Maine
My Weekend in Maine With Jordon Hudson
Photo: Derek Davis/Portland Press Herald via Getty Images
“Kissy face, kissy face sent to your phone, but I’m trying to kiss your lips for real (uh-huh, uh-huh),” Rosé croons as 24-year-old Jordon Hudson struts down the runway. She’s wearing an emerald-green bikini, a gold bracelet snaking around her bicep.
Hudson flashes a confident grin at the audience, tosses her hair, and turns on her heel to head offstage — but not before winking at her boyfriend, the 73-year-old former New England Patriots coach Bill Belichick. He’s seated in the front row next to his bodyguard, a Navy veteran who goes by “Dutch” and resembles a young, head-shaven John Corbett. Belichick doesn’t applaud. He doesn’t cheer. He just sits there directly in Hudson’s eyeline, chewing gum, looking very much as he did when the Packers beat the Patriots 27-24 on a field goal during overtime.
Hudson — and, to some extent, Belichick, and to a much lesser extent, Dutch — is in a strange position. She’s in the State of Maine Grand Ballroom at Portland’s Holiday Inn by the Bay competing for the title of Miss Maine USA, a subsidiary of the Miss USA beauty pageant. Hudson’s been on the pageant circuit for years, and last year, her first competing for Miss Maine, she was crowned first runner-up. This time around, however, is different. Hudson isn’t just Miss Hancock, the tiny Maine town where she was born. Thanks to her relationship with Belichick, she’s the star of the show.
A few weeks ago, there would have been minimal media interest in a small pageant held in a Holiday Inn conference room. Other than Hudson, the most noteworthy contestant was Isabelle St. Cyr, a statuesque blonde 24-year-old who made local news for being the first trans contestant in Miss Maine history. But over the past month, Hudson has been besieged by negative media attention. She made headlines after a Belichick CBS News appearance with Tony Dokoupil, where she sat in on the interview and repeatedly stepped in to decline to answer questions. And after the sports podcaster Pablo Torre reported that she had become so involved in Belichick’s career at UNC (where he’s coached since leaving the Patriots) that the university barred her from campus (which UNC has denied), reporters flocked to the pageant, camping out in the lobby to catch a glimpse of Hudson.
The pageant was a two-day event, starting with preliminaries on Saturday that included a private interview with the judges, an evening-gown competition, and a swimsuit competition. Finals, where the 17 competitors were whittled down to the final five, took place on Sunday; save for a brief Q&A with the top-five contestants, the show was virtually identical to the prelims, from the skintight dresses the contestants wore to the music selection during the swimsuit portion. (“Espresso,” by Sabrina Carpenter, played not once but twice during both shows.)
“We expected a few reporters, but nothing like all these big cameras,” the parents of a first-time pageant contestant said. “Whatever.” Others were similarly restrained in showing their annoyance. “All the girls know each other in this community,” the boyfriend of another contestant put it. “It can be hard when someone comes in and steals the show.”
Still, Hudson handled the mêlée with grace, waving and smiling at reporters as she strolled through the lobby, wearing an ombré blue off-the-shoulder sheath. During an interview segment on the second night of the pageant, she made a not-so-thinly veiled reference to the attention. “I’m feeling an immense amount of pride right now,” she said. “I’m hoping that anybody who’s watching this finds the strength to push through whatever it is that they’re going through and embody that hate never wins.” (She, like all the other contestants, declined to speak with any media.)
The Clemente Organization, which puts on the pageant, however, seemed less equipped to handle it. It banned reporters from taking photos or video during the show and prohibited them from speaking to anyone affiliated with the event. “Members of the press, please LEAVE so the contestants can have some PRIVACY,” emcee Sal Malafronte shouted at the end of the first night’s preliminaries as Clemente reps yanked stragglers from the room. “We’ve never heard them tell the press to get out before,” one mom of a former Miss Teen USA competitor told me, laughing.
The interest wasn’t surprising. As the coach with the most Super Bowl wins in NFL history, Belichick is a vaunted figure in Maine, and the nearly 50-year age difference between him and Hudson, whom he met on a plane when she asked him to sign her philosophy textbook, was bound to attract scrutiny. “They’re literally like royals,” said one Patriots fan, who happened to be in town for her son’s graduation and was trying to spot Belichick. Hudson briefly considered dropping out of the pageant, the Daily Mail reported, but she clearly thought better of it.
Following her near victory last year, Hudson seemed determined to redeem herself. “She wants to win,” a source familiar with the relationship said, comparing her drive to that of the famously competitive Belichick. Some attendees expected him not to show up, but he wanted to support his girlfriend, and following the fallout from the UNC story, it likely would have “looked worse” if he didn’t go, the source speculated.
