Massachusetts
The Globe located more than half of the migrants flown to Martha’s Vineyard by Ron DeSantis. Two years later, many are still in limbo. – The Boston Globe
The car breakdown this summer derailed his life. Arcaya could no longer drive his wife, Eduviges Cedeño, to her job at a Venezuelan restaurant. And he lost his only source of income, driving for UberEats.
It was a harsh reminder: The life he had managed to assemble here was still so fragile.
It had taken the family nearly two years to settle into this taxing yet remarkably ordinary existence — especially considering the strangeness of Arcaya’s arrival in Massachusetts.
He was one of the 49 migrants flown from Texas to Martha’s Vineyard by Florida Governor Ron DeSantis in September 2022. That surprise airlift was designed to make northern states feel the sting of surging immigration at the southern border. DeSantis operatives had promised Arcaya and his fellow travelers, mostly Venezuelan nationals who had crossed the border without authorization, that they would find free housing, jobs, and legal aid at the other end of the flight.
It was a deliberate deception, but there was also something to it. At the time, Massachusetts billed itself as a safe haven for undocumented migrants. It was the only state in the nation with a right-to-shelter law that guaranteed housing, immediately, to any family that needed it.
When the Martha’s Vineyard migrants arrived here, they benefited from an extraordinary outpouring of attention and support. State officials and Good Samaritans rushed to donate food and clothing, and helped them find places to stay. They wanted to prove DeSantis wrong: Northern liberals would not turn their backs on migrants showing up unexpectedly in their own backyard.
Two years later, at least 20,000 more migrants have arrived, and the landscape has shifted dramatically. The shelter system’s budget has ballooned to $1 billion a year. Governor Maura Healey has capped its capacity. State officials are telling migrants to stay away and instructing families to leave state shelters. Children are sleeping on the street.
The Martha’s Vineyard migrants are living with the consequences of this new reality.
A Globe review, which included locating more than half of the members of the original Martha’s Vineyard group, found that the special status they enjoyed in their first weeks here has largely faded away. They have become part of this much larger group of newcomers, navigating the same overburdened state and federal programs meant to help resettle them.
There are success stories. Four have settled on the Vineyard and become part of the island community that first welcomed them. Two men who initially stayed with host families have managed to bring their wives and children to Massachusetts and now have steady work and apartments.
Most have not been so lucky. Some have struggled to secure work permits. Others have languished in state shelters. Many are still scraping by with the wages from odd jobs, as delivery drivers, construction workers, or landscapers. Few, if any, have had the time or resources to become fluent in English.
At least 13 have left the state altogether, after finding it bereft of affordable housing and accessible jobs. They scattered to New Hampshire, Rhode Island, North and South Carolina, New York, Chicago, Detroit, and Atlanta. One man returned to his hometown of Caracas.
Most of the Martha’s Vineyard 49 feel stuck in a kind of limbo, unsure how to advance their lives in the United States and unwilling to return to the political strife and economic collapse they fled in their home country.
Despite his struggles here, Arcaya, like many members of the group, said he does not regret coming to the US — and leaving Venezuela’s turmoil behind. “I won’t go back,” he said.
The two private jets chartered by the DeSantis administration took off from a San Antonio airstrip on Sept. 14, 2022.
Estrella, a Peruvian woman traveling with her 7-year-old daughter, Gabriela, and her boyfriend, Eduardo, thought she was headed to New York City. For the first time in months, she felt hopeful, buoyant even. She imagined that Gabriela would have opportunities in the United States that would never have been available at home.
Estrella had left her hometown, Piura, a city of half a million in northern Peru, in the summer of 2022. She boarded a bus with Gabriela and Eduardo, leaving behind a modest but comfortable life. She owned a home and had a restaurant job shucking shellfish. But Eduardo was determined to come to the US, and Estrella didn’t want to lose him. (Estrella asked that the Globe identify her, her daughter, and her boyfriend by their middle names due to their unauthorized immigration status.)
The journey north was hellish. In Mexico, Estrella said, she, Gabriela, and Eduardo were kidnapped. While they were captive, she said, she heard what sounded like beatings in nearby rooms. They were released when the kidnappers realized they couldn’t pay a ransom.
After they reached Texas, a woman they didn’t know approached them at a McDonald’s and offered them a gift card. Then she asked if they would like to fly north.
