Paris for the Weekend • 1996

I had just completed the drawings on another gunite in-ground swimming pool project. 1181 is how many I would design and build in the 29 years of my so-called career. Thirty years being an even number -- “I am not into that completion thing.” (Words from “The Big Chill,” spoken by William Hurt.)

Did you know that Kevin Costner’s part was written out of the movie? On a vacation to Savannah and Charleston, we tour the town of Beaufort, South Carolina with friends. Sandy comments, “This looks like where ‘The Big Chill’ was filmed.” Yah, right! On the next block there stood the house. We Yankees were treated better in Paris, the one in France, than here in Beaufort. However all it took to get on the United States Marine Corps Training Center at Parris Island was a simple verbal request of “Permission to come aboard, Sir.” Funny. It is after 911. You cannot get a vehicle anywhere near the National Guard building in Braintree, Massachusetts, and with no one there during the week, but you can drive right on board to a place that holds thousands of Jar Heads. I was a United States Navy SeaBee so I can lovingly call you a JarHead. Because of us you could drink your beer cold all around the world. Where the %*&$ was I? Oh yah, Paris.

It is 9:30 p.m. in the middle of the week. Sandy is still working at her business at Alexandra’s European Skin Care Salon. For both of us, another super-long day. Owning your own business is a wonderful thing. One of Sandy’s regulars says, “Oh I know how you came up with that name. Your husband’s name is Alex and your name is Sandra.” Good guess! Excellent guess! Alexandra is Sandy’s baptismal name. It is that simple.

My business phone rings. It is Janis, our travel agent. She never calls me in the evening. She says, “It will be your wife’s 50th birthday soon. Did you make any plans?” No! Then she says, “Paris for the weekend?”

We are married 41 years as I write this. In that time we have continually pulled off surprise parties on each other. I guess we must not be too bright. I say Yes to Paris for the Weekend. Janis and John will come along too.



The three of us decide to keep the destination a secret from Sandy. This will be our first trip to Europe. Pack for the same weather as Boston. Leave your bathing suit at home. It will be city, not country, and bring really good walking shoes. No, you will not need sunscreen.



Janis only travels First Class. We wait at the Admirals Club at American Airlines for the call to our gate for Orly. Every time they announce a flight, Janis talks over it so Sandy can’t hear the destination. Once we are on board they announce that our flight to France from Boston will take about 6 and ½ hours. Sandy is thrilled.



We buckle up for the evening flight. Two hours out above the Atlantic -- I think it’s the Atlantic -- the Captain comes on over the speaker and says, “We have a medical emergency on board and will be returning to Boston.” This is certainly a first for us and even a first for Janis.

Finally, after a turn around back to Boston, we land in France. John grabs a Mercedes cab and Janis shouts, “Follow us!” It is a little bit like the “Pink Panther” movie. “Follow that cab please.” They have all the travel plans. I don’t even remember what hotel we are staying at. I had to keep the secret destination a secret, remember?

We arrive at the hotel right behind them. Janis orders us to go to our room but be back down in twenty minutes. We are walking to the Louvre to beat jet lag. We reply, “Ma’am yes Ma’am!”

The Bacons and the Hansens in Paris.


Janis knows her stuff. Even though the Louvre has no Mexican/Mayan or American Southwest exhibits, it’s not bad.






























Her only favor is for us to dine with them at the best restaurant in Paris, called La Serre. Hey! This place is even better than Pedrin’s Dairy Bar on the Curran Highway in Adams. It seems there is a different waiter for each course. To really overwhelm you, the roof opens to the Paris starry sky every once in a while. What the hell am I suppose to do with all this silverware? Sandy excuses herself to go to the ladies room and a waiter shows her to the elevator and rides with her to the restroom, where a woman takes over, even opening the bathroom doors for her. Here’s where the service started sliding. I noticed the three bottles of wine that we drank consistently were covered in dust. I would never lie to you, mi amor. Two waiters deliver the bill. I guess it took two in case someone fainted. The bill was $700 U.S. Janis and John said “Happy Birthday Sandy!” and grabbed it. Wow! Thank you so much.

The next morning Sandy and I get an early start and climb aboard the Metro. The train and a bus will get us across the Seine and over to the town that Nicholas Bachand departed from on his way to French Canada in 1646. Bachand is my real last name, as you probably know by now. He travels down the St. Lawrence River to Quebec City in a wooden French Army ship. It had sails, you know what I mean. Judy Collins sang the song about Suzanne taking you down to a boat by the river where she serves you tea and oranges that come all the way from China. She is referring to the Saint Lawrence. (Leonard Cohen wrote it. He is touring Europe right now. Sandy and I are big fans. Kezia took us to see him at Berklee School of Music on Mass. Ave years ago. I hope he comes to Boston again soon.) Oh! Hello. Well, back in 1977 I hired Mrs. John Coderre of Ottawa, Ontario, Canada to help me find a missing relative. Too early for computers. Here is the sentence from Mrs Coderre -- written on August 28th in 1977 -- that got me to come to the town of Saint Cloud, France (St. Clude). “If Frank Bacon were of French origin another possibility is that his name was originally Bachand, which is pronounced “BACK-ON (the “D “ being silent, and the “N” given a nasal sound). Possibly the name was anglicized to BACON when he moved to the United States of America. There were a number of Bachand families living in the region of St. Hyacinthe County.” This turned out to be true and I finally found Charles Frank Bacon, rather Mrs. Coderre did, and the flood gates opened all the way back to 1646.

Paroisse de Saint-Cloud.


Sandy and I find the only Catholic church in town. Nicholas must have worshipped here. I leave a note on a donation slip in English asking for additional information on Nicholas Bachand. I fill it with francs for more info that will lead me to Frank -- sorry I had to do that. A year later a letter arrives from Paroisse De Saint-Cloud France. It says simply that,

“all the archives of Catholicism were destroyed during the French Revolution of 1789, and thanks for the francs.”

Francois – Xavier Challamel
Cure- Doyen

Saint Cloud is built into a hill overlooking the Seine. I think they mean the river. It starts to rain. Well it IS Paris, and it IS April. We have no umbrella. I reach into a trash can to get newspapers to use to keep the rain off and find a discarded umbrella with only half a handle. It opens and it keeps us dry for the rest of the walking, self-guided, arm-in-arm tour. We still have it. It brought us luck and we pack it for every trip to follow.

