I need a favor. Today’s topic concerns things not meant for polite conversation, so can we agree to a simple word swap? In the place of terms and phrases that refer to unavoidable biological processes, I’ll insert different words, like “sunshine,” “joy,” “roses,” and “happiness.” Your cooperation is appreciated.
I arrive at Concord’s Waste Water Treatment Facility (aka, WWTF) at 7 AM, ready to delve into Concord’s happiness, to find out how we handle this happiness, and what it takes to receive, clean, test, treat and dispense of the city’s happiness, in all its forms.
Since moving here six years ago, I’ve noticed that smell, usually while driving on the highway just south of the city’s center. This odor’s become a steady feature on all O’Shea family road trips. “Yuck! What’s that smell?” one of us would remark, earning the standard response, “It’s the waste water treatment plant!” followed by a chorus of approving nods. I’ll note that using the same excuse while sitting in traffic outside Boston is not met with the same approval. Medford’s a long way from Exit 13, but you can’t blame a guy for trying.
Mike Hanscomb, WWTF’s Superintendant, greets me at the door and introduces me to Mark Fuller, the facility’s Operations Supervisor. Mark wastes no time sharing terms like “Activated Sludge Plant,” “Sequence Batch Reactor,” and “rapid dewatering process.” When he says this last phrase, he adds, “We’ll save that part for last,” and chuckles a bit. What goes on upstairs, I wonder. I don’t know sunshine from shinola.
This facility opened in 1981, processes five million gallons a day and is staffed by fifteen employees, many with long tenures here. I meet Roy Tobin, a twenty-five year veteran of the WWTF and my host at our first stop on today’s Tournament of Roses Parade.
“We’re going to the Influent building,” Roy says as we drive, a light misty rain falling on the windshield. “This is where everything starts.” I open the truck door and can smell it, an odor that crawls up my nose, over my eyes and rests like swamp gas on my brain. Roy, and his co-worker, Burt Richards, he too a long-time veteran of the business, don’t seem to notice a thing.
The Influent building is where the roses arrive, sent from pump stations across the city, and travel up three huge inclined pipes, each filled with enormous 60-foot screws, like something out of Journey to the Center of the Earth. The liquid roses churn upward into giant rectangle structures with tightly packed steel combs that remove sticks, leaves, gravel, and what Roy refers to as “rags.” Today’s the one day of the week that Roy and Burt haul everything’s that been combed out of the millions of gallons of rose-filled water for burning, leaving it devoid of anything that can’t be broken down by biology.
Back at the main building Tom Neforas, the Lab Manager, greets me. “We provide analysis to meet state and federal guidelines,” Tom says, adding details about reducing solids, bio-oxygen demands, and water quality until he’s interrupted by Kristen Noel, the Lab Technician and resident microbiologist. “We’re bug farmers,” Kristen says with a confident look. “We do what nature does, only faster,” she says as she leads us outside.
Kristen explains how their role is to foster processes to break down the happiness naturally, rather than bombard it with chemicals, with the goal of returning clean water to the river and giving clean fertilizer to local farms. Kristen speaks at a rapid clip, knowledgeable and direct. She knows a lot about Concord’s happiness, that’s for sure.
We walk towards the Bio Towers, climb the steps and peer into the tops of these two huge two-story roofless concrete boxes. Kristen explains, “These towers are like giant Petri dishes.” Countless giant sprinkler heads spew grey-brown water that cascades down over rows and rows of cedar and plastic racks. “The water makes a biofilm over the planks – and the more it builds up, the more the slime helps break down the waste.” It’s noisy as the warm water casts a humid haze around us. “Once the water leaves here, it’s one step closer to being clean enough for the river.”
Then to the Aeration Basin, which looks like a massive Jacuzzi. The water is a frothy color of charcoal and slate, a dingy milkshake coated with a covering of fist-sized bubbles. “This is the Happy Tank for microorganisms,” Kristen yells over the bubbling brew, explaining how air promotes the growth of good critters, like nematodes, but I’m too distracted by the idea that air, water and bubbles create mist and maybe that’s not the rain I’m feeling against my skin.