After several hours in flight, she looked out the plane’s window and saw nothing but water to the horizon. She was alarmed, as were other passengers who started wondering aloud what was happening. A monitor in the plane’s cabin showed the flight was heading east, apparently straight out to sea, Estrella recalled in interviews this summer.
Not long after, land came into view — an island. After the plane rolled to a stop on the runway of the Vineyard’s tiny airport, Estrella, Gabriela, and Eduardo descended a staircase onto the tarmac and looked around. Where were they?
During the next two days, it seemed as if the world had descended on the Martha’s Vineyard migrants.
A church in Edgartown, the island’s ritziest village, opened its doors to serve as a makeshift shelter. There, volunteers from nonprofits, local families, and the island high school set up buffets of food, donated clothes, and even handed out cellphones. The press came, too, with television cameras and notepads and a thousand questions about where the migrants had come from and what they thought of DeSantis’ gambit.
Estrella and the others saw themselves on social media posts and international news broadcasts, and pieced together what had happened to them. Many felt preyed upon by DeSantis, and intensely grateful to the people of Martha’s Vineyard and Massachusetts who now seemed to be taking them in.
There was just one problem. When they asked locals if they could stay on the island, the answer was, more or less, no. There was not enough inexpensive housing nor enough jobs for migrants without work permits. It would be better if they went to the mainland.
After two days, state officials ferried Estrella and the others to a Cape Cod military base where case workers, lawyers, and local church groups helped them all find a place to stay.
That’s when the group began to disperse.
Some of the families entered the state’s emergency shelter program, which placed them in homes in Lowell or Boston. Many of the single men went to homeless shelters or a hotel. A lucky few left the base to live with host families on the Cape.
Estrella, Eduardo, and Gabriela ended up in an apartment in Newburyport. The state-funded home was a godsend, especially since, without work permits, Estrella and Eduardo could not find jobs. For Estrella, though, life there was also frustrating. She was used to supporting herself. Now, she was dependent on a social worker who delivered groceries every other week. She couldn’t pay back a loan she had taken from her aunt to fund her journey. When the three college-age sons she had left behind in Peru asked her to send money, she had nothing to share.
The sense of powerlessness was maddening. She had been working continuously since she was 9, about Gabriela’s age. She had been confident she could make her own way here, just as she always had.
After half a year of frustrating dependence — “I didn’t come here to have the government support me,” she said — she was antsy.
So last spring, when Eduardo told Estrella he had heard from a friend that there were jobs and cheap housing in a place called Detroit, Estrella was intrigued. Should they go?
She asked her pro-bono immigration lawyer for advice. The answer was clear. If Estrella left Massachusetts, the lawyer said, she would lose her legal representation.
But the alternative was to keep waiting. Estrella and Eduardo started to pack.
Other members of the Martha’s Vineyard group, confronted with the same frustrations, decided to stay put. But many of them remain, two years later, stuck on the margins of society.
Four of these men now live in a white clapboard boarding house on a busy road in downtown Stoughton. On summer days, the house — and the small, single-occupancy bedrooms inside — seem to absorb the heat radiating from the concrete surroundings. So the home’s residents gather on the house’s front deck, smoking cigarettes, hoping for a breeze.
The other residents of house, who receive government rental assistance, are mostly US citizens. They are kind to the newcomers. But they are also troubled: They have mental illnesses or addiction. At least two of them have died — one of an overdose inside the home — since the Martha’s Vineyard men moved in. Police have responded to the home multiple times per month for drug overdoses, medical emergencies, arrests, and drunkenness.
Leonel, a 47-year-old single father from Caracas, developed insomnia shortly after moving into the home. He has lived there rent-free since he and seven other men were bused from the Cape Cod military base to Stoughton. He doesn’t know who pays the bill.
Leonel left Venezuela “out of necessity,” he said. Under the autocratic regime of President Nicolás Maduro, the economy had collapsed and antigovernment protests — followed by brutal state crackdowns — had rocked Venezuelan cities. In the past decade, a third of the country’s citizens have left. Leonel set out alone, leaving his two teenage daughters with his parents. He was hoping, somehow, to establish himself in the US, and then send for them. (Leonel asked the Globe to identify him by only his first name because he fears being identified if he ever returns to Venezuela.)
“I want them to be here, to stay here,” he said of his daughters in an interview this summer.
But first he needs a proper home and, before that, a job.
