BSO

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Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Springfield Fish That Got Away



 

In an unsigned article in the Valley Advocate last week in their "Splash" section, someone who may or may not have been Maureen Turner wrote about the declining drama of the Springfield, Massachusetts corruption investigations, stating:

Perhaps the disappointment comes from the creeping sense that, after years of providing the best show in town, the feds have more or less closed up shop in their public corruption probe. While we've seen a flurry of convictions of late, it's been a long time since we've been treated to a nice, juicy indictment - and there are plenty of creeps still hanging around the city who deserve one.

Oh yes, indeed there are! And if in fact the probe has petered out (although never underestimate the FBI) then what better time to take stock of the fish who got away. Here's an incomplete listing:

Congressman Richard Neal - In the 1990's corruption probe by former State Attorney General Scott Harshbarger, both the Washington Post and the Boston Globe reported that the real target of the investigation was Congressman Neal. Even the Springfield Newspapers admitted as much, but only after the probe was safely over.

Harshbarger failed to bag his congressman because longtime Neal crony and confidant Francis Keough, after at first promising to co-operate with Harshbarger as part of a plea bargain, developed a bad case of amnesia. Perhaps more importantly, Harshbarger developed a bad case of gubernatorial ambition, and feared that pressing the probe would alienate the Western Mass Democrat machine. Although Harshbarger backed off, it still left hard feelings. When Harshbarger ran for Governor in 1998, at Neal's instruction the local Dems sat on their hands as a act of vengeance.

So when later the FBI came around, it seemed like common sense that they would pick up the ball where Harshbarger had dropped it and go after Neal again. That seemed especially likely when another key Neal ally, Raymond "Papa Ray" Asselin went down in a hail of indictments. The Asselins were handling a lot of federal funds administered through federal programs, meaning a close working relationship between Neal and Asselin was essential. Did that close relationship lead Neal to know anything about all the dirty deals that went down?

When shortly after his arrest Asselin was spotted prominently dining with Neal at The Fort restaurant, it was seen by many as an important signal to the local Democrat machine members: We're standing by the Asselins so KEEP YOUR MOUTHS SHUT! Apparently it worked, as no prominent local Democrat ever spoke against either of them. Although wiretaps insured that nothing could save Papa Ray from a lengthy prison term, amazingly not a drop of mud ever splashed on Richie.

Mayor Michael Albano - Oh how his enemies salivated at the thought of watching the TV footage of the former Hizzoner being taken away in handcuffs. But although almost the entire top echelon of his administration were either disgraced, indicted or convicted, Albano himself somehow escaped scot free. However, he cannot escape the judgement of local historians, who will certainly declare him to be the worst mayor in the history of Springfield.

Rep. Saco Catjakis - In his heyday he was a Mr. Fixit known to have his fingers in many pies. His indictment seemed a certainty after federal agents raided his home, but to everyone's surprise no charges were ever filed.

Atty. Raipher Pellegrino - Once regarded as the wonderboy of Springfield politics, former City Councilor Raipher fell in with a bad crowd, namely Albano and his pals the Ardolino brothers. By the time the voters threw him out of office, Raipher was known as a cynical deal maker whose name was associated with numerous shady and controversial affairs. People expected that a series of indictments would clear the air, but while the feds made it obvious that they were looking at him very closely, in the end nothing happened.

Ray Jordan - Even while he was in office charges of conflicts of interest dogged this former state rep. It seemed natural that as the feds did their homework that they would take an interest in his controversies. Not only did that not materialize, but Jordan, never known for his humility, now brazenly poses as an elder statesman in the Sarno for Mayor campaign.

Robert McCollum- The plunging of the city into debt over the building of palatial school buildings of dubious need came to symbolize the wild fiscal irresponsibility of the Albano years. Overseeing it all was former School Committee member McCollum, who also served as the affirmative action enforcer, deciding who would get the fat plums awarded strictly on the basis of skin color. As one minority contractor told me who refused to participate in bidding after dealing with McCollum, "No white supremacist would have made me grovel before him like McCollum expected you to do to get those affirmative action set-aside contracts." With so much money involved, and so many enemies, it seemed impossible for McCollum not to get caught in the web; and investigators did indeed give the school construction program a serious look. Yet McCollum never did the perp walk.

