Articles by Emmet Meara
By Emmet Meara on March 06, 2017, at 3:06 p.m.
Rockland used to have motorcycle gangs, daily fights in the Dory Lounge and weekend brawls that filled the Monday pages. Murders were hardly rare.
By Emmet Meara on Feb. 13, 2017, at 11:31 a.m.
It’s all my fault. I’m sorry.
By Emmet Meara on Feb. 06, 2017, at 2:50 p.m.
If you think your old baseball cards were a lost fortune, wait till you hear about the price for old sneakers. The RESALE market is worth another billion (with a b). You might have a fortune under your bed.
By Emmet Meara on Jan. 30, 2017, at 12:26 p.m.
Have you seen his diet and lifestyle? That is a high price to pay, my friend.
By Emmet Meara on Jan. 02, 2017, at 11:37 a.m.
“I am a total addict. There is no 12-step program for me. I am on my own as the veil of addiction settles over my life.”
By Emmet Meara on Dec. 26, 2016, at 11:25 a.m.
“Tell the warden at Maine State Prison: My last meal will be a Reuben and warm German potato salad from Morse’s. And a beer, if you could spare it.”
By Emmet Meara on Nov. 14, 2016, at 1:11 p.m.
My fabulous granddaughter remarked that she will be 20 years old when Trump leaves the White House if he serves eight years.
By Emmet Meara on Oct. 31, 2016, at 11:24 a.m.
Emmet Meara: I must have 150 books piled on the floor after the bookcases were removed years ago.
By Emmet Meara on Oct. 17, 2016, at 11:44 a.m.
Emmet Meara: Alright. I’m 75, and I am still reading Rolling Stone. Sue me.
By Emmet Meara on Oct. 10, 2016, at 12:07 p.m.
Walter Mastropietro is the luckiest SOB alive. Or maybe the unluckiest man alive. You decide.
By Emmet Meara on Sept. 05, 2016, at 1:10 p.m.
My bucket list now includes sharing a very cold beer with Walter J. Mastropietro before I die. We have a lot to talk about.
By Emmet Meara on Aug. 29, 2016, at 12:10 p.m.
By Emmet Meara on Aug. 22, 2016, at 12:17 p.m.
I shall spend no more time with the concert blowhards, not even for Raitt. Unless she decides to play on the Cobb Manor deck.
By Emmet Meara on Aug. 15, 2016, at 12:05 p.m.
By Emmet Meara on Aug. 08, 2016, at 11:16 a.m.
Emmet Meara: It’s been a Cobb Manor tradition for three decades. Apparently, we must have a deck party to celebrate every Maine Lobster Festival.
By Emmet Meara on Aug. 01, 2016, at 10:23 a.m.
I have never eaten a lobster in my life. It seems likely that I shall pass from the Earth without tasting one. It all goes back to 129 Perham St. in West Roxbury.
By Emmet Meara on July 25, 2016, at 1:57 p.m.
Moore might be fat and sloppy. He might have a mustard stain on his shirt. He stomps all over his message for two hours, but I think it might be productive to study the lessons of other countries if we truly profess to love our own.
By Emmet Meara on July 18, 2016, at 9:42 a.m.
Emmet Meara: That’s it. I am selling Cobb Manor, lock, stock and lawn mower. I am moving to Machias, eating at Helen’s Restaurant three meals a day and marrying a waitress at the famous, revived eatery on the Machias River.
By Emmet Meara on July 11, 2016, at 11:09 a.m.
According to our new pals at YourTango, the three mortal sins of sloth, swearing and staying up late are now considered signs of unusual intelligence, like mine.
By Emmet Meara on July 04, 2016, at 12:07 p.m.
I don’t know about you, but I have one of “those days” a little too often.