RichardHowe.com – Voices from Lowell & Beyond

Lowell Politics: March 1, 2026

Happy Birthday to Lowell! Two hundred years ago today the legislation that created the town of Lowell took effect.

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Debate over a proposed lease for the Lowell Senior Center dominated Tuesday’s city council meeting (February 24, 2026). In the end, it failed on a tie vote with Councilors Dan Rourke, Kim Scott, Sokhary Chau, John Descoteaux and Vesna Nuon voting for the lease and Councilors Corey Robinson, Belinda Juran, Sidney Liang, Sean McDonough and Mayor Erik Gitschier voting against it. Councilor Rita Mercier recused herself from the debate because she is, according to the Secretary of State’s website, the president of Friends of Lowell Council on Aging Center Inc. and thus would have a conflict of interest. As Mercier stood to leave the room, she explained the reason for her recusal but added, “If I could vote for it I would,” so her inability to vote was decisive in the defeat of the measure since had she been able to vote, the measure would have passed.

This issue is complicated, both legally and politically, and it is cloaked in gray areas. When it arose two years ago, I looked closely at the relevant documents on record at the registry of deeds and wrote of my findings in my February 18, 2024, newsletter. Here’s a summary of what I wrote back then:

Located at the corner of Broadway and Fletcher in the Acre, the Senior Center opened in that location in the early 2000s. For a century and a half previously, the property was home to the Lowell Department of Public Works, but that operation relocated to outer Middlesex Street. At the same time, the city was in desperate need for a new home for its senior center which had for several decades been located across from City Hall in the Smith Baker Center. Readers will be familiar enough with that building to understand why the senior center needed a new home.

In the late 1990s, the city took advantage of a mixture of federal and state programs to create the Acre Urban Revitalization and Development Project to rehab the neighborhood. The Acre Market Basket was the first big development realized by this effort. Other projects included the Kathryn Stoklosa Middle School, the Western Canal Walkway, numerous streetscape improvements throughout the neighborhood, and the rehabilitation of nearly 500 units of housing and the construction of approximately 150 new units of housing with much of that piece done by the Coalition for a Better Acre.

In July 2000, John Cox succeeded Brian Martin as city manager and on May 8, 2001, the City Council, by a 9 to 0 vote, authorized Cox to execute a purchase and sales agreement with Nick Sarris and George Behrakis as trustees of City Barns Trust by which the city would convey to the Trust the land that housed the DPW which was known as the City Stables parcel (also known as the City Barns or 276 Broadway). In return, the Trust would rehabilitate the City Stables building and make it (with a certain amount of parking) available to the city for use as a Senior Center.

According to the P&S, the purchase price to be paid by the Trust to the city was $1,399,600, however, that was not to be paid as a lump sum at the closing. Instead, it would be paid by means of an annual credit for the City’s lease agreement with the Trust. The lease between the city and the Trust for the use of the building would be for 20 years and the annual lease payment would be approximately $250,000 per year. The agreement further stated that at the end of the 20-year lease, the Trust “shall gift and donate the leased premises to the City of Lowell.”

On October 5, 2001, the city conveyed the property to the Trust. The deed described the consideration paid by the trust for the property as “$750,000 paid by periodic payment credits with imputed interest pursuant to a written agreement between [the city] and [the Trust}, having an agreed value over twenty years of $1,389,000.”

The deed makes no mention of gifting the property to the city at the end of the 20-year lease. On Tuesday night, councilors and members of the public who opposed the lease cited their understanding that the property should have reverted to city ownership after 20 years as reasons for opposing the lease, reasoning that the city should not continue paying rent for a property it already should own. In response, the city solicitor highlighted the absence of such language in the deed as weakening that argument.

Massachusetts real estate law has something called the doctrine of merger. Under this rule, if a promise made in the purchase and sale agreement is not specifically restated in the deed, that promise generally becomes unenforceable after the closing with the express language of the deed being the final and exclusive statement of the rights and obligations of the parties.

From personal knowledge I can attest that the Lowell City Solicitor in 2001 was highly competent as were the other lawyers in the office at that time, so I’m quite certain that the omission of the 20-year reversionary term was intentional and not accidental. I have no personal information about why it was omitted but can make a pretty good guess. Had a 20-year reversionary clause been included in the deed, it would have prevented City Barns Trust from obtaining a mortgage to pay for the renovations and the project would have fallen through. (Notably, on May 6, 2002, City Barns Trust obtained a $15 million mortgage on this property from Atlantic Bank of New York.)

