As dormitory residents at Providence College, none of us paid much attention to weather forecasts. Since the classrooms, the gym, and the cafeteria were only a few yards away, snow had never been a problem. Until February of 1978, that is. The snow started falling by mid-morning. It was a welcome sight for most. Six weeks earlier a tragic dormitory fire had killed ten of our classmates and the heavy flakes falling outside the classrooms seemed to lighten the somber mood of those on campus.

By noon, however, we were in the middle of a major storm. My roommates and I walked off campus and soon were pushing cars through the drifts, helping commuters make their way home. It snowed all that day, through the night, and for most of the next day. By the time it stopped, nearly 4 feet of snow had fallen on the city of Providence. Nothing – not even snowplows – could move for days. We spent our time trudging through the neighborhoods adjacent to the college, offering snow shoveling services. There were many takers. Soon we had plenty of money but nowhere to spend it. The shelves of the local stores were all empty. Unfortunately, so was our cafeteria. Friday, lunch consisted of baked beans, canned peaches, crackers and water. Later that afternoon, Rhode Island National Guard helicopters loaded with food were landing in the parking lot, resupplying the college as if it were an isolated military outpost.

Sunday afternoon, the exciting yet erratic Providence College basketball team was scheduled to play North Carolina, the number one team in the country. Green Airport finally opened, allowing the visitor’s plane to land, and word went out that admission was free for anyone who could make it to the downtown Civic Center. Even then, days after the storm, the main road to downtown Providence was open only to snowmobiles and pedestrians. Everyone on campus walked the three miles to see the game, and what a game it was. Amidst signs reading Hi Mom, Send Shovels, the unranked Friars beat the best team in the country in the final seconds of a nationally televised game. It was a fitting conclusion to an unforgettable week.

Three people were stabbed, one fatally, near Felker Street and Commonwealth Avenue around 10 a.m. yesterday, the Middlesex district attorney’s office said. Timothy Lewis, 34, of Chelmsford, died of his wounds. The other two victims were treated for injuries not believed to be life-threatening. Local and State Police are investigating. The district attorney’s office said the stabbings did not appear to be random. No arrests have been made, prosecutors said. No further information was immediately available.

If you read the piece carefully, you will find that the word “Lowell” is omitted entirely. That’s fine with me. I’ve frequently commented that regional reporting of Lowell criminal events severely undercuts our efforts to promote the city in a positive light. Too bad other media outlets won’t report the crime stories without identifying the place in which they occur. (Note: A companion story on boston.com is not shy about identifying our city – “One person dead, two others wounded in Lowell stabbing”)

Lowell Cemetery, headstone of African American Civil War sailor Walker Lewis “LANDSMAN US NAVY USS RHODE ISLAND MAY 7 1839 APR 18 1901″. Photo by Tony Sampas.

Somewhere between my awareness of our light grip on life, my empathy for the Syrian people, and my understanding of our never-ending quest for knowledge (the Great Satchmo had it just right when he said that our children would learn things that we would never know), I realized that I would never get that doctorate I wanted, never die filthy rich, and never be as smart as I wished I were. So I realized that I would have to settle.

There are a few things that I know. I know there is a God. I know that being born an American is the most important piece of luck in my life. I know that I will eventually take off of this mortal coil. So, I had to decide what was important to me. My love of Native American customs, and my love of history notwithstanding, I have determined that my wife and children are most important to me. I would like to say that that is normal, but in our society I might just be lucky in that I realize such a thing. I watch television and come to the conclusion that very few civilizations are as free and opinion-based as ours. Without those opinions, we would not be able to enjoy the freedom, which was purchased for us through the gift of military men and women. It puzzles me how we can just whittle away at those freedoms by not acknowledging the sacrifices of others.

I have two good friends who would, quite literally, give me the shirts off of their backs. We recently went fly fishing in New Hampshire and I caught my first trout. They took me into their fold, and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. I find that I seem to have many friends, some closer at times then others, but all close at some point in time. I also found that I totally like fly-fishing. I had breakfast this morning with a man who deserves all of the credit he can get, but never would want to be named in an article. He was once a pro-football player, and he is a big man, both on and off of the field. He cheered for the Patriots in the Super Bowl and was just as disappointed as I was when they failed to win. That would be my take on it, they failed to win, they did not lose. A few plays, and they would have won it. But those New York teams are just bad luck to New Englanders. We forget that historically we surpassed the City of New York during the Revolution and have held our own ever since. So this curse of the “Babe,” and our willingness to admit that our millions of people are not equal to their millions of people are difficult for me to understand. During the Civil War, we lost 2% of our male population, and Massachusetts really put up a fight. Massachusetts always puts up a fight. Other states do not always fight with the ferocity of the Massachusetts citizen or politician. Look at the number of persons from Massachusetts who have run for the presidency and done credibly well. I include my brother-in-law, Paul Tsongas in that number.

