Pittsfield, Massasnoozets:Worst Town W/O.
Written: Jun 02 '02 (Updated Jun 02 '02)
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Pros: The PCB fires in Silver Lake are pretty.
Cons: The crack dealers on North Street are in fact Cons set free.
The Bottom Line: Pittsfield should be avoided. Will the last one out please shut off the lights?
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| Thorbjore's Full Review: Massachusetts |
Dedemw was gracious enough to invite me to join her write off about the worst town. Little did she know was that she asked THEE right person. My town is THEE worst. Let me take you for a virtual drive and I'll point things out to you.
Okay. Now you're seated in my Red Neon. Fasten your seat belt. I tend to drive rather ... eccentrically.
We're backing out of the parking lot of my apartment building. You notice immediately that the side of the street that I live on is rather nice. But across the street is a borded up house with tall weeds and wild flowers adorning its property. I explain to you that a vile-smelling old couple lives in there and that I have once reported them to Elder Services; that was close to two years ago and they still live there. "BUREAUCRACIES!" I cry out.
The Raging Housatonic
We take a left on Onota Street and approach West Street. You notice there is housing for the elderly on the corner, and a renovated school which is converted to condominiums. Across the street is an aparment complex called Riverview Homes; it rests on the bank of the Housatonic river. We stop to get out of the car and to look at the river. You notice with disgust the rusty water with sunken grocery carts that many heist from Big Y, which is just up the street. You also notice a sign explaining that the river contains PCBs and that eating fish from the river and swimming in it are not deemed safe by the powers that be. I explain to you that when I was a wee lassie, my friends and I used to go tubing in this very river (upstream in a better neighborhood, of course). I cackle and tell you about how my friend Stacy and I tried to "tube" downstream to Mc Donalds when we were 7 and got caught on some rocks (you'll notice it's a shallow and narrow river) and had to walk up Route 20 with our tubes to be shouted at by her irate parents; mine never found out.
Park Square
We race up West Street. You gasp as I floor the gas pedal at the stale yellow light on West and Center. You ask me about our one "sky-scraper." I explain to you that it's the Crowne Plaza and the bubbly mass beneath it is their indoor pool. "It used to be the Hilton," I continue, "but they pulled out because it was in such horrible disrepair. The cleaned it up and Crowne Plaza permitted them to affiliate."
We stop on a hill at the traffic light. To your left is a jaundiced colored building from the turn of the century. It was once a bank, but now houses overly priced apartments and office suites. The light turns green and I floor it. We are in a peculiar rotary, in the epicenter of which is Park Square. It is a small park of sorts--we may ascertain that from the fountain and the park benches. But it is not square. It is in fact circular. I cast my gaze toward the right and smash my gas pedal and zip past the other motorists who are vying to get into our unorganized traffic vortex. Now let me explain to you that those who are IN a rotary have the right of way, and those entering must yield. Well? This is designed like a rotary, but with traffic lights. Yielding is more like an option than a requirement. Playing chicken is a way of life. Please be courteous; get your white knuckled hand off my door handle and do try to stop gasping for air. It's quite unbecoming. You'll note that I'm yielding to the entering truck and that there are brakes screeching behind us; I yielded to the truck because it is bigger. I will not yield to that Hyundai because I, too, am bigger.
In the center of Park Square is a fountain; in December it is filled with a huge Christmas tree. See on the corner there? That Episcopalean Church puts out a nice Nativity scene; it compliments our Christmas tree nicely. That white building used to be our town hall; it is now the main office of Berkshire Bank. Over there was our old library. It's the grand, gray, stone building with the windows that look as though they belong in a church; it was built in the 1800's, much like a lot of other buildings here. It's generally covered in scaffolding--and has been for much of my life here. That wee white glassed-in gazebo type thingy is our Tourists' booth. God only knows what kinds of people would actually want to visit here.
Beyond the toursits' booth is our court house. This is a great place for people watching. You will note a myriad of crack addicts, domestic abusers, and drunk drivers. Not much else exciting happens here. Occasionally an old drunk will martyr himself on the railroad tracks, but rarely will he press charges against himself for the attempted murder. I once tried to sue myself for sexual harrassment, but that's another story. For your information, I lost the suit for lack of information.
Across the street is the new and ugly library with its flat roof and tinted windows, complete '60's or '70's chic.
North Street
This is our Main Street. There's not much to see. They've been revamping it and trying to clean it up and make it more interesting. It used to be nice, actually. When I was a kid there was a six floor department store called England Brothers. Around Christmas they would decorate the windows with moving puppets and toys and trains and lights. It was beautiful. There were clothing stores, music stores, and whatever else you could think of. But then they built a one level mall in Lanesboro which contains rotating stores. Their rent is high, so stores don't stay too long. As a mall it suffices; you go there to get what you need. But it is not worth traveling to.
They just built a new building here mainly for Legacy banks, but it supposedly houses some nice new restaurants as well. I went in here once to deposit my pay check, and I also darkened their doorway to attend a job fair. What a joke. One company had a booth to hire custodians. Another company wanted chamber maids. Can you believe it? There was very little for career-oriented people. And that is a symptom of Pittsfield's illness.
