I Do

February 2, 2012

Seven years ago today, my partner, Lynn, and I went to Worcester City Hall, chatted for awhile with the City Manager, learned a bit about our new town, then repeated a few words after him and walked out with a signed and sealed document legalizing the partnership we had known for the previous eleven years. That was it. I often refer to this event as our “shotgun wedding”. We did it because we had to. It was the only way that I, as a state employee, could carry Lynn on my health insurance plan. The Commonwealth of Massachusetts never recognized the unions between couples of the same sex, however when same-sex marriage became legal in the State, the State had no choice but to abide by its own laws. Anyone wanting family insurance coverage has to be legally married.

And that is why I am legally married. I wish I could tell you that there was another reason, but there isn’t. Lynn and I were forced to get married in order to receive something that, for whatever reason in our nation, is deemed a special right. Health insurance.

I have a lot of mixed feelings about the fight for marriage equality. I’m certainly all in favor of equality and work and/or stand for justice whenever I can, but I remain unconvinced that having my relationship with Lynn recognized legally grants either of these things, in their true sense. Being married in the eyes of the law grants couples a whole host of rights and privileges that single people, people who choose to live together, or even certain familial relationships, say siblings, do not enjoy. At least not together.

There are tax benefits, estate benefits, employee benefits, medical benefits, housing benefits, and death benefits. Married couples can enjoy family rates on automobile insurance. A legal spouse can receive time off from work to take care of the other legal spouse. A married couple can have and/or adopt children. And in the literal end, the survivor of a married couple has the right to make all of the decisions regarding funerals and burials.

One might wonder, “So what in the world is wrong with all of that? Why would you NOT want those rights?” The reason is really pretty simple. My enjoying these rights with Lynn, because of our married status, puts us in a place of privilege over others. Why does the GBLT community work so hard to get same-sex marriage legalized? Because without it, same-sex couples feel as if they are treated “less than”. Married couples have things that they do not.

And that, to me, is the problem. Why does the state grant any one group certain privileges over another? Why does it recognize some relationships as being worthy of tax breaks or health insurance, and others not? I agree with Alisa Solomon, longtime writer for The Village Voice and now journalism professor at Columbia University, “The question isn’t whether the state should marry gays, but whether it should marry anyone.” (“Get Married? Yes, but Not by the State,” Village Voice, 01/09/96)

As I’ve said on any number of occasions, I got a piece of paper and health insurance in Massachusetts, I got married years before in Maine. Lynn and I got married on a beautiful summer day in August, 1996. We got married in a church – the church I happened to serve in at the time – surrounded by about 100 dear friends and family members. Dina, my closest friend from seminary and a woman I’d have gladly partnered up with years earlier had she only been a lesbian, officiated and spoke beautiful words of what it means to find another person to share a part of your life with; what it means to love and care for another soul to the degree that you’d want to share part of yourself. Other friends spoke words of encouragement and love, and when the service was over, we enjoyed the most wonderful party put together by a group of friends. There was food from people’s kitchens, flowers from the farmer’s market, music by another good friend’s band. There was dancing and singing, hugs and kisses, tears and laughter. It was one of the best days of my life.

Lynn and I had lived together for almost two years before that day, but that was the day we chose to stand before and with our friends, to celebrate with them, our relationship. To me, it’s the day we got married, because it’s the day where we, along with our friends, affirmed our relationship. Not the State of Maine, not the State of Massachusetts, not the United States of America. I don’t particularly care if any legislative body affirms my relationship with Lynn. The people most important to us already did.

And so, added to the aforementioned exclusionary nature of the legal institution (not even mentioning the sexist, patriarchal, property-holding history of it), to ask an anonymous government to recognize something that’s long been affirmed by those closest to it, to me smacks of patronizing condescension (purposeful redundancy). There’s that popular saying, “marriage is between a man and a woman” to which I say “yes and no”. Marriage IS between people. Period. The government has no place in it, neither to privilege it nor refuse it. Let the government worry about treating each of us, individually, fair and just.

But all of that said, I’m both blessed and grateful to share a part of myself with someone who brings me so much joy and love and support. Lynn gives me a groundedness that I never knew on my own. She carries more faith in me than I ever have in myself alone. She helps me to dream bigger dreams and encourages me every faltering step towards them.

I’ve been blessed with many good friendships, a handful of truly special relationships, and one person that I partnered up with for a longer journey. My life would be less without any of them, but today on another Groundhog’s Day Shotgun Wedding Anniversary, I say “I do” to Lynn. Again.

