From Dorchester, I moved to Cambridge, then Somerville, then somewhere else in Somerville, then Lexington, then Cambridge, then Somerville then Somerville then …. and so on. The entire time I either worked for, was a student at, or taught at Harvard, which is in Cambridge.

Boston, Somerville, Cambridge, Medford, Alltson, etc. are all mushed together as one big urban zone around and including Boston. And, historically, the smaller cities around Boston have been absorbed into the Beantown Borg over time. Charlestown, where the Battle of Bunker Hill happened (on nearby Breed’s Hill) used to be separate. South Boston was created out of neighboring communities in 1804. East Boston was annexed in 1855, Roxbury in 1867. Then Dorchester, West Roxbury, Brighton, Charleston, and Hyde Park by 1913. Over historical time, a lot of people grew up outside of Boston in a community that, by the time they died, was in Boston.

So it is tradition for people to say “I lived in Boston” or “I am flying to Boston next week” and really they hardly step foot in Boston proper, which is both a place and an attitude, because that is how we talk about Boston. Back when I lived there, I had the five-five rule to remember the demographics. About 500K people live in Boston, and 5 million live in the GBA (Greater Boston Area). Meanwhile, all those people crammed into the urban zone commonly use the term “Boston” to refer to where they live or once did.

I now live in Minnesota. When people ask about my background, I say, “I’m from New York, but I lived in Boston many years before coming to Minnesota, except when I was in the Congo or Milwaukee.” However, the truth is, I grew up in New York State, not New York City (a distinction lost on most Minnesotans), lived mostly in Somerville, and 9 of those 12 months in Milwaukee were actually in Shorewood, which is to Milwaukee what Somerville is to Cambridge/Boston. Crammed in there, where many people who live there actually live.

The reason I mention all this is to warm up the part of your brain that has to do with geographical identity, especially vis-a-vis Beantown.

(For completeness, I’ve lived in the Twin Cities ever since moving to Minnesota. But really, I’ve lived in Falcon Heights, the home of the Saint Paul Campus of UMN, New Brighton, Fridley, Minneapolis, Coon Rapids, and Plymouth.)

Anyway, I have something for those of you who understand and know something about Boston, sensu large. You will ROFLYAO, most likely. There is a moment in this presentation of Lawrence O’Donnell’s when you think, “oh, listen, he’s slipping into his old accent,” but really, he’s just having fun with the audience. If you don’t have any connections with Boston, this may not be worth watching, so I’ll give you the key meaningful point below. But if you have that Boston connection, watch and enjoy!

The key point: Fox News Lies!!!!!! (Secondary point: Tucker Carlson is an asshole.)

From the press release:

Scientists Take to the Streets to “Stand up for Science”

Scientists and impacted communities respond to attacks by anti-science forces and climate deniers in government

BOSTON – On Sunday, February 19, scientists, science advocates, community members, and frontline communities will rally at Boston’s Copley Square to call for increased vigilance to defend science against the barrage of attacks mounted by the Trump administration and Congress. The rally coincides with thousands of scientists gathering in Boston for the American Association for the Advancement of Science (AAAS) annual meeting, one of the first major convenings of scientists since anti-science forces and climate deniers gained unprecedented power in government.

The rally builds on the growing and historic movement of scientists fighting back against the Trump administration’s efforts to discredit science and climate research and dismantle key scientific institutions within the government. Since the election, hundreds of climate scientists rallied in San Francisco, thousands of scientists have signed open letters, rogue Twitter accounts have sprung up on behalf of governmental agencies, and some scientists may run for elected office. Sunday’s rally is the precursor to the March for Science taking place in DC and in cities around the world this April 22.

WHAT: Rally to Stand up for Science

WHO: AAAS members and community supporters (full speaker list to be announced):

<li> Jacquelyn Gill, Ph.D. Asst. Prof. of Paleoecology, Univ. of Maine, Candidate for US Congress (ME-2), 2018; Host, Warm Regards Podcast</li>

    <li>Kelly L. Fleming, Ph.D. AAAS Science and Technology Policy Fellow hosted at the US Dept. of Energy, 500 Women Scientists Leadership Board</li>

    <li>Geoffrey Supran, Ph.D. Science History Post Doctoral Fellow, Harvard University</li>

    <li>Astrid Caldas, Ph.D. Climate Scientist, Union of Concerned Scientists</li>

WHERE:

Copley Square
560 Boylston St
Boston, MA 02116

WHEN:

Sunday, February 19, 2017
12:00 pm – 1:30 pm ET

WEAR YOUR LAB COAT IF YOU’VE GOT ONE!

[A timely repost from QM]

I never knew her name, but I knew she worked in the cafeteria. We talked about a wide range of topics, including (and possibly mainly) the weather. A week or so earlier, we had an especially interesting conversation.

“He’s my nephew, you know.”

“Who?”

“That Bennett boy. We live on the same street. We’re blood, and I know him as well as I know anybody, and I can tell you he didn’t do it.”

She was talking about Willie Bennett, who had just a few days before that conversation been picked out of a lineup as the killer of Carol DiMaiti Stewart.

“I’m not saying he couldn’t have done it. Willie is NOT a good boy; I’ll leave it at that. But everybody knows where he was that night. He wasn’t near that place. We know he didn’t do it.”

Charles and Carol Stewart were at a childbirth class at the main baby hospital in town. I remember this really well, because two of my best friends were taking childbirth classes at that time at the same hospital on the same evening. So, when I heard on the news that a couple leaving that hospital from a childbirth class had been attacked, the woman killed and the man shot in the gut, I checked on my friends. It wasn’t them.

