The city that once was: A story of a small New England city nestled in the majestic hills of the Berkshires, to the east the Mohawk Trail that we probably took from the Indians for $1 we never paid them, to the south the world-class Thunderbolt Ski Trail on the now defunct Mount Greylock, aka "The Tramway."
You are now entering the soon-to-be village of North Adams, once a vibrant manufacturing city now on the brink of Doomsday: Population 13,000 and sinking fast; unemployment of 7.3 percent, but really 15 percent or better; businesses closing monthly; and a city government of the politicians, by the politicians and for the politicians for the most part -- seven out of nine rodeo of rubber-stampers. The word on the street is "call your dogs off," but Massachusetts goes under the old rule of "one free bite."
If you want to count pocket parks, colorful painted street crossings and tagged graffiti on buildings and state-owned bridge supports -- well, we have "art" in this village. No jobs for the public, only the chosen few in the administration. The rest must now join the long, long food line every Wednesday, which is now growing even more with the kids from the "Bully in the School Yard" lunch program. And the city wants to maybe take them to court. You have to love it; only in North Adams.
We have a bridge to nowhere, potholes for years and years, and a soon-to-be Walmart Supercenter coming to the dust bowl small village of North
One can only hope and pray. For me, a short-timer who failed the junior executive test -- didn't spell my name correctly -- I can only hope for the warm southern breezes, sandy beaches with palm trees and crystal blue waters, and never look back.
From a grunt looking out of the hole.