During his first months in Stoughton, he knocked on the office doors of nearby landscaping companies and contractors. When he got lucky, it meant he’d spend a long day roofing or working in a suburban yard.
After about a year in Massachusetts, Leonel received a work permit. He believes he got it through an asylum claim he was pursuing. (Other members of the Martha’s Vineyard group received work permits this year through a special visa program available to victims of crimes after a San Antonio sheriff said said they had been subject to unlawful restraint.)
But even with the work permit in hand, he found looking for a job bewildering. “The gringo goes on the internet and, according to his skills, he applies for work,” he said. “But I don’t have a computer and I don’t know how to apply.”
In September, the home’s managers told Leonel and the other Martha’s Vineyard men that they will soon have to start paying rent. Leonel doesn’t know what he will do.
He is now working a part-time landscaping job. But it doesn’t pay enough for him to move out of the boarding house and live on his own. Better options seem out of reach to him. He was a private driver in Venezuela but here his car is too old for Uber or Lyft. He can’t decipher most job postings, and, even if he could, he worries he lacks the language skills he’d need on the job.
“You’re not a human being if you don’t speak English here,” he said.
Jessica Rinaldi/Globe Staff
Just after 6 a.m. on a recent morning in Detroit, Estrella stood fully dressed in her basement bedroom listening for footsteps.
The room smelled earthen and just a few shafts of light came through the windows. Estrella was waiting for her housemate, Carlos, to wake up and drive her to the car factory, where they both worked. Gabriela, now 9, was splayed on a mattress fast asleep. When the floorboards creaked, Estrella put on her backpack and went upstairs. She would call Gabriela around noon to make sure she ate lunch.
The move to Detroit had not gone as planned.
When Estrella, Eduardo, and Gabriela arrived in May 2023, they found many of the same problems they thought they’d left behind in Massachusetts. The housing wasn’t as cheap and the jobs were not as plentiful as Eduardo’s friend had promised. Without work permits and with limited English, they struggled to find jobs. They were also cut off from the networks of friends and supporters they had begun to build in Massachusetts.
And Eduardo? He was gone now. He’d left Estrella for another woman.
Alone with her daughter in a new city, she found herself living an increasingly cloistered life. After losing her lawyer, she still had no legal immigration status, and she didn’t know how to keep track of her case.
“My fear is I go out and Immigration spots me,” she said. “Then, my daughter, where does she end up?”
She felt like her immigration case was haunting her life, omnipresent but out of sight. She did not know, until a Globe reporter informed her in September, that a judge in Boston had closed her case after she failed to show up for a hearing in Boston. The case could be reopened at any time.
So she stayed inside as much as she could.
Estrella plans to teach Gabriela how to call a pastor they met back in Massachusetts. She wants her to be able to get help in case the day comes when Estrella doesn’t make it home. But she hasn’t been able to bring herself to do it yet.
Returning to her life in Peru is technically an option, but Estrella won’t consider it. If she went home — if she gave up, that is— then everything she and Gabriela have been through would be for nothing.
“So many ugly things happened,” she said.
Estrella’s closest companion these days is Carlos, her housemate upstairs. She calls him Viejo — Old Man — and they bicker like siblings. Estrella cooks with him and he, in turn, drives her to work and the grocery store.
On a Saturday afternoon this summer, Estrella and Gabriela climbed into his car. He drove them to a Meijer supermarket on the outskirts of Detroit that looked like it was the size of a baseball stadium. As they walked the aisles together, Gabriela ran up to Estrella holding a box of ice cream cones, and smiled.
Estrella looked at the price and paused.
Rent was coming due. School would start soon and Gabriela would need clothes and new supplies. There was a consultation with an immigration lawyer — if she could finally swing it — and she was saving to buy a car. She put the box in her cart anyway.
It was summer and they were overdue for something sweet.
It was almost time for Arcaya to begin his nighttime delivery shift.
Standing in the living room of his Dorchester apartment, he opened his UberEats app, looking for work, while he finished eating a leftover empanada. The walls were bare. A single rose, a gift for his wife, Cedeño, from one of their teenage daughters, stood in a plastic water bottle on the kitchen pass-through. The family had moved into the state-subsidized apartment just two months earlier and had had little time — or money — to decorate.
A few minutes later, his phone emitted a familiar ding. An order was ready for pickup. He said goodbye to Cedeño and the girls, and walked into the night.