Why the 20-year clause would have been fatal to obtaining a bank loan requires an understanding of how a mortgage works. A mortgage as we know it is two separate legal transactions. In one, the borrower executes a promissory note in which they promise to repay the lender a certain amount of money with interest over time. The promissory note is governed by the law of contracts and does not get recorded at the registry of deeds.

The second part of a mortgage involves a document called a mortgage which is a deed that conveys an interest in real estate from the owner/borrower to the lender. The interest conveyed is the right to sell the property if the owner/borrower defaults on the terms of the note (i.e., “foreclose”) with the lender applying the proceeds of that sale to the indebtedness on the note.

Before a lender makes a loan, it must ensure that the real estate that’s to be encumbered by the mortgage is clear of any defects or restrictions that might lower its value should it have to be sold at foreclosure. In the case of the senior center, a parcel of land that by the terms of its deed reverted to city ownership after 20 years would not be worth very much to a prospective buyer at a foreclosure auction, so a bank would not accept such an encumbered deed as security for a loan.

That explains why the 20-year reversionary clause was likely omitted from the deed. You might then ask, why didn’t the parties clearly memorialize this agreement in some other document to avoid any ambiguity? The short answer is that no one wanted to be indicted for bank fraud since executing and accepting a deed that omitted the 20-year reversion to induce a bank to make a loan while entering a “side agreement” on the excluded provision would be a federal crime.

That said, back in 2001, everyone understood that the intent of the parties was that City Barns would convey the property back to city ownership as a gift at the end of the 20-year lease, however, that was not a legally binding promise.

Since then, I expect that many other promises, some legally binding, some not, have been made between the parties. Think about it. This happened early in John Cox’s term as city manager. He held that position from July 2000 until July 2006. He was succeeded by Bernie Lynch who remained city manager until March 2014. He was succeeded by Kevin Murphy who served until April 2018, and then Eileen Donoghue who served until April 2022, at which point current city manager Tom Golden took over. On Tuesday night, Golden said something like as soon as he took office he “started unravelling this issue.”

During the intervening 20 years, how many modifications and side agreements have been made by the city? An obvious one is the city’s failure to pay rent since 2022. The reason for that was that the lease expired and the city auditor could not legally authorize rental payments without a valid lease. Because the city continued to use the property, it would be obligated to pay rent for use and occupancy. It hasn’t done that and, rather than begin eviction proceedings, the property owner has allowed the situation to continue, likely on the city’s promise that the back rent would be forthcoming. (The proposed lease rejected Tuesday would have amortized that back rent over the life of the lease.)

Sure, the prior lease may have said “any modifications must be made in writing” but politics is still guided by that old rule that “if you don’t have to write it down, say it, and if you don’t have to say it, nod your head.” The lawyers only get involved after the fact and are left playing catch up to keep things legal or, perhaps more accurately, to frame what the principals have already agreed to or done in a way that is arguably legal. Even though a promise might be required to be in writing, if the parties agree to something verbally and then act in reliance of that promise, one party can’t then disclaim the promise because it’s not in writing. (Ask Gemini about “detrimental reliance.”)

The time horizon for most city councilors is the next election, not the end of a 20-year lease, so through the decades, whenever something was needed for the senior center, I suspect there were council demands to “make this happen” to whoever was city manager who was then forced to scramble to keep councilors happy.

Which is not to say the city would lose if it chose to litigate the 20-year reversionary promise. The city could ultimately win in court but even if it did it would be a messy, protracted affair that could jeopardize the continued use of the senior center, at least until the litigation was resolved years from now.

There’s also a “be careful what you wish for because it might come true” element to this. Should the issue be litigated and the city prevail, then what? The federal grants that are essentially being laundered through the lease to pay for the operation of the senior center could no longer be used and the burden would fall on the city budget which seems like it will already be painfully stretched by other demands.

Tuesday night, Councilor Vesna Nuon may have accurately summed up this predicament when he said, “we’re presented with two bad options.” In voting for the new lease, he apparently concluded that doing so was the least bad of the two choices.

Councilor Belinda Juran, who voted against the new lease, expressed her concern that the version of the lease placed before the council was incomplete and ambiguous. Because ambiguities left unresolved in 2001 are today haunting the current council, Juran said any new lease should not make the same mistake.

