At the Edge of the Hockomock Swamp

Bill Russo lived at the edge of the 
Hockomock Swamp for years 
without knowing that there were 
strange creatures in it, until he 
met one.  While on a midnight walk, a hairy, potbellied 
Puckwudgie beckoned to him. "Keer. Keer!  KEER!" it said.

Bill and his encounter have been featured on Discovery Channel's Monsters and Mysteries in America as well as in theaward winning documentary, "The Bridgewater Triangle".

Here's a recent FIVE STAR REVIEW:This collection of short 
stories from New England, more specifically Massachusetts, is a delightful read. I’m partial to New England having visited family there for much of my childhood. This book evoked the memories of the quirky people living there and the 
storytelling tradition of the area.

Not only are there some interesting tales from and about the history of Massachusetts as well as the Cape Cod area, but the author also provides helpful travel tips should you find
yourself visiting the area. This is the region where our country basically began. Everyone should learn about
its history and this book is an entertaining way to begin that journey.

50,000 Europeans Slaughter 5,000 Native Americans and they Call it a WAR

Yellow Feather/Massasoit:  Plymouth, Massachusetts

395 years ago, the Cape Cod Wampanoags drove the 

invading Europeans from their island, forcing the foreigners 

into an area now called Plymouth, Massachusetts - where a 

related group of of Native Americans led by 

Yellow Feather/Massasoit gave them succor.



After Massasoit's death,

the 'Pilgrims' killed off most of the tribe in the 

misnamed 'King Phillip' War. It was 50,000 well armed

Europeans against 5,000 Wampanoags. It was a slaughter,

not a war. Hence the curse of King Phillip, which may be 

the reason for the haunted Bridgewater Triangle. Read 

about the curse and the triangle in The Creature From the 

Bridgewater Triangle on Amazon Kindle.

The Church of Our Lady of Perpetual Bingo is Open For the Season ! ! ! ! !

by Bill Russo 

Here's a song I wrote song about a church on Cape Cod that's only open in the 

Summer for the tourists. As a church  that is; but it's open 52 weeks a year for Friday 

Night Bingo.I call the church: "Our Lady of Perpetual Bingo". And I named the 

song: "The Church of Friday Night Bingo".

Here are the lyrics. It will be my second hit song, right after my first song becomes a hit.

Chorus:

Come along to the Church of Friday night Bingo

You Can play two or three cards or just a single

It's the place where all the Cape Cod folks mingle

when they want to win a pile of Friday Night jingle

Most of the time, Bingo is the Activity

At five thirty we drop the first ball,

& the numbers we start to call.

Be early, there's always a race 

for the very last parking space.

Come inside get a stamp
and a bright red dauber too.
Buy a charm for your table
and good luck will be with you.

(Chorus)

The balls from a fancy metal bin
drop down, and we call the numbers
with a prayer that you always win 
and are truly thankful for your gain.

Beware of God????????????

The cards are never stacked and 

games are honest in these halls.

Our numbers always come out true. 

Remember, these are the lord's balls.

(Chorus)

it will be very nice if you win
this Friday night . And really great
if you come back on Sunday
when we pass the plate.

The Church of Friday night Bingo
could use the cash, is the reason.
But don't come after Labor Day -
cause we're closed for the season!

YIPPEE! Stephen King Just Recommended Me ! ! ! ! ! !

by Bill Russo


HOORAY!!!!!!!!!!!!! Noted Portland, Maine writer 

Stephen King of "Cujo" fame, just put me on the list of 96 

authors he 

recommends for young writers. Thank you Mr. King. I loved

 "Thinner". He must have read my new book on "How to be 

the Next King of All Media." The only problem is he spelled 

my first name wrong. It's Bill Russo.....not Richard. Please 

Mr. King

make the correction as soon as you can.

 Thanks,

Your Pal, Bill (not Richard) Russo 

Available on Amazon Kindle &  elsewhere
for just 99 cents.

Dear Flabby - Advice to the Lovelorn, Forlorn, Timeworn and Everybody Else

Ask Uncle Flabby anything.  He answers for free.
There is no money back guarantee. 

The question posed today to Dear Flabby is:  "How do I tell her that we are going to break up?"

Uncle Flabby's answer:

"If your relationship has been having troubles and you just can’t seem to get over them, there comes a point when it seems like your only option is to break up and try to start over or just simply go your separate ways.

