RichardHowe.com – Voices from Lowell & Beyond

Lowell Politics: June 28, 2026

There was no Lowell City Council meeting this week, so today’s newsletter contains Part II of my biographical sketches of past mayors of Lowell. Today we start in 1883 with the first mayor of Irish Catholic heritage and go until 1943, with the last mayor elected prior to the city’s adoption of our current Plan E form of government.

For those who missed the first installment of this series, it was published on my website, richardhowe.com, on June 14, 2026.

With that, let’s return to the mayors of Lowell:

John J. Donovan was mayor in 1883 and again in 1884. He was born in Yonkers, New York, on July 28, 1843, and moved to Lowell three years later with his widowed mother. He attended the Washington School and then Lowell High School. While still a student, he worked as a clerk at a grocery store on Central Street, eventually becoming a partner. As an adult, Donovan became associated with several other local businesses and financial institutions including the Lowell Trust Company and Washington Savings Bank. In the early 1880s he was appointed Overseer of the Poor and in 1882 he was elected mayor making him the first person of Irish descent to hold that office. He was reelected the following year. He died at his home at 256 Branch Street on April 21, 1905, at age 61. He is buried in St. Patrick Cemetery.

Edward J. Noyes was mayor in 1885. He was born in Georgetown, Massachusetts, on September 7, 1841. He came to Lowell at age 7, went through the Lowell public schools then graduated from Columbia Law School. During the Civil War, he enlisted in a cavalry company and was eventually promoted to major. He left the military after being wounded in action and returned to Lowell. He was appointed city marshall and was elected mayor in late 1884. After serving as mayor, he became the superintendent of the Lowell Street Railroad Company and then worked for several Lowell textile mills as a detective. He lived at 182 Butman Road and attended St. Anne’s Episcopal Church. He died in Lowell on January 31, 1925, at age 83. He is buried in Lowell Cemetery.

James C. Abbott was mayor in 1886 and again in 1887. He was born in Andover, Massachusetts, on June 30, 1823. He graduated from Phillips Academy, Dartmouth College and Harvard Law School. He moved to Lowell and practiced law here for more than 50 years. He was elected mayor in December 1885 and was reelected in the following election. In addition to his law practice, he was president of the First National Bank and the Lowell Mutual Fire Insurance Company. He died in Lowell on July 9, 1903, at age 80. Funeral services were held at his home at 21 Fairmount Street followed by burial in Lowell Cemetery.

Charles D. Palmer was mayor in 1888, 1889 and 1890. He was born in Cambridge, Massachusetts, on November 25, 1845. He graduated from Boston Latin and Harvard College then, aspiring to be a manufacturing executive, moved to Lawrence, Massachusetts, for a management position at the Washington Mills. In 1880, he married Rowena Hildreth and joined her in Lowell. When her father, Fisher Hildreth, passed away, Charles devoted his time to managing the substantial Hildreth Estate. He did that until he was elected mayor in December 1887. During his time as mayor, he led the efforts to construct a new city hall and city library. Besides his political and business pursuits, Palmer was involved in sports serving as the president of the Massachusetts amateur bowling league and as the New England representative on the national board of review for trotting races. Charles Dana Palmer died in Lowell on September 25, 1909, at age 63. He is buried in the Hildreth Family Cemetery.

George W. Fifield was mayor in 1891 and again in 1892. He was born in Belmont, New Hampshire, on April 25, 1848, and came to Lowell at age 18 as an apprentice machinist. He did well in that field, eventually forming his own company, the Fifield Tool Company which manufactured engine lathes at a plant on Marginal Street. He served two terms as mayor but left politics after that due to the demands of his business. He died at his home at 1180 Middlesex Street on January 30, 1911, at age 62. The cause of death was cancer. His funeral was held at his home, and he is buried in Lowell Cemetery.

John J. Pickman was mayor in 1893 and 1894. He was born in Lowell on January 5, 1850. He graduated from Lowell High School then Harvard Law School. He began practicing law in Lowell in 1871. He was elected to the Lowell School Committee, the state legislature, and in December 1892, mayor of Lowell. He was reelected the following year. Prior to being elected mayor, he was made a special justice at the Lowell Police Court and after his time at City Hall he became a full-time district court judge until his retirement. He died on August 17, 1930, at age 80, at the McLean Hospital in Belmont, Massachusetts. The cause of death was pneumonia. His funeral was held at the Eliot Congregational Church, and he is buried in Edson Cemetery.

William F. Courtney was mayor in 1895, 1896 and 1897. He was born in Lowell on December 10, 1855. His family lived in Belvidere but soon moved to Centralville where Courtney lived for the rest of his life. He attended the Lowell public schools and Harvard Law School. He then opened a law office in Lowell and developed a successful legal practice specializing in criminal law. He was active in Democratic politics and served as a state representative and as city solicitor. He was the Democratic nominee for mayor in 1892 and 1893, but he lost both times. He was nominated again in 1894 and won. In 1896, he married Alice Brouillette. Their wedding was the first ceremony held at the newly constructed St. Jean Baptiste Church. Courtney died on April 17, 1899, at age 43. The cause of death was Bright’s Disease, a kidney ailment. His funeral was at St. Michael’s Church, and he is buried in St. Patrick Cemetery.