Bob in Saint-Cloud.


Hey! Guess what? You can see Notre Dame from here. The cathedral was built 1,000 years ago, so only 332 years ago the Bachands must have visited it. You think? The old travel ad said, “Walk the streets your grandparents walked,” and I did. Except it was my great, great, great, great Grandparents.















Did I mention that you can see the Eiffel tower from here also? The Chicago planners of the 1893 Exposition, World’s Fair, Chicago -- it’s in Illinois -- wanted something to be built bigger, taller and more spectacular than Eiffel’s Tower from the previous World’s Fair of Paris, but no one came forward except George Eiffel with a plan. But Americans wanted an American to build something. Then along came Mr. Ferris.

Mr. Ferris’s double wheel held 2,000 people for one ride -- I am not sure how many revolutions. But I will get back to you on that via Bob Mail. Each cabin held 60 people. Each cabin was the size of a railroad car. So do you want to know who rode it? Rain-In The-Face, a Sioux Chief (pictured below).



He killed Tom Custer, George’s brother, at the Little Big Horn disturbance. Annie Oakley, Bill. (Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show was playing right next door. They had just returned from a European tour. They performed 318 times with the average crowd being 12,000 people at Chicago. And then there was the day Buffalo Bill invited all the children to his Wild West show FOR FREE, train ride, all the ice cream and candy you could eat. Free admission. And you want me to read fiction? No, I am not exaggerating. Bill broke a record that day for his show. 15,000 people showed up during an awful recession. Go and see the Buffalo Bill Museum in Cody, Wyoming. It is fantastic. Read a book about him.)

Also aboard Ferris’s Wheel were Tom Edison, Diamond Jim Brady, Frederick Law Olmstead (designer of Central Park and the Emerald Necklace around Boston), Bill Clinton, James J. Corbett -- he had recently won a fight over John L. Sullivan, Helen Keller, a Princeton professor named Woodrow Wilson, Scott Joplin, Teddy Roosevelt, Philip Armour the meat king, and Clarence Darrow to name a few.

Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) spent 11 days in a nearby hotel, very ill, and never saw the Fair. In Hartford, Connecticut he lived next door to Harriet Beecher Stow. Uncle Tom’s Cabin. I know this to be true because I went there once. You don’t even care about that, do you? While we are on the subject, Why do you always pull just a little over the painted STOP line at traffic lights? You make me crazy. Anyway. In the ranks of the workers was a carpenter/furniture maker who would one day tell his son Walter all about the building of the World’s Fair at Chicago. What was his name? Oh yah, Elias Disney.

About the Fair (Exposition) 1893. Live music by an orchestra in New York was transmitted to the fair by long distance telephone. Moving pictures were showed on Edison’s Kinescope. The first zipper. Around 1966, the United States Navy tried to put a zipper in place of the usual 13 buttons (13 original states) on a U.S.N. sailor’s pants, but loose women around the world complained and the 13 buttons came back. Sailors referred to the buttons as 13 chances for a girl to say no. HEY! That is how I heard it. Besides, you can’t make some thing like that up. The first ever all-electric kitchen, which included an electric dishwasher. This was 1893. Are you listening? A box purporting to contain EVERYTHING you would need to make pancakes (Aunt Jemima). That is really a beautiful name, isn’t it? An oddly-flavored gum called Juicy Fruit, and caramel-covered popcorn named Cracker Jack. A new cereal, Shredded Wheat, seemed unlikely to succeed – “shredded doormat” some people called it. But a new beer did well, winning the top award. Forever afterward its brewer called it Pabst BLUE RIBBON Beer. Daniel Burnham, Director of Works said, “Make no little plans; they have no magic to stir men’s blood”.

“Hello ! I must be going.” - Groucho Marks. I am back. Paris, France 1996. There is a song that I just might put on my next Bob’s World CD called “Paris in a Day.” Only an American would try to see Paris in a day.



After our Saint Cloud marathon, we returned to the hotel. The maitre’de asked how our day went. We said, “WONDERFUL!” You know, we were warned about how the French people might treat us. But in fact they treated us very well. To which he replied, “Monsieur, Madame, We will never forget World War Two.”



A month passes. Mrs. Ellison of Duxbury is Sandy’s, I mean Alexandra’s, next client. “Sandy,” she says, “How was Paris? You know one of my son in laws is a pilot for American Airlines and recently his flight to Paris was turned around because of a medical emergency.” In 21years of flying that route, it had never happened to him.

I love Paris in the springtime.
Robert Bachand, Augusto 2008

Je t’aime, Je t’aime. I’ll bet Roy Rogers never said that to Dale Evans.

Only One Mile to Go and You're Looking Good

By Bob Bacon, 1978






Sunday morning . . . 7:00 a.m. . . . no breakfast today except for a glass of fruit juice.

A half hour away in Staten Island, runners are gathering in great numbers. The first of many buses left Manhattan at 5:30 a.m. bound for the Verrazano-Narrows (Saturday Night Fever) Bridge. There are over twelve thousand people running in this New York City Marathon ranging from eight years of age to women and mostly men aged from early twenties to forty, and many over forty. World class and rookies. By noticing all the different names on the runners' shirts, I get the indication that there are many track clubs represented. One runner, dressed as Superman (cape and all) announces "Due to lack of interest, this race has been called off!"

In comparison, the Boston Marathon is the most prestigious, but New York is the largest foot race ever held. Forty countries and all fifty states are represented here.



Time: 10:00 a.m. . . . An Army band leads us to the starting line on the bridge. Marathon experienced males go to the top level, right side, while women and rookie males start on the left side. It's a beautiful sunshiny day . . . too beautiful for a marathoner. Fifty degrees and drizzle would be perfect racing weather. At 10:15 it's already 70 degrees. Most of us have trained in 50-60 degree weather while some people ran 30 miles per week and others 150 miles per week. Everyone seems pretty relaxed considering what is about to happen. National and local television cameras are everywhere. I've counted 13 helicopters in the air, while all around me it's like Old Home Week; everyone shaking hands and wishing each other well. Mel (one of the joggers) and I become instant friends. He's been doing about the same mileage per week and we have a lot in common. We've decided to run together.

