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From Randy Williams, Editor and Northerner-in-Training:

My life is changing faster than the costumes at a Siegfried and Roy performance, but I'm delighted to be able to take a moment to share some of my experiences and observations as a newbie to Western Massachusetts and to Tripod.

Approximately six weeks ago I graduated from the University of Montevallo, a liberal arts college in Alabama. It was quite a day; not even the grating sound of "Pomp and Circumstance" ponderously wheezing its way from the orchestra stand could dampen the festive spirits of all involved. My mother was able to take a rare break from her gig as a history professor at Kansas State University to attend the commencement exercise; she is the person without a goatee in the picture on the right.

Those of you who have never visited the Deep South in May are probably wondering how it is that Birkenstocks and short pants fit into the prestigious élan of commencement attire. Allow me to explain. As soon as those pesky April showers are out of the way, the heat index in Alabama rapidly escalates to a level roughly between "Ceramics Kiln" and "Blast Furnace" on the old sweatometer. Rumor had it that our graduation gowns had to be treated with a special flame-retardant substance to ensure that we happy celebrants would not spontaneously combust while crossing the stage to receive our degrees.

Two weeks later, in a rather comical journey behind the wheel of a U-Haul truck, I relocated from rural Shelby County, Alabama to rural Berkshire County, Massachusetts and came to work for Tripod -- only to discover that temperatures in New England were still plummeting into the low-40s after sundown. I soon found myself dashing to Wal-Mart to purchase a big, fluffy down comforter for my bed and digging frantically through packing boxes for warm clothes. At night I would slide beneath my snazzy new comforter and gaze covetously at pictures of insulated duck boots and quilted flannel shirts in mail-order catalogs from L. L. Bean and Lands' End. Clearly, my conversion to Yankeehood was well underway.

This is not the first such conversion. I have lived many places, both inside and outside the continental United States, but I have always seemed to gravitate towards small towns. I take much delight in discovering the colloquial charms of new settings, in hearing the new accents and phrases, in ferreting out all that is quirky and eccentric about a town. Given that, my first month in Williamstown has led me to believe that I will be quite happy with my new surroundings. Berkshire County is justifiably renowned for its breathtaking scenic splendor. And yet...I find myself almost more intrigued by the little things about this area that don't quite make sense (no, I am not referring to my co-workers).

For example, there is the local landmark known as Jack's. The sign out front reads "HOT DOGS AND HAMBURGS FIT FOR A KING." Hamburgs? I reasoned that Jack must have run out of paint while making his sign. Two days later, a quick trip down the bread aisle at the supermarket shot my little theory to pieces; everywhere I looked there were packages of "hamburg buns." I immediately made a mental note to drop that useless last syllable from here on out. I am, after all, a Northerner now. I am also carrying this concept to its next logical step by referring to hot dogs as "frankfurts" and asking my co-workers if they'd like to join me for lunch at "Burg King." I'm not sure that anybody appreciates this sincere effort to assimilate.

All joking aside, I'm having a ball getting settling into this quaint New England town. Even better, my e-mail box is always full of nifty reminders that I have also become a member of the extended Tripod family.

Much of this mail comes to me in the form of member responses to the Work and Money Survey and Dilemma. When I see Tripod members from around the world pitching in to help one another, I am struck by just how cool the much-hyped "global community" can really be. Whether you eat hamburgs, moo goo gai pan, or whale blubber in your home town, chances are you have some experience or expertise that can make another person's life just a little easier. Now that all of our towns are wired together, these sorts of neighborly assists can happen almost automatically from halfway around the world. That has to be one of the most wonderful uses of Internet technology. Providing a helping hand is exactly the kind of thing we do really well at Tripod, and that is why I'm so very proud to be here.

Take care,
Randy Williams (6/21/96)

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Read more "Letters from Tripod" in the archive.

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