— Eye on Everett —

Mayor heads out of town…again


The mayor’s Blue Suit was singing a happy tune when I spoke with him Tuesday.

“I am so, so elated,” he said to me.

“What about, buddy?” I replied.

“He’s gone again. The mayor took off to Arizona yesterday. Yahoo!” the Blue Suit shouted.

“You may not think his vacations are right for the city and its people, but they are sure right for me,” he said, gloating just a bit. I had never heard him so happy.

“What if the mayor never came back? What if he went from Arizona to Las Vegas, and then from Vegas to Italy, and then from Italy back to Aruba? How would you feel about that?” I asked the Blue Suit.

“The longer he is away, the better it is, Josh.”

“Really?” I asked. “Who would be running the city?” “Are you kidding? The mayor’s chief of staff can handle everything and anything, and she does just that. I like her. She knows what she’s doing.”

“What’s her name?”

“Erin. Erin Devaney,” the Blue Suit replied. “She used to be the head of the Massachusetts Registry of Motor Vehicles. She’s smarter than the mayor. She knows what she’s doing.”

“She can’t be that smart,” I answered the Blue Suit. “How smart can she be working for the mayor? She’s put herself in a terrible position. There is no future in it. Working for him is a dead-end for everyone. There are no exceptions. How do you think she rationalizes working for the mayor?” I asked the Blue Suit.

“That’s easy, Josh.”

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— Eye on Everett —

The Blue Suit discusses the mayor’s Aruba trip


I don’t know whether he was joking with me or not, but the Blue Suit told me he recently talked to Boston Mayor Marty Walsh about Carlo taking off to Aruba for a little holiday getaway only moments after the governor pleaded with Massachusetts residents and leaders to stay at home. That was done with a mass e-mail to nearly everyone carrying a cell phone in Massachusetts.

Here’s how the Blue Suit put it to me.

“Carlo probably read the e-mail from the governor on his cell as he made his way to Logan Airport. Carlo’s cell, as we all know, is not a jail cell, it is his office that he holds in his hand and carries in his pocket. I can assure you; Carlo didn’t care what people would think because he believes people are idiots. He thinks the superintendent of schools is an idiot. Fred Capone is a loser and an idiot. Mike Marchese and his brother are idiots. Of course, they weren’t idiots when they supported him or saved his life when he got in trouble. Gerly Adrien is not just an idiot. She is a Black, an aggressive woman who doesn’t know her place in this city and she’s an idiot who he will crush.”

“OK. OK. OK.,” I said to the Blue Suit. “Does the mayor think I’m an idiot?” I asked.

“Are you serious?” the Blue Suit replied. “You’re not just an idiot but you are a fool, a failure, a disease worse than the COVID-19.”

“Does he say that about me?” I asked, pretending to be bothered.

“He says much worse,” the Blue Suit added.

“Like what? I want to know. Tell me,” I pleaded.

The Blue Suit paused.

“He relates you to your religion in the most disgusting, offensive way. But that’s his style. I know you understand.”

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“How many friends do you think he has?”


As we tend to do, the Blue Suit and I went over a few things after the Christmas Holiday. We spent some private time on our cell phones.

The Blue Suit hid out in the mayor’s closet in his Abbott Avenue mansion.

I was seated in the oversize leather chair with feet up on the leather Ottoman in my office at the Leader Herald on Church Street.

We both felt comfortable. Being alone helps. It is always made more difficult for us to express ourselves if people are lurking around.

“How many friends do you think he has?” I asked the Blue Suit about the mayor.

The Blue Suit thought about the question for a few moments before answering. He seemed a bit pre-occupied, like something heavy was on his mind. I let it pass for the moment.

“You know, that’s not an easy question to answer,” he finally blurted out.

“How many friends do any of us have?” the Blue Suit asked me.

I get a kick out of the Blue Suit when he’s precise and to the point.

“Not many,” I told him.

“There’s your answer,” the Blue Suit said.

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“He’s really not himself lately”


“What do you mean, he’s not himself?” I asked the Blue Suit about the mayor.

“Just what I said, Josh,” he answered me. “He’s not himself. Do you know what it is to not be yourself?” the Blue Suit asked me.

“Of course, I do. I’ve had some bad times in my life. But

I’m over that stuff. I am who I am. I’m not too worried about the future. I’ve already done much of what I have been able to do in my life. I’m not looking around for a better job. I like to write. I am a writer. I am an investigative reporter. I publish a newspaper in Everett. I’m no big shot. I just do what I can do,” I told the Blue Suit.

He hesitated a moment. He collected himself.

“Carlo doesn’t have anywhere to turn right now. Sure, he’s the mayor. But from what I can sense – and we are very, very close – he is tired of being the mayor, of having to do the same things every day, talk with the same people and play the same games even if that means he has to hide inside his mansion rather than to be out in public doing the same things all the time. The sameness is killing him inside. The boredom. The repeating of all the same moves all the time for more than a decade. It is getting to him. He doesn’t let what’s inside come out to the people around him. Maybe that’s what’s poisoning him. Maybe that’s why he’s paranoid and nasty, disingenuous and cheap. Inside, he must hate himself. I don’t want to dress the mayor up, but he is enigmatic, that is, he is hard to know. Let’s face it, the way he hires and fires, how and why he throws old friends under the bus, many people can’t figure him out. If you stand in his path, you come to understand him real fast, and many have, and many have come and gone who once walked with him down his path. They say they know what goes on in Carlo’s head. There is something to that. He doesn’t have too many complex moves. He’s pretty blatant about what he does, how he reacts. He is above all, predictable. He is brimming with the desire to pay back those who don’t toe the line with him in mind,” the Blue Suit said.

He went on and on about Carlo.

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“He’s a small-town bully”


“I’m getting real tired of being stuck here in Everett. Usually, we go to Aruba six or seven weeks a year. I think last year we went on vacation for at least 70-90 days. What a year for vaca- tions that was,” the mayor’s Blue Suit said to me.

For those of you reading this column for the first time, it might be hard for you to comprehend the mayor’s Blue Suit – his favorite suit – the one he wears all the time, has a mind of his own and tries to live a decent life even though the mayor makes every effort to ruin it for him.

The Blue Suit and I have become very tight. He tells me all the mayor’s secrets. Well, not all of them, but many of them. Turns out the mayor can’t hide much from me.

Anyway, my reply to the Blue Suit about the mayor’s vacation was this: “How can the mayor go on vacation when he’s on vacation?”

I extended that thought.

“How can you go on vacation when you don’t work in the first place?” I asked the Blue Suit.

“Gee, I never thought of it that way. You know and I know and everyone who knows him understands that the mayor doesn’t have much of a work ethic. He has what I’d call a vacation ethic. He used to take as much vacation as possible, as much vacation as he could get away with without being indicted for collecting pay when he doesn’t deserve to be paid,” the Blue Suit said to me.

“The mayor never worried about all the vacations to Aruba, except for the last one we took to Aruba during the week when the city shut down for the Coronavirus. People around here got upset about that one.”

I asked the Blue Suit to tell me how the mayor justified his vacations – about three months’ worth.

“The way the mayor sees it, his salary includes no vacation days. Therefore, he figures the days he takes off can’t be counted. But that vacation stuff is all a stale bit of history now. He’s been trapped in Everett on Abbott Avenue, and except for a few forays outside, I’ve been trapped with him in his closet in his bedroom inside his mansion.”

The Blue Suit sighed. He looked forlorn.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

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