And no doubt there were others, with ties to these big fish, who perhaps should have gone down as well. However, it looks like they all swam safely away. Or did they? Francis Keough thought he was home free when the Harshbarger probe fell through, only to find himself heading to prison at a later date. Who knows who may yet face a similar fate?


Monday, July 30, 2007

The Montague Trail




Here's a new trail I discovered that you should check out. It's right by the entrance to the UMass Renaissance House on East Pleasant Street. Just look for the sign above. Unfortunately, a short ways down the trail you encounter this broken bench, and it isn't really clear what direction you should travel to continue. Sadly, the trail has been neglected. However, if you look closely you can see some clearings between the trees so just slip through to reach a wider path. 





This path leads you behind the UMass Renaissance House itself.





Here is a bust of the poet and playwright William Shakespeare, with a plaque saying that it was donated by Bernard Spivak. When I was a UMass student a thousand years ago, I had a Shakespeare teacher named Charlotte Spivak. I suspect they were married. 





Past Renaissance House the path takes you into a deep field, where the grass is sometimes as high as your head. 





Occasionally you encounter a man made bird house. 





This totally overgrown bench is testimony to the fact that not many people follow the path this far. 





Just when you think you are completely isolated, looming into view is this large shack with all kinds of plant growing contraptions around it.





Approaching the shack we see there is a sign on it. I have no idea what the sign means. 





Isn't a mentally ill person said to have a pathology? I guess this is a UMass facility for studying crazy plants. If so, where's the ganja and magic mushrooms? Alas, we searched in vain. We did however discover there is a garden in back, with this instrument for measuring rainfall levels. 





There had been a torrential downpour the night before, and the instrument said more than an inch of rain had fallen. Continuing down the path, we came to this faucet for a cool, refreshing drink of sparkling water. 





The rest of the trail was anti-climactic, as we came out behind the new dorms the university has built next to Sylvan. Follow the road and you end up by the Furcolo School of Education, with the Grad Research Tower hovering in the background.





There was a former Governor of Massachusetts named Foster Furcolo. Anyway, you should check out the Montague Trail sometime, it is not too long and very scenic.



 


Friday, July 27, 2007

At the Mall


The most common way for me to walk the rail trail is to take the bus to the Hampshire Mall in Hadley and walk the trail back into Amherst. Last night however when I got off the bus I decided to walk around the mall. 




 

At one point I spotted sitting by himself, sipping tea in the food court, this guy I had met before and spoken briefly with at UMass. He wants to be a professional dancer on Broadway and TV and other such mediums. I've never seen him dance, but even if he has two left feet he could still be an instant sensation in a strip club, what with his great build and long flowing blond hair. He remembered me and invited me to sit down. I asked him how the dancing career was coming along.

He sounded discouraged. Though he was just 22, he knew of people younger than him who already had dancing gigs in New York City, even on Broadway. Meanwhile, he was working in a coffee shop. He wondered whether he was getting too old, dancers being like professional athletes who only have a certain window to make it or you're considered over the hill. Wow, what must it be like to have to wonder whether you're past your prime at 22?

I tried to be encouraging. I told him how the worst sin most people commit in their lives is when they give up their highest dreams of their best self too easily and too early. If you fail at what you love then you fail, but at least you have the finality of failure and the peace of mind that comes from knowing you gave it your best. What tortures a lot of people their whole lives is that they are never really certain what they could have achieved because they never really tried. They sold out for the conventional and the secure and the respectable, and so they will never know what could've been possible. In that sense they suffer far worse than those who genuinely try and fail.