Throughout the pageant weekend, Hudson mostly traveled solo or accompanied by Dutch, arriving at a “pizza and pajama party” clad in a floor-length, feather-trimmed purple robe. (She seems to have been quite busy: A source told me Hudson was not involved in Miss Maine preliminary activities, like a Valentine’s Day volunteer event, and during the finals she was the only contestant to not record a Mother’s Day message for her mom.) “All the girls were so worried about her,” one source told the New York Post. “They’re all friends and she’s been so quiet all week.”
But Hudson put on a solid performance during the first night of preliminaries and finals the next day. In an introductory dance number, she shimmied, clapped, and stomped at the edge of the stage. Though she stumbled slightly during the evening-gown competition, she looked regal in a sparkly purple dress. In the past, she’s chosen the “rich indigo-ish-royal-purple,” she wrote on Instagram, because it’s the color of the oyster bushel bags she grew up surrounded by (her father was a mussel dragger). She’d carry them around as if they were purses and made them into dresses for her Polly Pockets.
In the interview portion, Hudson promoted her platform of fishermen’s rights, which she’s always been vocal about. When asked what childhood moment she would want to return to, she talked about being on her family’s fishing boat in Hancock. “I think about this really often, because there’s a mass exodus of fishermen that’s occurring in the rural areas of Maine, and I don’t want to see more fishermen displaced,” she said. “As your next Miss Maine USA, I would make it a point to go into the communities, to go to the legislature, to go into the government and advocate for these people.”
Not everyone was charmed by her performance. “I don’t think she was anything special,” Julie Rose, a former competitor on the Massachusetts pageant circuit, told me. “She was low-energy. I wouldn’t look twice at her if she wasn’t Bill Belichick’s girlfriend.” Like many other attendees I spoke to, Rose thought the real front-runner was Mara Carpenter, a vivacious, willowy Cumberland County native and longtime pageant contestant.
Nonetheless, Hudson had a strong cheering section: In addition to Belichick, her father Heath was there for the finals, as was her friend Miss Massachusetts USA Melissa Sapini, who warmly greeted Belichick in the front row. After the finals, Laurie Clemente, the co-founder of the Clemente Organization, came onstage to embrace her.
The consensus among the beauty-pageant crowd seemed to be that there were simply too many “distractions,” as another source put it, for Hudson to win. After lengthy deliberations and a four-way tie delayed the final decision — the emcees awkwardly improvised a Miss USA trivia game to stall for time — Hudson made it into the top five. But she ultimately nabbed third place, with Carpenter winning first runner-up and Miss Bangor, a statuesque, deeply tanned blonde named Shelby Howell, claiming the Miss Maine USA title. “I wasn’t surprised she was third place,” the mother of a former contestant told me. “I think all the press really hurt her.”
Hudson appeared to take her loss in stride: Though the pageant organizer was seen comforting her after the show, she quietly snuck out with Belichick through a side exit just moments later. Most of the attendees I spoke with afterward seemed more critical of Howell’s win as a newcomer than of whatever impact Hudson would have had on the results.
“Obviously, there was outside media attention, but I don’t think we let that rattle us,” Kwani Lunis, one of the five pageant judges and a reporter for NBC 10 Boston, told me. The Clemente Organization “approached it the same way that they have done in the past and were able to ignore the outside noise.”
But as the pageant organizers quietly packed up Miss Maine USA promotional posters, the press loaded up their cameras, and the representatives for a wastewater management convention filtered into the Holiday Inn lobby, the reputation of the New England royals still hung over the event.
“Wait, Bill Belichick was here?” I overheard one of the attendees say. “Why was he competing in a beauty pageant?”
Maine
Maine’s leaders cannot turn the other cheek on gun violence | Opinion
Julie Smith of Readfield is a single parent whose son was in the Principles of Economics class at Brown University during the Dec. 13 shooting that resulted in the deaths of two students.
When classrooms become crime scenes, leadership is no longer measured by intentions or press statements. It is measured by outcomes—and by whether the people responsible for public safety are trusted and empowered to act without hesitation.
On December 13, 2025, a gunman opened fire during a review session for a Principles of Economics class at Brown University. Two students were murdered. Others were wounded. The campus was locked down as parents across the country waited for news no family should ever have to receive.
Maine was not watching from a distance.
My son, a recent graduate of a rural Maine high school, is a freshman at Brown. He was in that Principles of Economics class. He was not in the targeted study group—but students who sat beside him all semester were. These were not abstract victims. They were classmates and friends. Young people who should have been worried about finals, not hiding in lockdown, texting parents to say they were alive.