My sense was that Councilor Juran was not inexorably opposed to the proposal provided more clarity is forthcoming. Perhaps other councilors who voted against the lease are similarly situated. Consequently, I would not be surprised if a revised proposal comes back before the council in the coming months.

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Given the complexity of the senior center analysis, I’ll hold off on writing about several other items that arose at the council meeting until next week’s newsletter.

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In this week’s Seen & Heard column, I reviewed the best-selling book 1929 by Andrew Ross Sorkin; reviewed Week 3 of the Winter Olympics on TV; wrote about a new feature called “One Special Thing” in the Sunday Arts section of the Boston Globe; wrote about a New York Times article about the sudden closure of the airspace over El Paso, Texas; and commented on obituaries of Jesse Jackson and Robert Duvall.

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If you want to learn more about Lowell’s founding, check out my new book, Lowell: A Concise History by downloading a full PDF of the book for free at this link or by purchasing a print copy from Lulu Press at this link.

Time of the End of the Season Part Three

Time of the End of the Season Part Three

By Bob Hodge

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.

Already published:

Time episode 1

Time episode 2

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The thrill of victory agony of defeat .

Van on drive home radio station plays….

“Lou can you get something besides this hillbilly stuff”

Somewhere around my third beer Uncle Lou popped this 8 track…

“Chick music Lou?” “Not just any chick Willy.”

We all clapped and slapped  the sides of the van a natural high where I felt this moment was never to be forgotten going from monumental low to high with my broken arrow brothers

Going home.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=NGTyNA0nI90&t=24s&pp=2AEYkAIB

Great music makes everything better. We had Lou play it again and again as we rolled over the highway and byways.

I am some body…

National

I started getting together with Broken Arrow more often even though Jack preferred that I train on my own. Axel called a team meeting to decide who would go to nationals. The Arrow’s were very good at running as a team working together and did not necessarily choose the fastest runners. They automatically included me on the team as a favor to Jack. That meant they would choose only six other athletes from the thirteen currently eligible.

Axel brought up my name first and asked if there were any objection and there were a few jokes about me but no objections. They then chose the rest of the team and it was a tight battle for the sixth spot which made me feel bad given that I was taking a spot.

The college athletic department let Broken Arrow use one of their vans through some community outreach program. That’s right, we were going to drive to NC in two days and would only stop to run and re fuel. Jenn packed a couple of coolers for us with good food and drinks.

I met with Jack the night before we left. He tossed a copy of Track & Field News on the table and we perused the NCAA cross country regional results together plus other assorted invitationals. The AAU National would be a mix of older athletes from clubs like the Florida Track Club that had won the team the last few years. I was eager to see how I would fare against both the collegiate and the older dudes.

“Willy, just get out well– I hear the course is a bear and becomes narrow after the first half mile.” “But don’t go crazy these are most of the best distance guys in the country, rookie.” Jack had begun to call me rookie and his general behavior around me had changed, so I was worried he knew about Jenn and me.

“Jack, after nationals I’m gonna be leaving but I hope you will continue to coach me.”

“We’ll see Willy.”

The Arrow’s picked me up at six A.M. There would be nine of us in the van, Axel brought another driver who everyone called “Uncle Lou” It was nice having time to just sit and think and watch the country roll by. Everyone was pensive and quiet as the miles rolled by. Axel had mapped out the route with ideal places to stop for a run and it was nice to break up the monotony of the road going for easy group runs.

We ate nothing but sandwiches but Axel promised us a good meal the night before the race. The first day was easy but the second day after not getting much if any sleep in the van sitting upright we were all beginning to feel washed out.

We arrived in Durham in the afternoon of the third day and went straight to the race course to have a run over it. It was a tough one lots of hills but the ground was dry so it would be fast. We only got two rooms for all nine of us at the hotel. Axel slept in the bathtub and Uncle Lou slept out in the van to give the rest of us room.

It was getting late and we all needed some sleep so I suggested to Axel that we just get some pizza and a few six packs and everyone agreed, Axel said only one beer each. While we ate I told the guys the story of my high school race at Franklin Park when I ran off course. They thought that was hilarious and started calling me Mr Magoo. I was anxious but I slept well and was up early out for a walk while the others still slept I sat in the coffee shop and looked over the local sports page with a story about today’s race.

I started feeling like I was in way over my head.

