From a 1998 interview with Charles L. Flint, foreman of the
urban renewal demolition:
When we tore down the First Agricultural Bank, we came down
to where the vault was. The wall from the street to the vault was only two bricks deep. So I went and got the president of
the bank. The secretary said he was kind of busy, and I said, "I think he wants to see me. Just tell him to come out for two
seconds." So he came out, and I said, "Look, I don’t know what you’re doing, but I don’t care. You’ve
got to see this." So he followed me over, and I said, "Look at the outside wall behind your safe." Blood drained from his
head. He said, "My God, I never knew; nobody knew it." If somebody had parked a truck really close, he could’ve cut
a hole, taken whatever he wanted, and drove off.
From a 1998 interview with Marilyn Bourdon, former resident
of Bank Street:
I wish I had gone to see it when they tore down Bank Street.
Maybe I could have taken a brick or something. I was so busy raising my own family, that I didn’t think about it. When
I finally realized what had happened, I was astounded. I said, "Oh my God, I don’t even recognize my hometown anymore."
My sister’s son came to visit about a year ago, and we
took him out to dinner. He said to me, "Where did you and my mom live?" We drove him to the Kmart parking lot and pulled up
to the spot where our apartment had been. I said to him, "I think you’re sitting on my bed."
From a 1999 interview with Paul Garnish, one of the last Sprague Electric employees remaining in 1986:
There were just security people and seven boiler engineers left, about twenty people altogether. It was weird
to have so few people in such a large plant. It got more weird as they let more people go. I had a walkie-talkie radio, and
I was continually on the move throughout these vacant buildings. If we found a leak or something, we’d have to go and
check it out and fix it. Building Five was just cavernous. You could hear your own footsteps echoing behind you and ahead
of you. I expected to see rats and stuff jumping out at me, but I never saw one. I know they were there. The production noises
still seemed to be ringing in my ears. Walking down through some of the production floors, I felt like I could hear the clacking
of the air cylinders and the girls welding the units.
From a 2000 interview with Bill Cummings, who moved to North Adams in 1977:
In California, people tell you that New Englanders are supposed to be cold, and you have to live there forever
to be accepted. They are not friendly, even among themselves. They squander all their money. It’s hot and sultry in
the summer and cold and bitter in the winter, and they have hurricanes. Who would want to live in New England? I found out
that they were wrong.
This town doesn’t have any money, but it’s extremely rich. People here are incredibly responsible.
They feel a responsibility to be sure their neighbors are okay. It doesn’t make any difference what a person does. They
can be unemployed, they can be a schoolteacher, they can be a doctor; it doesn’t make any difference. There’s
a sense of community here that I’ve never experienced anywhere else.
From a 2000 interview with Mayor John Barrett III:
Tom Krens was the director of the Williams College Museum of Art. He came to me in February of 1986. He said,
" I just came back from Los Angeles, and I have some large pieces of contemporary art. Ninety percent of the large contemporary
art pieces in the world are in storage, because there’s no place to put them. We need a large factory building to put
them in."
At that time, I was trying to sell the Windsor Mill. But then Sprague told me they were leaving their facility,
so I suggested Sprague to Krens, and he said, "No way. It’s too big." I called up Attorney John De Rosa and said, "Take
him over there. Let him see the site. He’s gonna fall in love with it." I knew Krens. He always saw everything big.
When he looked at it, he agreed. So he got some architects in right away. Governor Dukakis came here in August. Krens showed
him the plans. Dukakis said, "Let’s go for it."
From a 1998 interview with Joseph Thompson, director of MASS MoCA:
I look at North Adams geographically and architecturally as one of the most beautiful cities in the region.
Williamstown can’t hold a candle to the sheer physical power of it. North Adams is a real city. It’s not any kind
of wimpy railroad city where they went around the mountains. Here, they went through the mountains. People here were
not bashful about the placement of houses on steep hills. They simply smacked them up there. It’s a great American city.
From a 1998 interview with Eileen E. Flynn, 23-year-old North Adams native and newspaper reporter:
We were very lucky that they didn’t demolish everything. But I look at the Kmart and the L-shaped mall
and say, "Ugh, what were they thinking?" It’s something we have to live with now. I did some research on the history
of urban renewal in college, and people told me about these neighborhoods that were wiped out. It just seemed so unfathomable.
Back in the early ‘90s, Father Honan said his last Mass at St. Francis, and they had a big going-away
party for him at the parish center. It was kind of overwhelming, and I wanted to get away for a while. I remember walking
down Eagle Street, and it seemed so peaceful and perfect. I looked around, and I thought, "Looking at this place, there’s
no way to decide what era I’m in. I hope we never lose this."
From a 1999 interview with Eileen Gloster:
I like the small town life. Even when I was growing up here, there was never a sense that North Adams was
a bustling community. There wasn’t a whole lot to do if you compare it to the big city, but there was a lot in terms
of getting together with your family and friends. Those things don’t require a bustling city to happen; they require
good people. This city is rich with that.