James W. Bennett was mayor in 1898. He was born in Newmarket, New Hampshire, on March 21, 1833. He came to Lowell at age 14 to learn carpentry with his uncle, who was a successful builder. Bennett eventually had his own business as a contractor and was admired as a ‘shrewd businessman.” He was a longtime water commissioner and was instrumental in establishing the Lowell waterworks. He also served on the common council and in the state legislature. At some point, the governor appointed Bennett the Commonwealth’s assistant adjutant general, which earned him the title Colonel although he never served in the military. He ran for mayor in 1896 and lost but won in the next election. He ran again but failed to be reelected. He died at his home at 205 Branch Street on April 14, 1903, at age 70. He is buried in Lowell Cemetery.

Jeremiah Crowley was mayor in 1899 and 1900. He was born in Lowell on January 12, 1832. At age 13, he went to work in the Lawrence Mills and learned to be a machinist. In 1860, he began studying law with a local attorney. He was also a member of the Sixth Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry Regiment and was involved in the Baltimore Riot on April 19, 1861, that cost Luther Ladd and Addison Whitney their lives. After the war, he was admitted to the bar and had a successful law practice. He also entered politics, serving on the common council, the board of aldermen and as a state senator. He was elected mayor in December 1898 and was reelected the following year. He died in Lowell on September 23, 1901, at age 69. The cause of death was Bright’s Disease, a kidney ailment. He is buried in St. Patrick Cemetery.

Charles A. R. Dimon was mayor in 1901 and 1902. He was born in Fairfield, Connecticut, on April 27, 1841. He enlisted in a volunteer militia regiment at the start of the Civil War and rose rapidly through the ranks. For much of the war, his commander was General Benjamin Butler of Lowell. Dimon served heroically and fought in numerous battles. By the end of the war, he held the rank of Brevet Brigadier General (“Brevet” was a temporary wartime rank). When Butler formed the United States Cartridge Company in Lowell after the war, he hired Dimon to manage the company which he did through the 1870s and 1880s. He ran for public office, serving on the board of alderman and then as a water commissioner. He was elected mayor in December 1900 and was reelected the following year but died in office during that second term on March 21, 1902, at age 60. He is buried in Fairfield East Cemetery, in Fairfield, Connecticut. (William E. Badger served the rest of Dimon’s term as acting mayor but was not subsequently elected to the office.)

Charles E. Howe was mayor in 1903 and 1904. He was born in Gonic, New Hampshire, (now a part of Rochester) on January 28, 1846. He enlisted in the U.S. Army during the Civil War and was wounded in action at the 2nd Battle of Bull Run. He remained in the army after the war, serving for several years on the western frontier. He left the army and worked in Chicago for a time but in 1871 moved to Lowell to work for his brother’s lumber company. (His brother was John F. Howe of Howe & Burnham Lumber Dealers.) In Lowell, Charles was very active socially, holding offices in many clubs and charities. He was elected to the board of alderman and then served two terms as mayor. He died at his home at 45 Varney Street on July 23, 1911, at age 65. The cause of death was heart disease. He is buried in Lowell Cemetery.

James B. Casey was mayor in 1905 and 1906. He was born in Lowell on July 20, 1878. As a young man, he worked in various retail jobs but soon entered politics. After serving two terms as mayor, he founded the Ideal Comb Company which had a factory at 157 Lincoln Street. In the late 1920s, he became the director of public relations for the New England Power Association, a position he held until his retirement. He died in Lowell on December 30, 1946, at age 68. His funeral was at St. Margaret’s Church, and he is buried in St. Patrick Cemetery.

Frederick W. Farnham was mayor in 1907 and 1908. He was born in Lowell on November 30, 1860. After graduating from Lowell High School, Frederick was hired by the Lowell City Engineer’s office and, aside from his two terms as mayor, spent 40 years in the engineering department, including several managing the construction of Lowell’s sewer system. He retired in 1937. He died at his home at 571 Westford Street on December 11, 1943, at age 83. His funeral service was held at Morse Funeral Home at 170 Westford Street, and he is buried in Lowell Cemetery.

George H. Brown was mayor in 1909 and again in 1922. He was born in Waterville, Maine, on May 20, 1877. He came to Lowell as a young man and was hired as a police officer. He served in the military during the Spanish-American War. According to local newspapers, “he had a natural flair for stump speaking that captivated voters” which helped him be elected mayor in December 1908. He lost re-election and returned to the police department. When Lowell adopted the commission form of government in the 1901 – a commissioner being like a city councilor who doubles as a department head – he was elected as a commissioner four times. He was again elected mayor in 1922 but only served one year – mayoral terms were two years long by that point – because a charter change cut his term in half. He continued to run for office, including as a city councilor under Plan E, but was never again elected. He died in Lowell on March 3, 1950, at age 72, and is buried in Edson Cemetery.

John F. Meehan was mayor in 1910 and 1911. He was born in Lowell on November 24, 1872. He attended St. Patrick’s elementary school, Lowell High, and St. Bonaventure College where he earned bachelor and master degrees. Returning to Lowell, he first worked for a big Boston building contractor but was soon elected principal of the Butler School. He was elected to the state legislature in 1906 and continued serving there until he was elected mayor. In 1915, President Woodrow Wilson appointed Meehan postmaster of Lowell, a position he held until 1922. He died in Lowell on December 14, 1947, at age 75. His funeral was at St. Patrick’s Church, and he is buried in St. Patrick Cemetery.

