Ken Silvestri's Southbridge Recollections
I lived in Southbridge for a relatively short time but those years
will be fondly remembered for the rest of my days. Although I don’t
recall your name, we must have crossed paths many times for we are the
same age and knew so many of the same people. My father’s family
had lived in Southbridge since the early 20th century and my dad seemed
to know everyone. He had worked at the Southbridge post office since
World War II and probably met everyone in town one time or another. His
father was a mason who had emigrated from Italy and sadly, died when my
dad was only five. The story goes that around 1927, my grandfather
was working high up on the then, new Notre
Dame church when the scaffolding let go, plunging him to his death.
From then on my dad’s mother had to support her five children any way she
could. She was quite a woman. Unfortunately, I only knew her in her
final years, but she still inspired awe in all of us for the great job
she had done. My mother and I came to town from the Boston area in 1954
where we had an apartment in the old Pratt’s farmhouse on Woodstock Road.
After a few years, we moved downtown and in ‘57 she met and dated my dad
and they married in ’58. He adopted me and from that point on, my dad instilled
in me the affection for the town of Southbridge that he loved so much.
I could go on and on about my life there, but you have asked us in particular
about the ’55 flood. It was surely
a great catastrophe but, being only 4 1/2 years old at the time; I can
tell you only what I had experienced in my own small world. My mother
and I were living on Everett Street in a second floor apartment, next to
the old Polish church. We didn’t have much, but my mother had saved
for a long time to buy me a special toy, a pedal tractor. You know
the kind. Toy vehicles like that were popular back then. It towed a cart
that I put stuff in and pedaled up and down the sidewalks endlessly. I
loved that little tractor. The landlord was kind enough to let me
store it in their garage which had no door at the time. I remember the
rains of Hurricane Diane, lots of it. I remember the
WESO bulletins and my mother’s worried expressions. I saw the water
rising in the streets and then the cars and trucks stopped driving by.
I remember the Civil Defense boats coming down Everett Street! I
don’t know why we weren’t evacuated, but I guess the authorities felt we
were safer there for the time being. But the worst, the worst part
of that whole thing to me was…to my horror, I saw my little tractor floating
down the driveway and swept down the street, never to be seen again.
Ken Silvestri