BY DAN VALENTI

PLANET VALENTI NEWS AND COMMENTARY

(FORTRESS OF SOLITUDE, MONDAY, OCT. 19, 2015) — Jaci Conry is a freelance writer who takes on such heavyweight topics as “i can do that Christmas” — tips on creating that oh-so-upscale perfect holiday wreath, mantle, and decor — and the benefits of “slow parenting.” That’s a form of conscience-dodging for selfish, time-consumed couples who don’t have enough chronos for their little human pets. This type of muckraker, wouldn’t you say, makes the type of steely-eyed scribe to tell the world — at least The Boston Globe’s shrinking part of it — that if you want the future, you want Pittsfield.

The only problem is that the future never arrives in Pittsfield — not even disguised as the past, when our affairs prospered, our friends were true, and our happiness was assured. Conrey’s puff piece on Pittsfield fawned so much that it makes chamber puffery look like the Sword of Damacles having just fallen and hurtling its way, point first, to Moe Howard’s head. The article  gets off the a stumbling start and trips over the hassock after that.

“PITTSFIELD: “My grandparents were born here.” So Conry begins. So much for pedigree.

The Gumming of Memory

Here, THE PLANET holds court at Belle Mer on Goat Island at Newport. We’re saying, “Have you heard the one about The Globe and Jaci Conry?” (PHOTO KATY BACCOLI)

From the start, Conry’s piece tips its hand. Gram and Gramps Conry did their walking and talking in the “early 1980s,” a period in history when sacred fire burned  and GE still employed more than 10,000 at the Pittsfield plant. In other words, her memories are about as relevant as knickers off the golf course. Reliable? She places the Popcorn Wagon in front of the First Aggie Bank, where it never was, instead of Berkshire County Savings Bank at the Pop Corner of East and North.

Conry at her oracle best predicting the past even remembers “the same wagon” selling popcorn “by horse-drawn carriage when [Gram] was a girl.” It’s evident that even 107 year olds have their Mr. Ed moments.

The author tells of being “mesmerized by the 19th- and early 20th-century buildings that presided over downtown.”

We kid you not. The “buildings … presided.” THE PLANET swears we are quoting the verb accurately. Here, she must be talking about the Wojtkowski Walkway to Nowhere that connects North to McKay, one of the greatest mayoral achievements since Gerry Doyle hung “It’s Happening!”

A Prose Version of Horse Shoes and Hand Grenades

After a brief history of Pittsfield so paint-by-the-numbers  even a mathephobe could do the dazzle, Conry tells us how “In the late 70s, GE began shutting down its operations.” She’s only off by a decade, which, for a piece this bad, counts as a point. Consider it the prose version of horseshoes and hand grenades.

Some paragraphs have to be quoted verbatim to appreciate the dread of effect:

“While many unsuccessful attempts to revitalize downtown Pittsfield have been made over the last two decades, word has spread that momentum is finally taking hold, that the city is gearing up to be a Berkshires destination. This fall, I ventured back to see for myself.”

“Word has spread?” Whose word? Faces have been known to launch a thousand ships, so it’s not strange that this paragraph and others like it in banality launched this e-mail, THE PLANET to Jaci Conry, in part:

“I would like to know who you interviewed for your Globe story, of what does your first-hand knowledge of the city consist, and if you feel the piece represents an accurate view of the city at this time. I am planning a piece that uses your article as a “diving board.” — DAN

No Lack of Hip … Yeah, That’s What Pittsfield Is. It’s ‘Hip’

Yes, we’ll make sure the pool is full. After the prose “set up” that confuses “salubrious” with “lugubrious,” Conry gets to the heart of the piece. Suffering readers learn about, in order:

• “a hip, aesthetic … Hotel on North.” No word about the murder and shootings of five just two blocks away from HON.
• Dottie’s Coffee Lounge, “a favorite hangout of hipster families.” This paragraph includes two Fused Sentences. ‘Twas a time when to write for The Globe one had to know that commas alone cannot properly link two or more independent clauses.
• “the now-thriving arts scene,” a phrase taken out of Jimmy Ruberto‘s “Renaissance Follies of 2003.”
• The Colonial Theatre, which hosts “headliners.” Honey, the last true headliners the Colonial hosted were Sara Bernhardt, John Barrymore, and The Three Stooges. Arlo Guthrie is no longer a “headliner,” just a “head.” And Sweet Baby James? Better check with Clarence Fanto, his loyal lapdog.
• The Methuselah Bar and Lounge, with its “rustic, chic vibe.” Has anyone heard of it?

Jacy Conry, pictured leaving Pittsfield after her recent visit. (PHOTO: PHOTOGRAFICA INTERNATIONALE)

There was no mention, naturally, of the one truly unique venture to hit downtown in an acorn’s age. That would be the carousel, built by volunteers involving no public money. For reasons entirely political, The Suits have been vexed by the ring of wooden horses since its conception, which explains why Conry didn’t bother.

Conry closes by noticing, “with the glee of a child, that the popcorn wagon is still there.”

How old did you say this girl is?

She and her husband then drive away.

By far, the ending is the best part of this scurvy bag of rock candy.

THE PLANET wishes Mrs. Conry all the best. There’s a future, we hear, with Mary Kay.

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“VITUPERATION, n. Satire, as understood by dunces and all such as suffer from an impediment of their wit.” — Ambrose Bierce, entry from The Devil’s Dictionary, (begun in 1881, finished in 1906).

“OPEN THE WINDOW, AUNT MILLIE.”

LOVE TO ALL.

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