My friend Bob tells how his family once lived in the town dump. Bob did not live in the town dump, but his story resonated with me. The 1920 town census listed my grandmother as living in a sand pit.
Seven houses now sit on the land my friend Bob referred as the town dump. It is directly across the street from the Mattapoisett Town Hall and is known as Mahoney’s Lane. In the early days of Mattapoisett when most everybody lived in the village it was indeed the town dump. As years passed it became evident that a more suitable location had to be found as the depository of Mattapoisett’s trash.
Before there was a Dunkin’ Donuts and a 7 Eleven hard by Salty the Seahorse there was a Salvation Army store, before that an A&P Supermarket and before that there was infamous town dump of my youth.
Every Wednesday was burning day when the pile was set ablaze. The smoke would drift across Rt. 6 and engulfed our tiny neighborhood like a dense fog on a summer morning engendering a weekly epidemic of coughing, sore throats and burning eyes not to mention the stench. We could hear the seagulls call as they circled the carcasses of discarded treasures. And then there were the rats.
In the summer the pile of rubble would swell to massive proportions. In the fall the summer residents would depart leaving only the refuse of the year-round villagers.
Before long the village was relieved of its suffering when the dump was moved, again, along with the seagulls and rats, to what in those days were the outskirts of the town. Its new home was alongside the abandoned railroad bed now known as Industrial Drive just west of Mahoney’s store. On weekends my father would let me drive our blue 1955 Chevy station wagon to the dump to make our weekly deposit.
Currently the dump, or transfer station, as it is now called, where you have to pay to unload your trash, resides farther north into what were once the boondocks. The State closed most dumps and sanitary landfills for all the right reasons. They polluted the ground water, contaminated wells and caused all manner of problems.
Somehow though, I miss the dump, perhaps because I got my son’s first bike at one. Actually it was a red tricycle in perfect condition. It must have been in someone’s trunk and they left it there by accident when they took it out to get to that week’s trash. They were probably talking to someone and got distracted. You’d meet your friends at the dump. At election time all the politicians, would-be politicians and candidates from selectman to fence viewer (do we still have fence viewers?) would gather with their red and blue signs. Sometimes they would be green if an Irish person was running. Scouts or little leaguers would often accost you requesting a donation.
Trash is mostly picked up by a commercial service now. The dump, er sanitary landfill, er, transfer station is mostly used for “clean” refuse and broken household belongings.
Oh, by the way, grandma did not live in a sand pit. She lived in a small house on what is now Driscoll Lane. The sand pit was nearby where now many fine homes have been built to create a nice neighborhood.
By Dick Morgado