In a hut near the river, Kristen samples the water, measuring its chlorine levels. She explains that this entire waste water process started after the Clean Water Act of 1972. “Before that law passed, waste water went right into the river,” she says, a look of puzzled defiance in her eyes.
Mark meets up with us, and we head to the two secondary clarifying pools to take core samples of their bottom “blankets.” While the huge rotating arm makes its slow sweep across the murky water, Mark tutors me in lagoon systems, parts per million and refers to himself as a “Used Food Engineer.” He mentions upstairs again, and he and Kristen laugh.
We’re standing on a gangplank over the water, only a metal guardrail separating me from years of therapy. Mark hoists a long plastic tube down into the water, hits bottom, raises the pole and empties the contents into a jug. We need a sample from the second pool, and Mark hands me the pole. I do what he did, feel for the pole to reach bottom and bring it up, but before I can empty it, the pole wavers. I look like a mime with an imaginary fish on my hook. I brace myself against the railing, gain control, and empty the cloudy water into the bucket. I try ignoring the drops of water that land on my face and neck.
After we test the pools’ contents back in the lab, Mark asks, “Are you ready to head upstairs?” Tom chimes in, “We’ll give you an honorary degree if you survive the Sludge Room!” Ok, now I’m worried about upstairs.
We’re outside again, and Mark reaches down towards a giant steel plate in the ground, behind the main building. “This is the Sludge Holding Tank.” I look down and take a massive whiff. Whatever hideous odors I’ve experienced in my life were like the sweet smell of a baby’s blanket compared to what I just inhaled. But on we walk. Mark’s determined to show me what upstairs is all about. I’m not sharing his enthusiasm.
“This is the Sludge Dewatering Process. We take the solids left in the tanks, send them here and turn them into Class A biosolids.” Mark opens the door and I’m hit with a stench most foul, my mind filling with words like putrid, fetid, rank, disgusting, and this was a huge mistake. He shows me how solids are mixed with polymers, squeezed dry, doused with lime, heated, pasteurized and dumped into a waiting truck. I move my head from side to side, seeking an air pocket of relief, but agitating the air only makes it worse. Mark points to the presses where the solids are churned and kneaded before they head to the ovens, and I want my mommy and nose plugs. Mark continues, but all I can think of is about the odors assaulting my soul. I’ve smelled joy before but never like this – this is serious joy, like a joy-filled laser penetrating my skull, embossing a permanent olfactory impression no amount of Febreze can ever erase.
We move down to the loading bay as a truck drives off with a load of freshly pasteurized biosolids, headed for a farm in Gilford. “Farmers use the biosolids on cornfields, but only for cattle corn. We could use it on corn that we eat, but the ‘ick’ factor is still too much for us to do that,” Mark explains. Right now my entire world is ick to the factor of 100. And the idea that cows eat biosolid-laced corn to make milk, and that we drink the milk from these cows is both repulsive and sensible to me. I’ll never think of cheese the same way again.
It’s good to know about places like this, and an occasional whiff of what goes on here is a nice reminder that there are people who take care of things we’d rather not talk about, and we’re lucky they do. And if there’s one thing I learned after spending a day with my new friends on Hall Street, it’s that everyone’s sunshine stinks, no matter what we think about ourselves.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
FSP- Round Two!
I'm happy to report that the Favorite Song Project is a success. Three weeks ago I shared my quest for that perfect list of my favorite songs and asked readers to share their favorites. The response, both locally and from far away, has been impressive. From Seattle to Sun Valley, from Vermont to Virginia, and from New York to North Carolina, with lots of places in between, you shared your favorite songs.
Some wrote of inner turmoil. Carmine, from Concord, wrote, "Not happy with this list. Painful, and yet therapeutic." Big Star's "Back of a Car" made his list. Don, my long-time friend and true music snob, wrote, "This is the 'Schindler's List' of songs - it's a 'good' list but many other good songs got left off, and that hurts me." Don included gems from Elvis Costello, Luna and the Velvet Underground, after first sharing a list of '80's hair bands that would not appear on his list.
Tom from Connecticut wrote, "To describe this task as difficult is an understatement," then provided a list with detailed descriptions, like, "La "Villa Strangiato" by Rush. "Geek rock as good as it gets. Put this on in your car and you'll be doing 90 before you realize it."
