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Bytes from the Bean by Joe Manning 1-24-0012:00AM / Monday, January 24, 2000
"When our friends come over from New York State, we take them on a thrill ride down Meadow Street."
-Woman walking her dog on Winter Stree
"People don't ask what street you live on, they ask what hill."
-North Adams resident
"It’s hilly, but it’s not bad if you go around.”
-Krissy Retzlaff
My last three visits to North Adams have reminded me of the struggles of living in a climate often dominated by long stretches of brutal cold and icy winds, not to mention the added obstacle of dozens of very steep roads. I drove home exhausted in the late afternoon after the Martin Luther King Day celebration at the First Baptist Church. I spent the whole day indoors, except for a walk from my car to The Bean, a walk from The Bean to the First Baptist Church and back at lunchtime, and one more walk to the car. Just the few minutes outside wore me out.
It was four below zero when I drove in at 7:00, with the wind reportedly making it feel like thirty-five below. Still, all the "regulars" were at The Bean for their coffee and muffins and chatter. Most were the over-seventy crowd, Tom Brokaw's "greatest generation," who know the meaning of struggle and triumph.
Take Tony Talarico for instance. Despite his eighty-five plus years, he arrived at the usual time. At 7:30, he pulled up in his red car and parked near Radio Shack on the south side of Main Street. He hopped out, almost jogged down to the Holiday Inn, and worked out on the weight machines for fifteen minutes. Then he almost jogged back, hastily crossed Main, an gave me sort of an Italian hug as he came through the door of The Bean. A few minutes later, Carl Robare, a relative youngster at seventy-five or so, drove in all the way from Vermont (okay, so Stamford is only eight miles away) in his pickup. And there was Ziggy and Red and Bill Gazzaniga. These hearty folks have the tough winters and the steep roads to thank for their strength and perseverance.
STEEP ROADS
Life is all struggle and triumph
triumph and struggle
That is why I love to walk
the steep roads of North Adams
Prospect up to Franklin
East Quincy up to Kemp
Meadow up to East Quincy
Hathaway up to North
Cliff up to Charlene
When I struggle up these streets
pumping my arms
stopping for a breath
exhilarated at reaching the summit
turning around to the wonder below
I walk with the thousands
who have walked before me
With each step
I feel their struggles
With each final ascent
I feel their triumphs
I recently interviewed Helen and Andrew LeBeau, who live in that yellow Victorian house on Reed Street that sits halfway down the cliff from East Main and overlooks the houses on Rand Street. I have stared at that house many times, often from the corner of Cliff Street and Front Street. It doesn't look real. It seems more like a picture of a house painted on the side of the cliff. I've always wondered what it's like to live at the end of that precarious winding road that crawls up to the front door, and to see the city from such a vantage point.
Helen has lived there all of her eighty years, and Andrew has lived there since they were married ages ago. They were amused at my questions about the "struggle" of living in such an unlikely and impossible location. Rather than complaining about having to walk "up" the long hill from school, Helen delighted in her memories of sliding "down" the bank in front of her house to Union Street. One person's uphill is another person's downhill I suppose.
The steep roads add character and richness to the city. I walk them as often as my legs will allow. Montgomery Street is one of my favorite places. You can get there by walking up Cliff Street or Prospect Street, the steeper of the two. Near the corner of Prospect, two houses sit about thirty feet below Montgomery, with a challenging set of stairs the only path to the door, and the long climb back up the only path to the mailbox. Who built these houses there, and what were they thinking? What a crazy idea!
Through the bare trees, I can see the back of the Windsor Mill, the giant smokestack next to the mushroom factory, the old brick block on Rand, the comforting and familiar front window of Linda's Café, and the houses way up along East Main. There is no better view of the "real" North Adams, no better evocation of life in a mill town. In the winter, the rugged and mournful look of the day is plain yet beautiful, gray yet colorful, gloomy yet reassuring. Further down Cliff Street, Notre Dame Church enters the picture, the south mountains a perfect backdrop. If I go the other way and descend Prospect Street, I enjoy the line of rooftops along Bracewell and Hall Street, their many shapes reflecting the sunlight.
North Holden Street is another view, another challenge. I often see young mothers pushing baby carriages up this street as if it required no effort at all, while I feel sorry for myself for having to carry my camera. But there is much to photograph. The three matching houses near the corner of North Holden and Hall (I call them the "triplets") are scary, especially if you peer up at them from the retaining wall that stands below. From the corner, the city looks odd, with its many 19th Century steeples offset by the modern spaceship-like roof of Big Y in the foreground.
On a beautiful Saturday last October, I walked up to the Blackinton monument on the south side of Hill Side Cemetery. Rather than taking the easier paths, I chose to scale the difficult hills. After all, our ancestors struggled a long time to get there. Why shouldn't I? The Blackintons were rich and powerful, but their lives were full of tragedy. The gravestones circling the monument tell of a baby dying in the first few days of life, two children dying by the age of two, and a young mother gone in her twenties. Disease and bad luck sometimes even the score. Biology is stronger and more certain than economics.
I sat up there and stared back down at the bright foliage, the cars going by, and the clock tower at MASS MoCA, which peeks over the landscape. I could hear it ring several times during a welcome lull in traffic. I sat there for over two hours, letting the spirit and the unrelenting beauty and strangeness of North Adams take me in its arms.
Everyday, people drive in and out of the Kmart parking lot. Car doors open, and the occupants streak to their destinations with heads down. Shoppers with merchandise in plastic bags leave Kmart for their cars, their heads also down. Teenagers hang out by the doors and smoke, the boys yelling at the girls, and the girls laughing at the boys. Old ladies turn their faces from the wind and wait for their rides to pull up. Off Furnace and Walnut Streets, houses look down on that scene as they have for more than a hundred years. The scene has changed many times from up there, but the scene on the hill has changed little. Do we really take the time to look at it anymore?
The steep roads of North Adams, carved out by necessity in these hills, are a symbol of struggle and triumph against strong odds. They are also a blessing, a source of endless beauty that enriches our lives and make us who we are.
FURNACE STREET
Up Here
everything is Down There
and I have been looking Down There
from Up Here
for a long time
The crane, the wrecking ball
the river, the train
the fire engine, the police car, the ambulance
the trucks and cars on the overpass
the smoke and steam rising from the rooftops
Sometimes I wonder
if Down There
ever looks Up Here.
Note To My Faithful Readers: I am presently involved in putting together my new book, "Disappearing Into North Adams." Due to the incredible amount of work required, my column will appear less frequently than in the past. Rather than twice a month, expect a new column about once a month. I hope that by the end of this year, my new book will be out there, and you will have plenty more to read. Thanks to everyone for your support.
Visit Joe's website at: www.sevensteeples.com.
Email Joe at: manningfamily@rcn.com
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