WOCB: The Cape's First Radio Powerhouse - Cape Cod History

Typically when you’re the first of something, there tends to be a lot of room for improvement. Several years ago I wrote about Cape Cod’s very first radio station, WSCG. You can read about it in full here: Cape Cod’s First Radio Station. I’ll give a quick refresher for those unfamiliar.

In 1903, the first transatlantic wireless communication took place in Wellfleet thanks to the invention of Guglielmo Marconi. It was the beginning of radio. On November 2, 1920, Pittsburgh radio station KDKA aired the first commercial broadcast. Within four years, there were 600 commercial radio stations in the country, including WNAC in Boston, the future WRKO, and WEEI. The rising popularity and profitability of radio led to Cape Codders longing for their own local station.

In July 1926, a station was created in Osterville by James Henderson. It was a 200-watt station located at the Seapuit Golf Course, along South County Road. The station debuted with the letters WSGC, possibly as a nod to the Seapuit Golf Course. Its opening night was July 24th.

Program Listing for WSGC's Opening Night, courtesy of Boston Globe Archives

The station was on the air six nights a week, from 7:30 - 11 p.m. They went dark on Mondays. In August 1926, the call letters were changed to WJBX. It was announced that as Labor Day passed, the radio station would cease operating until the following spring. Unfortunately, the relaunch never came, and WSCG/WJBX became nothing more than a flash in the pan. Cape Cod and radio would not reunite for well over a decade.

That is where we pick up the story.


In January 1937, a new company was formed. Cape Cod Broadcasting Company was the brainchild of a pair of highly successful women. Harriet Alleman and Helen MacLellan, both of Osterville. They had been successful working in real estate together for the previous ten years. Their goal was to open a new radio station on Cape Cod, the first since WSCG/WJBX closed eleven years earlier. The women even planned to build the station in Osterville.

The process was slow, with several changes and roadblocks overcome for the new company to even be licensed. Next came the prospective station’s band location being challenged by the Fall River Herald News Publishing Company in June 1937. They wanted the same spot on the radio dial but were rebuffed.

Harriet and Helen’s radio station was not authorized by the Federal Communications Commission(FCC) until May 13, 1938, roughly two years from Cape Cod Broadcasting’s inception. The estimated cost of the station was $19,750 ($472,754 in 2026), with operating expenses projected to be $1,365 ($32,673) monthly. Cost was one thing they were not worried about with investors and advertisers. However, the planned Osterville location did not end up happening. What was thought to be a three-month plan to go from authorization to up and running would end up being over two years.

A location was found in June 1939 when Cape Cod Broadcasting purchased a fifty-year lease of an 8 ½ acre plot of land known as the Barr estate. This was located at the end of South Sea Avenue in West Yarmouth and was owned by trustees of the Christian Science church. An announcement was made in the Barnstable Patriot newspaper.

The call letters WOCB were selected for the new station, standing for Only Cape Broadcasting. A nearly 200-foot-tall antenna tower was built on the site with 250 watts of power, including roughly sixteen miles of copper wiring located underground. This allowed the station to be heard as far as fifty miles away.

A postcard of the original WOCB station.

The entire WOCB station was located at the South Sea Avenue site. Plans for the property were drawn up by Hyannis architect Walter Gaffney. It included the control room, three studios, a transmitting room, reception room, and office space. The building housing all of it was a story-and-a-half Colonial design, giving it more of a Cape Cod home look rather than a radio station.

Talent auditions were opened to Cape Cod artists to be featured on WOCB upon its debut. The station, despite being new, was staffed with experienced radio personnel. This included Program Director Harrison Flint, Commercial Manager Arthur Newcombe, Director of Music Ralph Lawton, and Chief Engineer Rodney Merrill.

Opening day for WOCB was October 2, 1940. When it went on the air, 1210 on the AM dial, it gave Cape Cod its first radio station in fourteen years. For residents, the station was welcomed and also a relief. During the previous years without a station of their own, Cape Codders were forced to suffer with poor reception on their radio dials, especially at night.

In the early 1940s, radio was the dominant form of entertainment. By 1940, 83% of American homes had a radio, as compared to approximately 40% in 1930. Program listings were found in every daily newspaper, much like television listings would be in the decades to come.

WOCB ran new programming daily, with the schedule being from approximately 8am to 11pm. This could change slightly day to day but usually stayed fairly uniform. The program lineup fell into the typical categories of early radio. There were soap dramas, news programs, talk shows, and of course lots of music.