He seemed heartened by these thoughts, but then referred to other clouds gathering on his horizon - he had a girlfriend (damn!) and was engaged to be married. I think it was Oscar Wilde who said that marriage has killed more artistic careers than any critic. That's because inevitably there comes the day when the spouse says put away those dancing shoes (or pen, or paint brush or whatever) and get a real job, one that will pay for the rent and Johnny's bike and Sally's braces. Lip service is usually paid to resuming the career at a later, more opportune time. Then one day you wake up and you realize that too many years have slipped by and it just ain't ever gonna happen and thus you spend the rest of your days wondering about what might have been.

I told him he should quit his job in the coffee shop and head down to New York immediately and pound the streets of Broadway and off Broadway and even off-off Broadway until either a door opened or slammed permanently shut. I don't know whether he will follow my suggestion, but he did seem genuinely inspired. He shook my hand as we parted. Thus did the beautiful blonde dancer waltz right out of my life.

My sister Bev and I took my father out to eat yesterday at The Crest, an overlooked gem of a restaurant in West Springfield. They have a neat collection of sports collectibles, such as this handbill from the 1969 World Series. Notice how the Orioles are printed in psychedelic script, which was wholly appropriate for 1969. (Click to enlarge.) 





Here's a great old advertisement featuring a Red Sox deity.

 





Thursday, July 26, 2007

The Lying Clintons




Is Hillary Clinton really the best the Democrats can do for a frontrunner for their nomination? We would do well to remember how things went down in the administration of which she was virtually the co-President:

President Clinton was able to ride out his impeachment not merely because he has the conscience of a slot machine, but because he and his partisans managed to convince the nation that the matter at issue was not truth but power. Virtually all his arguments were founded upon lies. 

It was a lie that he did not perjure himself. It was a lie that he did not conceal evidence. It was a lie that he did not conspire to intimidate witnesses. It was a lie that all these things were personal mistakes. It was a lie that the assemblage of raw FBI files on 900 Republicans was not for the purposes of blackmail. It was a lie that these files came to the White House by mistake. It was a lie that Mrs. Clinton did not benefit from guaranteed transactions in commodities trading. It was a lie that this was not a bribe. It was a lie that the president did not receive millions of campaign dollars from China. It was a lie that he did not personally intervene to aid the transfer to China of military technology that China intends for potential use against the United States. It was a lie that these two actions were unconnected. . 

There were so many lies that they were like sand in a sandstorm. They got into everything. You could not see the ground in front of you for all the lies that swirled in the air like brown dust.

Mark Halpern, Contributing Editor of The Wall Street Journal


Monday, July 23, 2007

Bye Bye Hamp Wendy's


Something has happened to cause almost all of the Wendy's Restaurants in the Pioneer Valley to close! While the reason is unclear at the moment, all of them are owned by some dude in Ohio who has appeared on the deadbeat tax lists for years. In any case, among them is this Wendy's on King Street in Northampton. 





The only clue to the cause of its sudden closing is this sign on the door. 





Back in the 1970's me and my buddy Mike Stedman, who had recently moved out of Pine Point to Easthampton, used to hitchhike into Northampton to go to Lizottes Smoke Shop, which at the time had the best rolling paper selection in the Valley. Afterwards, we used to go to that very Wendy's, which I suspect may have been the first in the region. Beforehand, we always slipped behind the power station which is still located next door in order to, ahem, test the papers we'd purchased at Lizotte's.

 



Our testing session would bring on an attack of the munchies, for which the next door Wendy's was a welcome cure. Now that it has suddenly closed, I feel sorry for the kids who were working there for the summer and whom the newspaper said were having a hard time getting their paychecks. Looks like they got the shaft.


Friday, July 20, 2007

Holyoke Spirit


I was in Holyoke yesterday at Veterans Park. It's sort of run down and weirded out these days, but it used to be the heart of town. Part of the cause of the feeling of desolation are the boarded up buildings that formerly made up the Holyoke Catholic High School Complex. The main building has now been vacant long enough to show some deterioration.