"BANG" . . . the cannon goes off . . . cheers go up and 24,000 feet are on their way to Central Park . . . 26 miles and 385 yards away. There are now eight lanes full of runners. "What a view from this bridge."

First of the five boroughs is Brooklyn, Mel's hometown. He's lived here for 31 years, outside of a tour in Vietnam. We are off the bridge and onto a five-mile stretch on Fourth Avenue. Someone shouts, "Let's hear it for Brooklyn," and a roar goes up. There is a lot of nervous chatter the first few miles as people are setting in. It's a long race to start off too quickly. We have a good pace going as my partner has a watch and we figure we are doing eight-minute miles. Not a bad pace for us, but the leaders would probably fall asleep! The Brooklyn people are out today six or seven deep all along Fourth Avenue. The women runners, of which there are around 1300 this race, up 300% from last year, are getting most of the attention.

THE THREE MILE MARK . . . We'd better grab a cup of water at this first water station. The running magazines say drink before you feel you need it.

FOUR MILES OUT . . . I'm feeling fine and really enjoying the scenery around us. The neighborhood kids are touching us as we go by and asking up to "Give them five" as if we were someone important.

SIX MILES . . . Another oasis. I'm glad I practiced running and drinking. A spectator yells, "Only twenty more miles to go!" I notice the talking has died down and full attention is now being paid to the race. I see Rocco's Youth Center. Last year they had stereo speakers hanging out of the windows, playing "Rocky's Theme."

Still in Brooklyn, Gowanus Park section. It's here that George Washington's first engagement of the revolution was fought. It's hard to believe, to see it now.

"We're crossing Flatbush Avenue." Mel sounds like a tour guide. "There's the 1908 Brooklyn Academy of Music. Enrico Caruso sang here."

WILLIAMSBURG . . . ABOUT TEN MILES INTO THE RACE. Now I see my family strategically stationed. All I need is a little Vaseline for my foot as I feel a blister coming. Mel and I still feel good but it's getting hot. We discuss throwing our shirts away but decide if soaked down at the next water station, they will keep us cool.

A SPECTATOR SHOUTS: "BILL ROGERS HAS JUST CROSSED THE FINISH LINE" . . . and here we are, halfway.

All along the route, spectators are terrific, passing out water, ice cubes, fruit and encouragement. It's fun reading the runners' t-shirts. FATHER OF EIGHT . . . DEAF PERSON . . . RUN ALL DAY, DANCE ALL NIGHT . . . IF YOU'RE BEHIND ME, YOU'RE SLOW.

THIRTEEN MILES . . . Up ahead I can see a group of Hasidic Jews dressed in fur hats and black clothes. This is a male-dominated community right out of the 18th century. Now the water stations are more eagerly awaited, at which point, instead of one cup for the mouth, it's also one poured over the head.

I've heard of the infamous "WALL," when a runner runs out of energy, usually about 20 miles into the race. Mel says, "If he's going too slow, for me to take the pace." (Little does he know that I'm starting to fade.)

TWO MILES LATER . . .I tell Mel to go ahead and don't wait for me because I'm fading fast.

FIFTEEN MILES OUT . . . It is HOT. I take my shirt off and tie it around my neck. A mile later I'll throw it into a dumpster along the route. Some people are starting to pass me now. Luckily, the Queensboro Bridge is at the end of the 16 miles. The bridge is carpeted for us with blue carpet, about four feet wide. Someone next to me says the Queensboro Bridge is New York's answer to Boston's Heartbreak Hill. I agree with him!

My family and I were to rendezvous here, but in the pack of 12,000 runners, I miss them. Maybe they didn't recognize me. I no longer have my shirt on and my running number (6619) is pinned to my shorts. I can feel my left foot wearing badly and I've missed my 16-mile sock and shoe change.

For the first time I think about quitting, but quickly dispel it. I've had a few training runs of 20 miles plus 10 miles a day for three months, but the heat is taking its toll. Runners are starting to drop out now. I've trained for one year for this race, in snow and rain, and I can't quit now.

EAST HARLEM AND FIRST AVENUE . . .AS FAR AS YOU CAN SEE AHEAD, THERE ARE RUNNERS. The fire hydrants are open and if you want, you can cool off, but if you get your feet wet, you'll develop blisters al the sooner.

More and more runners dropping out, while spectators are yelling, "You're looking good," even if you're not.

"KEEP GOING BABY" . . . "WELCOME TO HARLEM" . . . There's no discrimination here. The people are clapping and yelling for everyone. It seems as though First Avenue will never end.

NINETEEN MILES . . . "LEGS, DON'T FAIL ME NOW . . . My family is to meet me at the 20-mile marker so I'll take a quick shower in the next hydrant. My feet are soaked now but dry shoes await me ahead.

TWENTY-ONE MILES . . . "MISSED THEM AGAIN." I will learn later that they did not see me at Queensboro and waited an extra hour, leaving no time to get to the 20-mile marker. Great! Now I have a "side stitch" (which is a pain in the side from not breathing properly). I try to walk it off but it doesn't work. However, two miles later it will disappear.

TWENTY-THREE MILES AND CENTRAL PARK . . . It hurts to pick my legs up. The race resembles a full-scale retreat. More often now you come upon a body sprawled in the street. The 600 police stationed at the 300 intersections have their work cut out for them today. Ambulance sirens are wailing all over the area. I hope my wife isn't worried.

SHOUTS: "YOU'RE IN THE PARK. NOW YOU'VE GOT IT MADE" . . . "ONLY THREE MORE MILES" . . . "THIS IS THE LAST HILL."

A hill, no matter how small, when met at 23 miles, is a problem. The course map lists it as "a gentle rolling hill." . . . Many people including myself walk to the crest and heading downhill, try to pick up the pace once more. The good runners are probably showered and on their way home by now. I only hope the finish line is still there when I arrive.

"ONLY TWO MORE MILES" . . . "YOU'VE GOT IT MADE" . . . Now, for the first time, you know you have. Then, after what seems like a mile, you come upon the 24th mile marker. Seems the "24th mile marker" that someone said you just finished was only the 23rd. Very disappointing. There are runners all over, some limping and others sitting or lying next to the road.

