Now, it’s the prettiest place in town. But then, it was the place where I came the closest to suicide.

MBNA has left Rockland and taken a few hundred jobs with it. But it has left a gorgeous harbor walkway, one used every night by a grateful public. Blue Eyes has embarked on a campaign to prolong my life by walking, walking, walking up various hills and dales. She likes 10-mile, cross-country jaunts in which she can display her superior stamina and general good health.

Her favorite moments, it seems, are when I am doubled over, gasping for air while she is leaping over boulders like a mountain goat. Then she likes to say, “Are you all right?” I like to drag David Grima along, since his Hitchcockian frame resembles mine and he is in even worse shape than I am. When he is doubled over, gasping for air, usually within six minutes of leaving the car, I get to ask him, “Are you all right?”

I like the shorter, flatter walks, preferably all downhill instead of the mountain climbs. We compromise on Rockland’s boardwalk, where the trek usually ends with a Conte’s haddock dinner.

The short walk has oodles of history, including the site of my first job in Maine. It was 1971 and I had a child and exactly no money. If memory serves, I had to borrow the fare for the Maine Turnpike, which might have been 50 cents at the time. These were not good days.

Someone told me that you could always get a job at the fish plants, so I drove down to Holmes Fish Packing and signed on. I can’t imagine what the pay was, probably a dollar an hour. We were in charge of keeping the lightning-fast packers supplied with sardines. You cannot imagine how fast those women were. If they ran out of fish, working for piece rate, you heard about it.

The plant was dark and depressing, the work was close behind, and the smell accompanied you all the way home. I can remember one day when I looked at the overhead beams to see if they would hold my weight. I take my hat off to the crews that worked there for generations.

Somehow, I survived and Rockland kept me employed for 30 more years as a semi-successful reporter. I was eating at the Salad Patch on Main Street one night when the sirens roared by on the way to the harbor. We dropped our forks and drove to the glow in the sky. It was the old Holmes fish plant being consumed by a huge fireball. I have been a lifelong enjoyer of fires, the bigger the better. But I enjoyed that one the most.

My pleasure was intensified when the reporter from the rival Press Herald, Larry Ouellette, showed up at some boring board meeting or another much later that night and someone asked him if he got pictures of the fire. “What fire?” Larry asked in a phrase that has lived in infamy ever since. I had Page One pictures the next morning. The Press Herald had nothing.

In those days, Rockland acted like it hated its waterfront. Next to the Holmes fish plant was a snowplow factory. Rockland also allowed a car wash, then a tire store to take up the valuable land on the waterfront. Imagine Camden or Rockport allowing such use of waterfront land.

Say what you will about MBNA. It was good while it lasted. Plus, they bought the land on the harbor, so the snow plow company could move to the industrial park. Then they built a beautiful boardwalk to show off the city’s waterfront.

Now, I can avoid those mountain treks with Blue Eyes and take instead a leisurely stroll around the city’s harbor and tell my story about Holmes Fish Company and my suicidal moment.

Send complaints and compliments to Emmet Meara at emmetmeara@msn.com.