People chose songs like "Netherlands" by Dan Fogelberg, "We're All Alone," by Rita Coolidge, and Sonny Rollins' "St. Thomas." Lists included Etta James, The Stooges, John Prine, Johnny Cash, Jimi Hendrix, Prince, The Pogues and The Beatles, to name a fraction. Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" made the most lists, and kudos to the young woman from Seattle who included "Video Killed the Radio Star," by The Buggles.
Many joined the Favorite Song Project on Facebook (103 members and counting), where they post lists, share lyrics, video clips and comments on each other's song choices.
The best response came from William Rogers, "81 years young," from Allenstown, New Hampshire. William wrote me an eight-page letter about his favorite songs. "I read your article and I found it extremely interesting, but narrowly centered on young people." He wrote eloquently about his love of Big Band Music, like Glenn Miller's "Moonlight Serenade," "Let's Dance," by Benny Goodman and "Green Eyes" by Jimmy Dorsey. His letter is an education in Jitterbugging, classic singers and the local Big Band hot spots back in the day. So you to, Mr. Rogers and to everyone else who shared your favorite songs, thank you and keep those lists coming!
Some wrote of inner turmoil. Carmine, from Concord, wrote, "Not happy with this list. Painful, and yet therapeutic." Big Star's "Back of a Car" made his list. Don, my long-time friend and true music snob, wrote, "This is the 'Schindler's List' of songs - it's a 'good' list but many other good songs got left off, and that hurts me." Don included gems from Elvis Costello, Luna and the Velvet Underground, after first sharing a list of '80's hair bands that would not appear on his list.
Tom from Connecticut wrote, "To describe this task as difficult is an understatement," then provided a list with detailed descriptions, like, "La "Villa Strangiato" by Rush. "Geek rock as good as it gets. Put this on in your car and you'll be doing 90 before you realize it."
People chose songs like "Netherlands" by Dan Fogelberg, "We're All Alone," by Rita Coolidge, and Sonny Rollins' "St. Thomas." Lists included Etta James, The Stooges, John Prine, Johnny Cash, Jimi Hendrix, Prince, The Pogues and The Beatles, to name a fraction. Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" made the most lists, and kudos to the young woman from Seattle who included "Video Killed the Radio Star," by The Buggles.
Many joined the Favorite Song Project on Facebook (103 members and counting), where they post lists, share lyrics, video clips and comments on each other's song choices.
The best response came from William Rogers, "81 years young," from Allenstown, New Hampshire. William wrote me an eight-page letter about his favorite songs. "I read your article and I found it extremely interesting, but narrowly centered on young people." He wrote eloquently about his love of Big Band Music, like Glenn Miller's "Moonlight Serenade," "Let's Dance," by Benny Goodman and "Green Eyes" by Jimmy Dorsey. His letter is an education in Jitterbugging, classic singers and the local Big Band hot spots back in the day. So you to, Mr. Rogers and to everyone else who shared your favorite songs, thank you and keep those lists coming!
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Favorite Song Project
Got a favorite song? Better yet, got fifteen? It’s been more than thirty years, but I think I finally have my list. Ever since I was a young boy, I’ve tried to create my list of favorite songs. For a long time, I searched for the definitive song – that one song I could claim as my favorite - the one that played in my head in a constant loop of self-reassurance, the soundtrack for my life. This song, I would tell myself – this song is me!
I mulled it over incessantly – in my room listening to records, riding the bus to school, while my friends and I debated Lennon versus McCartney, whether Jim Morrison was alive and selling burritos from the trunk of his car at Dead shows, or how Run DMC sold out the day they let Steven Tyler into the recording studio. I first chose a Beatles song (“I Feel Fine”), then the Doors (“The Soft Parade”), then moved to “The Lemon Song,” by Led Zeppelin until, while listening to the record in my friend’s bedroom, his mom walked in, heard the lyrics, turned the record player off and sent me home in shame. Her concern was that Robert Plant, while exhorting the baby in the song to squeeze his lemon, was apparently referring neither to an infant nor citrus fruit.