We got into our running gear, packed up and hit the road. We would be leaving immediately after the race heading back west. We did a short warm up, found our start box and stripped down to our shorts and singlets with the Broken Arrow logo, made by Axel’s wife and daughter white singlet and blue shorts. The logo was black just the arrow not lettered.

A guy in the next box with an Oregon singlet took a close look at mine and said, “nice singlet, righteous.” Turned out it was Billy Hernandez the NCAA Champion recently crowned. Uncle Lou was our official photographer with a couple of disposable cameras. Axel was making notes throughout the race and would be trying to identify as many finishers and their places as he could.

There were over three hundred on the start line, I had never run in a race this large. As I stood there in those last moments before the sound of the gun, I knew I would remember this moment forever. I figured to stick with Hernandez, and I was off to battle.

I sure got off the line and as we hit the end of the open field about a half mile in things began to thin out. Something snapped in me though and I just kept the hard running going leading the pack through the mile where through the crowd noise I heard four something teen. Had to be wrong too easily on the other hand how am I leading? Jack would be pelting me with rocks if he were here.

When it came to racing, I was a born leader too much of a rook to even think about the consequences over your head. I felt good and was committed now and just could not slow down. We entered the wooded section with few if any crowds and I heard no footfalls or breathing. I was out in front by a good margin waiting for that two-mile split, not that it mattered but eight fifty something.

“Just relax Willy it’s only running, and you know running, we all know running.”

I hit the halfway mark still out front. I was getting caught up in it felt so good I wanted to shout back at the spectators, the ones with the quizzical looks “hey, this is what I do, this is who I am, how you like me now, how you like these apples!”

I loved this course, made for me and one minute a big crowd and next minute back in the woods, silence and my mind floated away, I thought of Jenn and Jack how he got me primed and I snuck a look at the sky and clouds because I never look back and down, down, down, I hit the ground and lay in shock.

Twisted my ankle badly on a tree root, got up slowly, tried to get back in gear as the pack came streaming by and I cursed, the rook lost his concentration and focus at the most important moment. One-minute Cinderella boy on the cover of “Track & Field News “next minute a chump.

I limped it in a couple of my Arrow teammates slowed to encouraged me and I urged them on worst I let them down greatest mates I would ever have with my stupid rookie mistakes. I finished and lay on the ground and Axel and my mates walked me over to the medical tent for some treatment.

As I lay on the cot in the tent, I could hear some conversation outside. “Who was that guy leading at four and a half miles? He had this race in the bag.” “His name is Willy Desmarais, probably a Canadian.”

I got a chuckle over that in my pain not physically but just overwhelmed, humbled and not sorry for myself but grateful to have had the good fortune to even have this experience whether everything went sideways or not, counting my blessings.

But I did feel the need to get drunk and get drunk I did.

The Broken Arrows finished tenth and would have been fourth if I had held on, I was not even sure what place I finished.

Axel wrapped my ankle in ice, and we got in our ship and sailed west home to talk it over with my captain and his spouse whose impossible love broke me like a walnut.

My ankle swelled like a baseball, Axel said “Willy you should get an x-ray. Go to the trainer at the college when we get back.” “I’m sorry Axel, I messed up.” “Hey Willy, you gave us the thrill of a lifetime seeing someone in our singlet leading the National.”

Axel got me a six pack of “that skunk piss beer you like” and I sat back and slugged em down. Uncle Lou came over for a chat “Willy, I know you are planning to leave but if you change your mind you can stay with me.” Uncle Lou’s wife had died recently and his son was incarcerated.

“I appreciate that Uncle Lou, I need to give my running a chance or I know I will regret it when I’m older, also I just love it, the feeling I had leading that race with a shot at winning.”

My ankle was still very swollen when the guys dropped me off. Jack and Jenn came out to greet me, Jenn giving me a hug. Jack squeezed my shoulder, “Willy, Axel called me with the blow by blow and he was so excited talking a mile a minute boy you put on a show.”

“Ya, until I lost my concentration, rookie mistake.” “Willy, I thought you would be doing well to make the top twenty-five and you were on your way to winning the whole thing. Let’s go to the trainer first thing tomorrow and maybe you can get in the pool for some water running.”

The next day Jack handed me a slip of paper with a phone number, “It’s a writer from “Track & Field News” would like you to call him.” I didn’t want to talk with him and I threw away his number.

I did not run for ten days, an eternity for me but my ankle would be okay. I just needed to be careful, continue my treatment and not get impatient. My Dad was excited that I might come home for Christmas but I wasn’t ready. I had a few more mentors to visit.