In these times, you want to show your partner that no matter what is happening, you still love them and you still want to make things work if you can.

• Be honest about your feelings – True love comes from being truthful about what you need and responding to their needs.

• Set aside time to talk with your partner about things that are
happening – Give your undivided attention to your partner in order to show them that you’re willing to work on things if you decide to not break up.

• Let them know how you feel about them – Be sure to let your partner know how you feel about them and why you want to stay with them.

• If you’re the one at fault for troubles – Make a plan as to the things you will do differently in order to restart and rejuvenate the
relationship.

• Write them a note about the things that you will miss if you do break up.  Sometimes you can’t save a relationship, but letting them know that you love them might be the thing that turns a doomed relationship into one that can start again."

 Uncle Flabby's final  thought is:

"I used to watch a lot of Charlie Chan movies.  Charlie was supposed to be Asian (Oriental was the term used back in the 1940s when the films were made) and I always thought it was odd that Charlie Chan was played by North Americans or Europeans who had a horrible fake 'Oriental' accent.

But I  liked it when Charlie would break into a 'Confucius Say' moment. 

Charlie (speaking to Number One son) would say something like "Little Chan will understand better when he is older.  Confucius say, 'Everything has its beauty, but not everyone sees it.'

Of course he did not speak of this blog, but if he did,  Confucius (would probably) Say - 'Man who get advice for free should keep in mind that he will probably get exactly what he paid.'

This guest post is from the book, 101 "Amazing Ways to Say, I Love You". 

Waiting For Fried Foods To Be Good For Us Again!

by Bill Russo - the Amazon Kindle Author 
of Jimmy Catfish, Swamp Tales, The Creature From the Bridgewater Triangle & others.  

Waiting for the Fried Foods To Be Good For Me!

When I was a child the Doctor said eggs were good for me, eat one or two every day. As I reached middle age, the medical community changed their tune and told me not to eat eggs. As I passed into old age, thankfully I was told once again, that eggs were good for me and I could eat one or two every day.

Coffee too, went from being recommended by medicos to being cursed by them. Now, a recent report says it's good for you, in moderation.

If my Doctor asks me, "Do you drink coffee?"

"I try to drink three to six cups a day," I tell her.

"That's a good amount," she responds, "but don't go over six."

Being a lover of fried chicken, I'm praying for news that the medical community will once again recommend that we eat fried foods.

Be honest now. Is there anything better than Fried Chicken, Fried Potatoes, Fried Clams, Fried Fish, Fried Onion Rings, and Fried Eggs?

The answer of course is yes. What's better than Fried Chicken, is Fried Chicken with gravy and mashed potatoes.  

Though I think gravy is savory, I intend to refer only to frying. 

 In advance of the New England Journal of Medicine's report that frying is once again good for us: here's a few frying tips for you.

In simplest terms, frying is the cooking of food by immersion in hot fat.

Legal Note and Disclaimer: HOT FAT IS DANGEROUS. BE CAREFUL. (I'm sure you knew that but I included it in case some fool gets burned trying to fry something and some other fool (an attorney, perhaps) takes it in his head to sue me. If there were to happen, then I can say, "I warned him that hot fat is dangerous. It's on him.)

Now let's get out of the legal fire and back into the frying pan. When you are frying fish or meat, it is best to take the food out of the fridge and keep it on the counter until the chill is gone. A half hour is good. You will hear some modern television chefs tell you that this is not needed. But my Mama told me it is and I will be you anything that my Mom's cooking was better than the TV guy.

As soon as the food has fried, remove it from the fat and drain it on a wire rack - not on the paper towels, which would create steam and make your food soggy.

How to get a great batter coating on chicken and fish? That is the question.

It's all about the egging and crumbing. You can use bread crumbs from the super market, or finely crumbled crackers, or you can even use stale bread broken into tiny pieces and spiced with your choice of salts, peppers and herbs.

This next part is really important. Take notes. Break your eggs into a shallow bowl and beat them slightly with a fork. You don't want to throttle them to a froth, a gentle thrashing will do. Next, add two tablespoons of liquid per egg. You could use water for this step, but milk was recommended by my Mom who became the greatest cook in the known world after my Grandmother passed, who was the greatest cook in the known world of the late 1800s and early 1900s.

(Note. These ladies were not awarded the title by Betty Crocker, Julia Child or Paula Deen - but by me. So the award is arbitrary but I think, well deserved.)