Then I discovered The Clash, The Ramones, Joe Jackson and The Jam. It’s tough to pick a favorite when they’re all less than two minutes long. On I searched, spending much of my formative years listening in vain for my favorite song. Flirtations with Foreigner, Frank Sinatra, Linda Ronstadt, Talking Heads, Devo, Stevie Ray Vaughn and Hank Williams yielded no success. Even month-long obsessions with Patsy Cline, Stevie Nicks and Joni Mitchell left me no closer.
I now know choosing just one song is a fool’s errand. I’ve dedicated a better part of my life trying to craft that one perfect collection of my favorite songs – the mix partygoers would hear next to the keg, nodding subtle approvals to each other over the din of the bass and drums, or the collection my friends would play at my funeral, or as the soundtrack for the video tribute charities would commission in my honor for all the nice stuff I did for sea birds and trees. Cue the video of me nursing diseased conifers back to health as Cheap Trick’s “Dream Police” fades into Boston’s “More Than a Feeling,” while I scrub oil off a pelican’s soiled beak. And just before the screen fades to black, I shed my hazmat coveralls and look off across the calm sea while Hall and Oates’ “Your Kiss Is On My List” plays softly in the background.
The truth is I made those mixes with the hope others would hear them and judge me – that somehow an O’Shea Original Mix would show up backstage in the hands of ZZ Top or the surviving members of The Who. They’d hear it and send forth their roadie minions to locate the true genius who captured the perfect combination of songs, showering me with praise, front row seats and a black concert tee shirt for free. Alas, roadies don’t ring my house, and my music snob friend Don still reminds me of the mix I shared with him ten summers ago that had the temerity to include Skid Row, Journey and Ratt songs. Our friendship’s never been the same since he learned I knew all the words to “I Remember You.”
Once I dismissed the idea of happiness through others’ approval, I found the path to success in this life-long quest. The songs I’ll choose will be my favorites, and they’ll tell a story about me and no one else. I’m not alone in this idea, and to prove it, I’ve asked dozens of friends to share their favorite songs with me. What an education! I have lists upon lists - everything from U2’s “One” to Jerry Vale’s “Old Cape Cod,” to “Paradise City” by Guns N Roses to “Islands in the Stream” by Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton to the Sex Pistols’ “God Save the Queen.”
I’ve learned that an ex-Marine named Rufus loves “I Like My Women on the Trashy Side,” that Roberta Flack still has one big fan in Vermont, and that the Rolling Stones make most lists but the Beatles make almost none! I found out that my buddy Ed - the guy who once swore Kiss was the greatest band of all time - has refined tastes that run from John Prine to Graham Parsons and Tom Waits, but “Love Gun” is nowhere to be seen. And I know my pal Don won’t accept the idea that .38 Special’s “Hold on Loosely” could be on anyone’s favorite list. “There’s something wrong with you if you put it on your list,” he warned me, a look of crazy lurking behind his music-snob eyes.
“Asking to pick a favorite song is like asking to pick a favorite brother,” wrote my second favorite brother Mike. He had some trouble with this assignment because, “You can really only pick your final list if you stop listening to music or just before you croak.” He then shared his top fifteen and did a nice job of combining Bach, The Bogmen, Radiohead and The Ventures into an eclectic sonic stew.
So today I launch the Favorite Song Project, an effort to share our favorite songs, to remember why we love them, and to tell each other what makes them our favorites. The Favorite Song Project, or FSP, is simple. Write down your favorite songs, narrow them to fifteen and share them – you can share with me, your buddies, your family, your co-workers, or complete strangers. Nothing says, “Understand me for who I really am” by baring your soul through fifteen song titles that help define you. Sure, your mother-in-law may not know a crunk cup from a sitz bath, but that’s OK – if Lil’ John’s opus “Get Low” is on your list, then pass the crunk juice and write it down!
We don’t judge in the FSP. If your top songs include the chorale version of Psalm 87 as sung by the Gelding, Indiana Men’s Choir, go ahead and write it down, even if the next guy’s favorite song is “Jesus Christ Pose” by Soundgarden. There are no bad songs or bad choices in the FSP – except for a cappella Billy Joel songs. The FSP draws the line at “For the Longest Time.”
