Hey, what’s goin’ on.
This is the fifth blog I’ve worked on, the first in a few years. The others are old and mostly political and legal. Nothing like that is going to invade this space. Promise. I might import some of the humor stuff, just because I still like it, and it’s funny. Really, it is. See for yourself.
About two years ago, I started writing a novel. I started it because I couldn’t continue writing what I was writing at the time, which was my father’s biography. He died in August of 2007. I was helping him with his memoirs at the time. Obviously he couldn’t finish, but he encouraged me to get as far as I could with the material I had.
I received a lot of cooperation from dozens of people far and wide whose lives intersected with his. Brilliant, important, successful people. Big shots and all that. And little people, too. Like the garage mechanic in Kennebunk Beach, Maine, where the family summer home was.
Unfortunately, the biography stalled out at about 100 pages, principally because my father’s former legal partners – people who owe their careers (and in at least one case, his life) to the man – apparently do not wish to cooperate. So that’s that.
Anyway, the novel. Diary of a Small Fish.
During the 1980’s, I served three terms (six years) in the Massachusetts House of Representatives. I was one of a small minority, and I had no juice whatsoever. But I’m a loud mouth and I have a decent sense of humor. And I also have a pretty good golf game, and I was a member of a very special golf club called Hyannisport. In the course of my political “career,” I played golf with practically every lobbyist in Boston who played the game. Everywhere.
Shortly after I left office, one of those lobbyist friends was indicted by a federal prosecutor, in what would be characterized widely as an attempt to create a federal felony out of a state misdemeanor. That was in 1993, and the statute that was employed to ruin this man’s life – “theft of honest services,” it’s called, is now under Constitutional challenge before the Supreme Court of the United States. Because of my proximity to this man, I became a “cooperating witness” in that case. He was convicted, his conviction was overturned on appeal, and the case was settled with him preserving his freedom, although not his reputation or livelihood.
Diary of a Small Fish is a work of fiction that was inspired by, but not based upon, those incidents. None of the characters in it are intended to portray anyone involved in the case, blah, blah, blah.
Filed under: Peter Morin | 4 Comments
Tags: memoirs, novels, small fish