Will Write for CandySEP 1ST, 2011 BY TALKING WRITING
POSTED IN BOOKMARK, WHY I WRITE
TAGS: EDITING, TEACHING WRITING, WRITER'S BLOCK
By Richard Price
What Readers—Not Teachers—Want
Coming Soon: TW’s Next Issue and “Why I Write”
Happy 1st Birthday, Talking Writing! Next Monday—September 5—we launch a provocative new issue about teaching writing. And in our new bimonthly format, we’ll update the TW site with more pieces every week throughout September and October.
As part of our anniversary celebration, the Sept/Oct 2011 issue will include a selection of “Why I Write” essays. Here Rich Price kicks things off with an unusual form of inspiration….
The contest: Write a two-page short story on the spot, the winner to be decided by fifth graders in Miss Hogan’s class.
"CHOCOLATE" © SALINA HAINZL
The prize: a foot-long Hershey’s bar, compliments of the teacher.
I want to win, but the field is crowded. There are almost 20 entrants, including myself, each with our eyes on the chocolate prize.
I start to write, something about a UFO landing or Bigfoot. I write a page and then stop. I look around the room and realize everyone is writing about UFOs or Bigfoot.
Then I know. This story needs vomit—lots of it.
There is plenty of inspiration. The bug is going around, and last week Brian Trask heaved up a Hostess blueberry pie during history. Why not a story about a superhero with superhuman puking abilities? The storylines are endless. Captain Vomit to the rescue! Halt, evil doers, or be punished by the atomic blast of hurl! His arch nemesis? Sawdust Man.
I love it. I begin writing again. The candy will be mine.
• • •
And it was, sort of. My story won in a landslide vote, but Miss Hogan apparently had an aversion to upchucking. She pulled me aside.
“The story was in bad taste,” she said in an acidic voice.
The Hershey’s bar disappeared, and my face turned hot with shame. Later, the playground buzzed over the puking superhero. Passages were recited from memory, but I just wanted to run away.
Creating Captain Vomit had been different from completing the usual laborious writing assignments about the human heart or the life of Helen Keller. Not unlike my gastrointestinally distressed character, the story had spilled out of me, rushing from head to hand almost as fast I could write. It wasn’t my first writing experience, but it was the first story I felt passionate about.
I didn’t write creatively for years after that day.
A part of me is sorry now for embarrassing the teacher. But I’m also resentful that Miss Hogan didn’t see the joy that produced a winning piece. She missed that writing is for the writer and the reader, not the editor or teacher.
That doesn’t mean I haven’t benefited from either. I have. Since that bad experience in fifth grade, both editors and teachers have helped me to shape my stories into the best possible form. But the good teachers and editors never dictated the content; they guided me, clarifying my thinking or pushing me to pin down facts.
Miss Hogan wanted her writers to see the world through her approving eyes rather than their own. I wrote that story certainly to win, but also because I loved it and knew other eleven-year-old readers would, too. Miss Hogan could have steered all the passion that created Captain Vomit into something more appealing to older readers—or that at least didn’t land me in detention—but she didn’t.
I still love to write. I started again seriously a few years ago, after taking a feature writing class at the Harvard Extension School. As a freelance journalist, I now know that what I like to read in a newspaper or magazine is often what other readers want. I still get excited when I see my articles in print or online, even if I can’t imagine writing full time. The Internet has taken too many chocolate bars from more talented writers.
When my stories involve a sensitive topic, I face reader criticism but strive for balance, and I rarely have a “newsmare.” (Well, there was that 2009 short feature in a local newspaper about a 74-year-old barber celebrating fifty years of “lowering the ears and taking a bit off the top.” Big mistake. The editor’s phone rang for days from advertisers complaining about “that old butcher getting free publicity while we have to pay for space.”)
One thing has changed, though: my impression of Miss Hogan. Perhaps she was caught off guard and believed she was saying the right thing. Or, she wanted to save me from a life of trashy novel writing. Maybe she was afraid my mother would read it later and wonder what the hell they were teaching me at that school.
Sometimes, before I send a Word document to an editor, I imagine what Miss Hogan’s reaction would be. I open the attachment and read it with her eyes. Is the prose sloppy? Do I have my facts straight?