So join the FSP and share your favorites with others. You can email them to the project’s mailbox (favoritesongproject@gmail.com) or you can join the new Favorite Song Project group on Facebook.
So what’s a favorite? It’s a song that makes you smile, cry or remember a time you laughed so hard your stomach hurt. A favorite song is one that reminds you to call a friend from grade school, hoist another beer or brew a second cup of tea, the ones that have you wondering what happened to that girlfriend from eleventh grade, the one who dumped you because you loved the Stray Cats more than her. My favorite songs are the ones that make me feel alive. They set a groove, move me, ease my mind and remind me how much love, hate, pleasure and pain there is in the world. My favorite songs help me make sense of my life, in all its good and bad.
So give it some thought – post your fifteen favorite songs on Facebook (search on “Favorite Song Project”), or send an email to favoritesongproject@gmail.com, or just write them down and listen to them. It’s a good thing to feel alive. Cue the music.
Tim’s Favorite Songs, in no particular order
Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright – Mike Ness
Blank Generation – Richard Hell and the Voidoids
Rosalita – Bruce Springsteen
Turn It On, Turn It Up, Turn Me Loose – Dwight Yoakam
Let It Bleed – The Rolling Stones
The Pretender – Jackson Browne
English Civil War – The Clash
Buick City Complex – The Old 97’s
Won’t Get Fooled Again – The Who
The Seed 2.0 – The Roots
Custard Pie – Led Zeppelin
Me and Bobby McGee – Janis Joplin
Fly Me to the Moon – Frank Sinatra
I Call Your Name – The Beatles
What’s So Funny ‘bout Peace, Love and Understanding – Elvis Costello
I mulled it over incessantly – in my room listening to records, riding the bus to school, while my friends and I debated Lennon versus McCartney, whether Jim Morrison was alive and selling burritos from the trunk of his car at Dead shows, or how Run DMC sold out the day they let Steven Tyler into the recording studio. I first chose a Beatles song (“I Feel Fine”), then the Doors (“The Soft Parade”), then moved to “The Lemon Song,” by Led Zeppelin until, while listening to the record in my friend’s bedroom, his mom walked in, heard the lyrics, turned the record player off and sent me home in shame. Her concern was that Robert Plant, while exhorting the baby in the song to squeeze his lemon, was apparently referring neither to an infant nor citrus fruit.
Then I discovered The Clash, The Ramones, Joe Jackson and The Jam. It’s tough to pick a favorite when they’re all less than two minutes long. On I searched, spending much of my formative years listening in vain for my favorite song. Flirtations with Foreigner, Frank Sinatra, Linda Ronstadt, Talking Heads, Devo, Stevie Ray Vaughn and Hank Williams yielded no success. Even month-long obsessions with Patsy Cline, Stevie Nicks and Joni Mitchell left me no closer.
I now know choosing just one song is a fool’s errand. I’ve dedicated a better part of my life trying to craft that one perfect collection of my favorite songs – the mix partygoers would hear next to the keg, nodding subtle approvals to each other over the din of the bass and drums, or the collection my friends would play at my funeral, or as the soundtrack for the video tribute charities would commission in my honor for all the nice stuff I did for sea birds and trees. Cue the video of me nursing diseased conifers back to health as Cheap Trick’s “Dream Police” fades into Boston’s “More Than a Feeling,” while I scrub oil off a pelican’s soiled beak. And just before the screen fades to black, I shed my hazmat coveralls and look off across the calm sea while Hall and Oates’ “Your Kiss Is On My List” plays softly in the background.
The truth is I made those mixes with the hope others would hear them and judge me – that somehow an O’Shea Original Mix would show up backstage in the hands of ZZ Top or the surviving members of The Who. They’d hear it and send forth their roadie minions to locate the true genius who captured the perfect combination of songs, showering me with praise, front row seats and a black concert tee shirt for free. Alas, roadies don’t ring my house, and my music snob friend Don still reminds me of the mix I shared with him ten summers ago that had the temerity to include Skid Row, Journey and Ratt songs. Our friendship’s never been the same since he learned I knew all the words to “I Remember You.”
