In the 1960s, on my way to work, I would stop at the former Forest City Diner for a coffee and donut for just 68 cents. Recently, I bought a small black coffee and a cranberry muffin at a diner in Portland for $9.33, not including tip.

I can remember city buses, driving around Monument Square, with signs advertising for Amato’s Italians, stating “still just 25 cents” each.

People change too. Years ago, Portland had hobos. Today, we have beggars and bums, 24-year-old people who would rather hold a beggar’s bowl than wash dishes to earn a paycheck. I used to sell ’65 and ’66 Mustangs for a few hundred dollars each. These day, people patch the rust and paint those cars, selling them to the tune of $45,000. A dozen cookies at my local bakery on outer Brighton Avenue can be had for as little as $38.

It’s not just the prices that have soared, but also our taxes. The folks who benefit most from our property taxes don’t even pay them. I’m sure I’m not the only person who feels this way.

I have paid property taxes on three businesses, two houses and a cottage on Long Island. But I can lose my partial dentures while attempting to navigate potholes down most Portland streets.

If I were not age 80, I would move my family to a less expensive Maine community where I could buy a decent house for $425,000 and go to the library without worrying about getting a $30 parking ticket.

Greg Locke
Portland