One

For a year, I wrote a monthly feature for the Lewiston Sun-Journal. It was called Explore. I’d spend a day in a Maine community and write about the place and the people who lived there. I’m not sure if they’re still online or not but I have some of them posted on my writing site. I especially liked this one on Wilton. The places became sources to write something more than the usual “town in the news” hack pieces. At least that was always my goal.

A bonus of these assignments was getting to work with a stellar editor in Mark Mogensen. Most local dailies don’t pay freelancers enough and I was forced to take my writing elsewhere. It was my Sun-Journal piece on Biddeford that led me to believe I could pitch it to a bigger paper. I did and my more involved feature landed on the pages of the Boston Globe nearly three years ago.

The practice I developed back then: spending the better part of a day in a particular place informed this post. As I was out and about in Lewiston last Friday, the thought of doing something like this on a semi-regular basis held some appeal. We shall see.

My initial thought was to go into detail and provide some personal history about me and Lewiston. Like being a seven-year-old second grader with a teacher who was overly demanding about my penmanship. It was 1969 and teachers had way more leeway in how they marshaled their young troops back then.

In the case of Mrs. D, it meant imposing her iron will on a young boy who was hyper and with no interest in mastering cursive writing. She died in 2006. I remember seeing her obituary and not feeling sad at all.

My Franco-American grandmother lived in Lewiston. My family visited her nearly every Sunday. My aunt who never married lived with her.

Immigrants like my grandmother were proud of their city. Her Catholic faith was important and a central element for her and most francophones and fellow French-Canadian settlers in Lewiston. If there is any doubt about the role of the Church in French-Canadian life in Lewiston, St. Peter and Paul Basilica, which sits like a sentry overlooking Lewiston (and neighboring Auburn) should tell you that religion was important to them. They made sure to leave a memorial to their faith. Funding for the church came from thousands of small donations given by Lewiston residents, especially the Franco-American community.

There is a lot more history about the Basilica I could cover, but I’m not really interested in doing so. Other family members have mined that vein if people are interested.

Two

Lewiston is the second-largest city in Maine. There are slightly more than 36,000 residents living there. Franco-Americans came to the city looking for a better life at the end of the 19^th century and at the beginning of the 20^th. Lewiston more recently has attracted another group of people looking to improve their lives. During the tail-end of the 20^th century, significant numbers of mainly ethnic Bantu refugees from Somalia began arriving in the U.S. Word spread among them that Lewiston was a special place. Somalis began a secondary migration from other states to the former mill town.

Back to my grandmother for a moment.

My Memiere lived most of her life in apartments scattered across the city. Like many renters, you live somewhere for awhile and then, the rent goes up, things change, and for a host of other reasons, you need to move.

My father was usually involved in the move. He’d borrow a truck from my uncle who owned a local business. My father would recruit me to add what little muscle I could provide at eight or nine. I hated these moves because it meant moving stuff up and down stairs from a second or third floor apartment on College Street, or Pierce, or Sabattus, or a host of other streets in Lewiston that I still know like the back of my own hand.

One place I recall with a great deal of fondness is the apartment that my grandmother had on College Street. Our Sunday visit meant candy provided by my aunt, usually soda (which we rarely had at home), playing store in the hallway pantry where my grandmother kept a supply of cans and other dry goods.

My Franco-American grandmother never learned English. I can still hear her and my mother (and aunt) conversing in French. Certain words I’d recognize, and there would be occasional English words mixed in. Sometimes they’d laugh. Oddly, I never learned to speak French.

Then, it would be time to make the return trip to Lisbon Falls. When I was in Mrs. D’s second grade class, my stomach would clench and then hurt all the way home. I was thinking ahead to class the next day and had begun steeling myself for a week of her haranguing me in front of classmates about my penmanship and all manner of other tasks where I wouldn’t measure up to her overly-strict expectations of a young boy with too much energy and not much patience for practicing penmanship.

Three

Similar to other mill towns in Maine like Waterville and Biddeford, the economy of Lewiston ebbed and flowed according to the health of the textile mills. These mills began closing during the 1950s. New England, once the center of cotton textile manufacturing in the world, once had the corner on more than 80 percent of global production. In 1954, U.S. market share had shrunk to about 20 percent. First, Southern labor and other advantages found owners moving operations below the Mason-Dixon divide. Then, textile production went overseas. Bosses always look for the cheapest labor option.

I was hired by one of Maine’s Workforce Investment Boards in 2006. The office was located within the confines of one of Maine’s CareerCenters on Mollison Way. This wasn’t far from where the old Lewiston Raceway had been located.

That period in the mid-2000s was a significant one for the city. Economic development and growth were taking place and the city was infused with a new civic optimism. Downtown was in the throes of experiencing revitalization for the first time in decades. There were now places worth visiting again along Lisbon Street. The former Bates Mill was being redeveloped.

Things weren’t perfect. Many refugees struggled accessing employment. We ran several New Mainer training programs at B-Street Community Center in the heart of what had been neighborhoods once teeming with French-Canadian mill workers. I never spent time there without being reminded of those Sunday afternoon visits to my grandmother’s apartment decades before. It wasn’t unusual for me to park near one of the tenements (if it was still there) where my grandmother had lived. I’d get out and spend time walking around talking with some of the new residents. This allowed me to experience the new rhythms and changes wrought in the place.

Four

The fall of 2018 is shaping up to be a busy time for me. After successive summers of sitting home alone, it feels good to have places to go and people to see. But accelerating from slightly above zero to 60 on your personal speedometer requires some adjustment. I think I’m still getting re-acclimated.

