The Man, As He Tells It
Purnell Brittingham Jarvis, Jr. was born off Main Street in Berlin, Maryland, in a house his great-granddaddy built and his daddy put the carpet in. He went to school here. He got married here. He got divorced here, briefly, and then re-married the same woman because, in his words, "the paperwork was cheaper than the alternative."
His daddy was a waterman, and his daddy's daddy was a waterman before him, until the chicken houses came in and then half of them, including Purnell's, became chicken men instead. Purnell himself has done a little of everything: pulled crab pots, framed houses, drove a feed truck, ran a backhoe, and spent six years as a West Ocean City small businessman before they paved his bait and tackle shop to make more parking for assholes from New York.
He drives a 1989 Ford F-150 that is, he will admit, mostly original. The radio works when it feels like it. The dog rides in the cab in winter and the bed in summer, and the dog gets a vote on which.
Purnell has never lived anywhere else and has no plans to. He has been to Salisbury. He has been, once, to Baltimore, for a wedding. He did not care for it and hasn't crossed the bridge since. He has never been on an airplane and does not see the appeal.
He is running for Mayor of Berlin because the town he was born in is getting overtaken by moneygrubbing morons who actually believed that little joke about "cool", and he would prefer it feel more like the town he grew up: Make Berlin Uncool Again.