Bytes from the Bean by Joe Manning 12-06-9912:00AM / Monday, December 06, 1999
On December 1st, I became a statistic. I am now classified as a "Retired American." Thirty years after walking down the aisle with my bride, twenty-three years after my twin daughters were born, eight years after receiving that dreaded letter from AARP, and three years, four months, and ten days after visiting North Adams for the first time, I have flung myself into the abyss of retirement (or poverty perhaps). I was a caseworker for the Connecticut Department of Social Services for nearly thirty years. I worked in the Torrington office the entire time, which was the city I lived in form 1976 until this May, when I moved to Northampton, Massachusetts. I commuted three hours a day for the final seven months of my career.
As much as I enjoyed my job (I really loved it), I never defined myself by it. I have always been a writer, a musician-composer, and a dreamer. To my friends and family, my writing was my "other life." But I always considered my job as my "other life." Still, it was invaluable to my growth as a person. Being a case worker not only paid the bills, but it also gave me the opportunity to learn how to deal with many kinds of people, most of whom faced problems and struggles I've had the privilege of avoiding in my life.
I am lucky. I worked in the city I lived in. My wife worked less than a mile from my office. I used to leave for work forty-five minutes early, park in the lot, and take a brisk walk through the downtown streets and neighborhoods. My path often took me past the schools my kids 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. The office was located three blocks north of the downtown center, so I enjoyed a strong connection with the community. It 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 discovered another community by chance. I had no clue at the time that it would help me to renew that feeling of connection, this time an even deeper one. Of course, this community is North Adams.
In the same month that the agency announced it was moving, I decided to try writing poetry, something I hadn't done in years. My daughter Ellen, who is an excellent poet, urged me to join a local poetry group that she had discovered several months earlier. I went in July as her guest and read my first poem. Encouraged by the feedback, I made a personal commitment to return next time with three more poems. Downhearted about the impending office move, I had trouble finding inspiration. Then my wife showed me an article in my local newspaper about MASS MoCA.
We had never been to North Adams, so we drove up the next weekend to take a look around. I was astonished at the strange beauty of the city, and I knew I had found inspiration for my poetry. Several weeks later, I drove back by myself, getting there at daybreak and staying until sundown. I walked some ten or eleven miles that day, chatted with a few people, and took a lot of notes and photographs. At the next poetry meeting, I had twelve poems. By October, I was already writing Steeples.
My house in Torrington was located on a rural road on the outskirts of the city, and life there mirrored my childhood years in the tiny fishing village of Solomons, Maryland, where I grew up in a house in the woods, far removed from Main Street, USA. My high school, where I attended grades seven through twelve, was a twenty-five mile bus ride each day. My family moved to Solomons when I was eight years old. As often happens in small towns, we were always looked upon as "outsiders." I never really had a chance to learn what "home town" meant.
After I moved to the new office building, my interest in my job began to fade. Clients who lived downtown and usually walked to the office had limited access. They had no cars, and the city bus ran only several times a day to the office. The phone and the mail became the predominant means of contact. Our increasing reliance on computers forced us to work mostly with our hands and not our hearts. The area was a boring place to walk.
My frequent trips to North Adams became an escape for me, a welcome substitute for the rewards I could no longer find in my job. Maybe it was my fault that I didn't try to find other ways to become reconnected to my hometown, but North Adams came along so suddenly, and I never had a chance to think about it. I am happy it turned out that way. North Adams gave me back that sense of community that I was beginning to lose in Torrington, and that I seldom experienced as a child.
When my wife and I decided to sell our house in Torrington and look for another place to live, we chose Northampton for several reasons. We were able to find a condominium near downtown, allowing us to walk in the central city anytime we wish. We do that just about every day. Northampton has a vibrant, attractive, and walkable downtown that precludes any reasons to jump in the car and go somewhere else. Finally, I wanted to be closer to North Adams, and Northampton cut the distance in half. I can see now that my experiences in North Adams have changed my values and priorities.
Retirement is a scary proposition. It is also sad. During the final week, I kept telling myself and anyone who would listen that I wasn't going to miss the job at all. On my last day, after a modest party the night before, I realized how much I was going to miss my co-workers, many of whom had spent a third of their lives with me for ten or twenty or even thirty years. For several hours. I traveled around from desk to desk to say a personal goodbye to each co-worker. That was hard, and I had to bring a box of Kleenex with me. But I was so glad I did it. They deserved my attention. You take for granted that these people are always going to be around. Who knows what lies ahead? Whatever happens, North Adams will continue to be a big part of it.
"Don't think twice, it's all right."
Bob Dylan
PS: This will be my last column this year. Due to the coming holidays, I will take a rest for a few weeks. You will find me back on northadams.com soon after the New Year. Happy Holidays! And thanks to PRG for the opportunity to share my thoughts and adventures with you in 1999.
Visit Joe's website at: www.sevensteeples.com.
Email Joe at: manningfamily@rcn.com.
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