Despite the fact that the Brown shooting directly affected Maine families, Gov. Janet Mills offered no meaningful public acknowledgment of the tragedy. No recognition that Maine parents were among those grieving, afraid, and desperate for reassurance. In moments like these, acknowledgment matters. Silence is not neutral. It signals whose fear is seen—and whose is ignored. The violence at Brown is a Maine issue: our children are there. Our families are there. The fear, grief, and trauma do not stop at state lines.
The attack and what followed the attack deserve recognition. Law enforcement responded quickly, professionally, and courageously. Campus police, city officers, state police, and federal agents worked together to secure the campus and prevent further loss of life. Officers acted decisively because they understood their mission—and because they knew they would be supported for carrying it out.
That kind of coordination does not happen by accident. It depends on clear authority, mutual trust, and leadership that understands a basic truth: in moments of crisis, law enforcement must be free to work together immediately, without second-guessing.
Even when officers do everything right, the damage does not end when a campus is secured. Students return to classrooms changed—hyper-alert, distracted, scanning exits instead of absorbing ideas. Parents carry a constant, low-level dread, flinching at late-night calls and unknown numbers. Gun violence in schools does not just injure bodies; it fractures trust, rewires behavior, and leaves psychological scars that no statement or reassurance can undo.
That reality makes silence—and policy choices that undermine law enforcement—impossible to ignore.
After the Lewiston massacre in 2023, Governor Mills promised lessons would be learned—that warning signs would be taken seriously, mental-health systems strengthened, and public-safety coordination improved. Those promises mattered because Maine had already paid an unbearable price.
Instead of providing unequivocal support for law enforcement, the governor has taken actions that signal hesitation. Her decision to allow LD 1971 to become law is the latest example. The law introduces technical requirements that complicate inter-agency cooperation by emphasizing legal boundaries and procedural caution. Even when cooperation is technically “allowed,” the message to officers is unmistakable: slow down, worry about liability, protect yourself first.
In emergencies, that hesitation can cost lives. Hesitation by law enforcement in Providence could have cost my son his life. We cannot allow hesitation to become the precedent for Maine policies.
In 2025 alone, hundreds of gun-related incidents have occurred on K–12 and college campuses nationwide. This is not theoretical. This is the environment in which our children are expected to learn—and the reality Maine families carry with them wherever their children go.
My son worked his entire academic life—without wealth or legacy—for the chance to pursue higher education, believing it would allow him to return to Maine rather than leave it behind. Now he is asking a question no 18-year-old should have to ask: why come home to a state whose leaders hesitate to fully stand behind the people responsible for keeping him alive?
Maine’s leaders must decide whose side they are on when crisis strikes: the officers who run toward danger, or the politics that ask them to slow down first.
Parents are done with hollow promises. Students deserve leaders who show their support not with words—but with action.
Maine
Popular food truck grows into a ‘Maine-Mex’ restaurant in Bucksport
Cory LaForge always liked a particular restaurant space on Main Street in Bucksport, which recently housed My Buddy’s Place and the Friar’s Brewhouse Tap Room before that.
So much so that, when it became available two months ago, he decided to open his own restaurant there.
Salsa Shack Maine, which opened in early December, is a physical location for the food truck business he’s operated out of Ellsworth and Orland for the last two years. The new spot carrying tacos, burritos and quesadillas adds to a growing restaurant scene in Bucksport and is meant to be a welcoming community space.
“I just loved the feeling of having a smaller restaurant,” LaForge said. “It feels more intimate. This place is designed where you can have a good conversation or talk to your customers, like they’re not just another number on a ticket.”
After growing up in the midcoast, LaForge eventually moved west to work in restaurants at ski areas, where he was exposed to more cultural diversity and new types of food – including tacos.
“It’s like all these different flavors that we’re not exposed to in Maine, so it’s like, I feel like I’ve been living a lie my whole life,” he said. “It was fun to bring all those things that I learned back here.”
When he realized his goal of opening a food truck in 2023 after returning to Maine, LaForge found the trailer he’d purchased on Facebook Marketplace was too small to fit anything but tortillas – and the Salsa Shack was born.
It opened at the Ellsworth Harbor Park in 2023 and operated out of the Orland Community Center in the winter. What started as an experiment took off in popularity and has been busy ever since.
LaForge calls his style “Maine-Mex:” a mix of authentic street tacos in a build-your-own format with different salsas and protein. Speciality salsas include corn and black bean, roasted poblano, pineapple jalapeno and mango Tajin.