But most important: Do I care more about this than winning a Hershey’s bar?
RICHARD PRICE
Richard Price is a part-time journalism major at the Harvard University Extension School, where this story began as a “Why I Write” essay in a class taught by Martha Nichols.
He hopes to graduate within 20 years. This is his second piece about vomit.
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3 Responses to “Will Write for Candy”
on 01 Sep 2011 at 9:29 am1Lorette
This piece is fantastic – I can relate as a parent of a vomit-loving 8 year old, an aspiring writer, and sometime educator. And sometimes I wonder how old I will be when scatological humor is no longer funny…
on 01 Sep 2011 at 10:03 am2fran cronin
richard: your piece is delightful. kept thinking of when my son was reading captain underpants. as a mom with literary pretensions, i too had some ms. hoganesque moments every time i opened one of the books. but hey, i was not the audience. and most importantly, it got my son reading. imagine if capatian underpants had also vomited!
on 01 Sep 2011 at 11:01 am3Adria Arch
I laughed out loud. Thanks so much for this insightful piece. I am an artist, but can certainly relate to everything you’ve said.
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Thursday, September 1, 2011
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Troop 9 celebrates 50th Founding Scoutmaster event’s man of the hour
By Richard Price CORRESPONDENT
WORCESTER — It was a buffet spread fit to feed a hungry Boy Scout, no matter how old.
There was a roast beef station, buttery mashed potatoes and stuffed turkey breast. No need to start a campfire to cook it; this one was catered by men in chef’s hats. At a second table was a three-tiered white cake with a gold “9” on the top.
This was a family reunion of sorts. It was the 50th anniversary of Boy Scouts of America Troop 9, but merit badges weren’t handed out yesterday for finishing this hearty meal.
One hundred and fifty guests sat among the rows of tables covered in white cloths. Some were slightly bored teenagers sporting khaki uniforms, merit badges and pimply cheeks. But it was the older boys with gray hair and middle age spread who were having most of the fun as they back slapped, swapped bawdy stories and sparked old memories with the same vigor as rubbing two sticks together.
They call themselves the founding fathers, even though they were boys at the time. They remembered the paper drives, long hikes up Mount Washington and campfire meals that were more daring than delicious.
These Scouts, ages 10 to 87, were squeezed in the Burncoat Baptist Church’s basement on a brilliant, sunny afternoon. A Red Sox do-or-die playoff game did not dampen the attendance.
Paul E. Foskett, 76, was the man of the hour. He is the founding Scoutmaster who started Troop 9 back in 1959. He walked in wearing his original khaki Scoutmaster uniform, slightly tattered, and a tartan neckerchief. He has white hair and mustache. That first year there were only six boys, and even though 50 years have passed he remembered the camping trip in 20-below-zero weather that sent one boy to the hospital with frostbite.
Mr. Foskett left the troop in 1966, when he got a new job and had to move away. He never volunteered since and still regrets it.
“Life got in the way,” he said, referring to his eight children and a home to keep. But the old Scout uniform stayed in the closet until yesterday. “I’m responsible for these troops,” he said pointing to the boys — some of them grandfathers themselves.
John K. Atlas, 51, is Troop 9’s current Scoutmaster and the man to thank for yesterday’s get-together.
He said not much has changed in the past 50 years of Scouting. Merit badges are still awarded in camping, cooking and hiking. A badge in raising sheep has been replaced with one for Internet Web mastering. He admitted it is a struggle to keep the boys from getting lost in their iPhones.
Finding new Scout leaders is also a challenge. Single parenting has made it harder to recruit and puts more pressure on existing Scoutmasters to be a role model that some boys are missing.
Mr. Atlas is the second of three generations of Boy Scouts. His father, who is 87 and attended yesterday, was first. Third in line were Mr. Atlas’ sons, Sean and Matthew, who were also the first in the family to become Eagle Scouts, the highest honor.
But what stopped Troop 9’s current Scoutmaster from reaching this elite level himself? He grins and admits falling in love with a powder blue Plymouth Duster with an eight track deck and the girls it attracted. Fumes and perfume he calls it.
But enough talk about that.