“Track & Field News” had a photo of me leading with the caption “Desmarais nearly steels the race.” There was also a story about a new club that had just formed in Boston called the Beantown Bombers and that caught my interest a club for mainly post collegiate runners.

I continued to stay at Jack and Jenn’s but spent more time on my own in my room reading and planning out my next hobo time on the road. I spent most of Christmas day with the Broken Arrow’s at Uncle Lou’s. Lou had some good pictures of Nationals and he gave me one of me in full flight.

Now an old man I cherish that black & white photo three inches by five inches. It is framed and sits above my writing desk, sometimes arousing a state of melancholy at all that went down.

I gave notice at the college and finished up my course in Human Anatomy getting a B. The professor didn’t like me too well because there were a few instances when I had to leave the room when he was using very graphic examples of say, bleeding and I nearly passed out.

He made a case about it in front of the class that was just embarrassing for me.

On New Year’s Day I went for a twenty-mile run and my ankle felt fine thanks to the treatment I had been getting and after not running for ten days and then holding back for a few weeks I was like a caged animal. I then packed up my rucksack and headed for the bus station. I didn’t want to face Jack and Jenn and so I wrote a long note of thanks and left it for them to read and then I slinked out and was gone.

I was heading for Atlanta where I had a few running acquaintance’s but first I wanted to visit New Orleans and maybe spend a couple of days there but where? I would look for a cheap room with my meagre funds saved working at the college. I had read “A Confederacy of Dunces” and Got it in my head to visit New Orleans where the book is set.

Today, all these years later I remember the lost and lonely feeling of leaving these people who had become my family on New Year’s Day on a bus and I cried and a young woman came over to console me. One of only four people on the entire bus. I got over it.

Jude was on her way back to Houston where she went to college and the miles went by quickly as we shared our stories. I showed her the picture of me leading the National from “Track & Field News” “Willy, you are almost famous.”

At one of the many stops we made I bought some Mateus Wine and we drank it on the bus from little paper cups and had some snacks. We found seats way in the last row and cuddled up and went to sleep.

In Houston Jude showed me around and said she would invite me to stay but her roommate would not like it. I went for a run from her dorm and showered quickly before the roomie got back.

Adios girlie, it has been fun for the ride. I made my way to the Galveston- Bolivar Ferry and took the short ride with some great views, giant tankers and shrimp boats, the Bolivar Lighthouse and Dolphins.

When I got to the other side I decided to hitchhike and eventually got a ride with a van full of hippies smoking weed. They were students at Tulane University and they were going to be camping out the next few nights as they made their way back. They said it was fine if I wanted to tag along.

The first night I went for a run from the campground “Hey Willy, how far did you run?” “Ten miles.” “What? That’s crazy man.” I then went for a nice swim in the lake and slept in my bag under the stars.

I dreamt about all my myriad experiences since leaving home and I thought about my family, mostly my Dad. I had written him a long letter and sent him a copy of the “Track & Field News” article and photo.

I felt like I had made much progress, might I have done as well if I stayed in college? I thought not, rather be out here hoboing around a learning experience you don’t get at any college.

I dreamt about all my myriad experiences since leaving home and I thought about my family, mostly my dad. I had written him a long letter and sent him a copy of the “Track & Field News” article and photo.

I felt like I had made much progress, might I have done as well if I had stayed in college? I thought not, rather be out here hoboing around a learning experience you don’t get at any college. Lo and behold I had a visitor with me in my bag that night. “Summer of Willy” continues into winter.

In my youth, a voracious reader with no agenda but just only following my instinct I had come across some writing that knocked me sideways realizing that there was something to this life and I was not the only one trying to understand and survive and thrive and deal with whatever hand I was dealt.

John Kennedy Toole for no exact reason and his posthumously published “Confederacy of Dunces” made some powerful impressions on me. I think just the weirdness, the language of the place, the honesty is not barred. It is a weird story with highlight comedic moments and sad so sad.Well, anything can have a powerful effect if it captures you at the right time and place.

The hippies and I got along okay, I mean really, I was just like them just not so overt about it. We had another night like the last and then arrived in New Orleans where they dropped me off on the banks of the Mississippi and I met a few Navy men who were singing sea shanties. I sang along.