James E. O’Donnell was mayor in 1912-13, and again in 1916-17. He was born in Lowell on September 29, 1875. He grew up in Belvidere, attended the Lowell public schools, then graduated from Boston University Law School and started a law practice in Lowell. He was elected to the state legislature and the governor’s council before being elected mayor to a two-year term. He lost reelection but ran again in 1915 and won, serving another two-year term. In 1929, Governor Alvin Fuller appointed O’Donnell a justice of the Lowell District Court where he served for 20 years. He retired in 1952 and moved to Florida where he died on September 15, 1966. He is buried in Coral Gables, Florida. The city of Lowell dedicated the bridge crossing the Merrimack River at School Street and Mammoth Road after him as the James E. O’Donnell bridge.

Dennis J. Murphy was mayor in 1914-15. He was born in Lowell on May 17, 1870. He attended the Lowell public schools, Holy Cross College, and Boston University Law School. He opened a law practice in Lowell and in 1898 he was elected to the Lowell School Committee for three terms. He was elected mayor in the 1913 city election, but when he ran for a second term in 1915, he lost to former mayor James O’Donnell in what the newspaper described as “one of the bitterest campaigns in the city’s political history.” He resumed practicing law, a profession he continued until he died on March 6, 1950, at age 79. His funeral was at the Immaculate Conception Church, and he is buried in St. Patrick Cemetery.

Perry D. Thompson was mayor in 1918-19 and again in 1920-21. He was born in Billerica on July 4, 1874. As a young man, he worked as a grocer and as a salesman for a local lumber company. Elected mayor in December 1917 and reelected two years later, his second term was cut short when voters adopted the new Plan B charter. Thompson ran for mayor under that system but lost to former mayor George Brown. Thompson was later named to the city election commission and in 1930 was elected city clerk, a position he held until his retirement. He died at a Billerica nursing home on May 26, 1952, at age 77. His funeral was at Grace Universalist Church, and he is buried in Edson Cemetery.

John J. Donovan was mayor in 1923-24 and 1925-26. He was born in New York City in 1864. He came to Lowell as a child but as a young man he played baseball professionally on the west coast and boxed professionally. Returning to Lowell he worked as a motorman for the street railway but was appointed to the Lowell police department in 1901. When World War I began, he tried to enlist, was rejected several times because of his age, but was finally able to join a railway engineer regiment that deployed to France where he saw combat. He ran for mayor in 1918 and 1920, losing both times, but won the office in 1922 and was reelected two years later. He sought a third term but was defeated. He returned to the police department where he remained until his retirement in 1929. He died in Lowell on May 17, 1937, at age 74. He is buried in St. Patrick Cemetery.

Thomas J. Corbett was mayor in 1927-28. He was born in Halifax, England, on May 10, 1883, and came to Lowell as a boy. He became a U.S. citizen at the Lowell Police court in 1904 when he turned 21. He attended Lowell Schools then worked in the mills. In 1914, he was elected to the common council and then to the state legislature. He was elected mayor in December 1926 and served a single two-year term as mayor. After that, he was a city assessor and then superintendent of the local state unemployment office. From 1936 until his retirement in 1953, he was the public relations officer for the Harvard Brewery of Lowell. He died in Lowell on September 24, 1956, at age 73. He is buried in St. Patrick Cemetery.

Thomas J. Braden was mayor in 1929 and then in 1930-31. (Braden’s first term was just one year because the city switched from holding local elections in December of state election years to holding city elections in November of the odd-numbered year between state elections which fell in even-numbered years.) Thomas Braden was born in Mooers, New York (near Lake Champlain, two miles from the Canadian border) on September 11, 1876. He came to Lowell at age 16. His first job was as an elevator operator, however, when automobiles arrived, he founded a taxi company which he operated through most of his life. He was elected to the common council and then to the board of aldermen before being elected mayor. In 1937, he was elected to the state senate. He died in Lowell on May 23, 1950, at age 78. He is buried in Lowell Cemetery. His obituary observed that he was “one of the most colorful figures in the city’s political history” and “a leading expert on the sport of harness racing.”

Charles H. Slowey was mayor in 1932-33. He was born in Lowell on October 27, 1886. As a young man, he was elected to the state legislature, serving five terms interrupted by military service in World War I. While in the legislature, he founded C. H. Slowey Insurance Agency which he operated for 40 years. He was elected mayor in November 1931 and served a single term. In 1935, President Franklin Roosevelt appointed him postmaster of Lowell, an office he held for 21 years until his retirement. He died in Lowell on January 10, 1964, at age 77 and is buried in St. Patrick Cemetery.

James J. Bruin was mayor in 1934-35. He was born in Lowell on October 31, 1898. He worked at the Saco-Lowell Shops while studying law at night, eventually opening his own law office. He was elected to the Lowell School Committee in 1923 and was elected mayor in November 1933. Despite his age, he enlisted in the U.S. Army during World War II and rose to the rank of captain. Although he had been a vocal opponent of the Plan E form of government, in 1947 he ran for and won a seat on the council under that system. The following year, he was elected to the state legislature. However, soon after being sworn in to that office, he died on January 26, 1949, at age 50. He is buried in St. Patrick Cemetery.

Dewey G. Archambault was mayor in 1936-37 and 1938-39. He was born in Lowell on September 3, 1898. He graduated from Lowell High, Boston College and Suffolk Law School. He also became a licensed funeral director, working for the funeral home founded by his father. He was elected mayor in November 1935 and reelected to another term two years later. He enlisted in the U.S. Army during World War II and after the war was appointed the director of employment security by Governor Christian Herter. He died in St. Petersburg, Florida, on January 31, 1969, at age 70. He is buried in St. Joseph Cemetery.

