Violence in Andre Dubus III's Townie: A Memoir

In Andre Dubus III’s memoir, Townie: A Memoir, Andre tells a story about his childhood and his experiences growing up; specifically his struggle with violence and how he eventually overcame it. The memoir contains a strong theme of violence and how it affected his life style and choices. In essence, Andre, the character in the memoir rather than the grown up and matured author, is a case study for violence in regards to how at a certain point in his life, he was completely taken over and consumed by it. Throughout the story, Andre’s attitude towards violence shifts from fearing it, to becoming consumed by it, and finally, to freeing himself from it. Another character similar to Andre was Micky Ward from the 2010 award winning movie, The Fighter, directed by David O. Russel. Micky Ward followed in the footsteps of his older brother and became a professional boxer, yet struggled with making a decision between his family and what he believed to be his career. In the end, Micky is able to find salvation and make the right decision. Both Andre and Micky dealt with similar struggles and were able to eventually overcome them.

One of the main themes in Andre Dubus’ novel is violence and how Andre eventually overcomes it. For a majority of his childhood, Andre’s father was not present in his life; he sent the child support checks and showed up occasionally to see the kids, but for the most part, Andre’s mother raised them herself. As a single mother caring for three children, paying rent was a difficulty and the family never stayed in one place for long. Because of that, Andre and his sibling were always the new kids in the area and they always ended up being the ones that others took pleasure in bullying. After multiple incidences, one situation with his brother, Jeb, finally pushed Andre over the edge and influenced him into doing something about it. Jeb came home from school one day to Tommy J. waiting on him to beat him up. Andre narrates, “…Tommy J. had beaten up my brother and called my mother a whore. And what had I done? I’d pleaded with him. I’d called him Tommy and pleaded…I stood in front of the sink and the mirror. I was almost surprised to see someone standing there. This kid with a smooth face and not one whisker, this kid with long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, , this kid with narrow shoulders and soft arm and chest muscles and no balls. This kid had no balls. I looked into his eyes: I don’t care if you get your face beat in, I don’t care if you get kicked in the head or stabbed or even shot, I will never allow you not to fight back ever again. You hear me?” (Dubus 78).

It was at this point in his life that fourteen year old Andre began his descent into violence. He immediately began working out and building muscle with an impressive amount of commitment, a commitment that some may even consider unhealthy because of his motive and his resulting thirst for violence and lack of self-preservation. He said, “I don’t know if it was having others beside me, or that we were united in our rage, but I felt little fear, only a heart-thumping, dry-mouthed desire to hurt somebody, really hurt someone” (Dubus 93). As can be seen by this quote, Andre’s attitude had completely changed in a short period of time to the point where not only did he stop shying away from violence, but he started to revel in it and seek it out like a drug.

In the latter half of the memoir after Dubus began reading the works of Marx and Engels and Weber, he learned about the history of societies and class struggles and he began to understand society at a deeper level. Eventually, he began writing and in a sense, writing was Andre’s salvation. After he wrote his first short story, he says, “I felt more like me than I ever had, as if the years I’d lived so far had formed layers of skin and muscle over myself that others saw as me when the real one had been underneath all along, and writing—even writing badly—had peeled away those layers, and I knew then that if I wanted to stay this awake and alive, if I wanted to stay me, I would have to keep writing” (Dubus 259). Andre admits that writing was what he was meant to do and it was who he was. It was a part of him that had lay undiscovered for years until he finally chanced upon it and discovered its value to him.

In present-day Andre’s talk with FYSH classes, Andre mentioned that most of his friends and/or people he knew from when he was younger and violent were now either locked up in jail or dead, and he admitted that if he had not discovered writing, that he would have ended up just like them. There was even a passage in the memoir where Andre visits a jail and he recognizes someone he used to know and the public affairs man showing him around said to him, “‘Yeah? Good story about him.’ And [he] told me how two or three Thanksgivings ago, all four Murphy brothers were in at the same time, some awaiting a hearing or trial, others serving a sentence. ‘And Frankie, the bank robber—he’s dead now…” (Dubus 381). The man he saw in the prison that day is only one example of the countless others that he knew that ended up dead or in jail because of destructive decisions that they had made in their lives. The impact writing had on Andre’s life was so extreme that it changed his outlook and completely turned his life around by changing it for the better.

