(Originally published in 2018)
In an ever-changing world, having a sense of familiarity is nice, and coming home to Southwick provides such. While a lot has changed in town during the 20+ years I have been away (living in Myrtle Beach, SC), just as much stayed the same (thankfully).
I suspect many, like myself, didn't know at the time just how blessed we were for growing up in Southwick (technically, I was born in Springfield, but my parents moved back to Southwick when I was two).
Let's rewind…
 |
| Frank Wood Painting & Decorating |
My great-grandparents lived in Springfield. They would drive to the "country" and pick me up in their big green boat of a Cadillac to take me to the city to go shopping at the department stores of the day: Steiger's, Filene's, G. Fox. My great-grandfather owned a successful painting and decorating business, and my great-grandmother worked at the Indian "Motocycle" Company's plant in Springfield. Over the years, my great-grandfather painted famous Pioneer Valley landmarks, including the Southwick Congregational Church (better known as the "big white church in the center of town" when giving directions) and the state building replicas at the
Eastern States Exposition ("
The Big E").
 |
| Ross & Joyce |
Ironically, their only child, my grandmother, married Ross E. Haseltine, who had 12 siblings. They met at the Riverside Rollaway in Agawam, and shortly after that, romance blossomed, and my father was born. Their landlord strictly forbade any more children, so they were forced to move when my grandmother got pregnant with my aunt, Gail (named during the historic New England Flood of August 1955 when my grandmother heard the word "gale" on a local weather broadcast). Fast forward a bit: My grandmother lives in the same house she and my grandfather moved into on Fred Jackson Road in 1955. She tells me it was the first home built on the street, and it was still under construction when they purchased it with $200.00 down. In addition to my father and Aunt Gail, they raised three boys in that small house on the hill. Growing up (and to this day), one of my favorite things is gazing out their bay window and taking in the view of the horse pasture across the street. Today, the horses are long gone, but the picturesque landscape remains largely untouched.
My parents worked at Pioneer Dairy, where in my youth I had a diet consisting of fudgesicles, 1/2 gallons of ice cream, and half-pints of chocolate milk. If I had to pick one favorite, I couldn't. I loved them all. Mr. Nutter, the original owner of the Dairy, would share stories of door-to-door milk delivery while his daughter, Anne Colson, would jokingly call me Teddy (as in Roosevelt) because I would say "charge" as he did - although I was putting deliciousness onto our running tab and not going into battle.
 |
| Jones in Southwick Center |
Around town, I enjoyed accompanying my mother as she ran errands. We would get gas at
Shibelli's, which back then was an actual service station with a mechanic garage out back and two islands: full and self-service. Grocery shopping at Jones was a real treat. I can still smell the chocolate chip cookies from the display case in the rear corner of the store. At the
Summer House, which, in being true to its name, was only open in the summer, I recall feeling like we were cheating on the Dairy each time we approached the counter to order a cone. When
Roma's was a hole in the wall in Southwick Plaza, we would order a pizza to-go and watch the annual Fireman's Carnival Parade from the parking lot. Shopper's Drug, Ames, and
Mrs. Murphy's were other usual stops, as was
Village Pizza, which has the best "real" veal grinder anywhere. Wherever I travel, I order a veal grinder whenever I see it on a menu, and Village is the absolute best by far. Chuck's Steakhouse, where another of my aunts and two uncles worked, was amazing with its authentic barn atmosphere and fantastic prime rib. Over the years, the
Southwick Florist has consistently provided excellent service and beautiful arrangements for my family.
I recently stopped along Berkshire Avenue, watching the workers hanging nets over the bent wires. It brought back vivid memories of working in that same field for F. B. Arnold & Sons (more specifically, Feg Arnold), where I started off picking tobacco before going on to other things like planting, tying, sewing, and hanging it in the drying barns and eventually packing it for shipment to the warehouse at the end of the season. Back then, we started off making $2.35/hr. And each Friday, we would stare down the big clock in the center of town as we raced to Woronoco Savings to cash our paychecks before the bank closed for the weekend.
When picking tobacco on a hot, sticky day, seeing a "white rabbit" was like finding a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. (The "white rabbit" was an identifying mark on a bent pole letting workers know how far in the field to pick to). However, the best job was irrigating. Standing on the flatbed truck, we would peer over the nets watching for geysers, then run into the soaked field to replace the blown standpipe.
One day, I was with two co-workers hauling tobacco across town in "Baby Blue" when we spotted the green flatbed with its windows rolled down in the parking lot of Southwick Package. We pulled in, snatched the keys from the ignition, and quickly drove off. It was nice to see that we graduated from dirt bomb traps to more elaborate pranks.
 |
Ross Haseltine & Joyce Wood
(boy in background unknown) |
