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Bytes from the Bean by Joe Manning 12-1-0012:00AM / Friday, December 01, 2000
On Saturday, November 18, at the Masonic Temple on Church Street, I participated in my third Neighborhood Expo, a wonderful annual event sponsored by the Northern Berkshire Community Coalition. Nearly three hundred people turned out to listen to their neighbors and friends talk about the many facets of our Northern Berkshire communities and share a fabulous lunch made by area citizens form many diverse cultures.
As a facilitator for several of the panel discussions, I enjoyed listening to people, young and old, talk about the relationship between neighborhoods and businesses (first panel) and about the role that movie theaters and performing arts play in the community (second panel).
Some of those people are relatively new to the area; and yet, they have observed the same sense of caring and volunteerism that is so familiar to those who have lived here for many generations. A most poignant example of this is the story that Bill Cummings told at the 1999 Expo.
Bill moved from San Francisco to North Adams in 1977 to re-establish his stained-glass studio for which he was internationally known. Relocating was not easy, but he stuck it out, thanks in part to the support of the people in his newly-adopted hometown. Bill said:
“There’s a sense of community here that I’ve never experienced anywhere else. We have had many times here when we’ve had a real struggle. Someone once called me and said, ‘I understand you’re in a tough spot. I don’t know anything about stained glass, but we have some casseroles.’ ”
These panel discussions are lively, funny, sometimes sad, and always full of wonderful stories. Sharing stories is the essence of folklore, and our humble little communities in these beautiful hills and valleys are rich in folklore.
The Expo is a true neighborhood event. It is the product of an incredible number of volunteers who set up displays, perform music, conduct workshops, cook great food, and do all the little things like making phone calls and addressing envelopes. And thanks to the folks at the Northern Berkshire Community Coalition, it somehow gets put together in some sort of funky celebration of community.
More than anything, the Neighborhood Expo makes us feel good about ourselves. Watch for the Expo next November!
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For those of you who read my November column, the following is a continuation of excerpts from the diary I have kept regarding how I came to discover North Adams and wound up writing “Steeples.” If you didn’t read November’s column, I strongly advise you click on 11-1-00 in the archives to see the first installment of the diary. And now, the second installment:
By the time my First Wednesday Poetry Group meeting came around on Sept 4, I had completed four poems. I read them at the meeting, and several people suggested I do a whole book of poems about North Adams. The next day, I mailed the poems to the guys at Milltown Studios, hoping that I might get an invitation to read them before a local audience.
North Adams had already become a pleasant distraction. I was growing discontented with my job as a case worker with the Connecticut Department of Social Services in Torrington, a position I had held for nearly twenty-five years. I had been lucky. I lived five minutes from the office, which was located three blocks north of the downtown center. I usually left for work forty-five minutes early, parked in the lot, and enjoyed a brisk walk through the downtown streets and neighborhoods.
My path often took me past the schools my daughters attended; and if I timed it right, I could watch them get off the bus and walk in with their book bags and lunch boxes. I would continue those walks, a mile at a time, on my two fifteen-minute coffee breaks each day, sometimes stopping by to say a quick hello to my wife Carole, who worked at the YMCA only a few blocks away. I enjoyed a strong connection with the community. Torrington was “my town.”
But my luck appeared to run out in June of 1996, when the agency announced that they were relocating in September to an office building in an industrial park more than two miles from downtown. I drove up there, and it was a spiritual desert, a lifeless and nearly windowless building that occupied a mysterious and alien space that may as well have been the dark side of the moon. It was an awful mistake by the agency, one that would forever isolate it (and me) from the community it is mandated to serve.
It’s funny how things work themselves out. When one door closes, another opens. Just when my connection to Torrington was about to be stolen from me, I was discovering another community with which I would develop an even deeper connection. Disappearing into North Adams was soon to become a wonderful way to escape from my discontentment.
My second solo trip to North Adams was on Thursday, September 19. Like the previous trip, I had no schedule. It was another beautiful day, especially since the fall colors were already turning on the mountains. I wanted to find out a little more about the city, and I hoped to talk to a few people. I was so excited about my visit, that I had trouble sleeping. I was on the road by five again, and I found myself with a bagel and coffee at my usual spot at The Bean by seven. I noticed a few old-timers at a table in front, and they were engaged in a lively discussion. I enjoyed watching the young lady who appeared to run the restaurant. Despite a very hectic morning, she was smiling and laughing and obviously having a good time. She seemed to know all the customers by their first names. I asked around and found out that her name was Audrey.
When I headed out for a walk, I wound up passing the North Adams Transcript newspaper building near the railroad tracks. It was a modern one-story box that looked odd among the old mill buildings. On impulse, I walked in, managed to find a reporter, and announced bravely, “I’m writing a book about North Adams, and I want to tell you about it.”
