Our Town

People wonder why we moved to central Mass. I think this letter from the loal indie mag this week sums it up pretty well:

Worcester is a dead town

I was shocked and livid when I read Janice Harvey’s column, “Hell hath no fury …” (Worcester Mag, Nov. 19) in which Harvey’s only complaint about downtown Worcester is a fake Christmas tree on the Common.

Worcester has a hell of a lot more serious issues than merely a false Christmas tree. Worcester is a toilet. Worcester does not even have a “downtown” to speak of. Worcester’s downtown is literally a ghost town, which is compiled of bombed-out buildings and boarded-up storefronts, which are strewn with garbage everywhere. Drunks urinate in public and ruthless meter maids are always looking to find another victim to persecute by giving that poor soul a parking ticket. Worcester’s cops are rude and are always ready to give you an attitude.

Worcester’s airport is a sick joke — an “airport” that is located in a fog zone. But, after all, who the hell would want to ever come to this toilet. Yes, Ms. Harvey, you have a reason to be outraged, but not at just a Christmas tree.

Worcester is what it has always been, and what it will always be — an ugly, filthy, old, exhausted, bombed-out, triple-decker New England mill town that is dead. And it will never ever rise again.

Scott Wolfe
Worcester