Nationally syndicated programs might be heard on WOCB, but there was no shortage of local offerings. During the first few months on the air, those within the signal radius might hear some very Cape Cod-centric programs.

The first week of programming on WOCB included: Girl on the Cape, Cape Cod Extension Service, Cape Quiz College, multiple orchestral music programs, and news programs in addition to hourly news updates.

In the coming months, new programs were added. Program Director Harrison Flint had a piano show. There were Cape news programs like Hyannis Patriot News. You might find a few interesting-sounding shows like Harwich Hillbillies Fridays at 9:05pm, or Dennis Hillbillies on Wednesdays at 9:05pm. If you enjoyed opinion-based shows, there were several shows featuring Cape Cod towns ‘speaking their mind.’

Reviews were overwhelmingly positive for the fledgling station upon its launch. One local who became a fixture on WOCB in its initial run was Brewster resident Hope Constance Molestad. She had three programs that aired daily in the beginning. These were her household tips show that aired at 9:30 am, Little Red Schoolhouse, which was an early afternoon show, and finally a short collection of children’s stories each evening at 5:45 pm.

WOCB did well during its first year on the air. However, with World War II exploding, things began to change. A warning sign of what was to come came in November 1941. Station Manager Harriet Alleman offered a 15-week radio operator course for the cost of $7.50($172.20 in 2026). This was due to a lack of qualified personnel in the industry.

A lack of qualified personnel was only the beginning of a larger issue, that being a lack of funding. The rationing of rubber and gasoline for the war effort made the 1942 tourist season smaller than usual on Cape Cod. Less money coming in created problems all over the peninsula.

In October 1942, Ralph Lawton left his position as Director of Music at WOCB, marking the first high-profile defection. In public, it was business as usual at WOCB. During the second year on the air in 1942-43, Cape Codders tuned in to such programs as: Cape Cod Extension Service, E.A.C. Variety Show from Camp Edwards, Victory Vespers from the Federated Church in Hyannis, and Cape Cod Special.

Loyal listeners were shocked to wake up on the morning of May 12, 1943, to the sound of silence where WOCB once was. So out of left field was the announcement that the local newspapers still posted the station’s programming schedule despite there being no station. What happened?

Aerial view of the WOCB radio station(Historical Society of Old Yarmouth)

In short, the station ran out of money. Not wanting to forfeit the station license, Harriet Alleman and the rest of the WOCB management petitioned the FCC for a grace period of thirty days. During that time, WOCB went dark, including the red light on top of the station’s antenna. The plan was to figure finances out and return to broadcasting sometime in June.

A Boston-based group was first to be interested in buying the beleaguered station in mid-May, but nothing came to pass. During the summer of 1943, several other prominent Cape Cod businessmen at least considered making a play for the station.

Months passed, and WOCB remained dark. In early November, E. Anthony & Sons, who published newspapers in New Bedford and Hyannis, put in a bid to take over the station.

It was written at the time that it would take a payment of $20,000($390,000 in 2026) to cover all of the debt incurred by WOCB, including the mortgage on the property. E. Anthony & Sons accepted, and on November 10, 1943, they paid $10,000 up front of the $20,000 owed to take ownership of WOCB. The question still remained as to whether the station would go back on the air.

One thing that was not in question was the end of the original Cape Cod Broadcasting. Both Harriet Alleman and Helen MacLellan left their company and the radio station behind to begin new chapters of their lives on Cape Cod.

After seven months of new ownership, and a full year after going dark, WOCB returned to the air with much fanfare on May 7, 1944. This time it had a far longer stay.

Some things stayed the same, including the choice of programming like soaps, orchestral blocks, and news. However, some things were different in this second incarnation of WOCB. First off, they were now an affiliate of the Blue Network, later known as ABC. Second, they expanded to become Cape Cod’s first FM radio station in May 1948, broadcasting at 94.3. FM stations have clearer sound than AM, which is prone to static. However, AM signals can travel farther than FM.

For decades, WOCB was the prominent radio station on Cape Cod. It simulcast its content on both AM and FM for most of the time before changing things up in the 1970s.

The end of WOCB did not come from anything on-air related. It was a natural disaster that did them in. Hurricane Bob roared across Cape Cod in August 1991. The Category 2 storm knocked the antenna to the ground. Unable to afford the cost to rebuild the tower, the owners sold the station to Ernie Boch Sr. of Boch Broadcasting.

It was the end of an era. WOCB did not come back. Instead, Boch eventually changed the name to WXTK and turned the station into an all-talk radio format. It is still on the air to this day. It was, however, sold to Quantum Communications in 2005 and moved to Hyannis. The antenna tower still stands near the former station property. 