Like Springfield learned with its former Technical High School, either you get these buildings into reuse fairly quickly or they start into a downward spiral that can be difficult to reverse.

 



The once packed full parking lot is now overrun with weeds. 





The Whiting Elementary School across from St. Jerome's Church is a sad specimen of bleak abandonment.

 



I'm always intrigued by this alleyway by St. Jerome's, near the statue of the Virgin and child. 





It gives me a sense of deja-vu, as if I know the location from another lifetime or something. 





One life at a time, I always say. Psychiatrists have theorized that the emotion we associate with deja-vu is actually triggered not by past life experiences but by things that recall memories of events that occurred before we were old enough to consciously remember them. The reason most people have few memories of their first few years of life is because that is when we learn to organize our experiences around using language. Therefore, the experiences we had before we learned to talk are seldom part of our conscious recall, with the exception perhaps of a few somehow special or traumatic events.

The memories of our earliest years are not completely lost, and when we revisit a place we were as an infant, or someplace similar to it, the unconscious memory floods the mind with a sensation of deja-vu. We feel we've been there before, but we can't explain when or why we feel that way. Frankly, it is very possible I was at St. Jerome's as an infant, as I had numerous relatives who were very active in the Catholic Church throughout the region.

Anyway, this talk of the ghosts of Holyoke past reminds me of an essay I wrote earlier this year about Holyoke and its sister city Springfield:

A week ago I was sitting in Packard’s in Northampton being interviewed by William Peters from Local Buzz magazine on the subject of masculinity in the Pioneer Valley. Being the macho, manly superstud that I am, I was able to explain the whole topic of masculinity to him in a matter of minutes. I then went on to bring peace to the Middle East, cure the common cold and invent a perpetual motion machine. Who knows what I might have accomplished had we stayed for another cup of coffee?

However, I did leave the interview pondering an interesting question that was raised: What is the difference between Springfield and Holyoke? The reporter had raised it in the context of the masculine culture of each city, but it intrigued me in a larger sense because there are distinct differences on a wider level. For want of a better term, each city has a different vibe.

They are alike in many ways, Springfield and Holyoke. Both are former industrial centers that have lost most of their original industries and found little to replace them. Both have had stretches of revoltingly bad governmental leadership. They now have somewhat better leadership, although in many respects it’s too little too late. Both are undergoing a recovery of sorts, although it's occurring in what seems at times a slow-motion two steps forward, one step back. 

But there is one subtle and important distinction between them. For all its troubles, when you walk around in Holyoke there is an upbeat feeling of energy. People are talking and  laughing and walking about. There's a real feeling of vitality and a sense of action, of intermingling, of good will. Holyoke may be rundown in its infrastructure, but not in its spirit.

It is hard to say the same about Springfield. Its downtown, in a word, feels depressing. Where are the people? Why is everyone shuffling around with their head down? It's not much better in the neighborhoods, where in parts of them there's a sense of isolation and desertion. People aren't very friendly and not much smiling.

In Springfield there is a sense of having fallen from grace, based on the knowledge that it was once something better than what it is now. In Holyoke, which always housed a lot of the region's poor, there is greater comfort with the culture of poverty. There's more of a sense of acceptance, and therefore empathy with, the fact that the poor are there, and do what they do, so don't worry about it. Or at least it's not considered an excuse to be down and negative on yourself. Holyoke is comfortable with its funky self, while Springfield feels like a has-been.

Springfield's past was indeed glorious, but its over. It has many problems, and it will take a long time to fix them. But nothing justifies the bad attitude you feel on the city's streets. It doesn't cost anything to smile. Your neighborhood may be a rundown ghetto, but if so it's YOUR ghetto, so why not try to get off on it a little? Poverty can sometimes be forced upon you, but poverty of spirit is always a choice that you can refuse.