FINALLY . . . YOU SEE THE FINISH LINE . . .AND, IT'S ALL DOWNHILL . . . People are lining the last mile, 10-15 thick. Somehow, I manage a burst of speed and sprint to the finish. Above the finish line there is a digital clock that records your time. For me, it's 4 hours and 39 minutes. Terrible by marathon standards.

We are shuffled through three separate finish lines where our time is recorded. I wonder how Mel made out as his stress fracture was bothering him at thirteen miles.

At the end of the lane we are wrapped in a blanket resembling aluminum foil to keep us warm. An official looks me square in the eye and asks me if I feel alright. Each finisher is given a medal and a cold drink. Everyone who completes the marathon is a winner today.

At this point we are left alone to find our relatives and friends and a piece of green grass to lie on. Many are led to hospital cots. It's 80 degrees and the heat has taken its toll.

3:00 PM . . . THERE ARE STILL THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE HERE. My pre-arranged meeting place with my family is so crowded you can't get near it. Around me, people are embracing and congratulating each other. My legs are surging with pain but my mind is doing somersaults.

My brother-in-law finds me first. They saw me cross the finish line but couldn't get close enough to be heard over the crowd. Soon I'm surrounded by my family and friends and my two daughters hug me. They are glad to see me.



It has been a long day. The tears running down my wife's smiling face tell me she is relieved to see I'm okay. After all, it has been 3 hours since she saw me in Brooklyn at the 10-mile point.

THE REALIZATION IS SETTING IN . . . "I DID IT, I COMPLETED MY FIRST MARATHON." Now is the time to relax and reflect on today's happenings. We break open a bottle of champagne and stretch out in a shady spot in some green grass to rest.





As we leave Central Park an hour later, runners are still coming down Fourth Avenue and we yell encouragement to them: "ONLY ONE MILE TO GO AND YOU'RE LOOKING GOOD!"

“The act of driving your body, very occasionally, close to its limit of endurance, is for some reason one of life’s major satisfactions. And reflecting afterwards is one of life’s most luxurious rewards.”
-Anonymous

In this picture, you can see the numbers 1495.3. I don’t remember for sure, but that’s probably the number of miles I trained to run this first marathon. #6619, beardless, is me at 10 miles.































Post date:
100,000 will apply this year
38,000 finished in 2007

Bob Bacon ended up running 54,000 lifetime miles, with races four times the marathon distance and one solo 200 mile run across Massachusetts. When asked why he did the solo run, Bacon referred to the movie "The Magnificent Seven." When Steve McQueen was asked why he was about to do a crazy thing he replied, "I knew a cowboy from El Paso who took off all his clothes and jumped into a pile of cactus. When asked why he did it the cowboy's reply was, IT SEEMED LIKE A GOOD IDEA AT THE TIME."


Family legend has it that when we went to dinner after the marathon, Marnie fell asleep in her spaghetti. We've just discovered the photographic evidence!

Growing Up in Adams

Jesus Christ was big at my Mother and Father’s house. My brother Mike and I had a big cross on the wall in our room. Mike and I slept in the same bed in an unheated, small bedroom. Mom left the one window that faced north open for fresh air. In the winter, snow would drift in and stay on the window sill and not melt. To this day I still prefer 50 pounds of blankets to a heating pad or electric blanket. When I first got my driver’s license they put down “ruddy complexion.” I wonder why?

We lived on Howland Avenue. It is also Route 8. “Root,” we said, not “route.” Maybe that is why 8 is my favorite number.





Tractor trailers would use this route to get to New York City, and to this day I can fall asleep in minutes to the whine of large rubber tires and noisy smokestacks, red at the top, pumping out all that good carbon pollution.

“Well the I.C.C. is a-checkin’ on down the line.
I'm a little overweight and my log book’s way behind.”

That was from an album entitled “Six Days on The Road.”

Mom was a waitress at a truck stop called Eileen's and knew all the truckers. Mom also was the local bookie and she sold Victor Volpe's Italian Grappa from our little house. The stairs to the second floor were built special to hide the contraband. Saturday and Sunday were busy days at the Bacons’. No one would leave on Sunday morning without a Coffee Royal, which was a cup of hot coffee with a shot of grappa in it.

I sold cigarettes to the Adams people – well, Dad did all the selling from Burke’s Inn. At the Naval Base were I was stationed, you could buy a carton then for $2.00 and sell them for $6.00. Hey that is only a 3% markup! Thursday was dividend day, and if a sailor went to the store on the base for me and got two cartons I would give him $1. Hey! You only got $4.00 for standing someone’s midwatch from 12 to 4 a.m. A beer at the enlisted men’s club cost a dime. One thin dime.

On weekends I would drive or hitchhike, always in uniform to ensure getting a ride. I would have one or two sea bags full of Marlboros , Camels and Mom's Pall Malls. People would always ask where I was coming from and I would always tell them of some exotic port or place so as to not disappoint them. The guy could go home and tell his wife, "Hey Honey I gave a sailor who just spent a year in American Samoa a ride." I lied to them but I would never lie to you, Mi Amor. Sandy said, "I wonder where you got that idea from.”



I was in a gang called The Zylonite Smashers. Zylonite was a plastic product that was manufactured in this Italian section of Adams. I already had a membership tattoo and was heading for trouble. So when I turned 13, Mom got me a job with Rene Comeau Trucking. My very first job was walking around a visiting carnival or circus with a large stuffed animal that I pretended I had won. For that I got $5 cold cash for only one night’s work. Rene was a tall, good-looking man. He had snow-white hair and always had a good word for everyone. He always drove the newest Cadillac and his clothes were always clean and he didn't have dirt under his fingernails. His tractor trailers would haul 100-pound bags of lime to New York City. For $15 dollars cash money, I would ride shotgun for the 6 to 7 hour ride to the piers in New York.

The first time I went down, the driver said, “Sit back and relax," and I said, "I am okay leaning forward like this." His reply was, " You are in the way. I can't see behind us in the mirror." Whoops!

The first trip was unbelievable. We saw a cop on a horse get run over at a Brooklyn dock, and some girl came up to my window and asked me "If I would like to change my luck?" Change my luck? I was skipping school 2 to 3 times a week and clearing up to $45. Things were good. Gasoline was 35 cents then and a couple of years later, still driving to New York, I could tool around in my car forever on that much money.