The WOCB antenna at sunset in January 2026

The Cape Cod Broadcasting company started by Harriet Alleman and Helen MacLellan is not related to the company of the same name that is in operation today. Both founders had success after their radio experience.

Alleman spent her years after WOCB working on the Cape Cod Compass magazine with longtime friend Frances Blake. She died on November 12, 1966, at age 82.

MacLellan had a successful chapter after Cape Cod Broadcasting. She ended up spending years as a life insurance and real estate institution on Cape Cod. She died on December 4, 1981, at age 86. Her other ventures were so successful that her obituary bore no mention of WOCB or Cape Cod Broadcasting.

Despite being off the air for thirty-five years, WOCB still holds an important place in Cape Cod media history. It took the torch from WSGC, and although it stumbled initially, it ended up having a long and highly impactful run on the air. For many longtime residents of Cape Cod, WOCB ranks right up there with 106 WCOD and Pixy 103 as the defining sounds of their childhoods.

Alternate Life Timelines. #3 - Staying In Las Vegas

This is the third in a series of articles looking back at moments from my nearly 50 years of life. These are moments where I zigged. But what if I had zagged instead?

In some ways, life becomes like a Choose Your Own Adventure book. The decisions you make have ripple effects throughout your life. If you do this, then that happens. What about the decisions or events that could have happened but didn’t? That's the purpose of this series of articles.

The first two articles saw me reflecting on my decisions to not go away to college and also a potential move that ended up not happening.

In this third article, I am looking at another move. This is one that did happen, but what if it didn’t?
These articles won’t be so much about rehashing regrets. They are more of an interesting look at how many times in life you are faced with the potential of a big change. What do you do when the opportunity arises? Let’s try a different path.

The apartment complex where I lived on the right.

Let’s party like it was 1999. It’s a Prince song, but also where this all begins.

I was battling some severe depression in 1999. My choice not to go away to college was a festering wound. My breakup with my high school girlfriend was still fresh, and everything I saw on Cape Cod reminded me of her, and of us. I was at the same job, in the same place. Something needed to change.

Around the same time that I was breaking up with my high school girlfriend, my home life was in shambles as well. My family was being forced to move out of the house I had grown up in. It was a perfect storm of sadness.

We put our dog down. We all had to briefly go our separate ways while searches for a new place to live were going on. I was lucky. I was able to stay with my Nana throughout the summer of 1998. It was one silver lining in an otherwise rocky situation.

In addition to my Nana, my biological father was also living in that same house. That soon changed, though. He had been planning to move, not only out of his mother’s house, but off of Cape Cod altogether.

One day I came home from work, and there was a note taped to the television in the den. It said something like, ‘things are going to get a lot better for all of us.’ Just like that, my father was gone.

He had moved clear across the country to Las Vegas, Nevada. It was 2,700 miles away, but he wasn’t alone. My Uncle Eric, Aunt Emma, and Cousin Patrick had been calling Vegas home for years.

Life went on. My family nucleus got back together in the fall of 1998. However, I was feeling lost and adrift. I envied my father for being able to uproot his life and leave. Granted, he had two children that he should have been responsible for, but we were never his priority, he was.

The seed was planted the first time I spoke to my father after he had moved to Vegas. It sounded fresh and exciting. He sounded more alive than he had in years on Cape Cod. I knew I needed to experience that.

I could have always gone to visit my family that had been living in Las Vegas, but with my father out there now, it made too much sense. As 1999 drew to a close, I was making plans to fly out there for a visit. January in New England was the perfect time to go see the desert of Las Vegas.

Within minutes of landing at McCarran Airport in Vegas, I knew I needed to live there. Of course, every place seems exciting when you’re visiting. You get to see the greatest hits with none of the mundane moments that occur in everyday life. Still, it was a complete 180 from what I was used to on Cape Cod.

Full-on Grunge mode at Red Rock Canyon.

The Strip, gambling in convenience stores, every fast food joint known to man everywhere I looked; it was a sensory overload from the moment I stepped out into the dry desert heat.

My mind was made up. I was moving to Vegas. The spring and summer were spent saving money and getting my ducks in a row. I saw it as the change of scenery I was sorely in need of.

I have always been stubborn. When my mind is made up, it takes a lot of me to change it. I’m not saying I should have thought twice about moving to Las Vegas. I’m just saying that I shouldn’t have put all of my eggs in the basket of moving in with my alcoholic father.