Take the fish or meat that is to be fried and pat it dry with paper towels. Get it as dry as possible. Spread your breadcrumbs out on a board or sufficiently large platter. Next, put the food in the crumbs and lightly crumb it all over. Place the lightly crumbed food in the egg mix and make sure it is fully egged. Then place it back in the crumbs and roll it until it is fully crumbed.

Variation on the theme. Many people use flour for the first step instead of crumbs. The procedure is the same. Flour it, egg it and then crumb it.

Fry your food in vegetable oil. Cook all food to an internal temperature of 165. You need to get a meat thermometer to make sure your food is cooked all the way through. Chicken takes a good 10 minutes or more on each side.

Here's a few more tips from my late Mom and Nona (Italian for Grandmother)

BOILING WATER IS BOILING WATER.

Though it sounds silly, it must be said. Water boiling slowly is just as hot as water roiling about in your pot like an Atlantic Northeaster. It's the same temperature. Slowly boiling water will do the same work as a roil boil and it's safer and cheaper. This is especially true for pasta. Bring it to a roil boil but then turn the heat down to a slow and steady boil. Keep in mind, I did not say simmer. Simmering is great for lentils, rice and such but you will need the slow boil to get great pasta.

STEWING: This probably is not done as much as Mom and Nona used to do it. But stewing is ideal for the cheaper and tougher cuts of meat. You simmer lovers will be happy on this one, because that's how you stew! Keep the temperature slightly below a slow boil and cook the food a long, long time. Make sure that the food is always covered by at least a half inch of water. It doesn't really have to be that much, but you do not want the water to evaporate and leave any of the meat high and dry.

Braising. In this method of cooking, drippings are melted, or vegetable oil is placed, in the kettle and a bed of mixed vegetables, fine herbs and seasoning is added. The article being cooked is placed on this bed of vegetables. Moisture is added and the meat cooked until tender at a low temperature. The last half hour of cooking the cover is removed, so that the meat may brown richly.

In broiling and grilling, the object is first to sear the surface over as quickly as possible, to retain the rich juices, then turn constantly until the food is richly browned. Pan-broiling is cooking the article in a greased, hissing-hot, cast-iron skillet, turning often and drawing off the fat as it dries out.

Finally we have Sauteing. This is practically the same as pan-broiling, except that the fat is allowed to remain in the skillet. The article is cooked in a small amount of fat, browning the food on one side and then turning and browning on the other side.

Good luck with your cooking and if you are like me, you'll keep on eating the fried chicken, fried clams and fried eggs while awaiting the news from the medical community, that it's once again okay to eat fried foods.

"I'm Keeping My Brother" - a new short story

By Amazon Kindle Author

My New 1955 Monarch

Bill Russo © 2015

I'M KEEPING MY BROTHER

 I am in the city hospital of a town called Beverly, a few miles North of Boston.

 I am 12 years old. I cannot speak or move, but I am awake and I am alert.

The Giant Maple Tree

I can hear them talking about me. They are saying things like - 'Depressed skull fracture. Lucky to be alive. I don't know how he survived that crash.'

I do not hurt. There is no pain at all. I feel pretty good. I don't know why I cannot move my arms. I wonder why I am not able to speak.

I have to think about what happened to me. I will try to close my eyes and play back my life like a movie.

I see me now. I am on my bike. I am riding at breakneck speed down Prospect Hill. Faster than I have ever gone, I am speeding to the bottom. I should go straight. I will be fine if I go straight; but for some reason I have to turn left onto Monroe Street. I slam on the brakes and turn my handlebars and try to make it.

The shiny black 26 inch 'Monarch' is simply going too fast. The front wheel hits the big Maple tree on the corner. That old hardwood is so big that the branches spread all the way to the other side of the street and beyond; forming a leafy canopy that blocks out the sun.

As the front wheel slams into the bark, I am launched from the saddle of the bike just as if I were rocketed from the ejection seat of an F-15 fighter jet. There's no parachute to drop me gently to the ground – only the rock-hard wood as I splat headfirst into it.

There's not a lot of blood. I am on my feet just a few seconds after the crash. I pick up the bike and try to get on it but I fall down and wake up in this hospital bed.

My Mother is standing over me, tears flying down her face like runaway roller coaster cars.

The doctor comes in.