An extremely important part of the memoir, a part that Andre still considers one of the most important parts in his life, tested his new outlook on life and really showed how much he had changed. On a return trip to London, Andre and his wife Liz were in a train car full of elderly and school girls when a group of street thugs started making their way through the car on their way to the next car over, where they were meeting a drug dealer. Being the only young man in the car, it fell to Andre to deal with the men, who were very clearly scaring the young girls who were trying to sleep. Instead of picking a fight with the men, Andre used his words to explain to the men  how he was simply trying to keep the girls safe, making them understand that he was doing exactly what the men would be doing in his place. Eventually, when the dealer realized who was responsible for chasing away his clients, he came to confront Andre, very much intending to start a violent fight. It is at this moment when Andre has his moment of truth:

“In the pale fluorescence from the cars, with his long hair and sideburns, the narrow face and deep eyes, he was every street-tough I ‘d ever known: he was Cody Perkins about to knock out Sully; he was Clay Whelan just before he chased me down; he was Kenny V. punching me while Ricky J. beat on Cleary; he was Dennis Murphy slapping the old lady with the thin branch; he was Tommy J. Walking away from my bleeding brother, and he was Steve Lynch the second before I threw my first punch. Except now I wasn’t going to throw a punch, even if the dealer was to step away from the wall and square off to shut me up; I wasn’t going to fight him either, and it was as if in my explanation to him, I had stood between those trains and taken off all my clothes, then began to pull away every muscle I’d ever built: I ripped off the plate of my pectorals, dropping them at my feet. I reached up to each shoulder and unhooked both deltoids and let them fall, too; then I reached around for the muscles of my upper back, the first to show up years earlier, and dropped them at the feet of the dark dealer, speaking to him all along as if I’d never learned to do anything but talk, as if this armor I’d forged had never been needed because I could trust the humanity of the other to show itself. Trust. I was going to trust this stranger, this man who had entered my train car and not to talk. I was going to trust him to see and to listen and to do the right thing…No armor, no sword” (Dubus 357-8).

In that moment, Andre had a moment of self-realization of the new person that he had become; the person that knew his physical capabilities, yet knew how to use his words because that was the wisest thing to do. He opened up not only to the dealer, but also to himself in that defining moment of his life where he most definitely could have used violence to end the conflict, but his attitude had changed enough for him to know that violence would not do nothing to improve the situation.

Another interesting character, slightly similar to Andre, and in a vaguely similar struggle as Andre is Micky Ward, from David O. Russel’s 2010 Oscar-winning film, The Fighter. In The Fighter, Micky Ward strives to advance his career in boxing, but struggles with the decision between choosing his family or a reputed business to do so. His brother, Dicky Ward, the once “Pride of Lowell” had been his coach since the very beginning, but Dicky was also a crack addict and not the most reliable of people, yet Micky stayed with him out of a sense of familial loyalty. Micky’s mother was also his manager and helped schedule and keep track of his matches and winnings. Basically, boxing was almost like a family business, but after a certain point, with Dicky succumbing to his addiction, Micky’s career was starting to suffer. So when Micky was offered to be supported by a larger corporation that could promise to give him quality training with state-of-the-art equipment, training, coaches, and other resources, Micky struggled with making the decision because of his loyalty to his family, and his family’s belief that the businessmen cared for only that: business, and that they would not help him out as selflessly as his own family would. Micky still chose to accept the corporation’s offer, but in the end, he realized his mistake and found salvation by accepting both his family’s help and the professionals’ help. While violence was a central part to both Micky’s and Andre’s stories, with Micky, the struggle was more about balancing his family and career, while with Andre, it was about his new found hobby, and current career, saving him from violence.

Today, as he is reflecting on his past, Andre talked about how he forgave everyone who had ever harmed him, and that if he were to run into anyone that he had ever harmed, that he would apologize to them, but one thing he did say was that if he ever ran into the man who raped his sister, he would kill her. And that again, is an important reflection on Andre’s attitude towards violence. It has been years since he gave up violence, even swearing to himself that he would never yell at his children, and years for him to come to terms with himself, even forgiving everyone who had harmed him when he was younger, but his love for his family is strong enough that if he were to ever run into his sister’s rapist, he would kill him in a heartbeat.

Throughout his life, Andre’s attitude towards violence shifted considerably, from a point where he was victimized by it, to when it influenced him into making a difference, to consuming him, and finally to him freeing himself of it through writing. Andre’s life was a journey of learning and acceptance and although violence was a negative part of his life, it ultimately makes him who he is today.

