The Gloucester Clam

We’ve all grown up on a steady diet of Second World War lore. From movies, TV shows, books and documentaries the “Big War” is embedded in all our imaginations. Yet it’s sometimes easy to forget it was fought by regular guys, our family members and neighbors who we’ve lived alongside all our lives. Mostly silent about their experiences we think of them in their post-war civilian roles: barbers and fishermen, uncles and teachers. But in their youth they were part of the greatest group effort in the history of the world, each as one of millions of soldiers tasked with pulling the world back from the grip of fascism.

The world may never again see anything like it. Let’s hope not, anyway.

Noting that this is the 70th anniversary of the end of the war,  that every day there are fewer and fewer WW II vets and that Gloucester pound for pound sent more men and women to war than most any other community in the country, professional photographer Jason Grow decided that those remaining needed to be recorded and their memory preserved before their entire generation was gone. This makes sense remembering the youngest vets are 87 years old today. So he decided to shoot as many of these vets as he can, hoping to capture all the WW II Vets on Cape Ann as part of a photo series. It’s a personal project borne out of respect and the desire to capture a part of history before it’s lost forever. He hopes to turn it into some kind of exhibition the the upcoming Veteran’s Day in November.

Joe Favazza, 94, Gloucester

One of the most interesting facets of the project is how diverse the experiences are. Some guys were shipped to stateside bases for years, being deployed only later in the war, often to combat zones just as the Japanese surrendered. There were those who helped open the gates at concentration camps. Others saw the horror of battle, but respond with the humility typical of their generation, “The medics, those guys were the heroes.”

The pictures speak for themselves, here are a couple of the images so far, We’re going to publish a few more later in the day/tomorrow.

Robert Zager, 90, Gloucester

If you know of any WWII vet living in Gloucester, Rockport, Manchester or Essex who should be part this project –  please contact Jason Grow at: jason@jasongrow.com or 978.884.7964  –

As the project develops portraits and the stories of these men and women will be athttp://www.jasongrow.com/PORTFOLIO/WWII-VETERANS-PROJECT/1/

It’s time for another edition of Fuck It Friday, where I don’t have time to write an actual article because I have to do work and parent my kids and junk.

Despite the vast majority of encrypted search terms that lead people to our little corner of yon Internet, we still get some unencrypted doozies. While I had to filter out the most vile (a lot of Rule 34 was going on), there is still some truly wonderous search phrases that led someone, someone on the internet to click on our page. Like, you know, the following, which are all 100% unedited and are real search terms:

aliens in gloucester ma

pants you can take to mars

yoga training hoth fuck

why do the clams smell like horse poop

cody fucking shackleton asshole [is this a person? an insult? both? ]

foot worship in gloucester

clam are schools in alabama

it’s okay to talk to a strange man or woman

my resolousion since the 7 of you asket

how to get drone out of a tree [we get so many of these]

the people of version dog shit

we hate this now

states that blowjobs are illegal

where does the dog poop on hot tuna

is football fans are stupid

what’s the use of the magnetic device built into the crotch of men’s boxer briefs and pants

pantsshitter mcgee

case of fireball nips

how to make a clam mascot

mayoral beachwear 2014

After our recent bank robbery hijinks (#freederek), we here at the Clam started to realize something. We’ve all gone fucking straight crazynuts in this town. This seems to have been concentrated in not only bizarre crimes – like that dude who decided he didn’t like rap music, so he shot a bouncer in the leg (apparently missing the inherent irony) – but also our questionable piloting of vehicles. First, some dude crashes into the front of Poseidon’s. Then on Saturday someone drove their damn car right off the fish pier (quite possibly in search of Poseidon).

(Thanks to GMG for capturing a very WTF moment)

How did any of these completely illogical things even happen? How was the van driver going so fast that he could have extended his arm into the pizza oven and come back with a delicious pizza without leaving his seat? How did two girls NOT SEE THE END OF THE FUCKING FISH PIER? Headlights exist, right? While my esteemed colleague, one Mr. James Dowd, hypothesizes that it’s acute cases of “the brain worms”, I think I know what’s causing this, as a certified internet sociologist (certification pending).

Pibloktoq. Arctic hysteria.

I naturally assume this is how Joey C gets his lobsters in winter.

Although mostly mythical and probably caused by a toxic amount of Vitamin A in the succulent organ meat consumed by indiginous populations within the Arctic circle, I submit anyway that Arctic Fever is really what’s causing the temporary bouts of insanity we’re seeing around Gloucester. It’s truly the only reasonable explanation for this:

This was a logical event. Pic via GMG/Paul Spinola.

Sure, it could be argued that the prime time for all the goddamn crazy to be happening was early February. But I don’t think any of us had time to go crazy – we were all in massive survival mode. During the last few months, you had roughly twenty fucking minutes between colossal, multi-day snowstorms to get to Market Basket and hope they still had some damn rotisserie chicken so your children stop getting that murderous look in their eyes for suggesting they have another can of baked beans from the pantry. It was like a Laura Ingalls Wilder book, but with more nip bottles and abandoned cars and less of that hottie Almanzo.

Finally, weeks later, we’re now cautiously emerging from the shellshock of 10 feet of snow piled everywhere, and the constant beeping of DPW trucks has stopped haunting us in our sleep. There’s still an entire regular-sized picnic table buried in snow in my yard. Not even the top is poking out. But the onslaught of snow has passed, and our future goal of “not being in a freezing, precipitous hellscape stuck inside with feral children” is looking reachable. Our brains are kind of broken – everything happened fast, and nothing seemed unbelievable anymore. Not the National Guard showing up, not the dissapearance of 8′ fences, not the complete failure of our public transportation system, our newly appointed mayor telling us to stay inside, or white people jumping out of 2nd story windows for the fucking hell of it (#1 sign of Pibloqtoq, according to Marty Walsh). “What if this never ends,” I asked, mostly to the blank wall in front of me. “What if my children just hit me with nerf darts and argue over Mario Kart characters for the rest of my life, and this snow never melts? What if this is our life now, forever?” It seemed plausible. Eminently plausible.

Probably only a 2-hour delay.

So naturally, now is when we’re seeing the worst of the Pibloktoq. The long-term effects of winter on our citizenry are slowly appearing, mostly in the form of ill-thought-out felonies. We can drive our cars again and be relatively sure we can find a parking space sorta near where we’re going. Shifting out of immediate survival mode, that’s when the shit really hits the fan.

But if my supposition is true, what can we do about it? Not much. Like a seizure or a jello shot from the House of Mitch, we just have to endure it and move on.

And how next will it manifest itself? A massive, shoe-throwing ladyfight outside the Crow’s Nest? Outside the Shalin Liu? Will some obese neckbeard attempt to rob the post office wearing juggalo makeup and get winded trying to run up Dale Avenue with a sack of Easter-themed stamps? Will someone drive their van down the Dogbar breakwater because they swore that was the correct way to get to Midori?

Who the fuck knows. I cut out organ meats from my diet, so I’m immune. Good luck to the rest of you.