All photos from this road trip can be seen at flickr.com
Very honestly, I had pretty low expectations for Pawtucket. I thought for sure there would be enough votes to send me to Plymouth, then the poll turned out to be a tie. My Charming Wife even picked Plymouth when I told her she could be the deciding vote, but then she changed her mind because she wants to go with me on one of my road trips and figured she should send me to a shit-hole so she could go someplace nicer. Of course, the surprise will be on her when I take her to someplace REALLY special like Chelsea, but I had already promised I would go wherever she picked, and she settled on Pawtucket.
The saving grace to visiting a place like Pawtucket is that even though most of us recognize it for the dump it is, there are locals who are inordinately proud of their place and politicians always willing to spend a few bucks for local tourist spots just to keep those people happy and voting for them. Even the place where I grew up, Lewiston-Auburn, Maine, which takes shit-hole to a whole new level, has local festivals and community pride events and one or two markers of infinitesimally insignificant historical repute.
Beyond local boosterism, though, the historical significance of Pawtucket is actually almost too enormous for its humble place in the world. Pawtucket, it turns out, is the site of the very first mechanized cotton mill in the United States. It was built in 1793 by an Englishman named Samuel Slater on the banks of the Pawtucket River in an attempt to replicate the cotton mills springing up all over England. Slater’s success transformed hundreds of cities and towns throughout New England into what we now think of as the quintessential New England municipality — the mill town. The entire economy of the region shifted from hardscrabble agriculture to textile manufacturing, and an entirely new way of life emerged for the men, women and children who lived in this part of the country.
The Slater Mill, Slater’s house, and a second mill — the Wilkerson Mill — sit together on the river as you enter downtown, with Pawtucket’s towering City Hall right next door. The sun was shining nicely as I arrived and started wandering around the historical site. A large group of 9th-graders started pouring out of the Slater Mill, followed by a man in period costume. They ignored me, but then along came a young woman also in costume who told me that the site was not open that day and the school group was having a private tour. The site will start being open daily next week; a lot of tourist attractions in New England close up completely during the winter and then have limited hours in the spring until “tourist season” gets underway (in fact, I have been avoiding picking a Maine destination so far expressly for this reason, knowing nothing is open for another month).
The neighboring Wilkinson Mill was the first machine shop in the United States, built specifically as a supplier of machine parts to the cotton mill next door.
As unassuming as the small historical site is, it’s hard to overestimate the significance of the arrival of manufacturing in American history. By the middle of the 19th century, industry had come to dominate the economy of the entire Northeast, while agriculture still dominated in the South. Despite the interdependence between the two regions, when civil war finally erupted between them, the North prevailed in part because of its ability to mass produce arms and transportation. Ironically, the textile industry abandoned the Northeast in the 20th century and moved to the South, where labor was still cheap and unregulated, contributing to the economic decline that turned all those mill towns into abandoned ruins, just like Pawtucket itself.
Thwarted in seeing the interiors of the mills, I crossed the street and went into the Visitor’s Center. There were a few other people inside, but other than the lady at the info desk, they were all homeless people or other derelicts. The info desk lady was quick to ask if she could help me, probably to decide if I were just another derelict. I explained my visit, asked if I could take pictures, and signed the guestbook (which had exactly one other signature in it for the day). She told me that once I’d looked around, she would start a video about the town and its history for me.
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The Visitor’s Center had on display a series of painted portraits of Abraham Lincoln made from well-known photographs of him at different times in his life. Here you can see how the Presidency and the war aged him in office: the first picture is from 1860, the second from 1863, and the third taken just before his death in 1865. The paintings were done by a local artist and were part of a presentation being given by the historical society that evening by a retired Rhode Island Supreme Court judge who is a nationally-renowned Lincoln expert.
There was also a display of Timberland hiking boots that had been decorated by local high school students as part of an anti-graffitti/public art project. The project is called the 02863 Project, and is in its third year, sponsored by Timberland and the Art League of Rhode Island.
The promised video was a standard tourist history piece about the founding of the mills and the resultant growth of the Blackstone Valley region, which runs from Worcester, MA to Providence, RI. I found it thoughtfully written — the harshness of factory work, the unfair conditions of living in mill towns, and the over-reliance on child labor well into the 20th century were all acknowledged even as the video aimed to make the place seem worth visiting. The screening room featured antique theater seating rescued from the last movie theater in downtown Pawtucket, as well as some ornamental glass work. (too dim for good pictures, though)
I bade the info desk lady thank you and farewell and headed out onto Main Street. Easily 75% of the storefronts up and down the street are empy and for sale or lease. The few open establishments that remain are ad-hoc businesses catering to the Brazilian immigrant community that is the most prominent group in the city: wire transfers, a hair salon, a bare-bones breakfast place. My circuit of the downtown only took a few minutes, as there was really nothing to see except a lot of empty windows and ignored “for rent” signs. The only people I saw on the street were three elderly people, obviously Brazilian, making their way into a local social aid office of some sort.
The one sign of activity was at a building with a sign that read “The Grant”. Underneath that sign, there was additional lettering to indicate that the building had once been a W.T. Grant department store (most of you who are from New England and are over the age of 30 will probably remember the Grant’s department store chain, as most towns had one). The facade had been recently painted and stood out plainly from the abandoned stores. One display window looked into a cafe called Kafe Lila, which looked like my best (if not my only) chance for lunch.