My dark blue 1953 Studebaker, way ahead of the style of the time:


The actual work only took about an hour, but the job took 15 hours round trip. We would handcart the 100-pound bags to the end of the box and restack the bags on pallets, then the tow motor would take them away to some ship’s hold. One day the black tow motor guy said, "What you boys got in them bags, ceeement?”

Looking back, Mom and Dad held very loose reins on Mike and I. We didn't have a dog, but Coco who lived at the farm behind us would come over every single day and stay with us for the whole day. We never fed him and at night he would go back home. He was very territorial and protective of my brother and I.

In the summer, Mom and Dad would let us hike up the mountain past Georgia Marble Company toward Mt. Greylock, past split rock and the spring. Oh, the water in Adams is all spring water and it tastes like a beverage. That might be reason enough to live there year-round. We would pitch a pup tent, start a fire with potatoes dug down underneath the coals, and in the morning have baked potatoes for breakfast. How did we know how to do that? Coco would bark some time during the night, keeping us safe from whatever was out there in the pitch black. Can you imagine letting your 10 year old do that today?

Mount Greylock from our house. That's the limestone quarry in the foreground.












Some other views of Greylock:



















Fall is beautiful here.


One day I hitchhiked upstreet to Adams, went to Swartz Sporting Goods Store and bought a rifle, and hitchhiked back home with it. Adams is big with hunting and fishing and no one ever questioned me on it. Not the police, not Mom, not my grandmother Hattie, not the person I got the ride with.

Dad built an L-shaped porch with a lot of screens and windows and I would sit out there at night in the summer and read “Two Years Before The Mast” and “Last of The Mohicans” and wonder what life was like outside of the valley. I think I was the only one in my family who read books. Well, Mom loved the Record American from Boston. It came in the same size as today's Herald. That is strange, now that I think of it, because all our news came from Albany. Even today people say to me, " You’re not from here, are you?" No, in Adams we had the upper New York State accent. Hard R's for sure Aye! We didn't hate the Red Sox, we simply loved the Yankees. Who wouldn't back then, with guys like Pee Wee Reese, Yogi Berra, Whitey Ford and Mickey Mantle?

Jack Paar gave me my first incite to the outside world. Married, stuck in Adams, limestone employees would take me aside and say, "Get out of this valley; don't get stuck here." Then Johnny Carson, Lawrence Welk and The Ed Sullivan show, Ozzie and Harriet, Lucy and Desi would make me think, "Maybe life is better outside of this valley.”

Gramma Hattie Bacon (she ruled the roost as people used to say) and my sweet Grandfather Frank lived next door in the big house. Some relative always lived upstairs on the second floor. On Friday nights we would watch The Gillette Cavalcade of Sports -- boxing. Archie Moore and Rocky Graciano and Carmen Basilio and Kid Gavilan and Jersey Joe Walcott. We would go to Gramma’s to watch Ed Sullivan on Sunday night at 8. She always had M & M's. At nine o’clock we would go home and go to bed. I hope families still get together to do that sort of thing.

Nora Bacon, Hattie Bacon, and Francis "Joe" Bacon at my parents' 25th Anniversary party.


Grampa would always say, "You boys are more trouble than all my money." He didn't have any. He also said, "If you keep acting like that I will put a tin ear on you." What does that mean? I know the farmers would put tin ears on their cows.

Adams had many dairy farms back then. Milk in bottles was delivered by Reno Delmolino. Wow! What a beautiful name. It rings. Reno Delmolino. He used to say, "Drink Village Dairy Milk and you will ride the range all night." Mr. Kissel would come to our house on Saturday mornings to sell boys’ clothes out of his salesman’s suitcase. Mom (Nora Lemanski) always bought us nice shirts. “Here comes Mr. Kissel, faster than a whistle,” we would all say. Simple times, good times.

Mom had a skablunka. In Polish that meant a kitty or a slush fund. It was cash always set aside, hidden, to be used in an emergency. Mom kept it full with the grappa money. In the movie “I Remember Mama,” the Norwegian mother had a kind of skablunka, only it never had much money in it -- but it gave the rest of the family a feeling of security. We have a skablunka in our house but I am not going to say where it is. Not that I don't trust you.

“Big Shot” is a phrase used in mill town Adams, Massachusetts. Dad never wore a tie at supper as Ozzie Nelson did, and if you wore one at Chicks Bar and Grill you were likely to get your lights punched out. Mr. Big Shot. I took friends to Adams and we went to Burke’s Inn. It was the local Zylonite bar. It didn't matter how old you were, you could drink at Burke’s Inn. My Father said, "Work like a man, drink like a man." Dad and Mike took it to heart. Dad should have added, "Die like a man." Mike only made it to 36. You would have liked him. Everyone did.

Here's Mike with his truck:


From Mom's house you could see Burke’s side door, through the Moncheccis’, the Lawsons’ and the Bucceris’ back yards. On a visit from Boston, everyone was happy I was at Burke’s because I had escaped the valley and was a sort of celebrity that night. If you lived somewhere else, Adams people assumed you were doing well. One of my Dad’s friends offered to buy one of my city friends a drink, and my city friend said, "I would rather have the money." So the hayseed from Adams gave the city slicker the money without even thinking about it. My city friend chased him around the rest of the night trying to even things out. So who was the hayseed?

You knew when it was deer season. When Mike and I looked out our window looking north there were deer hanging off the Lawsons’ clothes poles. If you bagged one, you would tie it to the front of your car and parade it through town -- mostly through the center of town at Park Street. The only other section was the Polish section on Summer Street and the only thing they killed was a shot of rye followed with a beer chaser.

Hey, don't get me wrong. Adams was a terrific place to grow up. After school in the winter, which lasted from November to May, we would cut through Gamache's pastures and pull our sleds and jumpers up to the original quarry. At best you could only get in two slides down the abandoned, long, steep, curvy, limestone, snow-covered road of the old Georgia Marble Company, before it got dark. We always came back in the dark. We all just met after school for sliding and it was never planned. The Cichetti, Bongiolatti, Malione, Tomasini, Volpi, Dellagalpha, Sondrini, Smachetti and Bianchi kids. All of their grandparents came from north of Pisa and Lucca to work the limestone quarries here.

My younger brother Mike and me, ready for sledding.


