Memories

It started small. I recalled a train ride taken in my early teens. Mom was in Minnesota visiting her folks. Dad took my sister and I to the Bronx Zoo on the ‘Zoo Train’. It was the New Haven Railroad and took us from Pittsfield, Massachusetts, to New York City. A day trip. I don’t know what was more fun, the train trip or the zoo, or being in the Big Apple, or spending a day with my dad.

Anyway, I wondered about the train, the depot in Pittsfield and a whole bunch more. For example, the New Haven RR had more words in its title, like Hartford, something, and New Haven RR. I doubt this railway is still operating. Like so many it was merged in with other carriers or their routes ceded to larger carriers like the New York Central.

Then I wondered about that rail route; did it go north, east, or west from Pittsfield? Or did the line dead end in Pittsfield? I realized I didn’t know how the town was connected to both Boston (120 miles) to our east and Albany, New York, to our west (50 miles). Were there towns to our north served by the railroad? And what about Vermont that hovered over us about 60 miles distant? Then I wondered about the route of the train through Pittsfield. Where did it wend its way through the small city (50,000 population)?

So, I emailed by brother in Rochester, New York. I asked him these questions. Our family had moved to Massachusetts from Southern California in 1954. My brother met his bride there and settled down to married life. Judy was born and raised in Pittsfield and knew much more than we about the city and regional history.

Sherm responded to my email with: ‘the railroad station was shut down and a trailer replaced it in another part of town in the early 60’s. The rail line was then the New York Central and connected Pittsfield with Boston.’ He knew of no other routes to our north.

When I lived in Pittsfield (1954 to 1960), the population was over 50,000. General Electric was the largest employer in town. Dad worked for GE in the heavy military division. Pittsfield was also the site of GE’s electric hardware manufacturing (transformers and related gear). A newer GE division was Plastics. Everything plastic that went into GE products like radios, toasters, hand mixers, and a host of other consumer and industrial products. The town was booming then.

Today the population is 42,000 and continues to decline. Major industry has relocated to better infrastructure areas. The last 60 years have not been kind to Pittsfield, but its history and culture remain intact.

When we lived there, culture thrived: Tanglewood was to our south 15 or 20 miles; it still is the summer home of the Boston Symphony Orchestra; summer stock theater is broadly available throughout the region in charming nearby towns and villages; prestigious colleges abound like Williams, Amherst, Smith, and Holyoke among the many. Music at South Mountain (Burgundian and early renaissance music), Jacob’s Pillow Dance festival. If visual and sculptural arts were your passion, they were represented everywhere. Literature, too, had a historical anchor in the region.  And of course, the Berkshire Hills were a refuge for New York City dwellers seeking our green hills, ski resorts, fall foliage, and peace and quiet. A charming area to escape urban chaos.

Our family reacted to the move east poorly. Everything was compared with California. The weather, the roads, schools, churches and hills replacing mountains. Actually, their reaction was the emotional response to such a stark move from the wide open west and gorgeous weather, to the small town, New England heritage and four seasons of the eastern climate. It was a shock.

I adjusted just fine, but then I was 11 years old and went through adolescence in Pittsfield. Those were formative years for me. My mother was a history buff and enjoyed exploring New England immensely. I accompanied her at estate auctions, antique hunting, and rides through beautiful country so unlike what we had been accustomed to. We enjoyed the cultural arts as well. Dad did too. My siblings did not adjust well, although my brother eventually settled there for many years before moving to upstate New York.

Those were the days I earned money mowing lawns, learned photography, and rode my bike through lush, shadowed lanes. We picked wild blueberries by the bucket, discovered wild raspberry patches and brought the abundance home for mom to bake with. We explored the woods of New England so different from the forest lands of the western states. Hardwood trees were plentiful, while pines were few.

I remember Pittsfield fondly. I made good friends there, friends who helped me expand my understanding of culture, art, music, and place. Sunday drives to villages nestled in deep woods, some founded in the late 1600’s. History markers and laybys reminded us of wars long over like the French and Indian wars, the American Revolutionary War and early nation building events.

Funny how the past returns to entertain the present of elder years. So much richness.

September 8, 2021