Well known Gun

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=HEORrdw150w

You Need to Work on Your Sweeping

You Need to Work on Your Sweeping

By Rich Grady

It’s been nearly four years since my wife passed away. I think of her all the time. Every morning when I walk into the kitchen, I grab the broom and start to sweep, as she always did. I am always amazed at how many crumbs and dirt particles fill the dustpan – far more than I see when they are all spread out on the floor. This is something that would not have surprised my wife. She understood all of the realities of keeping and managing a house, and much more than that.

My wife worked as a teacher at the local elementary school. She volunteered in the community. She helped our parents as they got older. She took care of our kids – she knew where they had to be and when, and was their chauffeur before they could drive. She went to their games, cheered for them, and coached or refereed when needed. She took care of them when they were sick, bought them clothes as they grew, and gave them presents on their birthdays and at Christmas. And when we were blessed with grandkids, she was an amazing grandmother. I will always be proud to have been her husband.

When she was gripped by cancer for the third time, I did my best to do all the chores that she had done for decades, but could no longer do as she battled the disease and endured the various treatments and hospital stays. I began to do the laundry, fold the clothes, go grocery shopping, run errands, vacuum, wash the floor, dust, polish the furniture, plant flowers, water the plants, clean the bathrooms, do the dishes, figure out meals, pay the bills, and cook. And I’m sure I left some things off the list of chores that she did before I took over.

When we were both working full-time, I responded willingly to her occasional requests for help, and thought I was doing my best to be helpful. I truly appreciated all that she did, but never actually knew how much time and effort it took to perform all of the chores around the house, until she got very sick and I needed to step up. As I became more aware of the amount of work through my own efforts, I began to feel that I could’ve and should’ve done more over the years to share the workload. She did a lot without my help, and without complaining or bragging about it.

She had always told me that I was capable of doing the chores around the house that she did, but until I took over, I wasn’t sure. I sought her reassurance that I was doing things right when it was my turn. I didn’t always put things away where she put them, and I didn’t always fold or iron the clothes the same as she did, but she didn’t get riled when I’d teasingly confess my slip-ups. She would just give me an amused smile.

When her end was near, but before I would even let that possibility creep into my head, she said to me, “You’re doing a good job – you’ll be fine on your own.” I teared up – I didn’t want to think about being on my own, and she could see that it made me very sad to hear her say those words. With perfect timing, she delivered a truthful punchline that made me laugh, which was:

“But you need to work on your sweeping.” She knew that was a true statement, and so did I. We both laughed, as we often did together.

And so, it has become my daily mantra to speak her words out loud as I enter the kitchen and reach for the broom. It has given me a whole new outlook on housework and life in general. It also reminds me of my wife’s sense of humor and kind but direct manner. She was

down-to-earth and could quickly reduce complex situations to their simple, honest essence. To me, she was amazing, and I always told her so. I still do. And every morning, I sense a knowing grin on my wife’s face as she sees me look at the dustpan in amazement at the crumbs that I sweep up, even though I can’t see them on the floor – it’s a gift that keeps on giving.

Diners

Diners

By Leo Racicot

Diners are as American as mom and apple pie. In the late part of the 18th century, an enterprising Providence, Rhode Island man, Walter Scott, began serving night workers (newspaper employees, nighttime vending hawkers, graveyard shift factory workers) sandwiches and coffee out of his horse-drawn wagon. The service was an instant hit and soon evolved into the dining cars of today.      I love diners and diner food. Who in Lowell hasn’t eaten, or still eats, at The Owl Diner on Appleton Street? It seems to have always been there. When I knew it, it was owned by the Shanahan Sisters. Its sign read Four Sisters Owl Diner. One of the sisters, Bridget, owned a beauty salon out in Dracut. Bridget did my sister’s hair for many years and Diane always said Bridget was her favorite of the sisters. Owl’s tiny parking lot and the surrounding area is always packed-to-the-rafters, especially on weekends. Just try getting a table on Saturday and Sunday mornings. My routine on Sundays was to run next door to Palmer News, grab the Sunday Boston Globe, the Sunday NYTimes and eat my breakfast in The Owl while reading them. A delightful memory…The usually loud, bustling Owl boasts a diverse patronage: popular among politicians, tourists and college students, it’s become a classic comfort spot for generations.