I arrived in Vegas as a resident on Labor Day Weekend in 2000. My father gave me the bedroom in his apartment, which was kind of him. So I had a place to live, but as far as guidance on what to do, my father was persona non grata. I was, for all intents and purposes, on my own at 22 in a totally new place.

I navigated my way through signing up for classes at the nearby Community College of Southern Nevada(CCSN). In need of steady income, I latched on to the first job that said yes. It was working in the stock room of a Target a few miles down the street. The pay was terrible. The hours were inconsistent.

The first few months of my time living in Las Vegas were filled with fast food, some college, some work, some gym time, and very little father-son time. I would be lucky to see my father for a handful of hours a week. Very few of those hours did not have him drunk or drinking.

The unique campus of CCSN

I kept a journal during my time in Las Vegas. Only when looking back through it do I see how lonely and sad I was. I believe that I was a product of my company. I had not lived with my father since I was a baby. Being on my own, essentially with no male adult guidance, had me grasping at straws and flailing at whatever I thought might be the right path.

In December, I learned that my father was losing his cooking job. His plan was to move back to Cape Cod. I was barely scraping by at Target. Feeling so alone and miserable, I took this as a sign that it was probably time for me to regroup and go back to Cape Cod as well.

In the first week of January 2001, I was hopping onto a Greyhound bus with all of my belongings. I believe I mailed some stuff back ahead of me. My father and I spent nearly four full days riding that bus across the country.

I won’t lie, that bus trip was one of my favorite experiences of my life. I got to see so much of the country with no worry about driving. All I had to do was stare out the window and grab postcards and photos wherever we stopped.

The Iowa 80 Truck Stop was one of my favorite places on that cross-country bus trip

In reality, I left Las Vegas alongside my father. I returned to Cape Cod and very quickly fell back into the same rut that I had fought so hard to leave behind. I ended up battling severe depression again within a matter of months.

That’s what happened in reality. But what if I had stayed in Las Vegas and not come back to Cape Cod? Let’s take a look at where I think that road would have taken me.



Several years later, when my uncle, aunt, and cousin moved back to Cape Cod, they were gracious enough to allow me to live with them for a period of a few months. I have no reason to think they wouldn’t have allowed me to stay with them if I had decided to remain in Las Vegas while my father went back to Cape Cod.

In the immediate aftermath, I would have had a place to stay to regroup. Also, the roots and connections that my family had in Vegas would have been invaluable when it came to finding a new, and hopefully better, job.

I was tired of low pay and low hours at Target. I mean, who wouldn’t be? I’m not saying that I suddenly would have been making tons of money in a cushy job, but there had to be a happy medium to start. If push came to shove, I would have taken a job back in the restaurant industry.

There would have been a recalibrating period. I would work and try to save money. My next steps likely would have been dependent on what my family set for a time limit on my living with them.

If I had a few months, I would have been banking every cent to save for an apartment. If it were more open-ended, I’d still save but also be able to enjoy life in Las Vegas.

What of college? I finished a semester at CCSN in reality. Would I have continued on? I was short of credits to graduate upon returning to Cape Cod. I had to do one more semester before getting my 2-year degree. Would I be working so much that college would have faded from my mind? Possibly.

Another interesting look at CCSN

For this article, let’s say my family gives me a six-month period to get my affairs in order. There was no shortage of affordable apartments in the Vegas area. With a better-paying job, I should have been able to move into one. Plus, there was the safety net of my family. If I moved out and it all went to hell, I am sure they’d let me come back.

I believe that not only would my family give me a six-month window, but I would give myself one as well. I wanted to succeed in Las Vegas, but I also knew that there were other options. In reality, I was on the fence about leaving Las Vegas by Thanksgiving. I used to be someone who left a moment too soon rather than too late.

One such option, if Vegas failed, was about 4 ½ hours west.

While living in Vegas, I had been in touch with my old friend John. He had recently moved to Los Angeles after finishing college. I had mentioned the idea of hopping a bus and going to visit him in LA once my situation was more stable. That idea never came to fruition.

In this scenario, if I couldn’t make it work in Vegas after what would, in total, be about a full year, would I consider hopping that bus and heading west? I’m not sure. Vegas was affordable at the time, despite the wages being far lower than desired. An average 1-bedroom apartment in Las Vegas in 2000 ranged from $540-650. For the same time, Los Angeles County averaged $600-750 for a 1-bedroom apartment. So if I couldn’t make it work financially in Vegas, L.A. wasn’t going to be much different.

