MORE Ferrets of the Carribbean

Last week, in honor of all the homeless ferrets it has shuttled to loving homes, Massachusetts Ferret Friends hosted its annual ferret party. I like piratesThis year's theme, as we mentioned while forcing MFF president Phyllis Spy to defend herself, was "Ferrets of the Caribbean."

Today, we checked in with Phyllis to see how it went. We were excited, because when we last talked, she told us that some of the ferrets would arrive in a tiny row boat. Alas, that plan ended up being rained out. (It was probably for the best, however--Phyllis had been worried about possible ferret theft by the red-tailed hawks that live in the area.) MFF still had its party, and as proof, Phyllis sent us a link to the event's photo album. Since it's Talk Like a Pirate Day, we're sharing it with you. (Check out the ferret tube races.)

T breaks, is fixed

In keeping with my recent obsessive MBTA reporting, I bring you the latest news from the front: yes, the T was broken this afternoon. Apparently there was a power surge at their downtown operations control center, which is located in a secret location somewhere in the Financial District. The surge blew out the T's ability to monitor the movements of the trains electronically, so the trains were essentially running blind for 35 to 40 minutes around 3pm.

The MBTA coped with this by suspending service--which mostly affected the Red Line--and eventually drafting its subway inspectors and station officials to direct trains by hand. At 3:45, the communications at the operations control center came back on, and service was restored.

All this info, of course, came to be from Joe Pesaturo. Have a nice commute!

Update: I'm not the only one who talks with Pesaturo. 

Green Line Extension hearing obstacle course

You can forgive the people of Somerville for suspecting that there's a conspiracy against the Green Line Extension. There were two public hearings before the Department of Environmental Protection about the much-delayed project today, and just getting there and getting heard was remarkably difficult.

The hearing room itself was hidden at the end of an obstacle course in Downtown Crossing. The "Washington Street Conference Center" is located at 1 Winter St., with an entrance that is completely camouflaged by the garish signage of The Corner. It takes a pass or two in front to realize that the conference center must be in, or at least upstairs from, the mall.

Once inside, hearing attendees were greeted by a bank of elevators, none of which led to the correct floor. There was a sign directing them to the "escalator by the Washington Street entrance" of the mall, which turned out to be out of order and blocked off, with its sister escalator going the wrong way. There was another sign here, which said that "DEP access" was a "stairway next to Sushi Time." No mention of the hearing, or where Sushi Time was.

Turns out it was in the food court, fairly far back in the bowels of the building. Next to it was a propped-open unmarked door leading to a staircase--no signs, and definitely not handicap accessible. That staircase finally popped you out into the DEP's lobby, where the universe righted itself and the hearing room was within view.

The hearing started on time and in an orderly manner, but came to a muffled halt as soon as the floor opened up for public comment because of a malfunctioning microphone. The first speaker, Somerville Mayor Joseph A. Curtatone, boomed out his speech unaided, but State Rep. Denise Provost, the next speaker, had to wait for DEP officials to fix the problem. "Green means on!" someone in the audience shouted. "No, red means on!" yelled someone else.

One man stood up. "I think this is not the first time that these microphones don't work!" he accused, getting a laugh from the room. "The last time the Silver Line had a hearing, they didn't work."

"This is the first time we've used these mics," one of the DEP staffers mumbled back as he handed the mic back to Provost. She tried again--still, no sound. "You have to stand closer to the speaker," he ordered.

"I'm happy to test their mics for them anytime," Provost quipped, leaving the podium to glad-hand the audience. In the front row, Dr. William Wood of Medford rose to his feet to demand that the hearing be delayed due to its lack of consideration for the disabled and the hard-of-hearing.

"Well, we'll delay this meeting until we figure it out," returned Jim Colman, the Assistant Commissioner of the DEP, as the mic-fumbling continued. After ten minutes of unplanned and unexplained delay and a new set of batteries, it finally did. Maybe the Green Line Extension will get that lucky.

Mmm, marketing

The launch of the T's latest marketing ploy, a T-themed ice cream creation available only at Cold Stone Creamery, prompted some pretty inspired invective from Amy Derjue at Boston Magazine. Alongside a few stinging insults, she asks a good question: what exactly is the transit-related logic behind the "(T)errific Charlie's" blend of cake batter ice cream, Snickers, M&Ms, and Kit Kats?