Once I dismissed the idea of happiness through others’ approval, I found the path to success in this life-long quest. The songs I’ll choose will be my favorites, and they’ll tell a story about me and no one else. I’m not alone in this idea, and to prove it, I’ve asked dozens of friends to share their favorite songs with me. What an education! I have lists upon lists - everything from U2’s “One” to Jerry Vale’s “Old Cape Cod,” to “Paradise City” by Guns N Roses to “Islands in the Stream” by Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton to the Sex Pistols’ “God Save the Queen.”
I’ve learned that an ex-Marine named Rufus loves “I Like My Women on the Trashy Side,” that Roberta Flack still has one big fan in Vermont, and that the Rolling Stones make most lists but the Beatles make almost none! I found out that my buddy Ed - the guy who once swore Kiss was the greatest band of all time - has refined tastes that run from John Prine to Graham Parsons and Tom Waits, but “Love Gun” is nowhere to be seen. And I know my pal Don won’t accept the idea that .38 Special’s “Hold on Loosely” could be on anyone’s favorite list. “There’s something wrong with you if you put it on your list,” he warned me, a look of crazy lurking behind his music-snob eyes.
“Asking to pick a favorite song is like asking to pick a favorite brother,” wrote my second favorite brother Mike. He had some trouble with this assignment because, “You can really only pick your final list if you stop listening to music or just before you croak.” He then shared his top fifteen and did a nice job of combining Bach, The Bogmen, Radiohead and The Ventures into an eclectic sonic stew.
So today I launch the Favorite Song Project, an effort to share our favorite songs, to remember why we love them, and to tell each other what makes them our favorites. The Favorite Song Project, or FSP, is simple. Write down your favorite songs, narrow them to fifteen and share them – you can share with me, your buddies, your family, your co-workers, or complete strangers. Nothing says, “Understand me for who I really am” by baring your soul through fifteen song titles that help define you. Sure, your mother-in-law may not know a crunk cup from a sitz bath, but that’s OK – if Lil’ John’s opus “Get Low” is on your list, then pass the crunk juice and write it down!
We don’t judge in the FSP. If your top songs include the chorale version of Psalm 87 as sung by the Gelding, Indiana Men’s Choir, go ahead and write it down, even if the next guy’s favorite song is “Jesus Christ Pose” by Soundgarden. There are no bad songs or bad choices in the FSP – except for a cappella Billy Joel songs. The FSP draws the line at “For the Longest Time.”
So join the FSP and share your favorites with others. You can email them to the project’s mailbox (favoritesongproject@gmail.com) or you can join the new Favorite Song Project group on Facebook.
So what’s a favorite? It’s a song that makes you smile, cry or remember a time you laughed so hard your stomach hurt. A favorite song is one that reminds you to call a friend from grade school, hoist another beer or brew a second cup of tea, the ones that have you wondering what happened to that girlfriend from eleventh grade, the one who dumped you because you loved the Stray Cats more than her. My favorite songs are the ones that make me feel alive. They set a groove, move me, ease my mind and remind me how much love, hate, pleasure and pain there is in the world. My favorite songs help me make sense of my life, in all its good and bad.
So give it some thought – post your fifteen favorite songs on Facebook (search on “Favorite Song Project”), or send an email to favoritesongproject@gmail.com, or just write them down and listen to them. It’s a good thing to feel alive. Cue the music.
Tim’s Favorite Songs, in no particular order
Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright – Mike Ness
Blank Generation – Richard Hell and the Voidoids
Rosalita – Bruce Springsteen
Turn It On, Turn It Up, Turn Me Loose – Dwight Yoakam
Let It Bleed – The Rolling Stones
The Pretender – Jackson Browne
English Civil War – The Clash
Buick City Complex – The Old 97’s
Won’t Get Fooled Again – The Who
The Seed 2.0 – The Roots
Custard Pie – Led Zeppelin
Me and Bobby McGee – Janis Joplin
Fly Me to the Moon – Frank Sinatra
I Call Your Name – The Beatles
What’s So Funny ‘bout Peace, Love and Understanding – Elvis Costello
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