Then there is the elephant in the room. In reality, while living in Vegas, I discovered that I liked to gamble, a lot. My bank account at one point was hundreds of dollars in the red from gambling losses. It took me weeks of saving just to get back to zero and pay overdue bills. The truth is that moving back to Cape Cod was a silver lining to curb my gambling habits.

What if I was in Vegas for months, or even years longer? I didn’t have to go to The Strip to gamble. No, I went to convenience stores, grocery stores, anywhere that you could think of that had slot machines right inside. Having access to them for a longer time is something that would worry me.

The Suncoast Casino off The Strip where I lost a lot of money.

Maybe having family to actually look out for me would steer me away from the slots? When I was living in Vegas with my father, it was akin to being on my own. He worked more than full-time, and then when he wasn’t working, he was staying out drinking more. He’d come home glassy-eyed and virtually incoherent. Removing him from the equation would be nothing but a net positive.

So those are the questions and hypotheticals of staying in Las Vegas for longer than I did in reality. When it comes down to it, what do I truly believe the end result would have been?



January 2001 rolls around. My father, fresh off losing his job, or so he says, decides to leave Las Vegas and head back to Cape Cod via bus.

My uncle, aunt, and cousin tell me that I don’t have to go with him. They tell me that I should give Vegas more of a chance and offer me a guest bedroom in their house.

I decide to take them up on their offer. After all, Cape Cod wasn’t going anywhere.

I had already given my notice at Target, so I’d be on the job hunt. My family had loads of contacts, so finding something stable and likely better paying wouldn’t have been an issue.

The community college had several locations throughout Las Vegas. The branch that I had gone to would be about 15 minutes away by bus. That’s closer than it was for me to drive to Cape Cod Community College in reality. I would pick up a couple of classes to keep moving toward my degree.

With a secure place to live, a job, hopefully some spending cash, and college, I’d be in a routine. I feel that even when the time came to move out on my own, my family would do all they could to make sure I had a soft place to land. I would make it past a year for sure.

This means I’d miss the birth of my niece Emma. I’d also skate right by the awful bout of depression that I dealt with from late 2001 through early 2004. No antidepressants. No crawling back to the same job I ran from. There would be hurdles in Vegas, but different and possibly life-changing ones, not the same ones over and over.

I would visit John in L.A. and use my college learning to try to find a job in something creative in Vegas. Honestly, if I could keep the gambling demons at bay, I don’t see why I couldn’t end up having a long chapter in Las Vegas.

My issue in reality when living in Las Vegas was not succeeding as fast as I’d hoped and not having any support system to help me. My family, who already lived there, had their own lives. It fell on my father to, you know, be a father, but that was never what he wanted. In this hypothetical, I’d have that support system and be able to lean on them and seek guidance from them.

Who knows about all the rest? Friendships? Relationships? Career advancement? This is building hypotheticals on top of hypotheticals. All I know is that I likely would have been able to forge a path in Las Vegas that could have seen me staying there for years or more.



Summing it all up, looking back 25 years, my biggest regret is not asking. Not asking my family if maybe they could put me up for a little while so I could try to make a go of it on my own. I guarantee that they would have said yes even for a short stay.

In reality, my Vegas family actually ended up moving back to Cape Cod only a few years after I left. I still ended up having them as a support system even though it wasn’t in Vegas.

Despite regretting not taking the chance, I cannot complain about the trade-off. I was there for the birth of my niece Emma. Yes, I battle depression, but I was pulled out of it by one of the most important people to ever grace my life. I even wrote about her as another ‘what if’ in the last Alternate Timeline.

I found love. I found inspiration. I found a path in creative fields. I ended up where I think I belong. But that’s the crux of the situation. I ‘think’ I belong where I am, but I will never know. All I have is this alternate timeline.

With my Uncle Eric at Red Rock Canyon

“I'm leaving Las Vegas
Lights so bright
Palm sweat, blackjack
On Saturday night
Leaving Las Vegas
Leaving for good, for good.”

Leaving Las Vegas – Sheryl Crow

See you in the next alternate timeline.

In My Footsteps Podcast Episode 268: Pop Culture Profile - Bart Simpson, the iPod Debuts, Weird Things Popular In the 1970s(11-11-2026)

 

A new segment debuts. A game changer in music that debuted 25 years ago. Some weird things people liked in the 1970s.

It's a storm of Gen-X nostalgia, both figuratively and literally, this week on Episode 268. Keep your ears open for the severe thunderstorms that were rolling through during recording. 