George T. Ashe was mayor in 1940-41 and 1942-43. He was born in Lowell on February 6, 1905. He worked as a laborer as a young man and was then elected to the state legislature. He was elected mayor in November 1939 and reelected two years later. During his second term, a state investigation uncovered contract rigging and financial kickbacks to city employees and Mayor Ashe was ensnared in the investigation. He was found guilty in Middlesex Superior Court and served a short sentence. While on trial, the city held a referendum on whether to change from the strong mayor form of government known as Plan B to the city manager system known as Plan E. The vote to change the system was 16,477 votes for and 14,135 against. Later in life, Ashe worked as the New England sales representative of the Radiator Chemical Corporation of Scottsdale, Arizona. He died on May 8, 1975, at age 70 and is buried in St. Patrick Cemetery.

From the receipt of the city charter in 1836 until 1943, Lowell was governed by a “strong” mayor selected directly by the voters. The Plan E system adopted in 1943 and which is still in place today, made a city manager appointed by the city council the chief executive of the city. The mayor, elected by fellow councilors at the start of each term, serves as the chair of the council and the school committee and as the ceremonial head of the city. In two weeks, I’ll provide biographical sketches of the individuals who have served as mayor under that system.

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This week in my Seen & Heard column on richardhowe.com, I reviewed the novel “Isola” by Allegra Goodman, the reality-based story of a young French noblewoman marooned on a deserted island of the coast of Canada in the 1500s; I commented on the passing of sports radio legend Eddie Andelman; mentioned a NYT review of a big James McNeill Whistler art exhibit in London; mentioned the passing of artist David Hockney; and commented on the latest edition of “Cholla Needles” literary magazine which features poems from Paul Marion and Chath pier Sath; and reviewed the new photo exhibit “LowellScapes” at the Brush Gallery.

Time of the End of the Season Part VI

Time of the End of the Season Part V

By Bob Hodge

Bob Hodge grew up in Lowell and went on to graduate from Lowell High (1973) and University of Lowell (1990). He was (and still is) one the greatest runners to come out of this region. He’s also a writer whose 2020 memoir, Tale of the Times: A Runner’s Story, is available at lala books in downtown Lowell and in Kindle format from Amazon. The following is an excerpt from his novel-in-progress.

Already published:

Time episode 1

Time episode 2

Time episode 3

Time episode 4

Time episode 5

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Street Fighting Man

Over the next few weeks heading into the Nationals everything went according to plan although Sal had been trying to petition the AAU to allow Annie run the five thousand unsuccessfully. Annie had one of the fastest times in the country but no concern of the AAU, her entry was late and they decided not to accept it. It is disheartening and demoralizing when your governing body works against the sport and against the athletes it should be serving.

The Fire Plug added a lot to our little group and she seemed changed by her recent experience living in New Zealand. “Willy, I will be honest with you. I just missed home and you guys too much being way down under. We may get back together someday, he is a great guy and I miss him too. We will just have to wait and see if it was meant to be.”

Sal had each of us in his office before we left for a bit of a strategy talk. It had been decided that I would run the ten k only. “Willy, the forecast is calling for extreme heat. I want you to keep the pace honest but don’t try and go out there and blow this field away or they will make you pay. These guys are the real deal and they are no more than slightly impressed by your 3:55.”

Unfortunately, Sal’s strategy was not lining up with my dreams.

We ended up driving the couple of hundred miles up to Knoxville with the store van full of merchandise we would be selling outside the venue. We would all work after we had completed our events and Annie would man the van for both days since she was not competing.

The ten k was on Friday night at 7 and we arrived at our hotel at noon. I went for a three-mile shakeout run and then had lunch and took a nap. I was nervous and was overloaded with adrenaline. I was thinking that the heat wasn’t so bad and that Sal was being too conservative. “He knows how I love to run, how I must run, why insist that I do it his way? I need to go by feeling that is all I know.”

At 5 I put my gear on and as I was trying to pin my number Annie came in and did it for me and then gave me a hug. “You OK Willy? Sure, Fire Plug I’m doing great for someone who is preparing to die a little.”

I got to the track and put my spikes on and did a few strides on the back straight and I chatted a bit with Hernandez, the NCAA Cross Champ I had met briefly last fall on the starting line of the AAU Cross where I ran with Broken Arrow. “Hey Desmarais, we have to stop meeting like this.”

We were twenty-five strong and they lined us up, me on the outside of the first row. The pistol cracked and I broke for the front, bye, bye Johnny, bye, bye Johnny be goode.

The meet organizers had given the coaches a little seating area near the finish line. I was 65 for the first lap and 2:10 at the half. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Sal waving his hands at me. Next lap I ran a 63 and I am now clear of the field and then 4:18 at the mile.

Anyone there who was paying attention sat there with their mouths agape but when I kept pouring it on well they got into it too and a group of high school age kids kept a rhythm clapping going every time I passed them. “Willy’s gone mad! They shouted.” At two I was 8:43 and at 5 k 13:41 a PR. I was on an American Record pace and had a 100-yard lead, maybe more.

I was off somewhere my mind began to wander and drift, my hands started to tingle. I couldn’t remember what lap I was running and was shocked to see a 7 card and I was sinking into the abyss. I was now in survival mode with waves of runners passing me and Jocko patting me on the ass as he went by and I was far away.