Mitt Romney is the one person that President Obama did not want to face, and Romney, despite his moving from Massachusetts, is the scrappy political type. Like John Kennedy, he today, at this late date, decided to discuss his religion. As you know, he is a Mormon. Kennedy saved discussion of his religion for the West Virginia primary in 1960. It is too bad that religion has to play a part in it, but it always has, and probably always will. But, as an American, if not as a Democrat, it is refreshing that Romney, despite, or perhaps in spite of the fact that he is a Mormon, is being taken seriously.

Mr. Obama has accomplished a great deal, and I am grateful for many of the difficult stands that he has taken against a reluctant Congress. Just the death of Osama bin Laden would be enough to get a Republican re-elected, but Democrats, it seems to me, are kept to a higher standard. They have to cure the world’s ills. We have watched for the past few months how hollow you can be and still be a successful Republican candidate in the straw polls of Iowa, and as a former Iowan I know there is a lot of straw out there. Mr. Obama failed in his job the day he was sworn-in, I feel. I still disagree with the war in Afghanistan, I consider myself a veteran of the war to end the Vietnam War, and no, I did not wear long hair, I just politicked for those who ran as anti-war candidates. So, I was not that interesting. Some things never change. But,thanks to a high draft number, I got the chance to have the life I have so greatly enjoyed.

That was a crazy time. Forget Woodstock, children took over the country I felt, and their impact was felt in music, education, and the movies. It was cool to be a kid, and we still believe that was so. Despite the fact that they are in their eighties, we would still pack the Garden to see the Rolling Stones. Music was a force to be reckoned with. It went from a form of artistic expression to just a force.

The 5th. Congressional District played its part. It elected a man who would run for Congress, then the Senate, and then the Presidency. A man who once marveled to me that he got to sit in on a meeting with Red Auerbach. It was the starting point for a man who would be the youngest man to serve in the U.S. Congress the year he was elected, a man named Jim Shannon. It would be the starting point for a man who has changed the University of Massachusetts at Lowell, Marty Meehan. No other district in recent history has, I believe, turned out the number of winners that we have.

Therefore, I believe that we are all better for having been in the 5th. District. Sure, unemployment is up, but my mother assures me it is up in Florida, too. The economy is on the downswing, and I do not have any idea when it will be in the reverse again. But we get to live here. And that is a pleasure and a blessing. So, like Billy Joel waving Brenda and Eddie goodbye, let us wave the old 5th. goodbye and wonder what the new 3rd. will bring to us. Hopefully more of the same.

The proposed service cutback will be devastating to Lowell. Many of our residents work or go to school in Boston and not necessarily at 9 to 5 weekday jobs. While we have excellent hospitals here in Lowell, many of our residents take advantage of the best-in-the-world health care available at some Boston hospitals and while normal appointments might not be late nights and weekends, some are and there’s always the need to visit hospitalized relatives and friends. The best way to get to and from an event at Boston Garden (or whatever it’s called now) is by train and the elimination of after-10 pm trains would erase that as an option. This doesn’t even consider those from greater Boston who come to Lowell (or who we want to come to Lowell) for education and cultural activities.

In an age where more people are (or should be) returning to cities and cutting back on the use of personal vehicles, making such a drastic cut in the level of public transportation service seems incredibly short-sighted. Please consider showing up at the hearing, even if you do not wish to speak on the issue. Numbers count.