The show starts off looking back 25 years to the launch of the original iPod. Apple changed the game with this revolutionary portable digital music player. The world of music has not been the same since. We take a deep dive into the what, when, and how of the iPod and its effect on the world of tech and music.

After six years, new segments are still premiering on the podcast. This week, enjoy the very first Pop Culture Profile. These will be recurring and will be a sort of biography of some sort of fictional character from the world of pop culture. I could think of none better to be the subject of the debut than Bart Simpson.

Not everything that was popular can be explained. In a new Top 5, we look at some weird things that were popular in the 1970s. Fashion, music, fads, and more are on the list. Did you enjoy any of these?

There is a new This Week In History and Time Capsule looking back at the hugely important event of the fall of the Berlin Wall.

To support me and the show, become a member on Patreon. 

Or you can support my work and Buy Me A Coffee!

Helpful Links from this Episode

• Buy My New Book, In Their Footsteps!
• Searching For the Lady of the Dunes True Crime Book
• Hooked By Kiwi - Etsy.com
• Emma's Musings - Substack
• DJ Williams Music
• KeeKee's Cape Cod Kitchen
• MSFTS Community
• Kingfisher Hotels Cape Cod
• Christopher Setterlund.com
• Cape Cod Living - Zazzle Store
• Subscribe on YouTube!
• Initial Impressions 2.0 Blog
• CJSetterlundPhotos on Etsy
• The Babysitter - Liza Rodman
• Cape Cod Magnet Crew

Listen to Episode 267 here

Initial Impressions 2.0 Blog #146: Birthday Week, Crazy Rain, Docked Out, etc.

1. This is my birthday week. I will have turned a whopping 49 by the time you read this. Part of me cannot believe that I am this age. When I was a kid, being 49 was ancient. Now that I have arrived there, I want to take back those sentiments I had when I was young. In all honesty, I have gotten to nearly a half-century in fairly good condition. Sure, my joints can be achy, I might need reading glasses in the near future, and stubborn weight is harder to shed, but compared to some at my age I have it good. I’ve had friends who have had joint replacements, major heart surgeries, and even some who have passed on. I can deal with a stiff elbow or a bit of squinting. It makes me feel like I have arrived at this point in my life in this condition for a reason. It all comes back to chasing my dreams. I am unmarried with no kids and in relatively good shape at 49. That has to mean something, right? Currently, there are no major roadblocks between me and the road I’ve been on for decades. It’s another year, another proclamation that I have no intention of stopping my pursuit of my dream life. The only difference between me this week and before my birthday is maybe a little more confidence and a little more urgency. Yes, my body and circumstances are still good today, but how long does that last? It might not be a ‘now or never’ situation quite yet, but it is more of a ‘get your ass in gear’ situation. I have a ton I want to do before I hit the big 5-0 in a year. Time to get to it, because you need to take full advantage of every day. You never know what tomorrow brings.

Still an open road ahead

2. I had a surprise early birthday gift this week. While sitting around doing some editing work on a video for my Patreon channel, I got a text message from my Aunt Emma. To my surprise, she was on Cape Cod. She has lived in Las Vegas for the better part of ten years after moving back there with my Uncle Eric from Cape Cod. Throughout my life, they, along with my cousin Patrick, have been some of my favorite people on earth. Once my Uncle Eric passed in January 2023, any time I have with them is precious. Patrick came to visit this past June, and we got to spend more time together than we had in years. When Aunt Emma said that she was on the Cape and that she’d love to get together if my schedule wasn’t busy, you can bet I cleared anything that might have been on my plate. My mindset at this point in life is that you never know when the next time will be, so you need to take full advantage of the chance if you can. It was a quick turnaround, and we met in West Yarmouth at the new Parker’s River Landing. This was a perfect spot for the sentimental connection. On the boardwalk that stretches out over the marsh is a plank with my Uncle Eric’s name on it. I have visited there numerous times since it opened in May due to the connection I feel to my family. The park itself is close enough to where my Nana used to live that it feels like an extension of my childhood memories. Aunt Emma and I met at the park at 2pm. We walked out to the boardwalk and talked while standing at Uncle Eric’s plank. In a small way, as we spoke about him, it felt like he was there. In total, we spent a little over two hours together, and I enjoyed every second. It was a perfect early birthday gift. We chatted about life, family, and plans for the future. She had to leave to go back to our cousins’ house to watch the Patriots game. Before I left the park, I walked back out and captured a few photos of the sunset. It was partially so that she would have a beautiful sunset photo of the spot that holds a little bit of a special meaning when it comes to my uncle. Like I said, you never know what tomorrow brings, so take full advantage of the time you have with those who matter.