Fifty years and 1,000 Boy Scouts had passed through Troop 9, and soon it was time for the cake cutting ceremony.
There was a roast beef station, buttery mashed potatoes and stuffed turkey breast. No need to start a campfire to cook it; this one was catered by men in chef’s hats. At a second table was a three-tiered white cake with a gold “9” on the top.
This was a family reunion of sorts. It was the 50th anniversary of Boy Scouts of America Troop 9, but merit badges weren’t handed out yesterday for finishing this hearty meal.
One hundred and fifty guests sat among the rows of tables covered in white cloths. Some were slightly bored teenagers sporting khaki uniforms, merit badges and pimply cheeks. But it was the older boys with gray hair and middle age spread who were having most of the fun as they back slapped, swapped bawdy stories and sparked old memories with the same vigor as rubbing two sticks together.
They call themselves the founding fathers, even though they were boys at the time. They remembered the paper drives, long hikes up Mount Washington and campfire meals that were more daring than delicious.
These Scouts, ages 10 to 87, were squeezed in the Burncoat Baptist Church’s basement on a brilliant, sunny afternoon. A Red Sox do-or-die playoff game did not dampen the attendance.
Paul E. Foskett, 76, was the man of the hour. He is the founding Scoutmaster who started Troop 9 back in 1959. He walked in wearing his original khaki Scoutmaster uniform, slightly tattered, and a tartan neckerchief. He has white hair and mustache. That first year there were only six boys, and even though 50 years have passed he remembered the camping trip in 20-below-zero weather that sent one boy to the hospital with frostbite.
Mr. Foskett left the troop in 1966, when he got a new job and had to move away. He never volunteered since and still regrets it.
“Life got in the way,” he said, referring to his eight children and a home to keep. But the old Scout uniform stayed in the closet until yesterday. “I’m responsible for these troops,” he said pointing to the boys — some of them grandfathers themselves.
John K. Atlas, 51, is Troop 9’s current Scoutmaster and the man to thank for yesterday’s get-together.
He said not much has changed in the past 50 years of Scouting. Merit badges are still awarded in camping, cooking and hiking. A badge in raising sheep has been replaced with one for Internet Web mastering. He admitted it is a struggle to keep the boys from getting lost in their iPhones.
Finding new Scout leaders is also a challenge. Single parenting has made it harder to recruit and puts more pressure on existing Scoutmasters to be a role model that some boys are missing.
Mr. Atlas is the second of three generations of Boy Scouts. His father, who is 87 and attended yesterday, was first. Third in line were Mr. Atlas’ sons, Sean and Matthew, who were also the first in the family to become Eagle Scouts, the highest honor.
But what stopped Troop 9’s current Scoutmaster from reaching this elite level himself? He grins and admits falling in love with a powder blue Plymouth Duster with an eight track deck and the girls it attracted. Fumes and perfume he calls it.
But enough talk about that.
Fifty years and 1,000 Boy Scouts had passed through Troop 9, and soon it was time for the cake cutting ceremony.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Language of music
WORCESTER — For this full-time nurse, volunteering to teach guitar to teenagers seemed like a welcome break from work pressure. But Linda Healey knew there was a catch — the students could speak only a scant amount of English.
Struggling to communicate, she asked if any in the class knew a folk song from their native country, but they answered with blank stares. Shifting nervously in her seat, Ms. Healey picked up her guitar and serenaded them with a few bars of “You Are My Sunshine.”
“I don’t know how much you understand,” she said as she strummed. The four students, ages 15 to 19, were orphaned refugees from three countries with three different languages who can barely talk to one another beyond a hello.
But here they were sitting in the cavernous basement of St. Stephen’s Church on a hot summer afternoon, torn from their families by oppressive regimes and corrupt governments, partly to learn guitar, but mostly to speak the language of music. Despite the communication chasm, they were eager to pick away on the strings.
For the moment their troubles and language barriers were put aside. “They know they have to learn English, but they’re more excited about the guitar,” said Catharine Landrigan, clinical social worker for the Unaccompanied Refugee Minor Program. Ms. Landrigan and a staff based in Worcester are responsible for about 80 cases in New England, all of them with similar stories: orphaned children who fled the savagery of war, the abuse of oppressive governments or the victimization of sex or drug trafficking.