We put the question to Joe Pesaturo, the MBTA's ever-ready spokesman, who forwarded our inquiry to the MBTA's director of marketing, Barbara Moulton. (Who knew the T had a marketing department?) Here's what she says:

The idea came up at this year's Scooper Bowl (of which the T was a partner), a benefit for Dana Farber. Always seeking new ways to promote the use of CharlieCards, the T's marketing staff pitched the idea of paying tribute to the T/Charlie by naming a flavor after Boston's icon Charlie and adding value to T Charlie card holders w/the $1 off concept to Cold Stone's Creamery and they really liked the idea.

It also gave them an opportunity to advertise their 15 locations using the T advertising space as well as aligning their brand with ours.

Regarding the ingredients - Cold Stone's has a few seasonal creations they've perfected - after some discriminating tasting - we felt that this creation w/the multi colored M&M's (reminiscent of the lines of the T) was most worthy of carrying the Charlie name.

Doesn't really explain the Snickers or the Kit Kats. Or the cake batter. Or the fact that some M&Ms are yellow, with no corresponding yellow line. Still, it's probably tasty.

Update: I should've asked specifically about the yellow. From Joe Pesaturo:

"Yellow M&Ms represent T buses (all of which have yellow stripes)."

Ways the T used to be better, Part II

Our sweltering T tunnels used to be nice and cool in the summer, back in the days before air conditioning, but that's not the only way that our transit system used to be better than it is now. Once upon a time, the subway system was studded with signs that announced how long it took to get downtown--and those times were remarkably quick.

The sign at the St. Mary St. stopA vestige of those days can still be seen on the banners on the Carruth, the partially-constructed development going up near Ashmont station. The Carruth promises a 17-minute commute to Park Street, and, according to the Dorchester Reporter, there used to be a sign in front of the station advertising the same thing. Vic Campbell, a railfan who grew up in Dorchester, also told me that he remembers a sign, a blue-and-white baked enamel placard that posted the number of minutes it took to get downtown. He thinks it was about fifteen minutes.

Apparently, such signs were once all over the system. According to the Cambridge Historical Commission, a kiosk in Harvard Square promised "8 minutes to Park Street" in 1927. Jonathan Reed, a railfan at MIT, says that there's still a sign at the Lechmere station that says you can get to Park Street in twelve minutes. The creators of the New England Transportation website have a picture of a sign that was once mounted near the St. Mary's Street stop on the "Tremont Street subway," the Green Line's predecessor. It promised Park Street in ten minutes.

The T isn't so quick to announce its travel times anymore. It might be because they've gotten slower. Today, the T's trip planner estimates the ride between Ashmont Station and Park Street as "approx. 20 mins."

But even that's pretty optimistic, as any regular rider of that route will tell you. Here's the account of one rider, Ed Forry, who editorialized about the 17-minute promise in the Dorchester Reporter last year:

Seventeen minutes to Park Street.

That was the bold statement on the sign that for years hung outside Ashmont Station. It was more than a slogan: it was the way the management of the MBTA’s predecessor, the Metropolitan Transit Authority (MTA), marketed the route to downtown.

Just 17 minutes. From Ashmont Station to Boston Common. Pretty fast, pretty efficient, and in those pre-Expressway days the fastest and best way to get to downtown. That’s why they called it “rapid transit.” And for most of the time, it worked.

So it was with the memory of that efficiency that I decided to take the T to work one day recently. A quick connection from home to Ashmont, and just a four-station ride to the JFK/UMass Red Line station. What could be easier or more convenient? Even with the reconstruction ongoing at Ashmont, what could go wrong? As it turned out, plenty.

The shuttle bus drops off at the Dot Ave. sidewalk, and passengers scramble to climb the stairs and cross the bridge over the train tracks. After negotiating a couple of vendor stands, we came across a free-standing fare box on the bridge -- with no attendant, no turnstiles and no automated machines. For that morning (just after 10 a.m.), fare paying was voluntary. I dropped a crumpled dollar bill and a quarter in the box, and moved on.

Down to the inbound platform, now an open air space that zig and zags with temporary walls and assorted alcoves. There was no evidence of any T workers on the platform who might offer directions and answer questions, and no public announcements about any delays in service.