A week of tutoring, subbing, and tending to insurance tasks found me with plans to take Friday off. I tutor Sunday through Thursday nights, so Thursday could be my new Friday. But why Lewiston and why last week? It was mainly about the Bánh Mì.

People who know me well know that I’m a fan of Yelp. At least I have been a fan. I’ve used it exclusively over the past 10 years to get a sense about restaurants (mainly) and other services from reviewers-on-the-street, which is what I am. Recently, I’ve also been using Trip Advisor, too.

Yelp put an unlikely take-out restaurant in Lewiston on my food radar. I’ve been meaning to have lunch there. So, why not last Friday?

Never will Lewiston be mistaken for a foodie Mecca like Portland to the south. I have it from a reliable source that most hipsters fear turning into pillars of salt if they brazenly dare leave the city’s gilded confines. So they don’t. That’s a shame because I know they’d like Boba.

This nondescript eatery, what I’d call a “take-out joint,” is centered on the flavor profiles originating in the countries of Southeast Asia. The location where chef Zach Pratt is now plying his culinary magic is in a former neighborhood variety store, just off Pleasant Street. Use your GPS to find it.

His “new” location is a step-up from when he began as a five-seater in the corner of a former gas station. Don’t let the locale and simplicity fool you. Pratt is the real deal. He recently made an appearance on The Food Network’s “Chopped.” I predict he won’t be in Lewiston forever.

Stepping inside from Scribner Boulevard, a cavalcade of delicious aromas washed over me. My mouth commenced to watering. “Where am I?” Was I really in Lewiston, “the dirty Lew?” I’m sorry. That wasn’t kind. I know many locals hate that descriptor. Back to food reviewing.

Boba has a wealth of menu options: Pho, dumplings, sandwiches, appetizers. Pratt was out back, an artist working his magic; he and a co-worker were trying to stay ahead of multiple Friday take-out orders waiting to be picked up. The line was moderate and getting deeper. It would be a few minutes before I would get close enough to place my order. I’d opt for one of the Bánh Mì options. If you aren’t familiar, these are Vietnamese sandwiches served with pickled carrot, daikon radish, a secret aioli, cilantro, onion, on a toasted French baguette. There is a vegan option, which was Kosher Mi, with marinated tofu and a vegan aioli.

Zach asked if I was a vegan and said that the sandwich might be a bit “dry” so he slipped in a small container of a ginger chili sauce for dipping. I would have been fine without it, but this little addition was like “bam!!!” in terms of ramping up my first experience at his restaurant/eatery.

While take-out is king here, there are three tables (I think?) and stools to eat along the wall.

The combination of flavors in the Bánh Mì created a perfect flavor symphony in my mouth. The cilantro was fresh, and the baguette roll was flavorful and crunchy. The pickled veggie/daikon combo suited the perfectly marinated and fried tofu. I could have been happy with the tofu and my dipping sauce, alone. Together—well, perfection!!

Pratt told me that he and his partner are looking for a bigger place nearby. Check the website and apps like TripAdvisor to be sure you are headed to the right place.

Five

My goal post-SI joint dysfunction is 150 minutes of exercise per week. I swim at least two days each week, so there’s an hour or slightly more. I try to mix in a few walks, and some time on my bike. Friday, I needed to walk. I decided to park by Simard-Payne Park and tackle the Riverwalk. I’m glad I did.

Friday was a fall-like 60 degrees, ideal for walking. Just after lunch, there were precious few pedestrians on the paved path tracing the shore of the Androscoggin back towards the falls on the Auburn side of the river. I walked and reminisced. Memories from childhood up through recent years and experiences in Lewiston—like my involvement with Grow L+A in 2015/2016, washed over me. I could see the L.L. Bean call center where I’d worked the winter I was writing my first book in 2005. I’d return for subsequent seasons through 2014. I think the last time I’d been on this path was during a 4^th of July fireworks celebration, 15 years ago. Actually, during our second Dempsey Challenge, I remember Mary and I cycling across the Grand Trunk Railroad trestle into the park and being cheered by people lining the bridge. Mark walked with his Aunt Dianne. Mary’s mom was with us that day. Memories of better times and people no longer here.

Lewiston and places like it will continue facing challenges as a city. Cut-government-no-matter-what doesn’t bode well for community and people. Many of the strip malls that bled business from downtown have empty storefronts. The Promenade Mall’s parking lot is a mess. The once vibrant retail center is now a shell of its former self.

Bull Moose, on the other side of Lisbon Street in the Lewiston Mall, is expanding. In addition to CDs, records, and DVDs, they are going to become a bookseller, also. Their Scarborough store has already made the transition. Since Mr. Paperback closed and Bookland before it, Lewiston has been without a full-service bookstore. With Bates students and I’m guessing enough people who still read, this seems like a good move. They’ll be the anchor tenant in a mall that needs more traffic. Perhaps the holidays will bring some pop-up stores, too.

Lisbon Street continues its Phoenix-like reinvention. Fuel, the amazing French bistro that was one of the first new places to open downtown signaling its rebirth, recently closed. I’m not sure how that will affect that end of the street.

Lewiston has leveraged its past and some of its industrial infrastructure (like the Bates Mill) to get to the place where it now finds itself. I still think there is some confusion about how the city sees itself in terms of its brand. People who live there might disagree. I’m fine with that.

I’ll be back again, even if it’s just to try some of Zach Pratt’s unique and delicious fare. Baxter is a favorite beer of mine, and some Saturday during winter’s slower season, visiting their tap room is something to consider. Lunch at Guthrie’s is never hard to take. There’s also Museum LA, Bates College, and a host of other attractions worthy od one’s attention.