Through the voluntary services of the Lutheran Immigration and Refugee Services and the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops, the Unaccompanied Refugee Minor Program is a child welfare program that matches the children with foster parents at the end a long bureaucratic chain that starts at the United Nations and weaves its way through federal and state agencies. There are 17 refugee foster care programs in the United States, according to the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops Web site.
In one chair, holding an acoustic guitar, was 19-year-old Haroun Bakhit. He immigrated legally to the United States three years ago from Sudan and likes watching music videos on Black Entertainment Television, listening to traditional African music on the Internet, and hanging out at the pizza parlor with his friends. Haroun wants to learn the guitar because music brings out many emotions he wants to express. Before he landed in this country, violent rebel groups in his Sudanese village burned down his home, separating him and his brother from their parents.
They and other refugees spent months wandering and begging for food while witnessing starvation and dodging murderous rebels and preying lions. They eventually found their way to a United Nations refugee camp.
Sitting next to Haroun are Thang Lam Sing, 16, and his sister Nuam Hau Sing, 15, both of whom escaped from Myanmar. Nuam likes American fast food. McDonald’s, pizza … whatever. She also likes Britney Spears and Christian music. Thang prefers rice over french fries and is a big fan of Bon Jovi. Both want to learn the guitar so they can perform at their church and play traditional music from their native village.
Matched with a foster family, they have been in the United States since June. Raised by their mother after their father died, Nuam and Thang fled their village after months of intimidation from the Myanmar army, which was searching for their older sister when she ran away after being raped by a soldier. Thang and Nuam were eventually smuggled into Malaysia and, like Haroun, found their way to a United Nations refugee camp.
The fourth teenager is a girl from Latin America who could not be interviewed because of unresolved legal issues.
“The children who come are survivors, they are resilient,” said Mary Bartholomew, the program’s senior director. But to convert those survivor skills to the pace of modern life is challenging. For most, crossing the street safely is learned as a toddler, but for a 15-year-old refugee from a part of the world where cars or traffic didn’t exist, it is a new living skill. For others, adjusting to a new country without family plus reliving the nightmarish memories of war and abuse can be a barrier to building new relationships with foster parents.
But despite experiencing more trauma than most people will ever imagine, most of the children in this program adjust well to their new lives, attending public school and eventually college.
But there is no school in July, which leaves Ms. Bartholomew and Ms. Landrigan with the challenge of how to fill the teenager’s summers. The have planned for field trips, as well as photography and English-as-a-second-language classes. But the guitar lessons are by far the most popular. With bingo tables stacked against the wall and the fluorescent lights humming to the music, this impromptu quartet’s first stab at guitar hero glory was a bit rough, but it didn’t dampen their spirits. “In jamming, everyone helps each other,” said Ms. Healey, rallying her class to attempt their newly taught chords. Then for one brief moment, everyone was strumming together, kind of in unison. Grinning at each other for the first time, they knew they were talking the same language.
Struggling to communicate, she asked if any in the class knew a folk song from their native country, but they answered with blank stares. Shifting nervously in her seat, Ms. Healey picked up her guitar and serenaded them with a few bars of “You Are My Sunshine.”
“I don’t know how much you understand,” she said as she strummed. The four students, ages 15 to 19, were orphaned refugees from three countries with three different languages who can barely talk to one another beyond a hello.
But here they were sitting in the cavernous basement of St. Stephen’s Church on a hot summer afternoon, torn from their families by oppressive regimes and corrupt governments, partly to learn guitar, but mostly to speak the language of music. Despite the communication chasm, they were eager to pick away on the strings.
For the moment their troubles and language barriers were put aside. “They know they have to learn English, but they’re more excited about the guitar,” said Catharine Landrigan, clinical social worker for the Unaccompanied Refugee Minor Program. Ms. Landrigan and a staff based in Worcester are responsible for about 80 cases in New England, all of them with similar stories: orphaned children who fled the savagery of war, the abuse of oppressive governments or the victimization of sex or drug trafficking.