The people of Holyoke seem to get that, while the people of Springfield are looking in a rear view mirror weeping with nostalgia. Let the past be over and, as those Zen dudes say, Be Here Now. The present is all any of us have got to work with, so lets try to be positive about what can be accomplished.

C'mon Springfield, let's see a little of that Holyoke spirit!


I regret that I didn't have the chance to attend the fundraiser the other night for GOP Springfield City Council candidate John Lysak. Fortunately the ever intrepid Bill Dusty wwas there and made this video. Considering Dusty's work with the Karen Powell campaign and now Lysak, he should consider reinventing himself as a political/media consultant. 



Monday, July 16, 2007

Hashish Under Glass




Saturday night I was on the Rail Trail, trying to walk my blues away. It was the first time in a while that I've been on the trail, and it was nice to be communing with nature again on one of our Valley's most beautiful walkways.

When I got near where the trail passes behind the Hampshire Mall, specifically near where the movie complex is, I spotted a couple of young dudes a little ways off in the woods. The sound of their laughter is what drew my attention, that and the cloud of smoke that was billowing around their heads. They were dressed all in black and leather, with skulls and other death symbols on their clothes. The duo looked more like bikers than hippies, but there was no mistaking the smell as that cloud of smoke wafted my way.

It was hashish.

I called out to them. "Excuse me gentlemen!"

They looked about in confusion, and seeing no one else around, realized I must be talking to them.

"Yeah, whatta ya want?"

"Excuse me," I repeated. "But is that hashish I smell you smoking?"

They laughed and one of them waved their arm in a welcoming gesture.

"C'mon, you can have some. We'll share the wealth!"

I generally dislike socialist sentiments, but was happy to make an exception in this case as I left the trail to join them in the woods. They passed me the pipe and I took a hit. The taste of the hashish was heavenly.

Despite their menacing looks, they turned out to be really nice guys. They told me they were on their way to the movies. I asked them what film they were going to see, expecting to hear the title of a recently released blood soaked slasher film, but was surprised to hear them say that they were going to see the new Harry Potter movie. I told them I had read mixed reviews about it.

"Oh we don't care about the acting or the plot." one of them explained. "We're just going for the special effects." As the first wave of the powerful hashish began flowing through my brain, I realized that under the influence of this intoxicant almost any movie could be fascinating.

I wanted to buy some. "Where did you get this hashish?" I asked. "At UMass." was the reply, with his friend adding, "At UMass you can get anything." As it turned out they had made a casual purchase from a dealer who had approached them on campus, and didn't know where to get more.

So I told them about how we used to do hashish when I was at UMass many years ago. Today most hashish is made in domestic labs, usually in people's houses, but in my day it was mostly imported from overseas. I recalled how you could buy bricks of hashish with Persian writing stamped on them. I told them that in the dorm rooms we used to smoke it under glass.

"Under glass?" one asked, "What do you mean?"




I explained how we used to take the cover of a matchbook and put a common tack through it so as to make a stand with the pin sticking straight up. On the point of the tack we would stick a rock of hash. Then we would light it, quickly covering the stand, pin and burning rock with a common clear drinking glass.

The hash would burn until the oxygen ran out, while the glass would capture all the smoke. Then you could slide the glass to the edge of the table, put your mouth over the opening created when the glass went past the edge, and suck out all the smoke. In that way all the hash would be converted to smoke, with zero percent waste. 

Sometimes we would use a large jar instead of a glass and put three or four hash rocks on the tack. We called this a "hashish-kabob."

My new friends were very pleased to be informed of this technique, which they had never heard about. Then suddenly we heard a loud rustling in the bushes! Someone was approaching! Oh no! Had the mall cops picked up the smell? We frantically tried to conceal the hot pipe.

The bushes parted and two kids, a boy and a girl, came into view. Perhaps brother and sister, they looked to be about twelve years old. The girl had on what might have once been a ballerina costume but which had been altered to resemble a spangled flowing robe. The boy had on a pointed wizard hat. I assume they were also going to see Harry Potter. The boy gave us a knowing wink as he passed us.