Lowell Excursions, Pt. 2

One of the things that helps distinguish Lowell is how so many different cultures come together to form Lowell’s culture. Since coming to Lowell, I have explored the city both on and off of campus to get to know the city and get a better sense of what Lowell is. One of the places we visited was a Cambodian restaurant, Simply Khmer, which is run by a Cambodian couple, one of whom is a refugee of the Khmer Rouge. A few friends of mine also took me to a Mexican restaurant where we had the unique experience of listening to a mariachi band play for the patrons of the restaurant. Lastly I went to a South Indian restaurant, Udupi Bhavan, where I almost felt like the food I ate at home, and it was a welcome change from the school dining hall food. Because food is such an essential aspect of a culture, each of these three restaurants gave me a small glimpse into the lifestyles of people from the different cultures, which gives an understanding of how they assimilated to life in Lowell without leaving behind their traditions and lifestyle.

When we went as a class to the Cambodian restaurant, Simply Khmer, one of the first things I noticed about the restaurant were the Asian accents around the place, like the tall bamboo stalks in every corner, the artwork on the walls, and even the giant fish in the fish tank added to the restaurant's ambiance. Two tables had been reserved for the class and after everyone had been seated, the restaurant owner and his wife came out to speak to us about his story and experience in Cambodia during the Khmer Rouge. The owner, Sam, started off by explaining that he was only a child when the Khmer Rouge was in power. The Khmer Rouge was a communist party, aided by the Vietnamese, that rose to power as a result of the French's attempt to colonize Cambodia. Nearly two million people were killed under the Khmer regime for anything that could potentially associate them with rebel groups, such as being educated or gathering to hold discussions. Sam explained how when he was a boy, one day his dad came home and told them they had to leave home and that they had to pack up their essential belongings and evacuate their village. In particular, he touched on how they used to have a dog and that they had to leave the dog behind, but that his father would still go back every so often to check back on their home and on the dog. One day, however, his father did not come back, and up until today, it is still not completely certain what happened to him, but it is highly likely that like so many others who disappeared, he was executed. Sam then explained how he was able to get a foster family and eventually he opened up Simply Khmer in Lowell because cooking was one of the skills he had a knack for and had had to have when he was younger. Today, he is the main chef in his restaurant and he and his wife both successfully run the place together. One thing I got out of this visit was that after coming to America, Sam did not lose the traditions and values of the country he came from, rather he brought his culture to Lowell and while bringing a piece of his old home with him to share with others in the area, he made it a part of Lowell's diverse culture as well.
My second excursion took place a week ago when my friends surprised me and took me out for a birthday dinner at a local Mexican restaurant called El Potro, which translates to "cowboy" in Spanish. When we arrived at the place, it took me a moment to locate the restaurant 's small sign amidst the other shops lining the block. We entered the restaurant and were greeted by a friendly waiter who, after seating us, handed us the menus and gave us a few minutes to decide what we wanted. Instead of looking at the menu, I spent a good amount of time just observing the surroundings. The restaurant was a small and cozy place, with a bright red orange and yellow color scheme and frames/artwork lining the walls and booths, that gave it a very Latino ambiance. Most surprising was that there was also a live Mariachi band performing for the patrons--many of whom appeared to be Hispanic or Latin American, which was a very unique experience; I had been to Mexican restaurants before, but this was my first time listening to a Mariachi band in one. It so happened that when the waiter came back out to take our order, I was not ready because I had spent the past five minutes admiring the restaurant's design rather than looking at the menu. When I finally did look at the menu, I decided on a vegetable enchilada and my friends decided on fajitas, a burrito, and nachos, which may be considered "tex-mex" food, but is still prepared in Mexican style. The food came within ten minutes, freshly cooked and hot. Each dish came with a side of either beans or rice or both, which is typical since beans and rice are both typical Mexican foods. What stood out most to me about this restaurant was the mariachi band, the Spanish-speaking staff, and the mix of different patrons eating there. Just like with the Cambodian restaurant, eating at the Mexican restaurant gave me a glimpse of Mexican culture, especially because of the Mariachi band, and it was interesting to see how well the Mexican culture was accepted and integrated into Lowell's culture as a whole.
The third place I went to was Udupi Bhavan, a South Indian restaurant located past South Campus off of Pawtucket St. Normally I do not enjoy--or used to not enjoy--eating out at an Indian restaurant because the point of going out to eat is to have something different for once, and my mother already makes Indian like nobody else can, so why pay someone to make something that my mother could just make at home? However, now that I do not live at home, the dining hall food gets repetitive and boring, especially for a vegetarian like me, and all of a sudden Indian food is the closest thing to "home away from home" in terms of food. I took a few friends with me for dinner and when we arrived at the restaurant, were seated at a small table in the corner. The seating area was not very large, but the place was clearly popular because once 6:00 hit, the tables filled up quickly and there was even a fair sized line of people waiting to be seated. The whole place reminded me of India itself, from the designs on the wallpaper to the paintings of various Hindu gods and goddesses framed along the counter tops. This time, I could relate to how Indian culture was brought to Lowell and that it became a part of the Lowell community. This restaurant was clearly a popular place to eat at for Indians in the area because it was just like eating home cooked food and its presence and popularity shows how Indian customs and traditions were accepted into Lowell's own culture.
By visiting three restaurants, all of which can be found withing a two to three mile radius of each other, of three different countries, I was able to see how prevalent Lowell's cultural diversity and acceptance is. Food is a large part of a country's traditions and values and if a counry's food has been accepted as a part of Lowell, it is fair to say that those cultures have become a part of Lowell's as well. Despite representing three completely different cultures, by bringing a part of their respective cultures to Lowell, they have added to Lowell's overall culture as a whole.

