, slogans and food-for-thought phrases filled spaces in L’Etoile’s columns. Here’s one which is especially appropriate for the article below.

Three things set the value of a gift: sentiment, appropriateness and manner.

– signed Mme. Ricoboni. (Published in L’Etoile on March 1, 1926)

L’Etoile – Front page, January 9, 1926

BEQUESTS TO LOWELL

__________

George Hovey leaves $5000 for the purchase of a lot to create Hovey Park in Lowell.

_________

BEQUESTS TO HOSPITALS

________

     Chicago, 9. Twelve thousand dollars of a property assessed at $130,000 will go to Lowell, Mass. and to two hospitals as stated in George Hovey’s will, registered here yesterday in front of Judge F.A. Elliott.

     $5000 was bequeathed to the city of Lowell for the purchase of a property to be used as a public park called Hovey Park in memory of Mr. Hovey who died in Chicago on November 24, 1925. Lowell General Hospital and Saint John’s Hospital both received $2,400 to be used at the discretion of the two hospital directors. Finally, Hildreth Cemetery receives a sum of $2000 for the maintenance of the cemetery and of its surroundings.

     Mr. Hovey’s nephew Philip R. Hovey, 2 Fairmount Street, Lowell, and niece Marion Hovey, 75 Crest Avenue, Winthrop Mass., receive $10,000. Mr. George Hovey’s widow, Mrs. Helen Hovey, residing at Hotel Windermere in Chicago, receives half of his personal property and the revenue from the entire property for two years.

     Other bequests of the deceased, who was director of a wholesale hat enterprise, will go to the Chicago Arts Institute, to the village of Dracut Mass., to Dracut’s selectmen and to First Congregational Church and Central Congregational Church both located in Dracut.

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     City services require appropriate budgets. Allotting sufficient funds facilitates effective management. Here is a sample of budget discussions a hundred years ago.

L’Etoile – Front page, January 12, 1926

THE BUDGET FOR PARKS

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The Parks Department will try to manage with only $89,990 in 1926.

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APPROPRIATION OF $98,000 IN 1925

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Superintendent Kernan says that some less urgent work will be postponed to another year – Update on the winter carnaval – Chief Saunders prepares his budget – The Bureau of Hygiene also calculates its figures.

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     The Parks Department will try to finance its construction program for 1926 with an appropriation of $89,990 while that of 1925 was $98,000. Thus was it voted yesterday at the Parks Commission meeting summoned to examine the 1926 budget.

     Yesterday, Superintendent John W. Kernan clearly said that the department would indeed have many projects requiring more considerable spending. However, he believes that these can wait another year. Hence, some savings could be made in at least one of the many municipal services.

     The Commission voted yesterday evening not to organize a winter carnaval this year and to simply hold a dance in the Auditorium. Superintendent Kernan was authorized to make the necessary arrangements.

     Other municipal services are still working on their budget. The Bureau of Hygiene had a long discussion on this subject yesterday and its members will meet on Friday or earlier.

     Chief Saunders of the Fire Department is also finishing his estimates for the year’s end has discovered the need for a $5000 wood lathe for manoeuvers. Last year, Chief Saunders had requested a brick one but the mayor refused it. Chief Saunders believes a wood lathe would meet objectives just as well as a brick one.

     Today, the Bureau of Public Service must set a date to discuss the budget.

     The city auditor’s bureau has not yet received a budget estimate sheet but expects to have one soon.

     During yesterday’s meeting, the Bureau of Hygiene received a petition from Joseph J. Sweeney, in opposition to Mrs. Carmella Rousseau, for a permit to build a stable in Québec Street. After having listened to the pros and cons, the Bureau promised to take the question into consideration and to go in person to examine the location. (1)

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1) Translations by Louise Peloquin.