The signboard out front looked promising, and the door to the cafe was whimsical and arty. Inside, the dining area was overflowing with old arm chairs, sofas, coffee tables, and such, doing with real second-hand furniture and vintage decor what Starbucks et. al. imitate very poorly in their shops. The menu had several good looking lunch items, plus bakery treats, ice cream, and the ubiquitous range of coffee drinks. I decided on a turkey wrap and a large glass of “coffee milk”.
A quick word about Rhode Island cuisine — Rhode Island is unique among the New England states for its fanatical devotion to Autocrat coffee-flavored syrup. People drink milk flavored with coffee syrup the way you or I might drink water, and the preferred form of this drink is the “Coffee Cabinet”: milk, coffee syrup, and vanilla ice cream blended into a shake (or, as we call them in Massachusetts, “frappe”). I was duly informed by several readers not to return unless I had a Coffee Cabinet. Sadly, there was not an option for a cabinet, even though the cafe serves ice cream, and I had to settle for regular coffee milk. Hate me if you will, I intend to make another trip to Rhode Island and make a more concerted effort to find a Coffee Cabinet and eat a box of clam cakes. But I think I will have to go all the way to the seashore to do that.
Finishing my lunch, I wandered back into the central foyer of the Grant building. It’s still being renovated, but inside it has been partitioned off into a number of spaces that seem to be destined for (or are already used as) art studio, design studio, and gallery space. The building, which was constructed in the late 19th century, does not resemble a modern department store in any way; it’s quite possible it was never updated during its tenure as a Grant’s…I can remember some Woolworth stores from my childhood that seemed distinctly ancient. There were a few people working in a couple of spaces, but no other sign of activity. A young woman sat on a sofa in the middle of the space, talking on her cell phone, and an elderly woman who was most likely a homeless person was ambling around.
She eventually stopped to scratch the chin of a small black and white cat who must have belonged to one of the office people. She mumbled something to the cat and wandered away. When the cat saw me, she came right to me and wanted affection. I petted her, but when I tried to take her picture, she suddenly got shy and wouldn’t sit for me.
By this point, it seemed clear that I had pretty much seen what there was to be seen, so I headed back toward my car. I turned on my trusty GPS and had it list out some local attractions to see if I had missed anything of consequence. In the list it gave me, there was a promising listing for an “American Diner Museum”, so I set that as the destination, hoping it would be my find of the day. Instead, I got a thorough driving tour of much of the rest of Pawtucket, including a number of derelict factory and warehouse buildings in various states of ruin, neighborhoods full of run-down triple-deckers, and the occasional block where I was in danger for being a white guy. Just like being back home.
I finally ended up at an industrial park that had been turned into offices, a Curves gym (those places are everywhere) and a few warehouses, but no sign of anything resembling a museum or a diner. By this point, it had also started to rain, and my camera had stopped working again, so I decided to call it a day.
I can’t say I’d recommend visiting Pawtucket, but if you were going there for some reason (like to see the PawSox) and wanted to extend your visit a little, it would be worth visiting the mills and the visitor’s center.
Tomorrow’s road trip destination has yet to be decided, so you’ll just have to stop in on Friday to see where I went.
“Even the place where I grew up, Lewiston-Auburn, Maine, which takes shit-hole to a whole new level, has local festivals and community pride events and one or two markers of infinitesimally insignificant historical repute.”
Maybe you can get a job with the Lewiston-Auburn Chamber of Commerce!
Thank you for explaining what a coffee cabinet was… inquiring minds wanted to know.
I too did not know what a coffee cabinet was. I am originally from NY and we actually did not have coffee milk on our menu until a little while ago. Our favorite customers from Flying Shuttles across the way wanted it, and I can never refuse. I do intend to make homemade coffee syrup soon. As for clam cakes, you should go to Narragansett, but I was surprised to find they are nothing like a Maryland clam cake, they are more like a fritter with a few bits of clam. Thanks for stopping by my shop! Too bad you missed our Ice Cream Social, we had hundreds of people plus great music. I am glad you made the trip.
Maybe you can get a job with the Lewiston-Auburn Chamber of Commerce!
I’m pretty sure that they already have a slogan like that: Lewiston-Auburn: Taking Shit-Hole To A Whole New Level. Plus some festivals.
Hmmm. Pawtucket, like much of the rest of New England, spends a lot of time and energy celebrating its past while its present, and possibly future, don’t hold out much cause for celebration. One thing I have found remarkable about L-A is their steadfast (if occasionally delusional) belief in a bright future for the “Cities of the Androscoggin” while other places on which Richard Russo’s fictional Empire Falls was based seem to have the mottos “It’s good enough” or “It could be worse” and settle for that.
Still, I’d make the trip for the clam cakes (or, better yet, a pint of fried whole clams) alone. Thanks for the report.
Like Karen, the owner of Kafe Lila, says, I think you have to go down to Narrangansett Beach for the clam cake experience. If you want some Brazilian food, there were plenty of little corner shops selling that, but Pawtucket’s a bit far from the ocean.
“It could be worse” That’s already pretty much the state motto for Maine.