Through the voluntary services of the Lutheran Immigration and Refugee Services and the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops, the Unaccompanied Refugee Minor Program is a child welfare program that matches the children with foster parents at the end a long bureaucratic chain that starts at the United Nations and weaves its way through federal and state agencies. There are 17 refugee foster care programs in the United States, according to the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops Web site.
In one chair, holding an acoustic guitar, was 19-year-old Haroun Bakhit. He immigrated legally to the United States three years ago from Sudan and likes watching music videos on Black Entertainment Television, listening to traditional African music on the Internet, and hanging out at the pizza parlor with his friends. Haroun wants to learn the guitar because music brings out many emotions he wants to express. Before he landed in this country, violent rebel groups in his Sudanese village burned down his home, separating him and his brother from their parents.
They and other refugees spent months wandering and begging for food while witnessing starvation and dodging murderous rebels and preying lions. They eventually found their way to a United Nations refugee camp.
Sitting next to Haroun are Thang Lam Sing, 16, and his sister Nuam Hau Sing, 15, both of whom escaped from Myanmar. Nuam likes American fast food. McDonald’s, pizza … whatever. She also likes Britney Spears and Christian music. Thang prefers rice over french fries and is a big fan of Bon Jovi. Both want to learn the guitar so they can perform at their church and play traditional music from their native village.
Matched with a foster family, they have been in the United States since June. Raised by their mother after their father died, Nuam and Thang fled their village after months of intimidation from the Myanmar army, which was searching for their older sister when she ran away after being raped by a soldier. Thang and Nuam were eventually smuggled into Malaysia and, like Haroun, found their way to a United Nations refugee camp.
The fourth teenager is a girl from Latin America who could not be interviewed because of unresolved legal issues.
“The children who come are survivors, they are resilient,” said Mary Bartholomew, the program’s senior director. But to convert those survivor skills to the pace of modern life is challenging. For most, crossing the street safely is learned as a toddler, but for a 15-year-old refugee from a part of the world where cars or traffic didn’t exist, it is a new living skill. For others, adjusting to a new country without family plus reliving the nightmarish memories of war and abuse can be a barrier to building new relationships with foster parents.
But despite experiencing more trauma than most people will ever imagine, most of the children in this program adjust well to their new lives, attending public school and eventually college.
But there is no school in July, which leaves Ms. Bartholomew and Ms. Landrigan with the challenge of how to fill the teenager’s summers. The have planned for field trips, as well as photography and English-as-a-second-language classes. But the guitar lessons are by far the most popular. With bingo tables stacked against the wall and the fluorescent lights humming to the music, this impromptu quartet’s first stab at guitar hero glory was a bit rough, but it didn’t dampen their spirits. “In jamming, everyone helps each other,” said Ms. Healey, rallying her class to attempt their newly taught chords. Then for one brief moment, everyone was strumming together, kind of in unison. Grinning at each other for the first time, they knew they were talking the same language.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
On the job: Jacqueline E. Dunbar, School bus driver, AA Transportation, Shrewsbury
Monday, June 22, 2009
Why are school buses yellow?
“Hopefully, so that people driving around can see us.”
It seems like fewer children are taking the bus now than when we were young. Would you agree?
“Shrewsbury is more populated now, so I think more students are taking the bus. Nowadays we drop kids off door to door because there isn’t a sidewalk or proper walkway for the child to get to the bus stop safely. A lot of streets in Shrewsbury are very narrow and don’t have sidewalks.”
Once in a while you read a story in the paper about a child who didn’t get off the bus — the driver didn’t spot-check when they got back to base and so the child sits on the bus all day. Do drivers check the bus front to back when they finish a run?
“Without a doubt. After every single run, not just when you get back to base, you check your bus for students.”
What is your favorite part of the job?
“The kids, especially the little ones. They’re so adorable. They lose their teeth at that age and they get so excited and they’re showing everybody. Some are almost toothless, smiling big. They ask me a lot of questions like, ‘What’s that light for?’ They’re cute.”
I would have guessed that your favorite part of the job is when they cancel school.
“I watch the news the night before and I’m like a kid watching to see if school is closed. Who else wakes up in the morning to see if they have to go to work or not? It’s funny, my mom laughs. But then it’s like: Ugh, an extra day in the summer.”
What is your least favorite part of the job?
