To the Land of Whitey Bulger
You have to debark before dawn; you have to attack well before sunrise. So, the vacation began at 4:10 a.m. Everything packed, contents verified, the dogs secured—off to LAX for an early morning flight to Boston.
Boston is just the point of departure for the real vacation—Maine. Just a night in a hotel near Logan Airport, rent a car tomorrow and begin the drive to Bar Harbor, Maine. Stop! Boston is not a passing thought, in my mind, that takes me to thoughts of Whitey Bulger.
When the kids were younger, “America’s Most Wanted” was a family hit. The kids were fascinated by the crime stories, but more so by the thought that they could encounter the “most wanted” in their daily travails, and they were ready to call-in on the “tip line.” Then came the fascinating story of Whitey Bulgar who was an “America’s Most Wanted.” He seemed complicated, faceted. A product of South Boston who plied a ruthless criminal trade of: drugs, numbers, extortion, murder. But he seemingly had a giving and passionate side exemplified by acts of giving to “Southies” who had it tough. He was dangerous, and as the crime show alluded—maybe still so—likely so, but who knew as he had dropped off the face of the earth.
Images of Whitey on “America’s Most Wanted” enhanced to project his appearance years following his disappearance had an avuncular look—a gray haired man who you would like to help carry his groceries. His girlfriend also looked like someone you would see at a strip center beauty parlor, she looked gregarious and approachable. But, oh that violent past, that callous look in his eyes. The kids did not want to think of walking around and coming upon Whitey—run for your life!
Who are these people on the plane, when I amble about on this vacation, will I be passing someone on the “lamb,” someone with a dark past? There are more Whitey’s and their moles out among us still—keep your eyes open.
You have to debark before dawn; you have to attack well before sunrise. So, the vacation began at 4:10 a.m. Everything packed, contents verified, the dogs secured—off to LAX for an early morning flight to Boston.
Boston is just the point of departure for the real vacation—Maine. Just a night in a hotel near Logan Airport, rent a car tomorrow and begin the drive to Bar Harbor, Maine. Stop! Boston is not a passing thought, in my mind, that takes me to thoughts of Whitey Bulger.
When the kids were younger, “America’s Most Wanted” was a family hit. The kids were fascinated by the crime stories, but more so by the thought that they could encounter the “most wanted” in their daily travails, and they were ready to call-in on the “tip line.” Then came the fascinating story of Whitey Bulgar who was an “America’s Most Wanted.” He seemed complicated, faceted. A product of South Boston who plied a ruthless criminal trade of: drugs, numbers, extortion, murder. But he seemingly had a giving and passionate side exemplified by acts of giving to “Southies” who had it tough. He was dangerous, and as the crime show alluded—maybe still so—likely so, but who knew as he had dropped off the face of the earth.
Images of Whitey on “America’s Most Wanted” enhanced to project his appearance years following his disappearance had an avuncular look—a gray haired man who you would like to help carry his groceries. His girlfriend also looked like someone you would see at a strip center beauty parlor, she looked gregarious and approachable. But, oh that violent past, that callous look in his eyes. The kids did not want to think of walking around and coming upon Whitey—run for your life!
Who are these people on the plane, when I amble about on this vacation, will I be passing someone on the “lamb,” someone with a dark past? There are more Whitey’s and their moles out among us still—keep your eyes open.
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