3. The weather for my birthday week was nothing short of spectacular. It was like a second summer with sun and temperatures between 65 and 70 most days. Now, granted, I was inside at work for much of the week, but it did feel good to step outside after dark and only need a light long-sleeve instead of dressing like I was going to hike the Himalayas. I was able to catch the sunset one afternoon, and it was worth it. I did find it particularly ironic that once it was time for me to have a day off from my day job, it decided to rain. That’s fine; my Fridays are typically spent doing creative work and other exciting things like laundry. Even though it happens every year, it is still an odd feeling to be outside in the darkness at 5 pm. It becomes odder when we inevitably have a warm-up during the fall. So you stand outside feeling like it’s summer, but yet it’s pitch black out at 5pm. It’s pretty confusing. Oh well, I’d much rather be confused like that than have the early cold snap where it’s the same setup only with temperatures near freezing.

Birthday sunset

4. I fully admit that I am not the greatest when it comes to keeping in touch with people. It’s not anything malicious or even intentional. Part of it is that I feel the need to fill most of any free time I have with creative projects in a never-ending quest to find success. I guess another part comes down to feeling like I am bothering people. That comes from childhood and finding that a lot of the time the only way to make it through the day unscathed was to make myself as small as possible. You can’t get in trouble if you’re nowhere to be found. Today I frame it as everybody has lives, families, and their own busy schedules. Maybe I text them at a time when they’re super busy, and I am seen as a pain in the ass bothering them. I know that is highly unlikely, but it’s a childhood trauma manifesting in middle age. Birthdays end up being a built-in excuse to reach out, or to have people reach out to you. That’s a big reason why on social media I go out of my way to respond to every person who reaches out. A lot of people will post one mass thank you to all who contacted them, and that’s fine. I figure if the other 364 days of the year I worry about bothering people, then at least I can be interactive with lots of them on my birthday. The irony is that I am fully aware of this issue. I know that tomorrow isn’t guaranteed and that if I am thinking of someone, I should reach out. Still I tend to not do it. I’d like to say that I’ll try to do better, but I’ve also said that ad nauseam over the last several years.


5. For as much as I push myself trying to make a career in some sort of creative field, I try my best to keep the wider view of things as well. What I mean is I never keep looking further down the road so much that I forget to see and appreciate what I already have. Anytime I sell a book. Anytime someone downloads a podcast episode, or watches a YouTube video, or engages with any of my content, I am so appreciative. I never lose sight of the fact that I draw engagement on something created from my mind. When I have speaking events, I never forget to stop and look around and realize those people took time out of their day to leave their houses and come out to hear me speak on something I created and am passionate about. This week I received a nice email from a podcast listener saying that they love my show and asking where they could leave a review. I made sure to respond with a heartfelt thank you. I don’t know if things would change if I were getting dozens or more emails daily about the show. I don’t know what the breaking point would be where I couldn’t respond to everyone, but I haven’t reached it yet. Any sort of creator should do their best to make sure they never lose sight of those who are supporting them, no matter how big or small the numbers are. Thank you to anyone and everyone who checks out any of my content in whatever form you do.


6. There was one helluva storm this week. I figured we’d get some rain, but oh boy, it was sheets of rain. Of course the storm had to happen on the day that I normally head out to do laundry. It was a waiting game of when the rain would let up enough that I wouldn’t need waders just to get to my car. There was visible lightning, loud cracks of thunder, and almost white-out conditions of rain for much of Friday. My white car was basically coated in dead leaves from the weather. The only good thing when I finally ventured outside was that there weren’t many other people on the road or at the laundromat. Also, it didn’t matter too much that it was raining as far as laundry went since I was only washing the clothes. They didn’t need to be dry since I’d be going home to use the dryer. I did make a mistake, however, by not throwing the long sleeve I was wearing outside in with the rest of the clothes in the dryer. That damn thing was soaked, and only when the laundry was done did I look at it hanging on a doorknob and think I should’ve just heaved it in the dryer with the rest. Oh well.