As I arrived, an outbound train came in from downtown, stopped for a minute or two, then slowly moved out of the station. That likely would turn around and become the inbound train, I thought; it should be here any moment. But five minutes went by, then another five, and then came a second outbound train. In another five or six minutes, a third train arrived, again not headed in my direction. By now the open-air platform was pretty filled, and some of us negotiated a little slice of sunshine for some warmth. The looming winter weather does not augur well for riders’ comfort this year at Ashmont Station.

Finally, after a 20-minute wait, an inbound train limped into the platform. The several hundred of us waiting surged aboard. Then came the wait: The train was ready to roll, but one of the doors would not close. After five minutes, we were off. At Shawmut, another delay. This time, the doors would not close, again. And again. And again. At least twelve times, the doors closed, then opened again as we sat and waited.

Finally rolling again, the train slowed nearing Fields Corner, then stopped cold on the bridge over Geneva Ave. It started, then stopped. Finally we made it into the station, and this time there was only a brief delay closing the doors, and we limped to the next two stops.

The time from arrival at Ashmont to getting off at JFK/UMass was 45 minutes! Enough to make a soul wonder: Whatever happened to rapid transit? Enough, also, to conclude the right decision is to avoid the annoyances and indignities of life on the MBTA, and instead drive myself to work.

$100 million won't buy much

Sunday’s Globe had a big announcement, although it didn’t seem to know it. Buried in the sixth graph of an article about Patrick’s looming casino decision was the first solid estimate of how much money a Mashpee Wampanoag casino in Middleborough will bring to the state.

The grand total? “Up to $100 million.”

The Globe doesn’t mention where it got this number, but we’re assuming it’s been bandied about in smoke-filled back room conversations for months now. State Rep. Allen McCarthy probably thinks that this is a good thing, since he's been promising that a casino will shovel money into the coffers of cities and towns across the state. But as we pointed out back in February when we added up the costs and benefits of casinos, this number, which is pretty close to what we predicted (about $79 million), ain’t that much. Some perspective, via this year's state budget.

--The state's operating budget this year is $26 billion. The casino would bring in 1/260 of that amount.

--$100 million would be only 25% more money than what we get now from the taxes on alcoholic beverages, which this year totaled $72 million.

--$100 million is less than a quarter of the haul we get from taxes on cigarettes, which gave the state $426.3 million this year.

--It would be about a tenth of what we get from the lottery, which was $1.1 billion this year. (Incidentally, the Globe article calls the Wampanoag casino a “$1 billion casino resort.” We'll only see a tenth of that billion.)

And what’ll $100 million a year buy?

--Not quite the yearly interest we pay on the debt for the central artery, which this year was $112,596,000.

--Or, less than 1/7 of the state’s share of group insurance, which this year cost $736,866,118.

--Or, the costs of the retired municipal teachers’ premiums and the audit of such premiums, which this year cost $83,926,853. (In other words, hardly the cash infusion into the school system State Rep. McCarthy thinks it is.)

--Or, a sixth of the Green Line extension to Somerville, which will cost $600 million.

In other words, $100 million is chump change. Keep that in mind this fall as the deals go down.

The Boston Tea Party Boat is not on fire

You might have heard otherwise. It’s not hard to believe, since there was a plume of brown, woodsy-smelling smoke drifting over downtown today.

Ominous clouds on high street

Around 1pm, I booked it down to the source of the smoke, which looked like it was coming from somewhere behind South Station, to watch American history burn.

When I got there, I grabbed the first firefighter I saw and asked him whether the tea party was on fire. “Boy, rumors spread fast, don’t they?” he said. “No. There was a shack next to the building on the Congress Street bridge that caught fire. I don’t know if it spread to the bridge or what, but it’s not the Boston Tea Party ship.”

The tea party shack gets hosed

In fact, the actual Boston Tea Party ship (which is actually several ships, all replicas) is safely in Gloucester being renovated for the 2008 opening of the Boston Tea Party Ships and Museum. However, the flaming shack on the Congress Street Bridge was tea-party related; it was the former gift shop of the Boston Tea Party Ships and Museum dock. Before that, it was the tender’s house for the drawbridge. Apparently, it contained a lot of rubber lobsters, according to the Herald. (The Herald also knows what started the fire—stray sparks from a welding torch—while the Globe reported that the cause was “not immediately clear.”)

