Perhaps you remember my picking on this town before, Worcester, Massachusetts that is. A tired old industrial town with plenty of tired old industrial buildings that typify a look that is so very New England. If only these classic structures could talk ! Who knows what tales of toil born within their walls would be told ?

Over time it is likely that many of these buildings will be refurbished and returned to their past stature. Certainly they still have “good bones”. That fact alone should go a long way toward the renaissance of this old town.

We were up in Sutton, Mass. this weekend celebrating Sunshine and Vanessa’s birthdays, thus our close brush with Worcester. Recall, if you may, my past account of Jude and I perusing through Worcester years ago when we found ourselves a bit overcome with hunger.

Perhaps it was a Sunday morning. Nothing was open that even nearly resembled a restaurant. We found a bar on a destitute street corner that at least emitted a pale ray of light from the window. In we walked .

“Any chance we could get a little something to eat here”, we inquired of the barmaid .

Oddly, she gave us a deer in the headlights stare, as though that was the strangest question ever asked in the place.

“No, we don’t do anything like that here”, she replied.

A sole female customer sat at the bar hovering over her mug of beer. With a half-chuckle through a beer surface, she barely murmured “Welcome to Worcester .”

Thereinafter, those very same words are an adjunct to our lexicon. And the lady who spoke those words? I have to imagine that she’s still sitting at that bar, dozing and grumbling over her blessed mug !

Little must she know that her words, “Welcome to Worcester” are indelibly etched in the minds of a couple of out-of-town Jerseyites, complete with imitation of her beer mug accent .


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