New England Lime Company just south of there became really big and was eventually bought out by Pfizer. You may have heard of it -- the largest pharmaceutical company in the world. Maybe not. Dad worked there as well as Mike and my Great Grandfather. When I was a kid and working summers there, they said there was 50 years more drilling and blasting to do to get to all the limestone. That was in 1960 and they are still drilling and blasting today in 2008. The ocean was here and deposited all this calcium.That is when I started to believe in the evolution thing.

Mom died, Mike died, Dad died. In that order.

Sandy and I had a gathering here in Marshfield years later. We had Ms. Kitt over. Ms. Kitt was a psychic. There were three couples over that night. I was the first one to see her. She knew nothing about any us. We had to go and pick her up. She was elderly and could not see well. She blurted out to me, "He had all the blacksmith tools but he wasn't a blacksmith. Who am I talking about?'”

I answered, "My Father."

She said, “There is a cross in this house and it is hidden away. Where is it, and why is it hidden away?"

I replied, "My wife did not want the image of a man nailed to a wooden cross out so our young daughters could see it."

She asked again, “Where is it? Your Father wants it out."

I said, "It is in my walk-in closet."

She said, "Your Father wants it out."

It is the same cross that hung in me and my brother’s room. And yes, it is out now. I still do what my Father wants me to do.

Remembering John Stewart

You never heard of him? Yah you did -- you just didn't know it.

He was a singer-songwriter. Our daughter Kezia's English teacher at Marshfield High, Dick Gardner, introduced his words and music to any students who would listen. Kezia became a big fan.

While she was at Hampshire College, John Stewart was playing in Hartford, CT, about an hour away. Kezia went to see him in concert for the first time. She called me at 2:00 a.m. all excited to tell me about it. Kezia doesn't do things like that.

She went up to him at the end of the show and introduced herself. Eventually that night he asked her if she was coming to Johnny D's in Somerville, MA to see the next show. She said she wasn't. He asked why. She replied, "I'm not 21 yet, so I can't get in."

He said, "Here's my telephone number. Call me and I will get you in for free and you can sell my merchandise for me."

She was very excited, to say the least. I was skeptical, but didn't say anything other than, "Wow, Kezia! That is terrific!"

Not only did John Stewart keep his word, but for years after that when he was in New England, Kezia would get a phone call and would be at the concerts selling his CDs.

One of John's favorite places to play was the Old Vienna Kaffeehaus in Westboro, MA. Sandy and I became fans and we would sit with the Gardners. Dick would always get a shout-out, and he would nearly faint every time. John Stewart was his hero. Dick was an English teacher, very well-spoken, but he would tighten up and fall apart when John would talk to him one-on-one. Sorta how I might be if I ever saw Bo Derek up close and personal.

Kezia eventually got to meet all of the members of the band of Bob Dylan, who played on John's hit album "California Bloodlines" in 1970. (Note from Kezia: Actually, Dad, I got to meet Rick Danko of The Band, and Eric Andersen, neither of whom played with John Stewart -- but Danko did play with Dylan in The Band's early days. But I like your version better!) Rolling Stone magazine said it was one of the top 200 albums of all time.

Here's a clip from YouTube of John singing "California Bloodlines" with his future wife, Buffy Ford.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LdHnZGWMAPo
Cali link

Still don't know him? He wrote "Daydream Believer," which was a big hit for The Monkees and Anne Murray.

You once thought of me
As a white knight on his steed
Now you know how happy I can be . . .
Cheer up sleepy Jean . . .

Here's a clip:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kxz_JBuyF4I
Monkees link

Through John Stewart, Kezia also got to meet Rosanne Cash, Johnny's daughter. She did John's "Runaway Train," which was a huge hit. Check out this link.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KQP7xqq130U
Cash link

John was one of the famous Kingston Trio also. Just before the Kingston trio, he was part of the Cumberland Three. They did an old tune called "I Don't Want No Pardon<" which I love. It's a tune about how the Rebels felt about the North after losing the Civil War.

Well I'm a good ol' Rebel
And that's just what I am
And I don't want no pardon
For anything I've done

We killed three hundred thousand
With Southern steel and shot
I wish it was three million
Instead of what we got

Yes, of course it made Bob's World and was probably #1 in South Carolina.

On his own, John Stewart was told by his record company that if he didn't have a hit soon, they would drop him. So he wrote "Gold." Stevie Nicks and Lindsay Buckingham of Fleetwood Mac played on it. And it was a number one hit for John. It even made Bob's World -- #5, I think.

When the lights go down in the California town
People are in for the evening
I jump into my car and I throw in my guitar
My hear beatin' time with my breathin'

Drivin' over Canaan
Singing to my soul
There's people out there
Turning music into gold

Oh my buddy Jim Bass he's a-workin' pumpin' gas
He makes two-fifty for an hour
He's got rhythm in his hands as he's tappin' on the cans
Sings rock -n- roll in the shower

Know it now? This clip oughta jog your memory:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-_ohRBgmOTs
Gold Link

John was an awesome guitar picker and he also played the banjo. I thought he had a terrific sense of humor. The last time we saw him, he played Club Passim in Harvard Square. He was fantastic.

He was a devoted husband and father. He also was a painter. He gave Sandy a small painting of the Kingston Trio wearing their red and white striped shirts. Remember?

Here's the drawing he did for us:


When Kezia told me the news that John had died, she had tears in her eyes. Gardner must be crushed. John Stewart passed out of this world on Saturday, January 19, 2008 in San Diego.

See, you did know him.

Our family will be playing his music for the next couple of days in his honor. (Kezia's note: In fact, it took me over a month of in-car listening to play through all of his CDs.)

Here's one last clip:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ZhmS05geyU&feature=related
Walk on Moon Link
http://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gif

Okay, one more: I can't resist.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H79SuTOKqtc&feature=related
America Link

You can read his obituary from the LA Times here:
http://articles.latimes.com/2008/jan/21/local/me-stewart21
Obit Link

The Other Kezia

As Sandy remembers: While reading Glamour magazine in 1965 I came across a beautiful model with the name of Kezia (original photo above). So I said to Bob, “If we marry and have a daughter, I would like to name her Kezia after the model in the magazine.” Bob said he liked the name, so Yes!