“Driving in the snow.”
Don’t those buses have good traction?
“No. People think that because they’re so big and heavy that they do well, but they don’t. I think years ago they used to put chains on the wheels, but they’re not four-wheel drive. They have some traction, but you can get stuck in very simple situations, like steep hills. There are a lot of steep hills in Shrewsbury.”
What grades do you pick up and drop off?
“K through 12. There are numerous runs per day. I get up at 4:30 every morning. The first group are the high school kids, which I begin picking up at 6:36 a.m. I drop them off at the high school at 7:05. At 7:20 I pick up the middle school kids and drop them off at 8. I then pick up the kids in Grades 1 to 4 at 8:15, and drop them off at the elementary school at 8:40. I then go back to base and then I pick up the kindergartners at school at 11:30.”
There is a new no-idling law in Massachusetts, which prevents school buses from running their engines in front of school. What rules do you have to follow?
“If we are loading or unloading children and we are sitting in front of the building for more than 5 minutes, then the engine has to be off.”
What about the dead of winter?
“Same thing. Yeah, it’s cold, especially this past winter.”
How many verses to “The Wheels on the Bus” do you know?
“The little ones learn it at school, then they sing it on the bus. Naturally they want me to sing along with them.”
Compiled by correspondent Richard Price.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
‘For You, Armenia’ Concert at Holy Cross to benefit relief fund
I’m hoping to generate a feeling of solidarity.
-- Ani Nalbandian, HOLY CROSS SENIOR
‘Pour Toi, Arménie (For You, Armenia)’
When: 4 p.m. SundayWhere: Seelos Theatre, College of the Holy Cross
How much: $15; $10 for Holy Cross students and children younger than 12
WORCESTER — This Sunday afternoon, the newly built Seelos Theatre at the College of the Holy Cross will host a concert of musicians playing instruments unfamiliar to most Americans to benefit a country most can’t find on a map in remembrance of a genocide some historians consider forgotten.
Creating awareness has been the mission of Holy Cross senior Ani Nalbandian, 22, since her freshman year. She is one of only 15 Armenian-American students in the entire college so the learning curve is steep. “I’m hoping to generate a feeling of solidarity,” said Ms. Nalbandian, when asked about the goal of holding this concert.
How? With expectations that the non Armenian-American audience will walk in expecting a new musical experience but walk out connecting with a little known culture that is centered around the 1915 Armenian genocide that wiped out over one million people during and after World War I.
April is an important month to Armenians, Ms. Nalbandian said, because the 24th is also Genocide Remembrance Day, a memorial day for those wiped out as a war strategy by the Ottoman Empire to defeat the Russians.
The show is titled “Pour Toi, Arménie (For You, Armenia),” and proceeds will go to the Fund for Armenian Relief, an organization that provides emergency help to the neediest of this small post-Soviet Union nation that borders Turkey.
John Berberian, the concert’s headline act, will provide the musical link between the two worlds. As he pulls out his Turkish-made oud (pronounced OOD), and runs his hands over the mahogany and spruce wood body, he talks about the similarities between the Middle Eastern music he has performed for 49 years and American jazz. “There is a lot of improvisation in our music,” he said. “Just like jazz.”
The oud’s body has a pregnant bulge similar to a mandolin. It has a bent neck at the top where the pegs that tighten the strings lie. When played it sounds similar to a Spanish acoustic guitar. Mr. Berberian and his ensemble will perform a blend of traditional Armenian dance and folk pieces. Mal Barsamian will accompany him on guitar and clarinet, with Harry Bedrosian on keyboard, and Bruce Gigarjian on Dumbeg, which is an hourglass-shaped drum, played like a tom tom.
In a separate set, Ms. Nalbandian will perform on keyboard and accordion with her father, Untzag Nalbandian, who is an Armenian Orthodox priest as well as a pianist. They will be accompanied by fellow Holy Cross students Justin Rucci on drums, David Sheerin on piano, Michael Ferraguto on violin and Michael Simms on clarinet.
The concert will be held on Sunday at 4 p.m. in the Seelos Theatre on the Holy Cross campus. There is a handful of tickets left for this event, which are $15 for adults and children older than 12, $10 for Holy Cross students and children younger than 12. For ticket information, contact Ms. Nalbandian at (203) 581-1443 oranalba09@holycross.edu.