The Common Creative

For a person from a quiet suburban town in a large city like Lowell, finding a peaceful moment is magical; to only hear the sound of water flowing and leaves rustling in the wind, to not hear the cars rushing by, occasionally blowing a horn, is like music to the ears. The hardest thing to do is find a place to yourself, where no one will walk by and disturb your peace, where you can turn your phone off and disappear in your thoughts for an hour, because even that basic privacy has been stolen from you since you came to live in a dorm with one or more roommates and an entire hallway of loud college students. Any place you go to is full of people, you can't even find a bathroom that will stay empty for more than five minutes.

A walk down the canal might seem perfect, but then you see the mill chimneys in the distance and you still hear the sound of cars and you realize the canal is not a good enough refuge from the city.

You see a path behind your dorm and the reds and oranges and yellows of the leaves blanketing the ground call out to you and you think that this path may very well be the quiet place you seek.

You walk along the path, searching for a spot to sit and you make your way down to the riverbank which provides the perfect place to sit and let your thoughts take you out of the present...or so you think.It only takes fifteen minutes for the first smoker to arrive, with his joint rolled up and held firmly between his fingers. You think that you're fine and you won't be bothered, as long as he is quiet and does not bother you. Soon enough, the smell of weed permeates the air around you and he even comes up to offer you some...you glare at him and walk away; this was not the magical spot you were seeking.

You head back to the path and walk further along it, hoping to come across another spot by the riverbank, away from the smoker hangout and in your irritation at the people who had to choose such a beautiful place to get high, you almost miss the little trail leading back down to another spot by the river. This spot is much smaller, only enough space for a few people to stand, but the view of the water and sky and the opposite bank is beautiful. There is even a large rock with a good vantage point so that even if someone were to come alone, they would not notice you and you would be left in peace. You let yourself relax, believing that since you barely managed to find this spot, others would not find it either.

And this time you are right; you found a peaceful moment and it was magical; no cars, no people, no trash littering the ground. Only you, the trees, the water, and the occasional squirrel or bird.

You think about your day and your friends and you simply watch the river flow and watch the birds dive into the water and watch the squirrels dig around in the blanket of leaves on the ground...and for the first time since you came here, you forget about the homework due at midnight, you forget about your roommate issues, you forget about all the things that added up and that you did not even know where stressing you out until you forgot about them for that one hour. And that was magical.

 I based my Common creative assignment off of a series of photographs from Issue 9 by Teju Cole (pages 31-41). In his piece, Cole has a set of photographs of different places in Switzerland and also includes a brief story at the beginning that coincides with the photos and shares a little bit behind what the though process was or what is happening in that photo. I chose to base my assignment off of this piece for a few different reasons, most important being that I very much enjoy photography. I also liked how Cole told a story at the beginning with many different interpretations; I chose to look at it as the story the photographs were telling.

