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Steve Campbell,
Production Manager
Steve Campbell, born in Lewiston and raised in Bowdoinham, Maine, attended
Mt. Ararat high school in Topsham, Maine which, much to his chagrin, had removed the football program in his eighth grade year (causing him to develop a deep disrespect for Soccer).
Dejected, he joined the wrestling team for much needed
energy redistribution. Managing to win a state title in his graduation year of 1989, he escaped to the big city of Boston to attend "higher" education at Wentworth Institute of
Technology, which largely consisted of copious amounts of intoxicating cheers and
chasing the ladies to annoyance. Deciding that grappling with other men was no
longer interesting (not that there's anything wrong with that), he joined
the Wentworth Rugby team who, despite his presence, went on to win two division III titles. A semi-college dropout (associates degree), he was recaptured by local officials and returned to Maine in the spring of 1992.
The next eight months Steve spent learning the considerable ins and outs of the Excavation sciences as a laborer until laid off in
January of 1993. Unfortunately, it was a little late to stave off the inevitable frostbite that comes with the Maine winter (he now hardly misses those body parts anymore, which is a plus). After the unemployment checks ran out, Steve figured a career that resembles his education might be worthwhile.
Steve came aboard the good ship MECO in March of 1993.
Thrown into a world of actual instead of theoretical, he did so well that
within six months he was shipped off to the Woodex woodshop for what was then known as "reeducation" (a communist program used to focus a young man's energy into more useful endeavors). After returning from the Gulag a more malleable person, Steve began to flourish
in the ensuing years, rising steadily through positions to his present curse of "Production Manager" in the MECO shop.
Still trying to find himself in a world in which the Red Sox can actually win a World Series, Steve decided to become a new homeowner in April of 2005. He was forced to give up a fulfilling life of self-serving hedonism, largely the fault of his girlfriend Kara and the ridiculous
property taxes of southern Maine. He spends his days now docile, learning more useless historical trivia, sticking his finger in the eye of the nearest social conservative, while simultaneously defending the honor of Van Halen and the early 1990's dynasty of the Dallas Cowboys (damn Patriots!). He also can be found trading inappropriate jokes and/or observances with the MECO crate guy and his equal, the wood shop head guy out on the Woodex loading dock.
Should a meeting with Steve ever occur, please laugh at his badly-botched Monty Python quips: it'll make it easier on the rest of us who are forced to hear them on a near-daily basis.
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