Creating awareness has been the mission of Holy Cross senior Ani Nalbandian, 22, since her freshman year. She is one of only 15 Armenian-American students in the entire college so the learning curve is steep. “I’m hoping to generate a feeling of solidarity,” said Ms. Nalbandian, when asked about the goal of holding this concert.
How? With expectations that the non Armenian-American audience will walk in expecting a new musical experience but walk out connecting with a little known culture that is centered around the 1915 Armenian genocide that wiped out over one million people during and after World War I.
April is an important month to Armenians, Ms. Nalbandian said, because the 24th is also Genocide Remembrance Day, a memorial day for those wiped out as a war strategy by the Ottoman Empire to defeat the Russians.
The show is titled “Pour Toi, Arménie (For You, Armenia),” and proceeds will go to the Fund for Armenian Relief, an organization that provides emergency help to the neediest of this small post-Soviet Union nation that borders Turkey.
John Berberian, the concert’s headline act, will provide the musical link between the two worlds. As he pulls out his Turkish-made oud (pronounced OOD), and runs his hands over the mahogany and spruce wood body, he talks about the similarities between the Middle Eastern music he has performed for 49 years and American jazz. “There is a lot of improvisation in our music,” he said. “Just like jazz.”
The oud’s body has a pregnant bulge similar to a mandolin. It has a bent neck at the top where the pegs that tighten the strings lie. When played it sounds similar to a Spanish acoustic guitar. Mr. Berberian and his ensemble will perform a blend of traditional Armenian dance and folk pieces. Mal Barsamian will accompany him on guitar and clarinet, with Harry Bedrosian on keyboard, and Bruce Gigarjian on Dumbeg, which is an hourglass-shaped drum, played like a tom tom.
In a separate set, Ms. Nalbandian will perform on keyboard and accordion with her father, Untzag Nalbandian, who is an Armenian Orthodox priest as well as a pianist. They will be accompanied by fellow Holy Cross students Justin Rucci on drums, David Sheerin on piano, Michael Ferraguto on violin and Michael Simms on clarinet.
The concert will be held on Sunday at 4 p.m. in the Seelos Theatre on the Holy Cross campus. There is a handful of tickets left for this event, which are $15 for adults and children older than 12, $10 for Holy Cross students and children younger than 12. For ticket information, contact Ms. Nalbandian at (203) 581-1443 oranalba09@holycross.edu.
On the Job: Regal Pickles
On the job
David Giorgio, Plant manager, Regal Pickle Works, Worcester
Age: 45
Native of: Worcester
Residence: Millbury
Family: Married, two children
Time in current job: Seven years
What do you do?
“I supervise our crew, production, quality control, the set, labeling of containers. Pretty much anything that has to get done, I have my hand in it. When I was hired, I started working on the line with the guys and I learned everything as I went along.”
How did you find this job?
“I was working at a sheet metal company, which was closing because the owner was retiring. My sister-in-law owns a restaurant on Park Avenue and she knows Doug, the owner of this place, because she buys her pickles from him. He told her he was looking for someone, she highly recommended me to him, and then he gave me a call.”
How does a cucumber become a pickle?
“After the cucumbers are received in the building in large bins, they are dropped into a hopper and go through a wash station, then they are lifted up into a conveyor. If we’re pickling whole cucumbers, they are lifted from there into a pail filled with brine. If the cucumbers are to be turned into spears or chips, they get sent to another machine that actually rolls the pickles so we can inspect them more closely. They then go on to a high-speed belt, which sends them to a spearing or chipping machine.”
Do you oversee how the briny pickle juice is made?
“Doug does most of the brine, but I do make brine on occasion.”
How many pickles a day do you produce?
“There are days when we have done a whole truck of 20 bins, each weighing 2,000 pounds. We can do a truck in a day.”
What is the best part of your job?
“I like the people who come to the front door to buy pickles from us retail. They tell me stories, like they are heading to the Cape or New Hampshire and they say, ‘I have to bring these.’ I’ve had people from Wyman-Gordon come in with 25 one-gallon pails for all the guys in the shop.”
