Those who came of age with me in the Revere/Saugus area will remember Weylu’s, the imposing palace of a Chinese restaurant perched on a hill overlooking Route 1. The place closed some 15 years ago, but the building still sits there, slowly rotting away.
North Shore photographer Brian Cummings went inside this past weekend and took some stunning shots of the ruins. Check it out here.
And be sure to check out more of Cummings’ work on that Facebook page. Beautiful stuff.
A couple years ago I wrote some posts criticizing fellow Haverhill residents for making fun of a mentally ill man — Crazy Mike, as he is unfortunately known.
Some jerks created a Facebook page dedicated to making fun of the man, whose real name is Michael Nicoloro, which was taken down after a wave of complaints.
Mood Music:
There’s been a lot of debate and speculation regarding Mike’s mental state and how he got that way, some saying it was from his experiences while serving in Vietnam. Others claimed that he’s not in fact a veteran and that he simply chooses to live the way he does.
Most recently, many have speculated that Mike had died.
I knew something was up when traffic for my posts about him shot through the ceiling.
I got in touch with members of his family, and his apparent death was news to them.
Despite any official obituary or other confirmation, the rumors persisted.
With that came more comments to my personal email about how I was an asshole for defending him and buying into the so-called lie that he was a veteran mentally scarred by what he saw.
Whether or not he’s a veteran is beside the point, but more on that in a second.
A trusted source told me he saw Mike this week in Central Square. He’s perfectly alive, so the death rumors can stop now.
My source believes Mike was off getting a 90-day evaluation. Whether that’s true or what for I don’t know.
Now, back to all the trash talk about his military status:
His relatives have confirmed that he was in Vietnam and that he came back with the scars of war. I’m more inclined to believe his relatives.
But as I said, it’s beside the point.
He’s mentally ill. Regardless of how he got that way, people have to be jerks to make fun of him.
We all have some baggage weighing down our souls. But instead of addressing our own issues, we judge other people.
Can an encounter with Mike be unsettling? Sure. Should he be kept off the streets? Not unless he has broken the law or hurt someone. I know of no evidence that he’s done that.
I do know for a fact that people have gone out of their way to bully him and set him off.
I’m glad he lives, and I wish him peace.
Now leave him alone.
About the time I visited my old hiding spot behind a boat yard in the old neighborhood and found something I had lost.
Mood music:
http://youtu.be/Phez1FvzGbY
During my sometimes-turbulent youth growing up in the Point of Pines, Revere, there was a place I used to go where I could be alone, smoke, drink and escape the world.
It was behind the Fowler Marine boat yard, just past a field of 10-foot-high weeds. From the walkway of Gibson Park, passers-by couldn’t see a thing. It was perfect, especially since I pretty much hated everyone at the time.
I had a lot to run from, at least in my 15-year-old mind. My home on the Lynnway, across from Carey Circle, was a turbulent place. Nothing was quite right there after my older brother died. And, a few years after my parents divorced, I had a new stepmom living there. I fought with her all the time. I guess I hated her, because she was a new authority figure in a time when I didn’t want anyone telling me what to do.
In hindsight, she was at a real disadvantage. My brother died only a few months after she appeared on the scene, and she was home the night he had that final asthma attack. She plunged the adrenaline needle in him while waiting for the ambulance because that’s what you were supposed to do in the event of these attacks. But his number was up, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.
She was also there a couple months before, in October 1983, when Michael had a similar attack that almost killed him that night. The doctors didn’t think he was going to make it that night, but he bounced back from the brink just in time, just like I bounced back from the brink more than once when the Croh’s Disease was attacking me so bad that the doctors were ready to tear out my colon and throw it in the trash.
I thought she married my Dad for his business success. I fought constantly with the step-sister she gave me. I was jealous of the step-brother she gave me because he was suddenly the cute youngest kid. Before my parents divorced it was Michael, Wendi and me, the youngest. Being sick, I was also spoiled rotten. Then the step-siblings came along and Michael died, making me the oldest son, a title that carried a lot of pressure.
She also gave me a beautiful half sister in late 1985 who came along at just the right time, bringing joy to the family I never thought we’d see again.
Looking back, I was just an angry little fuck and she’s the one I took it out on. I was fat, unpopular and had watched a brother die and parents divorce with all the rancor you could expect.
I’ve learned a lot over the years.
My stepmom is a good person who has stuck by my father through all kinds of ugliness, including a series of strokes three years ago. She’s an excellent grandmother to Sean, Duncan and my nieces and nephews. We have a good relationship today.
I recently revisited my old neighborhood, including the hiding spot.
This time, it was different, because I was standing there in a state of peace rather than trouble.
On the way back to Haverhill we passed the new Paul Revere School that was built on the site of the old Paul Revere School. I went to junior high there. Those were among the unhappiest times of my life, so there’s a certain satisfaction in seeing a new building rise from the rubble of the old.
Yet another symbol of how time heals all wounds if you’re willing to take the steps to make it happen.