The reporter was Kevin Moran. He looked a bit startled, but he pulled out a notebook and invited me into his office. I told him the city was beautiful. He mentioned that an article in “Yankee Magazine” had recently referred to North Adams as a “sorry gateway to anywhere,” and that my viewpoint served as a welcome rebuttal. We talked a while, and he said he would mention me in his weekly column. Before I left, I wrote out a check and started a mail subscription to the paper.
When I left, I got even braver. I had completed my poem “Elderly Housing,” which was about St. Joseph’s Court. I walked over there, through the door, and introduced myself to a woman in the office named Rose Thoresen, who turned out to be the office manager. I pulled out a copy of the poem and said, “I’m writing a book about North Adams. I want to show you this poem and see what you think of it.” She smiled, read it, and said, “That sounds just like us. Pretty good. You ought to talk to Julia White. She’s ninety-seven. She could tell you some stories. She’s quite a gal.”
Impulsively, I answered, “Sure. How about if I interview her? Can you set it up?” Rose grabbed the phone, and Julia was down to the office in two minutes. She was cute. I made an appointment to interview her on Thursday, October 3, at nine in the morning. When Julia left, I told Rose that we should probably have the interview in the lounge, since Julia might be uncomfortable with me in her apartment. Rose quipped, “It’s Julia I don’t trust. She’s quite a flirt, you know.”
On my way out, a couple passed me and smiled, and Rose ran out from behind her desk and introduced me to Julio and Rita Pedrin. The name was familiar. I remembered seeing an old drive-in restaurant on the edge of town called Pedrin’s. I mentioned it, and Mr. Pedrin said, “We started it about fifty years ago. We sold it later.” Rose interrupted and asked if I’d like to interview them. In a blink, they were scheduled after Julia at ten-thirty. I left and wondered what I had walked into.
I dropped by MASS MoCA to get a second look at David Byrne’s photographs and chatted with Paulette Wein, who was giving out information at a table by the door. She said she had been a teenager when urban renewal happened and didn’t understand why her parents were so upset by it. I asked her how she felt about it now, and she told me she regretted it and wished the buildings were still there. “I was just a kid then. I wasn’t paying attention, I guess. I worked at the Mohawk Theater, and that’s closed now.” Later, her comments would inspire a poem called “The Mohawk.”
Back at The Bean, I noticed some framed photos of North Adams on the wall. They looked like they had been color enhanced by a computer. The artist was Keith Bona. I asked Audrey about Keith, and she directed me to his office in the Windsor Mill on Union Street. I thought Keith might have some advice about how to get my pictures of North Adams into a book, in case my photos came out good and I decided to follow through with my plan to write one.
I walked in and introduced myself. I was surprised to find that he was young and had recently graduated from college. He told me he ran a computer graphics design business and specialized in promotional products. He seemed interested in my book idea and gave me a demonstration of how photos are scanned and enhanced. I asked if he could help me design the book, and he said, “I’m on the City Council. It sounds like what you are doing would be good for North Adams. I’ll be happy to help you.” When I asked him how much it would cost, he said, “Don’t worry. We’ll work something out.”
I hinted that I might want to donate some of the proceeds of the book to a worthy cause in the city, and he suggested the North Adams Public Library, which needed money to fund an expansion project. That sounded fine to me, so I decided I would do that. I left and said to myself, “I think I’m stuck now. I’ve got to write this book.”
The clear late afternoon sun cast gorgeous shadows on Main Street, so I spent some time taking photographs. Driving home later, I thought about what it would be like to be an author. I suddenly got this idea to call the book “Steeples.” It seemed simple, memorable, and altogether appropriate. I told Carole, and she said, “You have no idea how to do it, and you’re going to wind up spending a lot of money.” I replied, “I feel sorry for North Adams. I just want to show everyone that it’s really a nice place. I should sell a few.”
A week later, I got my first six rolls of North Adams photos back from the processor. I was using a small point and shoot camera with no zoom. Although I had visions of being a photographer someday, I had little experience outside the realm of family and vacation stuff.
For many years, I had been captivated by the work of 20th century American artist Edward Hopper, whose paintings of city streets, storefronts, mill buildings, and Victorian homes are full of melancholy and nostalgia. I thought that North Adams looked like one long Edward Hopper mural spread across the Hoosac Valley.
I was amazed when I looked through the photos. Many looked like Hopper paintings, especially one of the former J.J. Newberry’s store on Main Street. So I had that one blown up to 20 x 30 inches, and it came out clear and bright. So I framed it and hung it in my living room, and it served to remind me everyday how much I was falling in love with North Adams. My confidence in writing a book was growing. I began to see a concept for “Steeples” that included my poems and photographs and a lot of interviews.
to be continued in January…
Visit Joe's website at: www.sevensteeples.com.
Email Joe at: manningfamily@rcn.com |
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