Cripes, I thought, don't tell me that today even the middle school set can recognize the smell of dope!

That interruption was my indication to split. I was outrageously stoned, and didn't want anymore of the pipe, although my companions were relighting it. I thanked them for their generosity, expressing only the regret that I couldn't purchase any from them. "I'll wish I had more later when I start to come down."

"Well," one of them said philosophically, "it is better to be coming down than to have never been high at all."

Who could argue with that? I continued down the trail, or I should say I floated down the trail, my mood enormously enhanced. The high lasted for hours, even as I sat dreamily in the Haymarket Cafe, resolving that if I ever get hold of more hashish, I really should check out the new Harry Potter movie.

The University is holding its orientation sessions for new students all summer, and I notice that the UMass Republican Club is already beginning its recruitment campaign, as evidenced by this flyer stuck to this mailbox in downtown Amherst. (Click to enlarge)





I love the classic New England architecture of this Amherst Church. 





It also has a wise message in front. 





Finally, here's something from the golden age of MTV.



Saturday, July 14, 2007

UMass Car Models


And a Little Hot Tuna.

This morning I came upon these shutterbugs hovering around a leggy brunette as part of the annual Camera Club Convention at UMass.





More interesting to me were these antique cars. I like this cherry red one parked out by the campus pond. 





This black one had a see-through engine.





Except for the engine, the car closely resembles the one on the cover of Hot Tuna's Burgers.






Speaking of Jorma and Jack, here's a taste of Hot Tuna as served last month at Bonneroo. Sorry for the heartbreakingly premature ending. 





Friday, July 13, 2007

Remembering Rahars




One of the great things about Packards in Northampton is that it serves as a kind of museum of Northampton business history. I was struck by a wave of nostalgia there recently to spot the old sign for the legendary bar Rahars.



If you look behind the Rahars sign, you can also see part of the sign for Beardsleys, a famous 70's restaurant but one I never ate at because it was too pricey for me on a college student's budget.

Rahars however, I have very fond memories of, which is surprising considering the state of mind I was often in while in attendance there. It was the premiere place in its time for local bands and the coolest place to be in Hamp on a Saturday night. It sort of played the role that The Elevens plays today, but on a larger, hipper scale. Here a band called The Foreign Objects performs at Rahars in 1979.



Carl Mayfield, Martian Highway fame, at one point rented an apartment over the bar. I used to visit him there, and it was absurd to even think of sleeping while the bar was open and a band was playing, as you could hardly talk with the music booming through the floor. God what parties went on there!

I miss that place, as well as some of the other classic Northampton businesses of yore which now survive only as Packards memorabilia. If you haven't been to Packards before, definitely do stop in as the local history lesson alone will make it worth your while.

A neat new place I discovered recently is the Simple Gifts Farm in Amherst.



Great, wholesome, locally grown food that is filled with health is available there at low prices. The farm gets its name from an old Shaker hymn whose lyrics would serve well as the official poem of the Pioneer Valley:

Tis a gift to be simple,
’Tis a gift to be free,
’Tis a gift to come down
Where you ought to be.
And when you find yourself
In a place just right
’Twill be in the valley
Of love and delight.


Finally, people sometimes complain that I'm too critical of Springfield, but at least I've never nuked the place like Bill Dusty:

Thursday, July 12, 2007

Why We Lost




Darn it, we lost! The nationwide contest to determine which of the many Springfield's in America should be the one officially designated as most like the fictional one in The Simpsons cartoon show went to, of all places, dinky little Springfield, Vermont. What? Vermont has more cows than people! At least Springfield, Illinois is a state capitol! I'm tellin' ya, we wuz robbed!

Actually our video was sort of lame, but then so was everyone else's. I mean all the Vermont video had going for it was a giant donut rolling around town. Has the level of humor in America sunk so low that seeing someone take a flying leap at a rolling donut is the height of humor?