The last lap I was wambled and looked like Dorando Pietri in the 1908 Olympic Marathon. The medical crew were already prepared when I finished and collapsed into their waiting arms.

Don’t let the Sun go down on me.

The medical crew put me in a tub of ice and hooked me up for some I.V. fluids. Annie came in to see me and she started weeping it up. “Don’t fret Fire Plug, I’m only partly dead.” “Willy, don’t be an asshole, I was really worried about you.” Sal wouldn’t speak to me, he didn’t even look at me so I just ignored him too.

Jocko finished seventh in the ten k, very respectable and Freddie would wind up finishing fifth in the 1500M in 3:37. He followed Sal’s instructions to the letter. I was super happy for those guys.

Sal took everyone out to dinner but I stayed behind in the room and then went out and got some fast food and a bottle of cheap red wine. I didn’t get drunk though, I just sipped it and contemplated my navel.

The next day we were back in Atlanta and back working in the store when Sal called me into his office. I was happy and I figured we would talk it over and everything would go back to normal but I was wrong.

“Willy I am going to have to let you go. I have other athletes I can coach who are not as stupid, selfish and just plain crazy as you are.” It was a real gut punch.

“Sal, I appreciate everything you have done for me so thank you for that but don’t ever call me crazy, you don’t know nothing about me. I’m just twenty years old trying to figure things out.”

I got up and left and went back to the house and started packing my things. Maybe I was crazy. My Mom died at the State Hospital when I was ten years old though I never found out what she was in for. That was where they sent people with psychological conditions, manic depression etc.

Maybe it’s crazy to try and run yourself into submission but wasn’t that how you became a champion by pushing the boundaries and going where no one was ever willing to go before?

“I beat my body and make it my slave.”

Annie told me that Sal said I could stay as long as I needed but that he had another athlete to take my place coming within the next couple of weeks. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be okay once I get over the shock.”

I went out for a ten miler mostly on the trails in the State Forest, except I just kept going and ran the loop three times in three hours. Then I bought some beer and pizza and got drunk. Jocko, Freddie and Annie were all out. I think they were as shocked as I was.

When Jocko got back he said “Geezus Willy why don’t you beg for forgiveness or something Sal would keep you on.”

“Willy don’t play that.”

Street Fighting Man

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=BUt0dZXPFoU&pp=0gcJCUACo7VqN5tD&ra=m

‘The Map–Early Days in Dracut’ by Paul Marion

While I was born in Lowell, I grew up next door in the town of Dracut, the only place in America with that name, derived from a Draycot in England. Keeping the “y” in the name would have ensured that people know how to pronounce it. This woodsy land was Native American territory for thousands of years before the European settlers came in the 1640s and then made the place an official town in 1701. My family and thousands more were suburban pioneers in the 1950s. We had the advantage of commercial Lowell being close by for shopping and medical services, but the semi-rural setting was far different than what my parents and ancestors had known since landing in the textile factory city in 1880. I’ve been writing memory pieces about the early years in Dracut and am sharing the following one which gives a sense of what it was like in town when I was young.–PM

“Hildreth Street Garden & Trees” by Richard Marion, (oil on canvas, c. 1962)

The Map

Three old apple trees stood in the Hildreth Street yard. For the sixteen years I lived there, we never picked good fruit. Of course, we didn’t spray or prune the trees. Two trees in the side yard bore a Red Delicious apple; the other tree was a McIntosh. We could pull a few good Macs from the tree in the back if they were picked early. I’d sit in the largest V of limbs and get three bites out of scrawny sour green apples. The Delicious trees gave wormy, blemished fruit. Each fall we raked the drops so that lawnmower blades would not get gummed up with sliced apples. My father tired of picking up the apples and one year dumped them into the back of his vegetable garden, covering them with grass clippings. The rotten apples gave the soil an acid overdose, forcing him to plant tomatoes at the opposite end of the garden the next year. His tomatoes were prizes on stout plants with stalks enriched by sheep manure that he brought home in bags from the wool processing mill in North Chelmsford.

I asked my brother Richard, who is ten years older than me, about moving to the Hildreth Street house from Orleans Street in Lowell’s Centralville neighborhood, and he wrote:

Sandy edges of the inclined driveway, paved in blacktop, accommodated two-foot-high purple- and magenta-blossom zinnias while my castor beans planted as a yard-edge barrier struggled, versus the roadside-grazing finds I’d transplanted at the fieldstone property line in a low-lying zone of vigorous day lilies, which were highly irrigated from the topsoil-depleted sold-acres next door where stood the abandoned elevated turkey pens. The loss of drinking orchard trees and willows due to the land-clearing added to water problems in many of the new ranch cellars. The inexperienced builders had made errors in foundation-siting and grade levels.

     Along the southeast side of the foundation large white hollyhocks seeded themselves and flourished in enormous sunlight. The original ribbed, red-wine wooden shakes were later painted green, matching the broad leaves of the hollyhocks. Around the front cement stair-block, five steps, grew intense red zinnias in a crescent garden, a gift from Mrs. Fournier across the street. The sturdy flowers may have benefited from years of nitrate-rich manure from her animals. On the borders of Dad’s modest vegetable garden, cosmos, marigolds, and petunias thrived in season. The right rear section had the tall ‘dinner plate’ dahlias and staked, sun-drenched beefsteak tomatoes. Some years, zucchini and cucumber tendrils ran between the tomato plants.