My own piece tells my story of finding  a quiet place to relax and be alone in. As a large city, Lowell is full of people and cars and even in the dead of night sirens can be heard as the police are called from one emergency to the next. This noise and busy atmosphere is part of what makes Lowell the city that it is. However what makes it special is that despite its high level of activity, one can still find a quiet and secluded place, far away from the loud and obnoxious students in the dorm and away from the stressors in life. By choosing to share photographs from along my endeavor, I shared a unique side of Lowell that few people see and and get to appreciate as they go through their hectic and day to day lives, unaware of the silence and relaxation that can be found only a short distance away. For me, this spot is a two minute walk from my dorm building and it is a perfect spot to go to for a late night walk (not alone, of course) when I need a break from studying for a big exam or writing a paper due the next day. It is this side of Lowell that I enjoy the most, and much of this enjoyment comes from the feeling of fulfillment from having found a special and magical spot that I can almost call my own. 

The photographs I included in this assignment reflect my feeling of contentment and helps portray the natural beauty and quietness of this special place in Lowell. Doubtless, there are many other places like this in Lowell, where the sounds of the city fade away and a person can get lost in their thoughts and by sharing this assignment, I also hope for others to be able to find a spot of their own like this for when they themselves are stressed out or just need to be on their own.

Lowell Excursions

One of the things that helps distinguish Lowell is the wide array of historical and modern turn of events that help shape and define the city’s culture. Since coming to Lowell I have explored the city both on and off of campus to get a better sense of what Lowell is. One of the first places we visited was the Boott Cotton Mills which was the first set of mills built in Lowell and provided a brief glimpse into the history of Lowell. We also went to the Merrimack Repertory Theatre where Benjamin Scheuer performed a one man musical that told his coming-of-age story that shared a personal and individual experience and brought the audience, the people of Lowell, to relate together. Lastly, I went to a Riverhawk hockey game which made me a part of the modern Lowell society.

Visiting the Boott Cotton Mills provided insight on the historical aspect of Lowell and how it was the center of the Industrial Revolution. The Boott Cotton Mill was the first mill built in Lowell and represents the starting point or center of the Industrial Revolution. Lowell’s location on the river is what specifically made Lowell and ideal spot for industry, because water power could be turned into mechanical power that could then be used to run the mills. We were brought into a room packed with mechanical looms. After seeing how ridiculously close the looms were to each other, I was not surprised to hear how many injuries occurred in the mills. However, I was taken aback when the tour guide told us that in the past the looms were actually placed even closer, with barely enough space to walk safely. Another interesting thing was the amount of noise the looms were making. Out of all the looms in the room, only about half a dozen were running and when we left the room my ears were ringing after only five minutes of standing in the room. Working for over ten hours every day with hundreds of these looms running at the same time is unimaginable and it was no wonder that along with all the physical injuries, many women also had hearing problems after working in the mills for a while. After visiting the loom room, we were taken to a workshop where we were assigned roles to play to simulate working in an assembly line at the factory. It was interesting to see that despite the ridiculous work expectations and pay, women were still coming to work at the mills because even with the terrible conditions, they were getting extra spending money, which was something they were not getting from working in a rural environment. The women also had little choice in the quality of their work environment or their pay; if they held a strike or protested they were very easily replaceable by immigrants or other women looking for opportunities to earn spending money through work. It was through this exploitation of people rural areas and immigrants that Lowell was industrialized, which is a huge part of Lowell’s culture.