“The x-rays are back,” he tells my Mom. “It's a depressed skull fracture. The skull bone has been pushed right into the brain. We are going to have to do something to relieve the pressure. If we don't act quickly, he has no chance. I will need your permission to operate. The good news is that he is alive at all. He hit that tree with such force that I am surprised he was not killed instantly. It's almost as if he had some sort of a cushion or a safety hat on his head.”

I try to talk but still cannot. I am getting sleepy. It is getting hard to stay awake, but I can't give in. I am afraid that if I do, I will never wake up.

I am fighting it. So tired. Weary. Maybe I can sleep for just a minute.

"Wake up 'B'. Wake up!!! Come on. It's six a.m. The guys will be here soon. We gotta pack up our lunch. Did you forget that we are riding our bikes to Slippery Rock today?”

It's my twin brother, Bob. My name is Bill but he always calls me 'B'. I call him 'B' too. Everybody called us the 'Bees'.

"Yah Bob. I will be ready in two minutes. No I did not forget. This will be the first time we have really had a chance to ride them since we got them for our birthday".

We make two Marshmallow Fluff sandwiches each and stuff them into our knapsacks along with a canteen of milk and some cookies. We meet the guys at our front door.

It is late August and we do not want to think about having to go back to school in two weeks. The sun is shining and 'cheffing up' almost 80 degree weather and we wheel to Slippery Rock. It is about 20 feet high and shaped like a staircase, with a large, flat table at the top. Instead of stairs, a granite ramp leads to the top. We put our beach towels down on the warm surface and bask in the sun. There's plenty of room for all eight of us.

As the morning gives way to noon, we eat our 'Fluffernutters' and ignore motherly advice, by going swimming in the nearby Danvers River. There is a tire swing hanging from a branch of a Maple tree. You can swing out over the water and jump off in the middle of the water.

The afternoon sun is getting stronger and we are pretty sure we are getting our last sunburn of the season. My brother and I love sunburns. Not the burn itself, but the peeling of the dead skin. We have a contest to see who can tear the longest piece! It's late now and all of the other boys are leaving. The “Bees” decide to stay a little longer.

We take turns on the tire swing.

"Let's have a 'cannonball contest", Bob suggests.

We jump from a ledge on the riverbank into the deepest part of the river, trying to make as big a splash as possible.

Bob decides to climb even higher on the ledge. He is at the very top.

“No Bob, don't jump from there. It's too high.”

He ignores me and launches himself into the air. Hunched over with his hands clasping his knees he hits the water yelling, “CANNONBALL!!!!!!!”

The sound of the splash is always thrilling. It's a big kerplunk followed by an excited scream of delight. But after this jump, Bob's screams are of pain. I see the foamy water turn red.

He must have hit a rock. I jump in. I have him in tow. I drag my now unconscious twin to the shore. I don't think he is breathing.

“Help. HHEELLLLLP!”

There's nobody around. I have to get help. I jump on the Monarch and race for home.

I am at Prospect Hill. It's a 45 degree grade. No kid has ever been able to ride a bike down this hill without keeping the brakes on all the way. I have no time for brakes.

I pedal that Monarch furiously and flash down the hill like a race car. At the bottom I have to take the hairpin left turn to get to our house on Monroe Street.

I slam on the brakes and pull hard on the handlebars. I don't make it and smash headfirst into the huge Maple tree.

I wake up in the hospital. My Mom is standing over me, tears streaming down her face like cars jumping off the roller coaster tracks.

I find that I am now able to speak. “Hi Mom”.

“He's awake. He's awake. Nurse! Nurse! Get the doctor. My son's awake.”

“Never mind about me Mom we have got to get Bob. He is hurt bad. He hit a rock or something while we were swimming at Slippery Rock. Hurry Mom.”

“What are you talking about Billy?”

“I am talking about my brother, Bobby. He's hurt....”

“You don't have any brother. You are an only child.”

“No. What are you saying? I was with my brother this morning. We took our bikes to Slippery Rock.”

“Billy. You are my only child. This is crazy. I have not thought about this for years. You don't have a brother, but when I was pregnant with you, there was a twin, but he died in the womb. He was absorbed by my body. I never really even considered him a real baby.”

“He is real Mom. His name is Bobby. And he loves 'Fluffernutters'.

I guess, somehow he was absorbed into me. I got to meet him today. And now that I found him, I am keeping him.”

The Unofficial State Food of New England