Two years later Bob and Sandy marry. Four years go by and Sandy gets pregnant. Her name will be Kezia. No thought is ever given to What If It’s A Boy. While lying in bed going over names in the name book . . . Kezia Ann, Kezia Elizabeth . . . the baby gives its first real kick from inside the womb. It will be Kezia Elizabeth.

November 15, 1971: Kezia is born.

Alexandra’s European Skin Care Salon, 1990s: Alexandra's was Sandy's salon, Sandy's baptism name being Alexandra. She said to me, "I want it to be called Alexandra's and I want people to know it features European-type skin care services, which are more hands-on than the American type." A family from New York City summers in Duxbury. First the mother comes in, then the two grown daughters. Marnie (our daughter) senses that one of the daughters, Alexandra (Ali) is a model. Sandy asks the mother, and the mom says “Yes she is.” The next time Ali comes for a service, she asks Sandy, “You have a daughter named Kezia? Can I ask you how you came up with that name?” So Sandy tells the Glamour magazine story. Ali says, “The reason I asked was that my boss’s name was Kezia and she recently passed away. But I don’t think she ever modeled. I’m going to call her husband tonight and ask him.” She did – it was the same Kezia!

November 27, 2000: Bob calls Glamour magazine in New York City (212-286-6667), 4 Times Square, 16th floor. Receptionist doesn’t think anyone can help me. It’s too far back. I’m put through to Lynda in Reader Service. I explain my predicament. Lynda says, “Oh, I get all kinds of crazy requests. Let me look it up now in the computer by her first name.” She comes back on line and says, “There never was a model named Kezia. Let me research it other ways. Give me your phone number.”

November 28: Phone call from Lynda Laux Bachand from Glamour magazine. Bachand – that’s our real last name that was anglicized into Bacon! The message says, “I have really interesting news. Call me!”

November 29: I reach Lynda. She says there was indeed a Kezia. She has passed away. She worked for Glamour magazine. She was very pretty; almost everyone who works for Glamour magazine is. She actually was in the magazine twice, but not as a model. Once in 1965 and again in 1967. The 1965 article was about a party she had. There are photos of her and her boyfriend, who became her husband. His name is Chandler Hovey III. She became a very well known editor. She formed her own public relations firm called Keeble, Cavaco, Duka. Her last name was Keeble. Lynda will send me copies of everything she has.

Lynda is originally from South Dakota. She married Mr. Laux. He liked the Bachand name so much he calls himself Mr. Laux-Bachand. So her name, Lynda Laux Bachand, is her married name, Bachand being her maiden name. The Bachands were from Three Rivers in Canada. They homesteaded in South Dakota. They were associated with the Bismarck Trail. Many times in Bob Bacon’s research did he come across Three Rivers. Lynda has roots info she is sending along. They live on Governor’s Island in New York Harbor. Her commute is twenty minutes from Times Square. Are we related?

Then I called Chandler Hovey III (212-355-3674). He is from Boston originally – Phillips House, Mass General, Gloucester. His best friend was Billy Bacon (not related to us). Yes indeed he was married to Kezia, pronounced Keziah, the way Babci said it! She was a purposeful, determined, driven, nice girl. She was very special. She led the fashion world around 7th Avenue for 7-8 years. She was an assistant to Diana Vreeland. Hovey was her first husband. They were married for four years, no children.. Then she married Paul Cavaco, with whom she had a daughter named Kali.(Hovey’s second wife’s name was Alexandra.) Kezia was an editor for Glamour magazine, Vogue and Harper’s. Her best friend was also named Alexandra – they called her Ali: Ali McGraw!

After her death, there was a big article on Kezia in Vanity Fair (212-286-2860). I received a copy of it through the Marshfield library, via the Boston Public Library, which has every issue dating back to 1868. Truth/fiction thing again.

Postscript:
Letter dated January 8, 2001

Dear Mr. Bacon,

I finally found my tattered copy of the geneaology of the Bachand family. As you can see, a fellow in Massachusetts did the work, but I never received a follow-up and since he was older, I doubt if he’s still living. I’ve had this sheet for years (Elite typewriter, as you can see).

I’m sure there’s a family connection to yours – probably in that Canadian phase.

Also had a chart that shows my great grandfather, grandfather and dad (Ambrose, who died in ’99).

We’re probably cousins!

If I find out any more, I’ll keep you posted. You do same.

Happy 2001.

Lynda

In March 2001, Sandy and I decide to go to New York to meet Lynda. We are waiting on the very busy ground floor of the Conde Naste building, when Sandy says, "Here comes your cousin." I said, "How do you know?" We had never seen her before. Do we look alike? What do you think?



And here’s a letter I sent later that year to all of my cousins.

October 30, 2001

The Quest to Find Our French Great Grandfather (Charles Frank Bacon or Charles Francois Bachand).

While investigating our daughter Kezia’s first name, which Sandy saw in Glamour magazine in 1960, I was put in contact with a Reader Services representative at Conde Nast, which owns Glamour magazine and many others. Her name just happened to be Lynda Laux Bachand. Albert Bachand mailed his fact sheet to all the Bachands he could find. One of them was Lynda’s mom in South Dakota. After all those years, there was no envelope left. Just the name Albert Bachand, Massachusetts. Truth is certainly stranger than fiction.

I sent this information to my cousins just to inform them on my progress. I was at a dead end. Where in Massachusetts was Albert Bachand? Was he still alive? Was he still living in Massachusetts? My cousin Paula Bacon Gotzens wrote back, "What a small world it is, Albert Bachand is living at Sweet Brook Nursing Home in Williamstown, where I work as a nurse." He was suffering with Alzheimer's Disease but Paula said I could contact his daughter Nancy Bachand Roy, who lives in North Adams, Massachusetts.

Sandy and I took a drive to Nancy's and spent the afternoon pouring over tons of Bachand family history. Nancy had traveled with her father to Canada and France and acted as the interpreter because of her fluency in the French language. Do you know that huge very nice trailer park on the road to Williamstown with the two massive concrete lions in front of it? The Spruces. He owned it.

Albert Bachand had traveled to more than 160 countries in his lifetime and he was in fact the family historian who had contacted all the Bachands including Lynda Bachand's Mom in South Dakota years ago. But still there seemed to be no immediate connection to my Great Grandfather Charles Francois Bachand. The search continues.

