Mark Knows It All

I was sitting at Panera’s in Austintown the other day, when I noticed a local politico chatting with one of the area’s elite. It was obvious that the politico was pitching the community pillar for some iron (cash) for an upcoming election. The pillar, himself, was a retired gentleman; but still prominent in the community. The discussion was rather loud, so it was hard not to overhear. (…and I am nosey), when the retired community pillar asked the politico: “Are you Swedish?” I almost spit the hazelnut coffee right out of my mouth. That, my friends, is the ultimate Mahoning Valley question! What are you? The politico was taken aback as his name wasn’t even close to being Swedish. I thought maybe German. And I have known the retired guy for years and years…and he is about as “Mediterranean” as they come. But in this town, inquiring minds want to know. That is just how it is! When my wife and I first moved back here in 1975, she was continually asked “What are you?” She had no idea what f

Nothing is more American than a good old fashioned auction. I have attended many auctions over the years, but I viewed them as kind of a novelty, being from the city and all. I remember going to my first auction in Kalida, Ohio, when I was in law school at Ohio Northern University in Ada. This was small town America just east of the Indiana border…the heartland personified. We bought a beat up old table for a buck, and refinished it. We still use it today. My brother used to buy a cow at an auction each year at the Canfield Fair. The poor bovine was the project of some 4-H’er, and was born to grace my brother’s dinner table as pot roast or strip steaks. He got his picture taken with the cow after he bought it. Then hung the picture in his dining room…the founder of the feast so to speak! He gave some of the meat to me. I didn’t like it. These pampered cows were 100% grain fed, and massaged. The meat had a different taste to it, and was loaded with fat. Put the burgers on the grill and

It’s that time of year again. There are only 49 shopping days to Christmas. The carved pumpkins are just getting tossed out with the garbage. Halloween candy is getting stale in the cupboard. Kraynak’s has been operating its Christmas Tree Lane for several weeks already…it’s Kraynak’s time of year!!! And my mail box is being deluged with catalogues. This year Christmas won’t be near as much fun because nobody has any money. But that makes looking through the catalogues that much more enjoyable as one yearns for the go-go days of the tech bubble, then the housing bubble, then the oil bubble. Pop goes the bubble!!! Maybe one day when the Republicans are back in office, we might be able to afford to buy something again. But I digress!! One of my favorite catalogues is the Hammacher Schlemmer catalogue. The first time I saw it I thought they were selling Nazi memorabilia. But to my delight, I found it is a high end gadget catalogue with something you can’t afford for just about everybody o

This past election, while the rest of the country was pondering issues of health care and governors’ races in Virginia and New Jersey, and that whacky 23rd Congressional District race in upstate New York, my family and I were concerned about a more mundane race to fill the unexpired term on the Canfield Township Board of Trustees. My son was a candidate…and lost the race after a great campaign. I have been politically active my whole life, but always viewed local township politics, be it Boardman or Canfield, as somewhat of a yawn. When Alex and I decided last January that he should give this race a go, we knew nothing about the township political landscape or issues other than the sitting trustee, who was appointed after a cronyism scandal, told the local paper that he didn’t know what he wanted to do as trustee. He turned out to be a nice guy...but looked vulnerable. So Alex and I set out to learn what makes Canfield Township tick. What we found is the old adage “all politics is loca