Yesterday I joined a tour of the still-under-construction Western Avenue Lofts at 150 Western Avenue in Lowell. Adjacent to the better-known Western Avenue Studios, Western Avenue Lofts is a two-story brick building bordering the Pawtucket Canal that is being transformed into 50 rental live/work spaces for artists. The building is long and narrow and so each unit gets a huge 22 feet wide by 7 feet high window that faces either north (Western Avenue side) or south (Pawtucket Canal side). Because the building’s footprint is not strictly rectangular, the size of the units vary but most are about 1500 square feet in size. To maximize the ability of occupants to customize their individual spaces, only bathrooms and kitchens are being installed in a uniform way (they are all along the wall that borders the central hallway). Other than that, the artists can subdivide (or not) their spaces, carving out bedrooms, storage areas, raised floors, whatever.

The second floor spaces are dominated by the high “sawtooth” roof that raises the interior ceilings, already a high 14 feet on the first floor, up to 22 feet in some of the second floor units, providing the opportunity to construct in-unit lofts or to leave open and as spacious as any living quarters in the city.

Unlike most rental units, these are designed and intended for the tenants to customize the appearance, particularly the paint scheme and wall treatments. The developers clearly understand and embrace the creativity of the artist-occupants. Other interesting amenities include roof-top solar panels that will provide part of the building’s electricity and a common garden stretching along the bank of the canal.

It’s my understanding that commitments already exist for more than half the fifty units of this building which is to be ready for occupancy this May. More information is available at www.westeravenuelofts.com. The video below contains pictures I took during the tour.

The Western Avenue Lofts concept is an intriguing one. Many of those on the tour were tenants-to-be who proudly showed off their as-yet skeletal units, speaking with pride and enthusiasm of their plans for their respective spaces. That many already knew each other well gave it a college dorm for grownups feel in the best sense of that image. With all the recent talk of unruly late night visitors to downtown, the relative isolation of the Western Avenue space seems like an asset. As our country’s living patterns undergo a shift away from suburbia and back towards city-living, and away from universal home ownership to more varied and flexible rental arrangements, the Western Avenue Lofts project could serve as a model for future developments in the city’s neighborhoods.

Time, it is often said, passes quickly. It seemed to for Passaconaway, the wise man and Chief of the Pawtucket tribe. Like many rulers, he wanted to make sure that, in his passing, there would still be peace and tranquility among the many tribes in the Pentucket confederacy. Therefore, he picked his own son, Wannalancit, as his successor. He did this before he got sick because he wanted to spend his last years in peace. He gave up his new religion, Christianity, and went back to what he grew up with and knew.

He held a grand banquet at Amoskeag Falls in what is now Manchester, NH. Many were invited and many came. He cautioned his friends and his son, saying, “Take heed how you quarrel with the English. Never make war with them.” He seemed to sense the resolve of the English, and did not want to go to war with them because of that resolve. He referred to them as the “Sons of the Great Spirit.” He also said that the Great Spirit had cast his light upon them. “Listen to my advice,” he said, “and remember it and live.” It appeared that the people in the Banquet Hall were listening intently.

The local chief was now called Nobhow or Numphow. In his final days, Passaconaway helped him by getting the English, the Massachusetts legislature, by General Court order, to give to the Pawtucket the lands of Manchester, Londonderry, Litchfield, Merrimack, and Bedford in New Hampshire. These lands were often called, at the time, the “Pine Plains.”

Some Native Americans submitted to the English in the Act of 1656, which further defined their boundaries and saw the rise to power of Major General Daniel Gookin, who became Superintendent of Indian Affairs in Massachusetts. These Native Americans had submitted themselves in allegiance to the English. For his part, Gookin acted as a judge to the Native Americans. He “had the power of the County Court” over his charges. He could and did dispense justice. If something could not be decided, it was sent to, and handled, in Boston.

The rules laid down by the English Courts were relatively lengthy and exact. Native Americans could keep their soil, unless an Englishman wanted it instead. Land could only be given under a licensing procedure of the Court. The Native American could have no alcohol, except for medicinal purposes. Since most medicines of the time consisted of a high percentage of alcohol, medicinal purposes arose fairly frequently.

Passaconaway died as an old man, without power or prestige. He died poor, in spirit and monetarily. He had done what he said he would do, he had kept peace with the Englishmen. By the time he died, liquor laws were easily overcome, and powwows, witches, and wizards were prohibited. It is said that the last Native American left Lowell upon its inception in 1826. Whether or not that last Native American was Passaconaway, or whether Passaconaway had died by that time, we do not know. But he was the last great chief of the Pawtuckets and he deserves to be remembered.

Photo by Tony Sampas

Photo by Tony Sampas