     An explorer amidst seemingly untamed overgrowth in surrounding fields and woods, I gathered pieces of tree limbs and roots, unaware of wabi-sabi or bonsai ideas, and arranged them toward the back of the garden. I had seen Mémère Roy’s coffee-table artificial Asian plant, an Easter gift from her sons. In late fall, I harvested fir, laurel, and pine boughs in the woods for Christmas wreaths that I made in the cellar and sold to friends and relatives. The spending money came in handy at the holiday.

He offered an equally detailed survey of the house interior, from closet dimensions and refinished cedar chest to his college-time drafting board positioned at his middle-bedroom window with a view toward the weightless white apple blossoms edged in pink each spring. At one point he rescued a black-leather reclining couch put out for trash down the street and replaced his standard bed. It looked like a psychiatrist’s office in there.

The immediate neighborhood consisted of young families and my grandparents, the old folks of the street. Most of houses were modest in size and built on lots squared out of farmland that was ringed by woods. For my parents, the low-interest mortgage was their war chit from my father’s veteran’s benefits, the so-called G.I. Bill—a ticket out of the declining city. They paid $14,000 for the compact, three-bedroom ranch house in 1956. I found an undated receipt for a five percent down payment written in blue ink on a lined page torn from a pocket-sized, spiral-bound notebook:

Mr. Marion,

     Received from Mr. Marion

$700.00 deposit on House situated

on 1249 Hildreth St.

            Costas G. Psoinas

That’s not the name of a real estate agent. That’s the name of the house builder, the developer in today’s language, but back then the term was “contractor.” I’m pretty sure it was his first house sale or one of his first sales. He built many houses in the neighborhood, an area sometimes referred to as Crosby Heights for Crosby Road. Hildreth Street was the main street at the bottom of the hill. The new Janice Ave. and the venerable Crosby Road ran up the hill on either side. Three new streets linked those two: Christy, Stephen, and Gloria. Another uphill street was started but abandoned. The names are from the contractor’s family—his wife, Janice, and kids. Hildreth and Crosby are named for ancient Dracut families. Later, two small housing tracts were added to the neighborhood: Raven Acres and Cinderella Circle. Other builders developed these. Raven Acres has three streets: Raven Road, Oriole Drive, and Blue Jay Avenue. Cinderella Circle was carved out behind our house in what I knew as Gendreau’s field. Fifteen houses sprang up. I didn’t like the precious Cinderella name.

So many ethnic families from Lowell were moving into Dracut and other towns ringing the city that the Sun newspaper introduced Suburban News. Almost everyone had relatives in Lowell, shopped downtown, used dentists and doctors with offices on Merrimack Street, went to movies at the B. F. Keith and Strand theaters. Dracut offered none of these, but its Lakeview Park and Ballroom had long been popular with Lowell people. The amusement center on Lake Mascuppic, good for swimming and boating, had a dance hall, carousel, and arcade with a floating duck game. Pull a duck from circulating “pond water” at the counter and check to see if the number on the underside matches a prize like a plastic comb or a stuffed bear. Lakeview Park on the edge of town near Tyngsboro had been brought into easy reach by the street trolley company decades earlier. Later, an IGA supermarket opened near the high school and a dentist moved into the Navy Yard business cluster at Lakeview and Pleasant streets.
Here’s the layout:

C         G L O R I A                J

R         S T E P H E N            A

O         C H R I S T Y             N

S                                              I

B                                              C

Y                                              E

D E R

N                          E

I                              L

C                             L

A

                                      X <<<Marion house

<<< H     I     L     D     R     E     T    H>>>

This diagram is not to scale, but it shows the relationships of streets. While growing up, I didn’t know anyone versed in town history. That changed when I was a junior in high school and had a teacher who stressed the importance of local history—her name was Mrs. Norton. My parents were really Lowell people. Many third- and fourth-generation Franco Americans, Greek Americans, Irish Americans, and Polish Americans moved from Lowell to Dracut after World War II. These new suburban dwellers were more wrapped up in their ethnic backgrounds or the city’s history than in the town’s heritage.

Paul Marion (c) 2026

Dogs I Have Known

Dogs I Have Known

By Leo Racicot

I didn’t always like dogs. When I was 8 or 9, I was walking through North Common when a big German Shepherd began following me, barking its head off, baring its teeth viciously. It chased me onto a bench where I stood for what seemed like the longest time until it finally gave up and let me get down.

But for the longest time, I bothered my mother to let me have a big dog, not a Shepherd, a setter, Irish or English. My friend, David Bowles, had one, Freckles. Freckles, a frolicsome setter, would often follow David and me whenever we’d head out on our explorations. We three mostly liked to tread the crags and crevices of The Ledge, a weedy, wooded stretch next door to Club Lafayette. The Ledge was located where now the Jaycees Housing Project is. It was a jungle-y stretch of fun that appealed to our boy’s sense of exploration. Freckles liked it, too, and I can still see him leaping among the rocks, his floppy ears positioned for whatever critters might be nearby, whatever adventure lay ahead. We, one time, walked all the way to The Roundhouse, on Wannalancit Street near Bartlett School. A day of joy.