Arthur learns about combustibles

By the time I got there, the big flames were under control, but gawkers still lined both sides of the river, many of them at the Children’s Museum, getting their first lesson in hellfire while standing next to a giant Hood milk bottle under the watchful eyes of an inflatable Arthur. The firefighters, most of whom were waiting for the flames to get low enough so that they could go in and tear apart what remained of the shack, gave me a tour of the condoned-off area of Congress St. bridge so I could get a mouthful of steam and smoldering creosote. One said that at its worst, the flames had been several stories high.

“Not a lot of fires downtown,” lamented another, as he watched his colleagues blast the shack with high-powered jets of water. “Don’t get down here much anymore.”

Local comic book creator locked in (reality TV) battle

Fewer than 48 nail-biting hours remain for Jorge Vega, a Brockton high school teacher, until he knows whether he’s the comic book industry’s next Kelly Clarkson. (Or Fantasia, or Taylor Hicks.)A page from "Gunplay,"

Vega is one of the three contestants left standing in the 2007 Comic Book Challenge, a craven publicity stunt for AT&T Blue Room and Platinum Studios that, like American Idol, is impossible not to like. Platinum is offering its version of the Horatio-Albert-like big break—a publishing deal—to the contestant who has the best idea for a comic book.

Vega’s pitch, called Gunplay, involves a buffalo soldier, post-Civil War madness in the South, and a terrible curse. Want to know more? Or maybe cast your vote for Vega’s pitch, which right now is neck and neck with a story about a banana? Go here before Sunday at midnight, when the clock stops ticking. For our part, we’ll be talking to Vega early Monday morning, win or lose, to see how life looks the morning after.

Hunt for free! (Certain restrictions apply)

Usually, getting a license to hunt in Massachusetts will set you back anywhere from $10 to $200. But not always. If you’re a paraplegic, according to the license page of the Massachusetts Division of Fisheries and Wildlife, your hunting license is free. (You do have to be a Massachusetts resident, however. Sorry, Spina Bifida Association of Connecticut.) Apparently, giving paraplegic sportsmen opportunities to hunt animals is a priority for the state’s wildlife stewards.

The state is generous to others, too. If you’re elderly, blind, or mentally retarded, you can fish for free. If you want to hunt, though, presumably you have to shell out like everyone else.

Ways the T used to be better, Part I

In the feature about the T’s badass antique trolleys this week, I quoted several railfans (definition: people who are obsessed with all things track-bound) discussing the irony of the longevity of the T’s oldest cars. Here’s the rub: the ancient PCCs on the Mattapan “high speed line,” which were built in 1945 and 1946, are still operating because they’re better and cheaper than anything else.

To think that the T would’ve been better off it hadn’t changed a thing since World War II sounds like misguided Luddite nostalgia, but it gets more convincing the more you learn about T history. 

Historical epiphany number 1: The tunnels used to be cool

You know how Park Street Station is an airless tomb from June to August? Just like all the other underground T stations, which are also sweltering and breezeless in summer? Well, they’re not hot because of global warming or substandard building codes of generations past. The real reason the T is stuffy and hot is the fault of modern improvements, according to Gerry O’Regan, railfan and officer of the Boston Street Railway Association.

“Back before air conditioning was popular, the tunnels used to be nice and cool in the summer,” he says. “They used to be where you went to get cold in the summertime.”

Which makes sense, because they’re underground, a place where temperatures aren’t as extreme as they are on the surface. That’s why before refrigeration, people had root cellars. That’s why small animals in deserts (and people in Australia, while we’re at it) live in burrows and dugouts. Because of this, the T tunnels were designed with an average temperature of 50-60 degrees in mind, and kept breezy with a ventilation system of vents that let air from the tunnels into the cars.

So hot right nowSo what went wrong? Why are the once-cool tunnels now sweltering doldrums of death?

“It’s because the cars are air conditioned,” O’Regan says. “It heats the air discharged back into the tunnels, and works as a heat pump. It’s hot in summer because air conditioning is on. And the electronics in the cars and tunnels give off heat, too, which means that additional heat gets pumped back into subway. And there’s nowhere it can go.”

We’re hot because of the A/C? Holy ironic unintended consequences, Batman!

The only way to get the cool tunnels back, O’Regan says, isn’t to install more air conditioning, as people and the T seem to think. Instead, we should just trash the whole A/C system and go back to the root cellar model. “It’s called ventilation instead of air-conditioning,” he says.

Stay tuned: more lessons from antiquity to come.