Lost Towns Reveals What the Quabbin Displaced

 

 

LOST TOWNS OF THE SWIFT RIVER VALLEY: (2022)

            DROWNED BY THE QUABBIN  

By Elena Palladino

History Press, 143 pages.

 

 

Find a pre-1938 map of Massachusetts, locate Ware in the western part of Commonwealth, and trace the Swift River, a tributary of the Ware River. You will find small dots bearing the names Enfield, Greenwich, Dana, and Prescott. Now consult a more recent map and you will see a broad swath of blue where those villages once stood. You couldn’t find any the above villages even if you had a diving suit; whatever wasn’t burned was carted away. 

 

Enfield Lookout Today; Photo copyright Rob Weir

 

Those who reside in Western Massachusetts are familiar with the broad outline of the building of the Quabbin Reservoir. Even after filling the Wachusett Reservoir in 1908, Bostonians needed more water. The Ware River Act was passed in 1926 to connect a new reservoir to the Wachusett via a 12-mile long aqueduct. Some tried to stop it, but from 1926 on the clock was ticking for a quartet of Swift River settlements that collectively had fewer than 2,000 people. The final end came in 1938, when the few remaining residents were forced to move. By 1946, the valley was filled with 412 billion gallons of water so pure that to this day it is unfiltered. (Think what you want about Boston, but you can drink the water!)

 

Elena Palladino developed an interest in the Quabbin through a circuitous route. Eight years ago she moved into a large home in Ware that was the post-1938 dwelling of Marion Andrews Smith, one of the last residents of Enfield. Her research into Smith’s life took her to the elderly Marian (“Tuda”) Tryon Waydaka, the daughter of a groundskeeper for whom Smith was a benefactor and de facto grandmother. One of the unique parts of Palladino’s book is that she builds her account around three of the Swift River Valley’s movers and shakers: Smith, Doc Segur, and Edwin Howe. They are also Palladino’s entry point for discussing others whose lives intersected with her core three.

 

The history of small places remains an under-examined topic. On the surface it wouldn’t seem a huge sacrifice to vacate four remote villages in order to benefit a thirsty metropolitan area of around a million residents. In her short book illustrated by numerous archival photographs, Palladino dives into the rhythms of small town life. If you’re thinking agricultural settlements, think again. The imperious Marion Smith was probably area’s wealthiest individual, but the money came from manufacturing, specifically the production of textiles and fabrics. There were several other mills and businesses, all of which depended upon a railroad trunk line that ran through the Valley and made so many stops that it was jocularly dubbed the “Rabbit Run.”

 

Willard “Doc” Segur was indeed a medical man, but he wasn't exactly a country doctor; in 1905 he bought a Dodge coupe to help him make his rounds. Those knowledgeable about automotive history realize that’s very early­–three years before the Ford Model-T. Edwin Howe was an educated man who was essential to locals. He operated the telephone exchange, served as postmaster, was a town clerk, a notary, and operated Enfield’s general store. There was scarcely a civic enterprise in which Smith, Segur, and Howe were not involved: the Congregational Church, local schools, fraternal organizations, the library, the planning of Old Home Week…. They were also organizers of the Farewell Ball when the towns were disincorporated in 1938.

 

All of this is a poignant reminder that for many, “home” was more than house or a job. Imagine the last dozen years after the 1926 bill sealed the Valley’s fate. Reactions varied. Some knew it was a fait accompli, wanted the Commonwealth to get on with it, and tried to strike shrewd bargains on their land; others held out hope for a miraculous change of plans, while still others stayed to the bitter end as construction crews systematically cleared away buildings, burned vegetation, and bulldozed the land. The grisliest job went to those who disinterred bodies for reburial.

 

Quabbin from a tower; Photo copyright Rob Weir

 Those who visit the Quabbin remark upon its beauty and tranquility. If you do so, think of those who once dwelt there as you traverse dams named for engineers such as Frank Winsor and Henry Goodnough. Remember too that not everyone thrived in their new homes and most missed their old ones. If you forget, you have but to leaf through the photographs for a reminder. Never fall prey to the belief that modernity is consequence-free.

 

Rob Weir