You'll notice a few vacant buildings, and many others that have signs for rent or lease. Nothing lasts on North Street any more; only unique and well-established businesses like Steven Valenti (sells Men's fashion).
I glance at you to make sure you're paying attention; I make clear to you that you're lucky we're in a car. If you cross the street each time you see a weirdo, you'd be zig-zagging all over North Street. You nod somberly as you take in the street urchins and "bag men" (there are a bunch of peculiar and dirty men around town who carry tons of empty plastic bags to gather discarded cans and bottles).
See that mural over there? Oh, never mind. It's just more spraypaint.
Mayor Doyle
I will first make clear to you that I loathe our local paper. It is riddled with incorrectly spelled words, sloppy editing, and misused forms of "their," and "there." I cancelled my susbscription the day I noticed six mispelled words on one page, four of which any spell check would have picked up. My point is that I am unable to follow local politics. Our news stations are out of Albany, Hartford, Boston, and New York. If you want to know anything about Western Massachusetts, you're kind of stuck if you rely on cable.
What I know about Mayor Doyle's administration is that they "lost" millions of dollars from the city's pension fund. There were talks of turning out our street lights (not all at once... just on a rotational basis...to save money). They spoke of nixing our recycle pick ups. They are now exploring the possibility of school consolidations, of closing one of our two high schools and cramming all of the students into the larger of the two (and it looks as though this will happen). The administration has been ordered to "pay it back." I don't know where they'll "find" this money, but.... Also there are whisperings that the FBI has their eye on it. I don't know how true this is. All I know is Mayor Doyle was a Major Massengil Bag.
The High Schools
For all intents and purposes there are two high schools in our city (two public ones, that is). One is Pittsfield High, the other Taconic. They encompass students from the eastern part of the city. Their focus is on College Prep and have more creative outlets (like drama and creative writing classes). By contrast Taconic is more of a vocational school. You can take CP classes there (like I did), or you can get a business oriented degree there. But Taconic is where you want to go if you want to take wood shop or mechanics. Pittsfield High does actually have vocational classes, but there is more of a "clean slant." They offer cosmetology and horticulture. Taconic is more of a "tough" school because its student body is from the wealthiest and the poorest of neighborhoods and also caters to the lower and upper middle class. There are many fights. Pittsfield High is more of the upper middle class. Period. I don't think consolidating the two schools is a good idea for any reason and in any way.
There will be great job cuts (as if this lousy city needs more of THAT) and a smaller teacher to student ratio. They also talk about cutting out art and music from the curriculum, and they also want to whack off (uhhh... huh, huh, huh! I said "whack off!") some of the athletics department. My child is NOT going to school in Pittsfield (did I tell you the P is pronounced as an "Sh"? Just thought I'd throw that in to keep you informed.)
Silver Lake Boulevard
I'm cutting down here to show you Silver Lake. By the way, that is BMC (Berkshire Medical Center), our largest employer. We're at the end of Lincoln Street now. Over there on the corner is Danny's (or the Tavern, its other nom de plume); it's a great place to go if you want to buy some rock, or a crack 'ho. If you're a female, it's a great place to go to sell your body for some rock or if you wish to pee while standing up to prevent catching some bizarre toilet seat disease. You don't want to be singing "Why Does It Hurt When I Pee?" by Frank Zappa, do you?.
I went in there one night with a foolish guy I was dating and some little Hispanic guy asked me "How much you chah'ge for lovin'?" I nearly laughed my ovaries off, but Jon and his friend Scott were cracking their necks and planning this poor guy's slow and painful demise.
Now we've turned left onto Silver Lake Boulevard. All that chain link fencing next to us with nothing inside is rumored to protect us from PCB's, to keep us out of there. To your right is Silver Lake, which was polluted by General Electric (our former largest employer, but they pulled out of town). That's their factory to the left. I remember when the smoke stack actually emitted smoke and the inside bustled with activity. Now it's just a run-down eye sore with smashed windows.
As for Silver Lake? Don't attempt to go near it. It's actually considered dangerous. The only people I know who have been swimming in it are older people's grandfathers who did so when they were young. I see birds perched in there from time to time and I worry that their offspring will have two heads and twelve eyes and that they will swoop from the sky to carry me off to Hades.
In this part of town high levels of PCB's have been found in people's yards. I would be interested in watching the medical histories of people who have lived here.
Allendale... What Does That MEAN?
I'm taking you out on Dalton Avenue to show you the mighty stone. There's the street now.. Allengate. You will note a large, brown Arch that says "Allengate" at the end of the street with a bunch of pretty flowers beneath it. This used to be a farm... a rather elitist one I would imagine. That's why this part of town is called Allendale. Now let's go to the wanna-be arsty-farsty shopping center.