Truth is, I told the makers of our video how to win, and gave em' the advice for free, but they just didn't listen! Yet in fairness, all the Springfield's made the same basic mistake: They focused on how the rest of the nation would view them, and frankly the fans of the Simpson's couldn't care less about any Springfield on the planet besides the one in the show. They want to laugh, and what do Simpson's fans laugh at? Outrageous stuff that's crass and ridiculous and dripping with irony. How could our Springfield lose a contest like that?





Oh the lost opportunities! Good grief, all that we had to do is show highlights from the Ardolino trial and we would have won hands down! Instead we had Ted Kennedy saying "chowdah" like somehow that was wicked pissah. They should have had Mike Albano waving a jar of spaghetti sauce while the music from the Godfather played! We should have shown Jerry Phillips chasing a Puerto Rican welfare mother around a hotel room with a wiffle bat! We should have shown Papa Ray Asselin running out of a laundry room with a suitcase full of quarters! We should have shown archival footage of Chris Asselin throwing a temper tantrum after he was thrown out of office! The City Council could've dressed as clowns and.... wait a minute, no costumes necessary.

Oh well, while defeat leaves Springfield nothing to celebrate, it also leaves nothing to apologize for. In my opinion, all of the videos were so bad that it was really a coin toss who won. And there were a few positives in the way our community got excited about the contest and the publicity that was generated, with our Springfield getting at least passing mention in several major media outlets.

So a pat on the back is still in order for everyone who participated, from the producers to the citizens who voted online to even the critics like me who sneered from the sidelines. The contest made Springfield sort of come together for a little bit, and that is always a plus.

One of the coolest places in Northampton has always been Bob's Hobby Shop on King Street, with its chilltown underground entrance way featuring a monster and a witch. 





It was so cool it long ago outgrew it's subterranean lair, and now it has relocated to a much larger space just down the street, in the vacant spot next to the 7-11.





That's a great spot, and right across the street from the Science Store! Science nerds are often comic book collectors and gamers too, so now we can do all our nerdy shopping in one convenient area! Hurray! King Street is turning into a nerd paradise!

Monday, July 9, 2007

Springfield Woman of the Year Leaves Town




In January when I chose my "Man and Woman of 2006" I picked two easy choices: Springfield Mayor Charles V. Ryan and Springfield blogger Heather Brandon. While the choice of Mayor Ryan was obvious, I explained my choice of Brandon as follows:

Lovers of Springfield have been repeatedly delighted over the past year by the musings of Heather Brandon in her blog Urban Compass. Her writing ranges from the wonkish to the deeply personal, but all of it is united by a common theme: a passionate desire to spark a new renaissance in our Valley's largest city. If Springfield ever makes a comeback, it will be because of people like Heather.

Of course that assumed that Heather had a future in Springfield, but apparently not. As of the first of this month, Heather and her family relocated to the Connecticut capitol of Hartford. I won't get into what I heard were some of the reasons for her departure, the personal details don't matter. What is unfortunate is that whatever the circumstances, someone like Heather should have been able to make it in Springfield, and if she and her family couldn't do it, that is a very depressing statement not just about Springfield's present, but about its future.

Middle-class young people with families are exactly the sort of residents Springfield needs to attract and keep. Few could be expected to make the degree of commitment that Heather did, taking time out of her busy day almost every day to write about the city and the things going on both good and bad. No one could have tried harder.

Happily, Heather has committed to trying to keep writing about Springfield from her new location out of state. The best hope is that her blog becomes an enlightening compare and contrast exercise between Springfield and her new environment. With Heather's talent, she will continue to shine as a model resident wherever she lives. But it is still hard to spin her exit in a positive light. What can be said about Springfield when even its Woman of the Year has to leave town?