What is the worst part of your job?
“The worst-slash-good part of the job is the smell. There are times I come in here and I don’t smell anything and there are times when I smell it a lot. It’s not bad, but it does get into your clothes and when I get in my car, which has leather interior, it reeks of pickles. There’s no escape. When I used to work at the sheet metal company, they’d coat the steel with fish oil, so that has a unique smell to it. My wife prefers the smell of pickles to fish oil.”
Does eating too many pickles become an occupational hazard?
“I think that when you start in any food business, a restaurant or pickles, whatever it is you are doing, you have a tendency to eat a lot of that product. Then you kind of back off a little bit because you’ve had too much, but I always eat them. It took me about a year before I would try a pickled tomato. They smell very good, but to me the thought of eating a pickled tomato didn’t strike me. Six months later, I had an urge to eat one and I can’t get enough of them now. I don’t know what it is, if my taste buds changed or what, but I love them.”
What are the busiest times of year for you?
“The holidays in general are busier, with Passover, Memorial Day, Thanksgiving and Christmas.”
Has the economy affected your business?
“It’s slowed a little bit. But because we are in the food business, we stay afloat. We haven’t had to lay anyone off, which is a good feeling.”
Know any good pickle jokes?
“I don’t. You’ll have to talk to Doug. He can rattle off a hundred.”
Compiled by: Correspondent Richard Price
“I supervise our crew, production, quality control, the set, labeling of containers. Pretty much anything that has to get done, I have my hand in it. When I was hired, I started working on the line with the guys and I learned everything as I went along.”
How did you find this job?
“I was working at a sheet metal company, which was closing because the owner was retiring. My sister-in-law owns a restaurant on Park Avenue and she knows Doug, the owner of this place, because she buys her pickles from him. He told her he was looking for someone, she highly recommended me to him, and then he gave me a call.”
How does a cucumber become a pickle?
“After the cucumbers are received in the building in large bins, they are dropped into a hopper and go through a wash station, then they are lifted up into a conveyor. If we’re pickling whole cucumbers, they are lifted from there into a pail filled with brine. If the cucumbers are to be turned into spears or chips, they get sent to another machine that actually rolls the pickles so we can inspect them more closely. They then go on to a high-speed belt, which sends them to a spearing or chipping machine.”
Do you oversee how the briny pickle juice is made?
“Doug does most of the brine, but I do make brine on occasion.”
How many pickles a day do you produce?
“There are days when we have done a whole truck of 20 bins, each weighing 2,000 pounds. We can do a truck in a day.”
What is the best part of your job?
“I like the people who come to the front door to buy pickles from us retail. They tell me stories, like they are heading to the Cape or New Hampshire and they say, ‘I have to bring these.’ I’ve had people from Wyman-Gordon come in with 25 one-gallon pails for all the guys in the shop.”
What is the worst part of your job?
“The worst-slash-good part of the job is the smell. There are times I come in here and I don’t smell anything and there are times when I smell it a lot. It’s not bad, but it does get into your clothes and when I get in my car, which has leather interior, it reeks of pickles. There’s no escape. When I used to work at the sheet metal company, they’d coat the steel with fish oil, so that has a unique smell to it. My wife prefers the smell of pickles to fish oil.”
Does eating too many pickles become an occupational hazard?
“I think that when you start in any food business, a restaurant or pickles, whatever it is you are doing, you have a tendency to eat a lot of that product. Then you kind of back off a little bit because you’ve had too much, but I always eat them. It took me about a year before I would try a pickled tomato. They smell very good, but to me the thought of eating a pickled tomato didn’t strike me. Six months later, I had an urge to eat one and I can’t get enough of them now. I don’t know what it is, if my taste buds changed or what, but I love them.”
What are the busiest times of year for you?
“The holidays in general are busier, with Passover, Memorial Day, Thanksgiving and Christmas.”
Has the economy affected your business?
“It’s slowed a little bit. But because we are in the food business, we stay afloat. We haven’t had to lay anyone off, which is a good feeling.”
Know any good pickle jokes?
“I don’t. You’ll have to talk to Doug. He can rattle off a hundred.”
Compiled by: Correspondent Richard Price
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