The decades-old Club Diner on Dutton Street has been doling out hearty breakfasts and lunches since the 1930s. Run by the hard-working LeVasseur Family, the aromas emanating from its stoves dare you to keep walking without wanting to come in for one of its tasty breakfasts, homemade soups and lunches. When I first moved back to the city in 2007, I made it a habit to have breakfast there every morning. Breakfast, diner coffee and a newspaper are my idea of heaven. The Club was not a far walk from my house and I got to know the staff, Bobby, the cook, and his dad, also Bob, pretty well, looked forward to seeing their friendly faces each and every morning. I stopped eating there every day only when I noticed I was getting to be the size of The Hindenburg.

My friend and CTI co-worker, Connie Carrigg, loved to take me to Cameo Diner in Centralville. We often stopped in for a bite and cup of “Joe” in between shifts or on Saturdays. Connie knew everybody in the place, staff and customers. Connie was such a spirited presence, had what I call “star gravity” that whenever she ate there, she drew crowds around the table to hear her stories, her infectious “good time gal” laugh. Connie worked for a time as a waitress and liked to tell how, any tme a male customer took the liberty of pinching her on the behind, she’d quickly snap, “Buddy, it ain’t on the menu!” How I miss dear, funny Connie…

I think back on the great times my travels took me to diners outside of Lowell, During my years working at O’Leary Library, ULowell, I was befriended by a couple, N. Blau and Joe, and their interesting circle of musician and writer friends.  The Blau “set” always had a party going. N. was so exuberant and enthusiastic, she had the group feeling we were on our way to the Met Gala or the Academy Awards, even if we were just going up the street for coffee. She, herself, was a hoot. In those days, she was known as N. Blau, light opera star and phone sex operator (well, college tuition was steep, even back then). I was fortunate in the ’80s and early 90s to know a group of women, confident, attractive, who knew who they were and who let you know who they were: N., Connie, Jane Wall, Ruby Killelea.      Anyway — with N. Blau, many was the time I found myself coasting along a post-midnight highway towards Boston when she had a sudden impulse to eat at Boston’s Leather District’s Blue Diner. It was beyond fun to be there, while the rest of the city was dark and asleep, eating in its eerie after-hours lighting, surrounded by college kids, night workers on their break, mostly revelers spilling out of the nearby bars after last call. Food always tastes better in a diner, the greasier, the better, washed down with bottomless cups of fresh coffee, being regaled by story after story, eavesdropping on the people at the table behind, getting to see the latest nighttime fashions and fads, even spotting a celebrity or two refueling after a day’s grueling performance schedule. I’ll never forget my Blue Diner nights. I can still see the gigantic blue coffee cup on its roof, as we drove around the South Station neighborhood around and around in our search for a parking space.  Eating, chatting, laughing till sun-up, that, for me, was The Blue Diner.

In fact, I liked diners so much, it got so that whenever I’d run into one I didn’t know, I’d head inside to sample its fare, its ambience. Let’s see. There was The Rosebud in Somerville’s Davis Square, Average Joe’s in Action (where they’d shout out your name when your order was ready), The Paul Revere Diner in West Medford.      On one of our trips to New York City, Joe and I had to check out Manhattan’s historic Empire Diner. It did not disappoint. Years later, while strolling the west side of Chelsea with Edmund White, we both agreed we were “starving” and wound up in a diner close by. We were at the counter noshing away when I remembered the Empire (not remembering where exactly it was located) and said to Ed, “Years ago, Joe and I ate at The Empire Diner and loved it.” Ed smirked and replied, “Yeah, you’re in it. It changed its name a while ago.”   We both had a hearty laugh about that.

It bears mention that probably the most famous “dining car” I’ve eaten in was owned and operated by none other than the great Vincent Price. Audiences know Price most of all for his performances in ’60s and ’70s horror movies. But he was anything but scary. A very refined, very cultured man, he was a splendid gourmet cook and respected art collector. He loved travel, especially in the Pullman dining carsof his yesteryears,  and could discourse on the golden age of travel for hours. In about 1965, Price converted his Cortez Club Car into his own personal diner, installing it on Malibu Beach, turning it into a mini-restaurant and lounge for guests he liked to entertain with his plethora of recipes, gathered from his many travels throughout the world. His melt-in-your-mouth lamb sausage was out-of-this-world, so succulent and tender, you thought you were eating clouds… And why not?  I’ve often thought of diners and diner food as “pure Heaven”

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Club Diner

Blue Diner

Cameo Diner

N. Blau

The Empire Diner

Owl Diner

Vincent Price in his private dining car