And here’s a little song that I played in the car on the drive home from dinner out. It reminds us of the early days together, innocent days of falling in love no matter what.

Occupy Leap Day

January 26, 2012

Carpe Leap Day

Every four years we’re given a present, an extra 24 hours that we bundle up into one day that we call “Leap Day”. Where does this time come from? Well, astronomically speaking, it takes the earth approximately 365 days and 6 hours to travel around the sun. Add up those 6 hours for 4 years and you’ve got 24 (thank you Ms. Summers for all of those multiplication flashcard drills in 4th grade). To keep our old calendars in line, we add that extra day in during that 4th year and call it “Leap Year”.

It dawned on me this morning that if there is one day that should really be given to people as a bonus day, a day to do whatever you wish, a holiday if you will, it is Leap Day. It only seems fitting as (1) we get by just fine without it 3 out of every 4 years and (2) since it’s in essence a “catch up day” for time, we should all be allowed to catch up. Catch up with some time you’ve missed with your kids. Catch up on a good book you’ve been wanting to read. Catch up on a project around the house. Catch up on a trip to a museum that you’ve not had the chance to get to yet. Catch up on some thank you notes, phone calls, or coffee with a friend. It’s a bonus day. Do something with it that you don’t have the chance to do on all of the other regular, feet-stuck-in -the-mud days. Take a leap!

I guess, if you wish, you could use it to catch up at work, but I’d like to propose we do anything but that. Work is a constant catch up. Everyone is overworked these days. People continually feel pressured to get one more thing done yesterday. It seems like in this everyday environment, the one thing we could all use is a day away from that. And again, since we don’t have it the vast majority of the years, who will miss it in the work calendar this year?

Come on, everyone! Carpe Leap Day! Seize your day. Tweet it (#OccupyLeapDay). Share it on Facebook. Pass this post along on Tumblr. +1 it for Google. Whatever gets the word out. Take back your day!

O’Dewey’s: A Fairy Tale

January 23, 2012

Librarian Barista and More

Once upon a time, in a medium-sized college town, an institution stood for generations. O’Dewey’s was founded by Sean O’Dewey in 1887 and for more than a century, passed from O’Dewey to O’Dewey, all the way to its current proprietor, Mary O’Dewey, who assumed the helm in 1992 when her father, Patrick, decided it was time that his daughter, the second-oldest of four children, take over the family business. Mary was the first of the female O’Dewey’s to ever run the business. It had caused a bit of eyebrow raising when Patrick announced he was bypassing Martin, his eldest, in favor of Mary, but over the years as the children were tutored in the ways of business, it was Mary who’d shown both the most interest and the most promise. Her father, without reservation, deemed her a worthy heir.

Now O’Dewey’s had a reputation, good and fair and well-earned over its many years standing proud in the corner closest to the campus quad. It was a place where students and faculty alike gathered. It was open long hours, always ready to welcome one in need of either a quiet place to sit (it had a room off of the main gathering space designated as such) or others looking for like souls to commiserate a tough exam, a difficult professor, or a paper due the next morning. Year after year, class after class, students spent countless hours at O’Dewey’s. It was the place to go on campus. It was a central happening spot.

Of course, the main fixture at O’Deweys was the bar that stood in the middle of the main room. It was in the shape of a square, a large square, thus offering four sides where people could pull up a stool and sit. You could order drinks and chat with Mary or Patrick or Sean or Ian, ask them questions, seek their advice. They knew a little bit about everything and if they didn’t know the answer, they surely knew who did. Each and every O’Dewey, with the exception of Seamus who appeared so inept at social skills he was relegated to the kitchen and charged with making sandwiches and soup and never speaking with customers, was a natural behind the bar. Each could tap a keg as equally as s/he could tap into some uncanny source of information. It was a combination that endeared them to the college community for what seemed like forever.

Still, even an institution as beloved and ingrained into the community as O’Dewey’s was not exempt from changes that inevitably come to society as time and progress march on. Since taking over the pub in the 90s, Mary worked hard to address the influx of technology that affected even an old watering hole. She installed booths, upgraded the electrical system to add more outlets, provided free wireless access, even started to serve micro-roasted coffee alongside the micro-brews. Lots of things changed at O’Dewey’s during her decades in charge, everything but the central tenet of the place – O’Dewey’s was the college community’s pub. They could serve all the foamy lattes they wished, provide the fastest connections available, but O’Dewey’s was, after all, O’Dewey’s Pub. That is what it was Sean started 100+ years ago and it’s what everyone – EVERYONE – assumed it to be. Always. A pub.