The larger kitchen space in the new restaurant has allowed a menu expansion to include quesadillas, burritos and burrito bowls in addition to the tacos, nachos and taco salad bowls sold from the food truck. Regular specials are also on the menu.

More new menu items are likely ahead, according to LaForge, along with a beer and wine license and expanded hours in the spring.
The food truck will live on for now, too; he’s signed up for a few events in the coming months.
Starting Jan. 6, the restaurant will also offer a buy-two-get-one-free “Taco Tuesday” promotion.
“It’s a really fun vibe here, and I feel like everyone finds it very comfortable and easy to come in and order,” LaForge said, comparing the restaurant’s atmosphere to the television show Cheers. “Even if you have to sit down and wait a little while, we always have some fun conversations going on.”
So far, the welcome has been warm locally, he said, both from residents and the other new restaurant owners who help each other out. LaForge’s sole employee, Connor MacLeod, is also a familiar face from MacLeod’s Restaurant, which closed in March after 45 years on Main Street.
When it shut its doors, people in town weren’t sure where they would go, according to LaForge. But four new establishments opened in 2025, offering a range from Thai food to diner offerings.
“It’s kind of fun to see so [many] culinary changes,” he said.
The Salsa Shack is currently open from 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. Tuesday through Saturday.
Maine
A new Maine tax will have you paying more for Netflix after Jan. 1
Maine consumers will soon see a new line on their monthly Netflix and Hulu bills. Starting Jan. 1, digital streaming services will be included in the state’s 5.5% sales tax.
The new charge — billed by the state as a way to level the playing field around how cable and satellite services and streaming services are taxed — is among a handful of tax changes coming in the new year.
The sales tax on adult-use cannabis will increase from 10% to 14%, also on Jan. 1. Taxes on cigarettes will increase $1.50 per pack — from $2 to $3.50 — on Jan. 5.
All three changes are part of the $320 million budget package lawmakers approved in June as an addition to the baseline $11.3 billion two-year budget passed in March.
Here are a few things to know about the streaming tax:
1. Why is this new tax taking effect?
Taxes on streaming services have been a long time coming in Maine. Former Republican Gov. Paul LePage proposed the idea in 2017, and it was pitched by Gov. Janet Mills, a Democrat, in 2020 and 2024. The idea was rejected all three times — until this year.
State officials said last spring the change creates fairness in the sales tax as streaming services become more popular and ubiquitous. It’s also expected to generate new revenue for the state.
2. What services are impacted?
Currently, music and movies that are purchased and downloaded from a website are subject to sales tax, but that same music and those same movies are not taxed when streamed online.
The new changes add sales tax to monthly subscriptions for movie, television and audio streaming services, including Netflix, Hulu, Disney Plus, Spotify and Pandora. Podcasts and ringtones or other sound recordings are also included.
3. How much is it likely to cost you?
The new tax would add less than $1 to a standard Netflix subscription without ads priced at $17.99 per month. An $89.99 Hulu live television subscription would increase by about $5 per month.
Beginning Jan. 1, providers will be required to state the amount of sales tax on customers’ receipts or state that their price includes Maine sales tax.
4. How much new revenue is this generating for the state?
The digital streaming tax is expected to bring in $5 million in new revenue in fiscal year 2026, which ends June 30. After that, it’s projected to bring in $12.5 million annually, with that figure expected to increase to $14.3 million by 2029.
The tax increase on cigarettes, which also includes an equivalent hike on other tobacco products, is expected to boost state revenues by about $75 million in the first year.
The cannabis sales tax increase, meanwhile, will be offset in part by a reduction in cannabis excise taxes, which are paid by cultivation facilities on transfers to manufacturers or retailers. The net increase in state revenue will be about $3.9 million in the first full year, the state projects.
-
World1 week agoHamas builds new terror regime in Gaza, recruiting teens amid problematic election
-
Indianapolis, IN1 week agoIndianapolis Colts playoffs: Updated elimination scenario, AFC standings, playoff picture for Week 17
-
Business1 week agoGoogle is at last letting users swap out embarrassing Gmail addresses without losing their data
-
Southeast1 week agoTwo attorneys vanish during Florida fishing trip as ‘heartbroken’ wife pleads for help finding them
-
Politics1 week agoMost shocking examples of Chinese espionage uncovered by the US this year: ‘Just the tip of the iceberg’
-
News1 week agoRoads could remain slick, icy Saturday morning in Philadelphia area, tracking another storm on the way
-
World1 week agoPodcast: The 2025 EU-US relationship explained simply
-
News1 week agoMarijuana rescheduling would bring some immediate changes, but others will take time