My mother decided I was too young to take care of a dog, that a setter was too big for our apartment; it wouldn’t be happy here. So, that dream was dashed. She did allow Diane and me to have a small dog, a poodle we named Gigi Mimi (Diane said she had to have a middle name) Diane also remembered a little white dog Marie gave us. I have no memory of this white dog. Neither Gigi Mimi nor the white dog stayed with us long.

When she was in her early twenties, Diane discovered Pekingese, fell in love with the strain and began to breed them, as a sideline. Over the course of a forty-year period, she kept and loved twelve and I grew to love them, too. There were sometimes 4 and 5 of the runty loveable little mops running around the house. For many years, there was a story in the family that Diane’s partner, Rico, “came to the house to buy a dog and never left” (he did leave after 28 years but that’s another story for another time). Over the years, the Pekes were: Mio, Pudge (Pudgy, Mio’s mate), Pebbles, Brownie, Cashew (Cash), Prince, Buffy, Jake, Lucy, Emily & Buddy, all darling dogs, each, of course, with a personality all its own. As for Mio — I was living in the downstairs apartment, Diane and her friend, Carol, upstairs. It developed that, any time Mio had the chance, she’d rush down the stairs to see and be with me. I adored that girl and she sensed it. We adored each other. In short order, she became my dog. We were inseparable. The way she came to her name was this: I still feel peculiar telling the story of how she was given the name Mio –people still scratch their heads puzzling out how a Chinese breed wound up with the Japanese name, Miyoshi. At that time, I liked the Japanese actress, Miyoshi Umeki. Thus my dog became Miyoshi, Mio, for short. The inevitable teasing — Leo & Mio — began but as I say, we were a perfect Ike and Mike match. I loved her pretty face, her expressive, almost doll-like features and antics. We went everywhere together. On our long walks, Mio especially loved going to Wingaersheek Beach; we made a lot of trips there. One time, we drove all the way to Race Point near Provincetown. The waves that day were tall as mountains, taller than the waves in a Hokusai print. I still see Mio racing to-and-fro, so excited was she to be in this exhilarating place. Seeking to duplicate this adventure, I took my boss, John Callahan, up on his kind offer to let us do an overnight stay at his Uncle Bill’s cottage in Dennis. I don’t know why but Mio hated the stay, whined and cried the whole time until I felt I had to bring us home. One of the lingering regrets of my life is that I took up with a fellow named Peter, was spending so much time with him that it didn’t leave much time for Mio. She was getting on in years, suddenly began moping, pining, wasn’t drinking much, eating even less. She developed kidney issues and had to be put down. I was with her when the vet applied the needle. I don’t think she died from the poison or kidney failure. That beloved, little girl died of a broken heart, due to my negligence and the selfish choices I made.

All the Pekes Diane kept became our animal family. Pebbles was the tiny clown of the troupe; I’ll never forget when she gave birth, her natural maternal instincts didn’t kick in; she had no clue what was happening to her as one after another of her first litter started to emerge. Clearly, she was overwhelmed to where she stopped cutting the umbilical cord with her teeth and was, instead, running around in circles frantically, the puppy whipping around with her at the end of its cord. Rico stepped in to play midwife and saw to it the puppies were safely delivered.

Pudgy was a live wire, liked to bark and jump at nothing and everything. When my friend, Jane Wall, came to visit, he immediately ran over and bit her through her boot. Pudge was no bigger than a wish. To see him go up against people and dogs bigger than himself was comical. Pudgy was fearless.Pudgy and Brownie did not get along, constantly having to be separated. Following one episode, Brownie injured a disc and was never able to walk again.

Darling Prince looked just like his mom, Mio, and for that I loved him. He had a charming habit of showing you he could sit on his backside and balance himself for long periods of time. Prince lived a long life. One morning Rico woke up to find Prince had died in the night beside the kitchen stove.

Cash was the most beautiful, little guy; he was all white, pure white fro head-to-toe. A real stunner. In his last days, he would snuggle up close to me on the floor and just be with me, quiet, still.

Jake was a dog who, like Joseph in The Bible. had a coat of many colors. Gorgeous dog. Late in life, he was diagnosed with Cushing’s Disease and took to eating constantly anything he found on the floor or ground. He ballooned up to an enormous size and had trouble breathing, walking, Cushing’s is fatal. Jake mercifully passed away from his many days of suffering at the age of 13. I liked taking him and Emily for walks on North Common. Once we got over there, one would head in one direction, the other in the opposite direction. It got so I wasn’t walking them, they were walking me.

Emily was a sweet, sweet Southern girl. She came to us from Louisiana. She’d somehow survived Hurricane Katrina. Rescuers found her cowering underneath a truck at the gas station. As a companion, she was a total delight. When happy, she’d get on her back and do a Happy Dance, wiggling back and forth in obvious joy.  Following a bad fall down the back stairs, Emily went blind. Over the next months, we watched in awe as she managed skillfully to learn to deal with not being able to see, finding her way around as if she could. I miss that little girl.

Lucy was a rescue animal who’d been abused by men. Whenever I came to visit, she’d follow me all over the house trying to bite me. She never did though, a case of her bark being worse than her bite.