Mary and her family held onto this idea as strongly as the community. They held onto it as Starbuck’s opened on the same block. They believed it as the frat houses and dorms grew fancier and more hi-tech, placating students’ every desire for HD television and universal connectivity. They remained convinced that O’Dewey’s was the place to go – the only place to go – for the best beer and the best advice. They were in possession of both. Better than anyone else could ever be.

Despite competition from other bars and other entertainment sources, O’Dewey’s did well for a good, long while. It never seemed to fail that whenever they were experiencing a bit of a downturn in customers or activity, some alumni event would occur, some big game would be won, or some winter storm would hit that pushed people to the oldest, dearest, and closest spot to come together. And in their gathering, they remembered how much they loved the feelings the old pub prompted. People would laugh and tell stories, they’d order beer and listen to music, they’d say things like, “This is really how it should be.”

But soon enough, homecoming was over, the storm subsided, the season ended and life on campus resumed. Students, faculty and staff went about their very busy lives, going from place to place to place, whatever was most convenient for whatever they needed at the moment. That’s what mattered most. Convenience. And the changing times brought with them a whole host of things that made the niceties of O’Dewey’s, while still nice and still important, more convenient to get elsewhere. Cafes and coffee shops sprung up all over campus. Wireless access was everywhere. Kegs could be delivered to dorms for parties. Who needed a pub anymore?

Mary tried her best to both counter and ride the new trend. She tried starting book groups and posting an online community calendar where people could sign up to use the pub for organizing or study groups. She tried catering to parties on campus. She tried special events and giveaways. Some things worked and others failed miserably, but all in all, the pattern was that with each new thing O’Dewey’s tried, they’d see a small spike in their customers, but nothing that lasted. Mary and her siblings seemed at a loss as to what to do. What more could they offer? What else could they do? They were O’Dewey’s Pub. They were an institution. Why didn’t people see their value anymore?

Mary decided they needed better marketing. Quite obviously, people didn’t know everything that a pub had to offer them today. O’Dewey’s was NOT just about beer. Sure, they still served beer, but they had so much else to offer, too. If they could only get people to realize that “pub” meant more than “bar” things would be good again. They hired a small advertising firm to put together a campaign for them. A designer came up with a new logo showing a beer glass encircled by a globe, indicating a community and connectivity. They ran ads in the school paper and paid for spots during televised sporting events. They made t-shirts. They did anything and everything they could to remind people of the importance of O’Dewey’s, not just to the current students and faculty, but to students and faculty of the past, and students and faculty to come. Who could imagine the town, this campus without O’Dewey’s? It would simply never be the same.

One day, in the middle of putting out the new cork coasters with the new logo on the new touch-screen tables, Mary’s daughter Erin asked, “Mom, what do you think makes a pub a pub?” She scoffed a bit and said, “Well beer, of course, Erin.”

“Yes. I’d agree.”

“What are you getting at?”

“I was wondering if maybe, just maybe, we’ve gotten away from that. I’m wondering if we’ve become something else.”

“What are you saying? We’re not a pub?”

“No. We’re still a pub, but we’re also a lot more. People who come here regularly know that, but anybody else seeing ‘O’Dewey’s Pub’ thinks … pub. Why would anyone think to come to a pub for a book group?”

“So you’re suggesting we stop doing that? You think that we should simply go back to serving beer? Being a bar and nothing else?”

“That’s one option. The other is to change ourselves.”

“But we’ve done that. We’ve been doing that for years now. What more can we possibly change?”

“How about our name?”

“WHAT?! Not call ourselves O’Dewey’s?!”

“No. Not call ourselves a pub. Or at least call ourselves a pub and… something. Something else. Something that makes someone looking for a beer or a coffee or a group study spot or a sandwich or a free connection to the web or anything else we provide… well, it makes them know that we have those things. Pubs are about drinking and gathering. We are still that – we’ll always be that – but we need to let go of it as the only thing that we are.”

Mary looked at her daughter suspiciously, fearing that the next generation of O’Dewey’s marked the end of all she’d ever worked for, everything that her family meant. An O’Dewey was a bartender. She didn’t have any idea what her daughter was, nor could she believe she’d raised her. She shook her head, waved her off, and went back to updating ODeweys.com. “Crazy kid,” she thought. She’ll grow out of it.



In 2012, when she finished her degree, Erin O’Dewey opened “Erin’s Corner”. It quickly became one of the busiest gathering places near campus.