I know. I know. You're asking me why it appears that a ship is sinking in the parking lot, its tail end reaching toward the sky. Years ago, artists kept making strange things and they kept putting them in here. See that strange clock that keeps whipping around as if caught in a horrific whirlwind? That's part of it. I drive slowly so you can see the glassed in display of broken glass. I tell you it's titled slam dancing. I take you downstairs to the bubble machine. There is a booth with windows and between the window panes are bubbles that creep up toward the top. It's fun to watch for twenty-three seconds. There's not much to do here. We go to Wood Brothers for our used CD's and concert tickets (or more if we're musicians). There's a Brook's Pharmacy and a strange store that sells cheap household products. Downstairs is a bar called The Iron Bell where you can squeeze past people playing darts everywhere and listen to their peculiar juke box that plays everything from Neil Diamond to Ozzy.
The Night Scene...
So what is there to do in Pittsfield? When I get done laughing at your naive question, I'll do my best to answer it.
snicker, snort!, giggle, gafaaaaw, cough-cough, woooo-hooo!, snicker-snicker, giggle....
Okay. We could go bowling. We could go to the mall and watch a movie or poke around in the stores. We could go out to eat. We could go to Barnes and Noble's for a Cafe Latte and poke around in the books. Then what?
Uhhh... short of leaving TOWN... we could go to a bar. And that's JUST about it.
One By Sickening One... The Bars:
The Brewery
In terms of atmosphere and decor, this is better. It's a clean and well-lighted place, as someone once wrote of some place better.
The clientele is distinct; it's either newly turned twenty-one year old boys who plan on getting trashed and laid or it's yuppies (and there's very few of those left here because of our bleeding job market). Every time I come here I sing "Plaid boys, plaid boys! Whatcha gonna doooo? Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?" because of all the PLAID shirts the young guys wear.
Pepe's
This place would be awesome if they served bottled beers and if they were.... in ANOTHER TOWN. They have a pool table, fooze-ball (spelling?), a dance floor, and a hook and ring game where you try to line up the hook on the rope to land on the ring. The people that go there are neither trashy nor beautiful. They're just real and well behaved (yes... here in Pittsfield THAT'S what we have to consider). The owner's brother is a blatant womanizer and thinks that being an owner's brother brings him some sort of prestige; it really brings him arrogance and little more. He once asked if I was interested in trying out his hot tub. When I politely declined, he told me to ask my friend with the big nose who he "liked better anyway." Hmmm. Maybe it's not such a great place.
Lach's Lounge
It's dark. It's small. No one sits at the tables. The bar is littered with between five and eight old drunks, half of which are asleep. One of them dreamily took his teeth out and dropped them in his mug of draught beer. The lights are not dim; they are practically turned off. Let's leave.
Hermann's
Do you like men with black teeth and green tattoos? Do you like women with black teeth and green tatoos? Do you like listening to Lita Ford twenty five times during the course of two beers? This is JUST the place for you.
The Home Plate
During the afternoon and evening, the place is lined with blue collar men. At 12:45 AM on every Friday and SAturday, it's a free for all. Everyone comes here for last call; they're open until 2 instead of 1. This is a mixed crowd.
Patrick's Pub
Nice, quiet atmosphere. Good place to talk. CLEAN! The crowd tends to be pretty young. This is where I was when I found out Princess Diana died. The place fell silent and the bartender turned up the tube. We silently and telepathically bounded. Some people cried. I was sprayed with pepper spary here once, too, by mistake. My ex was a cop, and while off duty he was called to duty. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It hurt exquisitely. Especially when a kind lady helped me to the bathroom and sprayed my eyes with cold water.
La Cocina
Yes. It IS Spanish for "the kitchen," and yet they serve no food. They used to, but were too lazy for the past fifteen years or so to change the name. If you like hippies and to have your nasal cavity flooded with the stench of clove cigarettes, and if you like being crowded and having to clutch your drink to your heaving breast for fear of spilling it, then this is just the place for you.
Cim's
This is a clean place with a rectangular bar a la Cheers, and some pool tables. They serve cheap and excellent bar food. Go here if you like seeing drunken forty and fifty-somethings who burst into tears and discuss their regrets.
Caesar's
If you like watching street urchins sing at karaoke, then stop by here. There's a mentally disabled guy who thinks he's Michael Jackson. He dances with such zeal that his voice shakes and you can't understand what he's singing. He wears suits with a glittering white glove and a black felt hat. He only sings Michael Jackson. Then there's a fat street guy with a lazy eye who sings women's songs beautifully; his favorite is "What's Going On?" by Four Nonblondes. He sounds JUST like her.
Well, that concludes my tour of Pittsfield and its silent SH instead of P. Don't come here. When someone says they've been here then I feel like a guest from out of town stopped by my house before I could clean it. It's a mess here. I'd love to be a good hostess and welcome you with open arms but.... DON'T COME HERE!
I'm sorry to Dedemw for being late! I just started a new job last week and had to work 70+ hours. I'm rather tired. But Pittsfield makes me tired, any way. And to all of you? Thanks for reading, and please check Dedemw's profile for more participants!
Recommended:
No
Best Suited For: Friends
Best Time to Travel Here: Never
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Epinions.com ID:
Thorbjore
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Member: Becki
Location: Pittsfield, MA USA
Reviews written: 88
Trusted by: 74 members
About Me:
Worry looks around. Sorry looks back. Faith looks up.
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