When we went to watch “The Lion,” I had walked into the Merrimack Repertory Theatre expecting to watch something interesting, but cheesy and unenjoyable, because I had no idea how a one-man musical was supposed to work. What I did not expect was the moving story Benjamin Scheuer poured out to the audience. The one-man musical was basically the man, Benjamin Scheuer, retelling his life story in the form of songs, using several different guitars to symbolically portray and share the different stages in his life. There was a guitar for his childhood years, one for his angsty teenage years, and several more for when he fell in love with his girlfriend, when he was diagnosed with cancer, when he reconnected with his family, and other significant events. Along with the symbolic use of different guitars, the mood and tone of his story was also depicted by the constantly changing color of the back wall. The way his tone was broadcasted onto the well really helped set the mood for the audience and helped me empathize and feel a part of his story, experiencing what he was experiencing, rather than an outside observer like I actually was. Attending this event helped me connect to Lowell’s artistic and emotionally sensitive side as Scheuer brought his captivated audience on a roller coaster ride of different emotions from happiness to depression to excitement to anger and several others, and this connectedness is part of Lowell’s culture.
The third excursion I took was to a Riverhawk hockey game which brought me together with the Lowell community to be a part of something that we all enjoy. It was a Saturday night and with nothing to do I went to the UMass Lowell versus Colorado College hockey game at the Tsongas Center. I had never watched ice hockey before and was not sure if I would actually enjoy it or not, but I was pleasantly surprised. One of my friends was on his phone for the first half of the game, which I was completely baffled by because the game was quite captivating. I have to say, the most intriguing parts of the game were when the puck would go flying halfway around the rink against the wall and whenever somebody would get checked, or slammed into the glass, and my friend on his phone could not help but agree once Lowell scored the first goal against Colorado. Every Lowell goal was followed by an exuberant playing of the UML Fight Song while the crowd sang along. By the end of the second period Lowell was tied 1 to 1 and the crowd was starting to become rowdy. The third period of the game was the most intense part and eventually we won 3-1. What I most enjoyed about going out to the game that night was the feeling of being a part of the community, because ice hockey is a large part of Lowell’s culture, and being a part of the game and cheering the team on brought me in with Lowell’s culture.

The three excursions I went on were completely different from each other, yet they all contributed to bringing me closer to Lowell’s heritage. The visit to the Boott Cotton Mills helped me understand Lowell’s history and background which are a large part of the city’s culture. Benjamin Scheuer’s performance of “The Lion” at the Merrimack Repertory Theatre was also important because it brought the audience together in relating or sympathizing to a common circumstance. The Riverhawk hockey game was also a contributor to bringing me close to Lowell’s culture because much of Lowell’s social culture revolves around ice hockey. It is because of this cultural connectedness that I can experience Lowell to the fullest. As someone who was born in Lowell I can now say that to come back to Lowell after so many years is an experience and being able to become a part of Lowell’s society and feeling the cultural connectedness is something that I am looking forward to.

Lowell Canals

I didn’t discover the Northern Canal Walkway until nearly a week after moving in at UMass Lowell, and that was only because a friend of mine took it upon himself to wander around the area after dark. The first time I went down to the area, I ambled slowly, taking my time to observe the canal structure and surrounding nature, and reading the informational signs posted every few hundred yards. On one side of the walkway was the canal and on the other was a steep drop to the river below. 



Walkway with canal on one side and river below on the other side.

Apparently, chief engineer James B. Francis created the canal walkway specifically as a way to combine industry and nature to beautify the city, and that’s exactly what it did; in its entirety it only stretches about a third of a mile, but it’s possible to spend over an hour in the area relaxing and enjoying the scenery.

View of the river from the bridge.

According to one of the signs posted every few hundred yards along the pathway, the Northern Canal was built over the course of eighteen months and used over seventy tons of blasting powder to carve the canal. A ranger I met along the way then confirmed that the Northern Canal was the first and only canal in Lowell for which dynamite was used to clear the rock for the channel. When it was finished, it was used to power the Wannalancit and Lawrence Mills and flowed through inner channels before once again emptying into the Merrimack.

There's a chain link fence behind
the line of trees on the left from
where the river bank is accessible.



Daffy

In one place near the end of the walkway at the Pawtucket Bridge, there is a break in the chain link fence lining the path from where one can head down to the river bank itself and down there is the real bliss. Few people actually come down from the walkway and the view is beautiful, which provides for the best solitary time imaginable. My friend and I sat there on a rock for an hour, content with the view and quietness before we were approached by an extremely friendly duck who liked our company. 



Daffy trying to eat my
phone.

To my delight, she followed us as we walked along the bank and even quacked in dismay when we started to leave her. Of course, we had to name her; one cannot simply not name a friendly duck, so from then on she went by the name of Daffy. We actually did see her again the next day; if you’re wondering how we knew it was the same duck, well, we just knew.

After leaving Daffy, we made our way up the river to the Pawtucket Dam. Built in 1847, it can be seen from on top of the School Street Bridge, but an even better view is from under the bridge, which is accessible from the river bank we were on. If it weren’t for the wooden planks over which the river water was overflowing, it almost felt like we were looking at a miniature version of Niagara Falls.

Pawtucket Dam from under the School Street Bridge.