The event made national news in part because one of those cop shows was filming that night in Boston. Charles called on a cell phone to say his wife and he had been shot, but he was disoriented and he didn’t know where he was. The dispatcher got on the radio to all of the Boston cops at once, and had them run their sirens one at a time, asking Charles if he could hear the sound. Using this method, they located the car containing the victims, and were able to save Charles. Carol died later that night, and the fetus, delivered months early, died several days later.

And they picked up Willie because he was a known bad guy and resembled the description Charles had given of the assailant. Charles then picked Willie out of the lineup, apparently confirming that he was the assailant.

This would be a good time to mention that Charles and Carol were white people from an inner-ring suburb of Boston, and Willie was African American from the “inner city.” This matters if you consider the broader social context of this event. Boston has its “race problems.”

Then a little time went by and the police, quietly and without fanfare, started to get suspicious of the story. In fact, it would later be understood that they were suspicious from the beginning. A little pushing here and a little poking here, and suddenly Charlie’s brother, Matthew, confesses.

It turns out that on the fateful night, Charles called Matthew and gave him an address. When Matthew arrived, he found his sister in-law shot in the head and for all practical purposes dead, and his brother with a gut wound, both in Charles’ car. Charles gave Matthew a bag containing the firearm used by Charles to shoot his wife and himself and some valuables, like a wallet and stuff, and told him to get rid of the goods. So Matthew, apparently about as dumb as his brother, tossed the bag into a shallow creek not far from where they all lived. This was a creek where everybody tosses shit like this. The first place the cops would look.

Anyway, Matthew ratted out his brother, Willie was released, and Charles became the main suspect.

So, we were standing there in the snow, looking at the river. And I remembered what I had heard just a few minutes earlier.

“Did you hear about Charles Stewart?” I asked her.

“What about him?” blowing smoke.

“He jumped into the river this morning. He jumped off the Tobin Bridge. He did not survive.”

“Well,” she said, staring out into the river, looking at the nearest bridge, at the thickening ice below the bridge, and the swirling snow and blowing drifts. It would be impossible to imagine how anyone would survive the jump off the bridge we were looking at into that water, and the Tobin Bridge was significantly higher. “Well…that’s something.”

I never knew her name, but I knew she worked in the cafeteria. We talked about a wide range of topics, including (and possibly mainly) the weather. A week or so earlier, we had an especially interesting conversation.

“He’s my nephew, you know.”

“Who?”

“That Bennett boy. We live on the same street. We’re blood, and I know him as well as I know anybody, and I can tell you he didn’t do it.”

She was talking about Willie Bennett, who had just a few days before that conversation been picked out of a lineup as the killer of Carol DiMaiti Stewart.

“I’m not saying he couldn’t have done it. Willie is NOT a good boy; I’ll leave it at that. But everybody knows where he was that night. He wasn’t near that place. We know he didn’t do it.”

Charles and Carol Stewart were at a childbirth class at the main baby hospital in town. I remember this really well, because two of my best friends were taking childbirth classes at that time at the same hospital on the same evening. So, when I heard on the news that a couple leaving that hospital from a childbirth class had been attacked, the woman killed and the man shot in the gut, I checked on my friends. It wasn’t them.

The event made national news in part because one of those cop shows was filming that night in Boston. Charles called on a cell phone to say his wife and he had been shot, but he was disoriented and he didn’t know where he was. The dispatcher got on the radio to all of the Boston cops at once, and had them run their sirens one at a time, asking Charles if he could hear the sound. Using this method, they located the car containing the victims, and were able to save Charles. Carol died later that night, and the fetus, delivered months early, died several days later.

And they picked up Willie because he was a known bad guy and resembled the description Charles had given of the assailant. Charles then picked Willie out of the lineup, apparently confirming that he was the assailant.

This would be a good time to mention that Charles and Carol were white people from an inner-ring suburb of Boston, and Willie was African American from the “inner city.” This matters if you consider the broader social context of this event. Boston has its race problems.

Then a little time went by and the police, quietly and without fanfare, started to get suspicious of the story. In fact, it would later be understood that they were suspicious from the beginning. A little pushing here and a little poking here, and suddenly Charlie’s brother, Matthew, confesses.

It turns out that on the fateful night, Charles called Matthew and gave him an address. When Matthew arrived, he found his sister in-law shot in the head and for all practical purposes dead, and his brother with a gut wound, both in Charles’ car. Charles gave Matthew a bag containing the firearm used by Charles to shoot his wife and himself and some valuables, like a wallet and stuff, and told him to get rid of the goods. So Matthew, apparently about as dumb as his brother, tossed the bag into a shallow creek not far from where they all lived. This was a creek where everybody tosses shit like this. The first place the cops would look.

Anyway, Matthew ratted out his brother, Willie was released, and Charles became the main suspect.

So, we were standing there in the snow, looking at the river. And I remembered what I had heard just a few minutes earlier.

“Did you hear about Charles Stewart?” I asked her.

“What about him?” blowing smoke.

“He jumped into the river this morning. He jumped off the Tobin Bridge. He did not survive.”

“Well,” she said, staring out into the river, looking at the nearest bridge, at the thick ice below the bridge, and the swirling snow and blowing drifts. It would be impossible to imagine how anyone would survive the jump off the bridge we were looking at into that water, and the Tobin Bridge was significantly higher. “Well…that”s something.”