7. I received an unexpected birthday gift at work this week. For more than a year, I have been a fan of a piece of therapy equipment we had called Truvaga. It is a handheld vagus nerve stimulator. Think of kind of a portable TENS unit, but a little more elaborate. The vagus nerve is the longest in the body and controls many things, including the body’s ‘fight or flight’ mechanism. Truvaga helps with relaxation, stress relief, overall mood, and more in a short two-minute session. I routinely used it before leaving at the end of my shift. The ‘stress relief’ setting had me feeling as relaxed as if I’d popped an edible within 40 to 45 minutes. I was shocked when I opened the gift bag to find that very Truvaga unit inside. I will be honest, receiving it as a gift has left me a bit uncomfortable, as the machine itself costs $500 brand new. When shopping for gifts for coworkers, we have all stuck to roughly $30, so this, I feel, puts pressure on me. I don’t know if it’s because my boss can sense a growing frustration with my pay, which I have mentioned recently in these blogs. Maybe they all really just wanted me to have it since I used it so much. Still, this reeks of a scene in The Office. They’re doing Secret Santa with a spending limit of $20, and Michael buys Ryan a video iPod, which costs $400 because he got him and really wants him to like him. That’s how this gift makes me feel. It’s like a shiny toy to distract me from other things. Don’t get me wrong, I am very happy with it and use it daily, but if given the choice, I’d have rather been given something more in line with the money we’ve all spent on each other in the past.

8. You ever see a certain type of vehicle on the road and immediately have a picture in your head of who is driving it? This happens all the time when I see the pickup truck with obnoxiously large tires, gigantic bright rear-facing lights, and sounding like five jets are taking off beside me. During a drive after dark this week, I saw three suck trucks all in a row driving in front of me. These ass hats were flashing lights at each other and swerving in their lanes. I don’t know if they were friends messing around, or just dipshits who don’t care about anyone else, but I did get an image in my head of what they likely all looked like. I pictured a fat, middle-aged, balding, white guy with a beard. They also likely got the oversized everything to make up for being undersized in their manhood. I would say if I lined up ten such trucks, eight of them would have owners that fit nearly all of the criteria that I laid out. Maybe no beard. Maybe not balding. Maybe not super fat. But they’ve got at least a few of those features. If you have a big-ass pickup truck and use it to tow a boat or a trailer, this doesn’t refer to you. If you have such a truck just as your daily vehicle, I’d recommend a diet, a shave, and Rogaine.


9. If you have 25K followers on Instagram, and yet you post weekly saying you try so hard despite having a very small following, you need a slap. This does refer to someone that I started following. I didn’t realize how obnoxious they would be. I liked their photos, and they would say they were sharing their home in New England and were trying to build their following. In reality, they have currently just over 25,000 followers. I would wager a guess that 99% of people on Instagram have fewer followers than they do, and yet they constantly act like they have a handful of people seeing their stuff. It’s gotten to be as annoying as rich people pretending that pumping their own gas or going to the grocery store is akin to saving a baby from a fire. I currently have 6,400 followers on IG and am beyond thrilled that so many people choose to follow me. I would love to have two or three times the followers; anybody would. But I’m not going to whine in my posts about a small follower count like a fool. Maybe I should? Who knows, maybe that’s how they got so many people to follow them, constantly whining.


10. This week was the bi-annual dock placement. For the last five years, I have helped my buddy Steve either put in or remove a dock from a couple’s waterfront property. It’s easier putting it in than taking it out due to it being spring and having the summer to look forward to. Taking it out in the fall is harder because the dock is in the water and is covered in slime and dirt. In the spring, I was on the fence about coming out to put the dock in again. There are a few nagging issues with my right elbow, left shoulder, and left knee that make hauling several heavy pieces of dock down forty steps a bit of a hassle. I did it, though, which meant I had to come back and remove it. That’s only fair. However, I did let Steve know this was likely my last rodeo as far as dock removal. It was a beautiful day for dock removal with temperatures near 60 and partly sunny skies. The big thing to remember with this dock is that there are two people carrying one end, with only me on the other. I don’t have to get in the water, but I do have to carry the load of two people, not really a fair trade. I have to carry my end and walk backward up the steps to the yard where the dock is placed for the winter. The dock comes in three pieces. The first trip up was uneventful. The second was a different story. Steve and the homeowner had some difficulty with the dock, and it began drifting to my left. I had to brace and hold on to keep the dock from spilling over the side of the stairway. I held on but felt a crunch and pop between my shoulder blades, around T4 and T5 for those who know the spine. It was like a punch in the back. I finished the rest of the job but did tell Steve my back really hurt. I knew in that moment I was not coming back again. We’re all getting older, and even though it’s a quick cash grab for less than thirty minutes of work, I still feel like the likelihood of injuries is only going to grow. Oh well, it was a good five-year run, but I’ve got enough little nagging injuries to heal without adding herniated discs in my thoracic spine to it.