Like so many of the men on the Martha’s Vineyard flights, Arcaya had come to the US with the hope of someday bringing his family here. He was one of the few who had managed to do it. Last spring, Cedeño and their two teenage daughters flew to Boston and entered the country legally under a humanitarian program created by the Biden administration.
At the time, he was living in the Stoughton house, alongside Leonel, the single father from Venezuela. His family’s arrival was his ticket out. It made him eligible for the state’s emergency shelter system and soon he, Cedeño, and the girls moved into a Holiday Inn in Marlborough. They stayed there for a year, waiting for work papers and a more permanent place to live, while their daughters attended Marlborough Public Schools.
Then, early this summer, a case worker told them they could soon move into a state-subsidized apartment in a multifamily home in Dorchester. The house was green, a little crooked, and full of life. A couple of other families lived there, also migrants with children of their own.
Cedeño received a work permit and soon landed her restaurant job. Although Arcaya’s work permit still hadn’t arrived, he was able to supplement the family’s income by driving for UberEats on a friend’s account.
There were moments when he felt like he had finally arrived, that his family was settled. One morning, this summer he took his daughters to a school building in Roxbury to enroll them in Boston Public Schools for the upcoming year. When he got home, he waved at some of his neighbors who had gathered on their front deck. Then he hosed down his car in the driveway. It was a simple life, exactly what he had hoped for when he fled from Venezuela’s strife.
Until the car broke down. His demeanor, even his appearance changed during the weeks he was struggling with the car, tension visible in his shoulders and his face. The costs mounted. A $400 labor charge one day, an expensive trip to AutoZone the next.
After a month, finally, it was fixed. But the ordeal left a hole in the family’s finances that he is still working long hours to repair. The state subsidy that allows them to live in the Dorchester apartment is limited. The less they contribute to rent every month, the sooner the money will run out. Then what?
Arcaya keeps driving. The other night, he picked up an order at a Jamaican restaurant near his house and wended his way through the evening traffic, looking for the right address. His phone dinged again with an order for pizza. He would go as long as he could, usually well past midnight.
And then he’d wake up and do it all over again.
Mike Damiano can be reached at mike.damiano@globe.com. Esmy Jimenez can be reached at esmy.jimenez@globe.com. Follow her @esmyjimenez.
Could Massachusetts be in danger of becoming the nation’s first lawless society – where criminals roam the streets without fear of being imprisoned?
Shootings. Street takeovers. Open drug use. Urban terrorism. Road rage. Rampant shoplifting. It’s become acceptable behavior.
It’s a state where you can essentially get away with attempted murder.
The state’s all liberal political hierarchy has allowed it for years, and now it’s coming to fruition. Will Massachusetts be the first state in the country where laws don’t matter?
Scores of hardened, dangerous criminals are being paroled every year thanks to the Massachusetts Parole Board appointed by liberal Democrat Maura Healey.
Liberal judges are giving lenient sentences to violent offenders like the accused Memorial Drive shooter against the wishes of prosecutors.
When will voters say enough is enough?
The terrifying mass shooting on Memorial Drive only cemented the feeling of citizens that they could be targeted next. That could have been them running for their lives, cowering under their cars while a gunman with an assault rifle sprayed dozens of shots.
The alleged gunman shot at police multiple times back in 2020, and was charged with assault with intent to murder. The judge rejected the Suffolk District Attorney’s recommendation of 12 years and cut it in half, enraging prosecutors.
There’s no doubt the alleged shooter should not have been on the street this week. Two innocent people nearly lost their lives.
Maybe now the line has been crossed where people looking at the shooting think: That could have been me on Memorial Drive, running for my life.
The fear of crime is a powerful political factor that could now play a role in this year’s gubernatorial race.
Incumbent Healey has to answer for her pathetic Parole Board and any judges she’s appointed that also have the same liberal bent that’s been part of the problem.
Voters fed up with high profile crimes and shootings – along with the high cost of living – may be part of the reason that Healey’s job approval numbers are tanking and could give life to Republicans’ hopes of stealing back the Corner Office.
Healey’s numbers are particularly bad among men and independent voters, according to a new MassINC poll of 800 registered Bay State voters. The only politician faring worse than Healey is President Trump.
Meanwhile, Boston Mayor Michelle Wu keeps repeating her claim that Boston is the safest major city in the country, but it doesn’t appear that way.