A glimpse into what is behind at least some of the For Sale signs in Springfield was offered at the recent Control Board speak-out through this tale of woe told by Springfield property owner Ann Schielke:

(Transcript by St. Sheila McElwaine) - Good afternoon. It’s an opportunity I wish to address to the Eastern half of our state, because when you’re elected, you represent all the people. I’ve called members of the city council. I have called numerous police departments, etc. I have been violated in the worst possible way. A piece of property I own in Springfield was entered three different times. They took all the plumbing, all the electrical wires, attachments to the boilers, the hot water heaters. They ripped down ceilings to get to steam piping. They took every bit of furniture that my son, who came from the Midwest to be with his father because he had a horrible stroke, and we thought it was too dangerous for him to stay there, but he left his belongings there, and nothing is left of any value. They then attempted to go into the little annex. They got into the barn the following week-end. They are now attempting to get into the annex. They put a hole through the walls, and the only thing that’s stopped them was the radiator—temporarily.

I spoke to the police department and they have been most cooperative, at least Deputy Chief Fitchet and one of the lieutenants and some of the patrolmen who helped me secure the property as best as we could. I have spent dollars now, and it’s going to be thousands of dollars. [Shouting] Where is the police protection in this city? Where is the monies to pay them? We talk about schools—we need safety on the street!

There’s a property across the way where young people congregate smoking and just eyeing anybody who comes to my property. I hired a gutter man to hang some gutters, and two boys from across the street came over and they said, “What are you white guys doing in our neighborhood?” They didn’t do the work; they got in their truck, and they said, “Lady, we don’t want the job.”

What are we going to do in Springfield? They knock down fences. I had as many as three locks on every door and four doors to get into the property and they demolished everything. Did anybody see it? No. The property across the street is supposed to be closed up at 9:00. I go by each day—10:00 they’re still open, 10:30, 11:30. After 11:30, they finally close. [Shouting] Their permit is for 9:00 in the evening. Where are the rules and laws of our city? And why isn’t the Eastern Massachusetts government protecting the people here who voluntarily stay behind when there was a giant exodus to leave Springfield? I was patriotic with my family; I stayed behind, and now I’m being “whooped.” I’m going to leave the rest up to you, because you are intelligent gentlemen and I’m sure you can find a solution, perhaps a fund to fund people like me who, in their retirement years, are faced with thousands of dollars worth of repairs. Not only that, people don’t want to rent in the neighborhood anymore because its gone down so far. It’s a pity. Thank you.


The Control Board members just sat there in stone faced silence. I mean, what could they say?

Fortunately all is not gloom in Springfield. When I was in Pine Point last week I was happy to see that a new store has opened in the location of the old Jeanette's.

 



Hopefully this new venture will be blessed with the same five decades of success as its predecessor. On the other hand, I still notice signs like this every time I go to Springfield. 





The new Control Board members need to understand that fast, decisive action is needed if this exodus is to be reversed.

Saturday, July 7, 2007

Floating Around


Hey everybody, hope you had a Happy 4th! Too bad it rained on Thursday night, ruining most area fireworks displays. Despite a downpour to float Noah's Arc, they were not cancelled in most communities, making for a soggy pastime. Fortunately, I watched the fireworks in Southwick the night before from a great location - a boat floating on Congamond Lake! I couldn't help but notice that on the shoreline someone had made, bought or otherwise acquired a giant dinosaur, a stegosaurus I believe, and planted it on their property.





It was really nice earlier in the day, floating around the lake and enjoying the peace of the wide open outdoors. There are just so many wonderful things to do in our fantastic Valley that no summer is ever long enough. 





I was in Westfield this week and noticed this strange covering for a set of stairs going up the side of a building. Never saw anything quite like it before, it looks like a wooden worm climbing up the wall. 





Over in Hadley, I noticed that the farms, which it seems like yesterday were just freshly plowed, are now in full mid-summer growth.





O New England Summer! Why art thou so fleeting?

 

Finally Bill Dusty took a shocking photograph of something he discovered when he was at Springfield City Hall for a meeting: There is a Yankees banner hanging in the City Council office!



Do we need anything else to justify an incumbent bloodbath in November? I think not.