Driving the Political and Historical Landscape

The drive from Danvers to Lawrence is like a drive back and across time. It is only marred by some density as Rt. 114 bisects the Andovers bordering Lawrence. As one leaves the Hill, the roadway, affectionately known as the Speedway, rounds a downhill curve, arriving at an X-four-stop. A sharp, hairpin turn takes me back through acres of cultivated farmland. In the spring this vista is breathtaking with the wonders of budding and blossoming trees. Poplars, cherries, a sprinkle of magnolias, maples and locusts. Bushes of small rhododendrons impersonate azaleas and the evergreens in the distance tower above the saltbox farmhouse. The smell of freshly turned soil awakens the nostrils. Here it is the colonial and revolutionary times inhabited by the Yankees. 

Breaking up the vista is the Hogan Regional Center for very, very, special needs built in the mid 1960's and named for the politician who championed building the 'modern' facility. How do I know this? Because Charlie Hogan and his wife, Marion, were great friends of my grandparents. Bridge, religion, politics, shared ethnicity and a strong spiritual connection bound them together. With its pillars, their home looked like a white mansion to my little-girl eyes. It was located only one block from the ocean and was meticulously maintained. The Hogans had affluence but no children. Institutional hospitals were a necessity for the most severe children born with "birth defects" and so it is situated at the bottom of the hill that serves as our mutual campus. Here is the historical power of the state institutional system. Out of sight, out of mind, but not totally forgotten. Let's say these building span the course of the 20th century medical system serving individuals with disabilities. Rarely does one see any action here at the Regional Center. The children, now adults, are never seen outside.

The back roads eventually lead to Rt 62 in Middleton. This crossroad, I imagine, was a stop on the street-car and the pony express systems, too. There is an old wooden building called Howe Station that has served as the local country store for eons. The Howes also have a school named after them, and a large presence in the local cemetery. It's a real Yankee name. The store's now owned by Indian immigrants, like every other convenience store in the area, in the nation. On the opposite corner is Bouchard's, where one gets old-fashion customer service. An attendant pumps your gas without you having to pay through the nose for the service. Let's just say, this is definitely the end of an era, before self-serve supposedly drove the price of a gallon of oil "down". This is where the Volvo is serviced and my friendly, helpful neighbor has rescued me on more than one occasion.

Next stop Middleton Center, a crazy intersection, that backs up endlessly at certain times. If you don't know your way around, it would be easy to get into the wrong lane, thus annoying the locals. Let's just call this late 20th Century capacity, meets an 18th century road system. BC. Before Cars! Route 114 heads east and west but here it is more like heading north to south. As one leaves tiny, but congested Middleton Square, the roadway gives way to woodlands and wet-lands for several miles. Broken up here and there by homes and businesses, it's mostly a ride through the woods ending up at the intersecting borders of the affluent Andovers and poor Lawrence. One thing about being poor that is little understood, is that often being poor and/or serving the poor, brings out our better natures.

Lawrence, is a manufacturing city intentionally designed for the Industrial Revolution and the immigrants who fueled it, made men rich. It's located along the banks of the mighty, fast moving Merrimack River. It's huge red-brick warehouses and factories dominate the riverbanks. Here was the birth of the labor movement that would catapult lower income families into the middle class. Lawrence has seen better days, however, even I can not recall when those were. Today, as I've mentioned before, it is the poorest city in Massachusetts and one of the poorest in the nation. Its residents have just elected the first Hispanic mayor in Massachusetts history. Here a new wave of immigrants, mostly from the Dominican Republic (DR), are claiming political power.

Will the new political administration seek to serve it's residents with a new vision and plan for the city or will they use their power to garner largess for themselves?

It's not this mayor or his administration's fault that "The City of Immigrants" is bankrupt and decaying. The question becomes then, what are you going to do about it? What does the Hispanic culture have to offer that can transform this city into a dynamic cultural and economic hub? What resources can be leveraged to create a vision and a plan to restore the integrity and viability of the city? Or am I just dreaming?

The Dominican people have every right to assert their Hispanic heritage of firsts, here in a city that is almost forgotten. Feel free to bring it back to life and give it meaning and purpose. You are not alone or an island nation any longer.