Wu was just reelected overwhelmingly, but Healey might be in some trouble.
Maybe it’s now time that voters might start demanding accountability from their political leaders.
But no, let’s keep focusing on Trump and the Epstein files. That’s the real problem.
Massachusetts
Governor files bill to cover pay, benefits for Chelmsford firefighter hurt in fall at Massachusetts Fire Academy
Governor Maura Healey said Wednesday that she has filed legislation to ensure that Chelmsford firefighter Nick Spinale will receive full pay and benefits while recovering from injuries he suffered during a 40-foot fall at the Massachusetts Firefighting Academy.
Spinale was nearly killed during the fall on April 7 at the academy in Stow. He suffered significant internal and external injuries, and had to learn to walk again at Spaulding Rehabilitation in Charlestown before being released.
Because Spinale was working as a part-time instructor for the state, and not on duty for Chelmsford Fire Department at the time of the fall, the town did not place him on injury leave. He had to use accrued paid sick time, while Chelmsford firefighters swapped shifts to make sure his job would be there when he is ready to return.
But on Wednesday, Healey announced that her legislation would ensure that he receives full pay and benefits, and also maintains his full-time position in Chelmsford while he recovers.
“Nicholas Spinale is a hero. Firefighters run into danger every day to keep people safe, and Nick went even further to lend his expertise to train the next generation of firefighters,” Healey said in a statement. “He suffered from a tragic, life-altering accident while doing this important work, and the last thing he needs is to worry about whether he will continue to be able to support himself and his family. This legislation will ensure that he receives the full pay and benefits that he deserves so that he can rightfully focus on his recovery.”
In a statement, the Professional Fire Fighters of Massachusetts urged the House and Senate to fast-track the legislation and get it to Healey’s desk so she can sign it.
Chelmsford Firefighters IAFF Local 1839 thanked the governor for drafting the legislation.
“This bill demonstrates that through collaborative efforts and challenging discussions, significant and equitable decisions can produce positive impacts for first responders throughout Massachusetts,” the union said.
Massachusetts
‘It’s maddening’: FIFA licensing delays threaten Massachusetts’ World Cup party plans – The Boston Globe
Without those approvals, municipalities cannot legally show the matches in public, leaving many local organizers frozen in place — unable to lock in vendors, rent giant screens, hire security, or recruit volunteers.
If the licenses do not come through soon, the vision of fans of diverse ethnicities and generations gathering in a rolling soccer party from one end of Massachusetts to another could fade before the first whistle at Gillette Stadium, on June 13.
“It’s maddening,” said Sandhya Iyer, economic development and tourism director for Lexington, which is planning a watch party at the lawn of the town’s visitors center. “The World Cup is right around the corner, but we can’t invite people to a celebration that might not happen.”
FIFA did not respond to multiple requests from The Boston Globe for comment on its licensing process.
The only two entities to receive FIFA licenses so far are the City of Cambridge and the MetroWest Tourism and Visitors Bureau, which is organizing events in Franklin and Marlborough, according to the state Executive Office of Economic Development, which has been helping local communities alongside Boston’s World Cup host committee. Officials in at least two municipalities, Framingham and Weymouth, have decided against holding World Cup watch parties due to concerns over security and costs.
Compounding the frustration, local planners say they have been unable to get clear answers — or even reach a real person — at FIFA. Instead, they are routed back to the organization’s online licensing portal, where they repeatedly encounter the same three words: “Application in Review.”
The licensing delays are just the latest manifestation of mounting frustration with FIFA, the Zurich-based organization that owns and runs the World Cup.
Chief among the concerns is ticket pricing, which for many fans has become prohibitively expensive. For the highly anticipated France-Norway match on June 26 at Gillette, remaining tickets range from $750 to $5,680 each.
Speaking at an event last week in Beverly Hills, Calif., FIFA president Gianni Infantino defended the ticket prices, saying they reflect demand to watch the World Cup as well as laws in the United States that allow tickets to be resold for thousands of dollars above face value. Tickets are available via resale platforms including FIFA’s own marketplace; last month four seats for the World Cup final at MetLife Stadium in New Jersey were listed at just under $2.3 million each.
Now FIFA — already accused of squeezing millions from soccer fans — is facing a new charge: acting like a party crasher, spoiling the festivities the World Cup is supposed to inspire.