Alexandre Bachand was our Great Great Grandfather. He married Angelique Casavant on November 7, 1837.
Their children were:
Pierre 1844
Marie Louise 1841
Philomene (I didn’t have her name or birth date)
Melelie 1845 (I had her; Nancy didn’t).

Interestingly enough, Nancy didn’t have Charles Francois Bachand, but I do, and all the evidence is adding up.

My mission will end when I find where and when CFB died. Started research in 1977 – finished ???)

Cousin Bob

ALBERT BACHAND'S OBITUARY

The Berkshire Eagle, Thursday, February 27, 2003

Albert Bachand, 88; owned The Spruces



WILLIAMSTOWN – Albert Bachand, 88, of 48 Champagne Ave., The Spruces, a longtime area businessman and founder of The Spruces Mobile Home Park, died yesterday at Sweet Brook, where he was admitted Nov. 12, 1998.

Mr. Bachand was a self-made millionaire, world traveler and inventor. During his lifetime, he claimed to have founded more than 30 businesses, from selling government surplus and producing concrete drainage pipes to making grandfathers’ clocks and designing and selling construction office trailers.

Best known for establishing The Spruces retirement community on the North Adams-Williamstown town line in 1954, he built several attractions there, including a windmill, lighthouse, recreation building, lion gates and the 102-foot long covered bridge. In the 1980s, he operated the “Whispering Fountains” in the lighthouse pond, which with 1,500 water jets, was one of the largest water displays of its type in the country.

He owned numerous properties, including the barn on Route 2 that became the former Country Peddlar store. He started World Travelogues Co., Dating Service of Prestige and the Courtesy Club of America, and became the first snowmobile dealer in the area.

“I started a business and quit to start a bigger one,” Bachand told The Eagle in 1980. He said his only failure was the Houghton School, which he purchased from the city of North Adams to sell to a private investor to fund a tourist tower near Witt’s Ledge in the city. But the school was eventually demolished, the tower never built.

Mr. Bachand left school at the age 14 to begin working in the former Hoosac Cotton Mills. A $50 loan started him on his first venture, a junk business, at age 21. He joined the Civilian Conservation Corps in 1933 as a forester and worked on the Mount Greylock campground, and opened an Indian Cycle Shop in North Adams in the 1940s.

His enthusiasm to try new things covered a wide range. In 1942, he made a one-day canoe trip down the Hoosac River from North Adams to the Hudson River in New York. He took a 48-state tour on an Indian motorcycle in 1948 as a promotion for the former manufacturer, completing the trip in 45 days. He became interested in spelunking, and claimed to have explored every known cave within 50 miles and was cited in Clay Perry’s book “Underground New England.”

Mr. Bachand fulfilled his prediction to retire at age 50 in 1965 by “retiring” from active business. He sold The Spruces in 1968 and, over the next several years, toured more than 160 countries, making narrated slide travelogues that he later showed to area groups. He later donated more than 300 mementos from his trips to the North Adams Public Library.

Born in Adams on Feb. 8, 1915, son of Albert and Albina Cyr Bachand, he moved to North Adams as a child with his family and attended the former Notre Dame School. Mostly self-educated, he later attended 15 years of evening classes at Drury High School, taking courses in drafting and human relations and other subjects, and graduated from four Dale Carnegie courses, the Reppert School of Auctioneering, the Weber School of Hypnotism and the American Institute of Hypnosis. He was an avid reader.

He joined the Navy Seabees in 1943 as a petty officer, first class with a machinist’s mate rating. He was stationed in New Guinea and the Philippines, and took courses through the Armed Forces Institute in typing, psychology and business administration.

He established the Berkshire Motorcycle Club and originated the Phantom Tire Hunt, an annual event at the Fall Foliage Festival. He also made a narrated slide history of the city of North Adams for the festival.

In 1963, he took U.S. Senator Edward Kennedy to the top of Mount Greylock so he and his guide could ski down the Thunderbolt Trail. He followed them on his snowmobile in case of problems. He promoted snowmobile racing up Mount Greylock in the early 1960s, and later advocated for a tramway and skyline trail along the Hoosac Mountain range.

He enjoyed genealogy, tracing his family back to the 1600s in France and was a well-known contributor to the “Letters to the Editor” section of The North Adams Transcript.

Mr. Bachand belonged to numerous organizations, including the North Adams Kiwanis Club, Mohawk Trail Association, Williamstown Board of Trade, North Adams Chamber of Commerce, and the Steering Committee of the New England Mobile Home Association. He was appointed to two terms as a Massachusetts Mobile Home Commissioner by former Gov. John Volpe and was a 45-year veteran member of the Williamstown Grange. He spent a short time as a volunteer officer with the Williamstown Police Department and was a member of the American Legion, VFW, Founders Club of Assumption College and several travel clubs.

His first wife, the former Beatrice Champagne, died in the early 1940s.

He leaves four daughters from his marriage to Teresa Champagne Bachand Roberts of North Adams: Nancy Roy and Alice Vigna, both of North Adams, Celeste Daniels of Heath and Annette Dudley of Succasunna, N.J.; nine grandchildren, and four great-grandchildren.

FUNERAL NOTICE – The funeral for Albert Bachand will be Saturday, March 1, at 10 at AUGE-SAN SOUCIE-SIMMONS FUNERAL HOME, 46 North Church St., North Adams. A Liturgy of Christian Burial will be celebrated at 11 in Our Lady of Mercy Church, North Adams. Burial will follow in Southview Cemetery, North Adams. Calling hours at the funeral home will be Friday from 5 to 8. In lieu of flowers, the family suggests donations in his memory be made to the activities program at Sweet Brook Care Center through the funeral home. Two brothers, Alcide and Noel Bachand, and three sisters, Edna Charron, Delina Hickey and Lorianna Richards, predeceased him. He leaves nine grandchildren, Stephen Roy and Laurie Palmer of North Adams, Matthew Vigna of Brattleboro, Vt., Gregory Vigna of Williamstown, Sarah Alves of Adams, Jacob and Jonathon Daniels of Heath and Benjamin and Julie Dudley of Succasunna; four great-grandchildren, Toby and Timothy Alves of Adams, and Olivia and Isaac Palmer of North Adams.