Word: kennebunk
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...Hard Way: The Odyssey of a Weekly Newspaper Editor is a humbler story, set not in New York or Washington but in Kennebunk, Maine. The paper in question isn't an influential national daily with a staff of thousands and a news room the size of an airplane hangar, but a small weekly struggling to survive. The issues aren't Watergate or the Vietnam war, but whether the town should build a water tower behind a local church, and whether the school bus should change its route in order to pick up Herman Cohen's children...
...maternal grandfather George Herbert Walker built his house in 1903, the town was a quiet refuge for well-heeled gentry from New York and Boston. They built sprawling "cottages" along Ocean Avenue and played tennis at the River Club, while the natives fished and built ships on the Kennebunk River. Life remained peaceful until a decade or so ago, when the southern coast of Maine was discovered by tourists and developers. Dock Square used to have a gas station, a hardware store, a market, a movie theater. They are all gone now, replaced by shops with names like Frangipani...
...play basketball. Sandy shouts loudly at each play Josh makes. Joyce arrives from work at half time. Mary Lou sits with Dana a short distance away. That night she'll drive the kids two hours north for a planned three-day holiday weekend; Dylan will be dropped off in Kennebunk, Me., to spend time with his father. A different parent will bring all three children back to Belmont. Parenthood in the late 20th century: love and logistics and chagrin...
Christine Panek, a hospital worker who lives in Kennebunk, Me., was driving home a few weeks ago, when she saw an injured robin in the middle of the road. She took it home, nursed it to health, then hatched a plan to reunite her patient with its migrated friends...
...next season, as Mike began his comeback, we struck up a friendship and became drinking partners. Eighteen-year-old drinking hadn't yet become legal in Maine, and drinking partnership was a serious affair. During the winter, we would cruise the back roads of Kennebunk, quaffing Colt .45, the completely unique experience. With Mike, it was. Mike took his drinking seriously, but had a morbid funny bone when it came to close calls. One winter night, after upsetting a 16 oz. Colt in my lap by skidding around a corner and ramming a snowbank, Mike looked over and grinned...