I became so fond of all Diane’s dogs. But Buddy; now Buddy became another Mio. That boy adored me and I, him. Buddy was a wonder. Friends shake their heads in disbelief when I tell them that Buddy “talked”. He had a deep, gruff, old man voice and would actually make very human sounds in response to what you said. Amazing. Following a throat wash the vet performed on him, his voice disappeared. How I loved and still miss the many epic walks Buddy and I took together, all around The Acre and beyond. We even went as far as the Bridge Street Bridge. I’d bring my camera along on these picture taking trips and it got so Buddy knew instinctively when I wanted to stop to snap a photo, would wait for me until he heard the camera’s click then merrily lead us on our way. Buddy Racicot– camera assistant. I loved that boy to pieces. He struggled most of his life with respiratory ailments until he couldn’t take anymore. He’d have the most alarming attacks. The day Diane and I brought him to the vet to put him to sleep was one of the most heartbreaking days of our lives. Diane was never the same again. Over a period of about twelve years, she had weathered Rico’s sudden departure, then Covid, then Buddy’s death, then the return of her cancer which had stayed dormant for 60 years. It was all too much for her. She passed away in2026 at the age of 68 and is buried with the ashes of her Pekingese. I loved all Diane’s Pekingese, still see each and every one of them through the old telescope of memory, hope one day I’ll see them again…

Oh, I can’t forget Rico’s beagle, Milu, an amazing girl who mostly lived with his mother downstairs. Milu would climb the stairs and actually knock on the door just like a person. At first, we’d say “Who is it?”  until when there came no answer, we’d open the door and in walked Milu as if to say, “What took you guys so long??” She was a riot. She loved to go walking North Common with Rico and when he wasn’t quite ready to take her, she’d follow him all over the house until he got out the leash. Never keep a lady waiting!  She wound up moving with him to LeHigh Acres and became a true Florida girl, spending her days sunning in the yard.

When M.F.K. Fisher was in her declining years, a battery of home health aides was required to tend to her care. One of these was a very nice lady named Connie Butler. Whenever Connie was around, so was her dog, an Old English Sheepdog that she (and all of us) called Lucy Butler, not Lucy, mind you; it as always “Lucy Butler”. Lucy Butler was a love, friendly to everyone. I adored her and took a lot of her pictures in Last House. She always liked the attention. I don’t know what became of her and no one left of the M.F.K. Fisher Gang seems to know. She must have died many years ago, I’m glad our paths crossed and that I was able to take and save some images to remind me of her from-time-to-time.

Our neighbors, the Deschenes, Teresa (Terri) and Andy had a German Shepherd, Queenie. Queenie was always barking her head off. I was scared of her. She reminded me of the Shepherd who’d cornered me on the Common bench when I was a kid. I don’t trust Shepherds and didn’t trust Queenie, even though I was protected by the fence separating our two properties. She did make a good watchdog. When she passed, Theresa and Andy bought a Saint Bernard they named Clarence. Clarence was the biggest dog I’d ever seen with the biggest head I’d ever seen. A lovable bear of a dog with a quizzical droopy tolerance  Nothing phased Clarence and why should it? Not likely anyone was going to bother him!  Diane and I used to like watching him sit and drool in the Summertime. A good, good boy.

In the late 80s, early years of the 90s, Nancy and Joe (of Lowell’s N. Blau circle of friends) acquired a canine named Sam. Sam was a mongrel. Whenever we bunch got together to cook, camp out, play music, sing songs, Sam would join us, quietly reclining in a corner or in the midst of us  appointing himself Group Mascot, Group Muse for our tender young pretensions. When I left Lowell in’93, I left all these beloved people behind. By the time I returned in 2007, all had vanished into what I call the post-college landscape. That’s Life, isn’t it?

When I came back to the city, I was looking for something to do with my time. Serendipitously, my Cambridge Library colleague, Vicki, asked if I’d be interested in dog-sitting for her friend, Sally, who lived on Riverwalk Way with her husband, Mitch and their two Boston terriers, Reuben (Ruby)and Shecky. I jumped at the chance and became fast friends with Sally (who’s always been a kindred spirit). When she arranged a meet-and-greet with “the boys”, I fell in love instantly with them, especially Ruby who took to me instantly, kissing me in as many places as he could reach. Such a lover boy. Shecky wasn’t sure he liked me. In fact, I know Sally will agree with me when I say that dog hated my guts from the get-go, so much so that Sally and Mitch decided it would be best to board him while they were away. Ruby and I were left to our own devices for ten days and boy, did we have a wonderful, fun time together. Ruby was a frolicking textbook illustration of the phrase “good boy!”. He was friendly, thoughtful, attentive to my ministrations. We had the most engaging times on our walks. Ruby was a darling of a fellow, a wee bit rascally at times but always delightfully so. He was fond of an orange rubber ball and had to have it everywhere we went. If we couldn’t find it, there was no way we were leaving the house without it. Ruby made sure that orange ball and him were inseparable.

There are, for me, fewer perfect pleasures to be had than walking a dog. How I miss my Buddy and the many epic walks we took. I liked bringing my camera with me in case we happened upon a photographic scene, an interesting bower of bittersweet, an oddball garden sculpture. As if psychic, Buddy began to instinctively know when a good shot was coming up. He’d stop in his tracks, look up at the to-be-photographed object, wait until I’d clicked the shutter then proceed, as if to say, “Alrighty then, let’s continue on our way.”  I think of him literally every single day, even talk to him. I know his spirit, which was beside me all the time, still hovers in the ether.

_______________________

Buffy & Jake

Cash (Cashew)

Cornered by a German Shepherd

Emily

Myoshi (Mio)

My Buddy

Rudy (Reuben) with his orange ball

Sam guarding the recording equipment

Tousling with Lucy Butler at MFK Fisher’s

With Mio at Wingaersheek