A point of confusion I encountered later was what the Pawtucket Falls are—the Pawtucket Falls do not refer to the water overflowing from the dam that happen to look like a series of waterfalls. After studying the maps and connecting dozens of dots in various pamphlets, I realized that they refer to the rapids part of the Merrimack River that is extremely rocky with a strong current where the water level drops over a gradual decline. A few days later when I asked another ranger about the dam, she explained how it was a self-sustaining mechanism consisting of a base of granite blocks and then a row of planks lined vertically along the top, held in place by iron pins.

A close look at the dam shows the wooden planks bending
under the pressure of the water as the water level of the
canal is maintained.

The beauty of these pins is that when a certain force is applied by the water behind the wooden planks, the pins bend under the pressure, allowing the water to flow over the planks and drop 32ft down to the river below. This way, the water level behind the dam never rises too high because its pressure automatically creates a means for the water to flow out, decreasing the water level and therefore decreasing the pressure on the planks which stops the flow of water.

We spent some time under the bridge by the falls enjoying the sound of water and the sunset. There were a few large birds, what looked like herons, perched on the far side of the planks, and it had me wishing I could go closer to get some nice pictures of them, but I obviously did not have a death wish. It was nearly dark when my friend and I headed back and all along the canal we could see tiny silver fish leaping at the surface of the water, most probably dining on the hordes of insects hovering just above. 

The beaver-like mammal in
 the canal.

We even spotted a beaver-like creature swimming around contently in the water, which was a complete surprise; I did not expect to find a large mammal in the middle of a canal. As we approached the Northern Canal Waste Gatehouse we stumbled upon a heron and startled it away, which was a shame as it would have made for some nice pictures. Crossing the bridge back to the entrance of the walkway, hundreds of large spiders hung in the middle of their webs, which could be seen in every corner and crevice of the ironworks, seeming to stare menacingly as though they would jump us at any moment, although they probably didn’t even spare us a second glance. When we reached the exit it was only to find the gate closed and locked from the outside.

Entrance to the Northern
Canal Walkway, which
brings to mind images
of the Iron Throne from
Game of Thrones.

Lucky for us, it was an easy climb, although we did get stares from a few people out for their evening stroll; they probably thought we were typical teenagers out to vandalize property, but it isn’t as though there was any other way out.

The next day it happened to be pouring—who doesn’t love walking in the rain?—So we went out again to the walkway. This time, after walking the whole canal, we headed further down Pawtucket Street and came upon the Francis Gate Park where the Merrimack River feeds into the Pawtucket Canal. As stated in one of the various pamphlets I received from the Lowell National Historic Park, this canal was built in 1796 to bypass the Pawtucket Falls, which were a rocky and treacherous route for loggers and shipbuilders trying to raft timber down the river. Later on, it was also exploited to power many of the mills in Lowell. A very detailed map informed me that the Francis Gate Park runs alongside the Pawtucket canal up until the Guard Locks, where the water level drops two feet, after which the canal continues for around a mile before three other canals split off of it:

Map of Lowell canals.

the Western, Merrimack, and Hamilton Canals. The Hamilton Canal feeds into the Appleton Mills and empties back into the Pawtucket Canal after a 13 foot drop. Both the Pawtucket Canal and Merrimack Canal meet at the Eastern Canal to go through the Boott Mills and drop 17 feet back into the Merrimack River. The Western Canal meets with the Northern Canal and after that point, it was “waste” water—it wasn’t being used for energy, therefore it was wasteful from the perspective of industrialists—until it reaches the Merrimack River. Two different sign post each located at the entrances of the Northern Canal and Pawtucket Canal gave the canal statistics for Lowell; by 1848, there were over six miles of canals that powered more than 10,000 homes and thousands of looms in the city. A new development from 1985, the Eldred L. Field hydroelectric plant, channels water from the Northern Canal and uses a more efficient version of the earlier turbines used by the Lowell mills. According to the second sign post by the Northern Canal, this plant now produce electricity to power 30,000 homes and could easily have powered all of Lowell’s mills in the late nineteenth century.

Before setting out to find information on the Northern Canal, I did not even know the full extent of the canal system in the city. My search started at the entrance to the Northern Canal Walkway and took me through the city along various paths. I believe it’s fair to say that Lowell’s foundation lies in its canal system and mills and to know how they function together is a large step towards getting to know the city.