“This is all wildly unconventional. It’s like being a month out from a big event and not having a venue,” said Greta Teller, a soccer marketing consultant from Roslindale who is assisting more than two dozen organizations statewide on World Cup festivities. “The frustration is that nobody can get a straight answer [from FIFA], and that makes planning really difficult.”
The community watch parties are anything but small undertakings.
While the events vary in size, they’re costly and labor-intensive to stage — one reason the Commonwealth is helping foot the bill. A single giant screen to broadcast the games during the tournament can run up to $100,000. Security, portable toilets, food vendors, signage, and trash removal can add tens of thousands more. And then there’s the FIFA public-viewing license itself, which can range from about $1,000 to $20,000 depending on expected crowd size.
In Easthampton, preparations for a five-day World Cup watch party that would coincide with a festival to celebrate the nation’s 250th birthday have been months in the making. The city has lined up a half-dozen food trucks, musical bands, two breweries and a local production company to operate the big screens and lighting at Millside Park. The event is expected to cost about $250,000; a $100,000 state grant will cover part of the expense, while the remaining $150,000 will come from private and in-kind donations, city officials said.
Mayor Salem Derby of Easthampton said many of those plans hinge on the yet-issued FIFA license. Until the license comes through, the city cannot finalize contracts with key vendors. And with Easthampton facing a projected $6.5 million budget deficit next fiscal year, Derby said officials are reluctant to spend money upfront without clear authorization to broadcast the games.
Derby called the FIFA licensing process “nerve-wracking,” adding, “You would think [the license] would be the easy part — that FIFA would want us to broadcast these games.”
That uncertainty is being felt elsewhere, including about 100 miles east in Lexington, where local planners envisioned a 10-day celebration on the spacious lawn at the town’s visitor center, with a beer garden, food trucks, two large screens, and soccer games for kids.
But two months after it submitted its application for a FIFA viewing license, Lexington’s plans are in limbo.
Iyer, the town’s economic development and tourism director, said she checks the FIFA website multiple times each day, hoping for any new information. Each time, the status is unchanged: “Application in Review.”
Now, town planners are exploring whether to scale back the festivities and have smaller watch parties at a movie theater or restaurants that already broadcast games and do not need a special FIFA license, Iyer said. “It’s hard to nail down specifics if we’re not even sure we can show the games,” she said.
In Lowell, the Revolutionary Valley Regional Tourism Council is finalizing plans for 14 watch parties around the city, with an expected $10 admission fee and capacity for tens of thousands of attendees. The group has already matched its $75,000 state grant and raised more than $200,000, but still needs about $400,000 more to meet its target.
Its initial FIFA license application, submitted in February, was rejected on March 10 because a full list of sponsors wasn’t yet in place, said council executive director Brian Bradbury. A second application was resubmitted in early May after most logistical details were finalized.
“We anticipated that it was going to be a quicker, smoother process, that it’s something that’s been done a million times and that they’d be able to give the license to us in a turnkey way,” said Bradbury. He said the initial license refusal was for “unnecessary” reasons.
“It is frustrating, and if we don’t have our license by next week, it’s going to be much more frustrating. We expected a quicker process.”
Even organizations that received FIFA licenses say the labyrinthine process and delays left them scrambling to finalize plans at the last minute.
MetroWest Boston Visitors Bureau is organizing a total of five free MetroWest Regional Fan Zones: three outdoor watch-party festivals in Marlborough June 11-13, and two in Franklin, June 24 and 25.
After filling out a relatively simple FIFA application form in mid-December, MetroWest did not receive its license until mid-April.
“The timeline was certainly more extended than we had hoped,” said Stacey David, MetroWest executive director, whose group received $120,000 from the state and is still trying to raise funds from the private sector to cover costs. “So now we’re crunched.”
Other grant awardees simply have their fingers crossed their licenses will come through.
Chelsea is planning one of the biggest watch parties in the state: 38 continuous days, 60-plus matches in Chelsea Square.
“That’s going to take us a lot of marketing, and the more time we have, the better it is,” said City Manager Fidel Maltez. “I think our team is trying to be respectful and appreciative but . . . we need this approval as soon as possible.”
Chris Serres can be reached at chris.serres@globe.com. Follow him @ChrisSerres. Michael Silverman can be reached at michael.silverman@globe.com. Laura Crimaldi can be reached at laura.crimaldi@globe.com. Follow her @lauracrimaldi.
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