Clara Zelinski looked over her father’s shoulder one day,
and saw men working in the triangle of land between Riverview Road and its
cutoff to Boston Mills Road. “What are
they doing?” she asked him. “Building a little park.”
It was the mid 1930’s; Claire, as she was called, was in
high school. It was also the depression, although she did not know that. In the
store they continued to write receipts for the flour and coal families
purchased. The receipts went into cubby
holes above, one for each family.
“They’ll pay when they can,” her father said.[1]
There is a dusty piece of land across the railroad track
from Zelinski’s Store in the 1905 aerial view of the Cleveland Akron Bag
Company, the covered bridge and the Boston Store. The county improvements to the intersection
in 1928 defined the area as a triangle.
Boston, 1905 |
Zelinsi's store is the white building, right of the covered bridge
In 1905 it was The Boston Store
In the depression era of the thirties, in 1935, the
alignment of Riverview Road, with the triangle at the Boston Mills
intersection, was formalized. The
projects of the Civil Conservation Corps (CCC), Public Works Administration
(PWA) and Works Progress Administration (WPA) performed much needed improvements
to Riverview.[2]
When the CCA was through working, Claire said, there was a
water pipe and spigot in the park, for community use, “although we didn’t get
our water from there.” In Boston and the surrounding area many families relied
on a public water source for drinking and cooking.[3]
There is a spring on Boston Mills Road, a short distance from
the intersection of Riverview and Boston Mills, which had a public watering
trough along the road on property once owned by the bag company, as well as a
spring house for public use. Many locals tell how the spring house was used as
a drop off and pick up location for moonshine.
Mr. Zelinski told his daughter there would be a public
spigot in the little park. Apparently a pipe was laid from the spring, under
Riverview Road and into the park. Roads
were dirt, paved with crushed limestone; trenching across the road from the
spring to the triangle would have been a day’s job.[4] Perhaps
the pipe was laid during the County’s 1935 road improvement project.
I believe the folk art stone “well”, now a planter in the
northwest corner of the park, was built to protect the pipe and the spigot,
probably in the 1930’s, when the “little park” came into being. It is possible the sidewalks leading to the spigot
from north, east and west were laid at the same time.
The sidewalks are sandstone, cut and fitted like a jigsaw
puzzle. They would have stopped the
grounds around the spigot from becoming overly muddy. Where did the sandstone come from? That remains a mystery, but it has been
suggested it was scrap, perhaps from the Slippery Run Quarry scrap piles,
trimmed out to make the sidewalks.
No one knows when the public spigot was removed, but there is
no knowledge of it by the early 1950’s. Several
landslides onto Boston Mills Road apparently destroyed the springhouse and
contaminated the spring.
The stone housing remained, and is visible in a photo of a
beam used to build the Ohio Turnpike being transported down Riverview Road to
the construction site, in the early 1950’s.
Look under the beam and the stone housing is there at the edge of the
park.
Turnpike Infrastructure, early 1950's |
Boston transformed itself several times in its history. The
boom town of the canal days faded, Boston became a quiet little suburb in a
beautiful valley; a rural crossroads with only a few stores, and industries.[5]
The Beacon Magazine interview with Kitty Stanford described Boston’s residents
as young and friendly. “They back
community projects—like the church—and always help each other in time of
trouble.”
Progressive loss of the major employers in Boston notwithstanding,
the community remained and the little park had visitors. A swing behind the park was used by children
of the little houses around the crossroads.
The little park that could had no official ownership, except
community ownership. The park in the triangle was a patch of grass over county
road right of way. There was no deed,
there was no parcel number. Who mowed
the grass? Citizens.
In the fifties and sixties the grass was generally mowed by
the Zorena men, driving the Wheel Horse between Grandpa Zorena’s farm to Mike
Junior's home. The youngest Mike
often was in trouble with his dad for nicking the blades on the sandstone
sidewalk.[6]
The park became more “official” in 1971, when a flag pole
was placed “in the little park in Boston;… a memorial to the late Lester
Dickinson, a World War II veteran, who operated Dickinson’s Place at River and
Boston Mills Road for thirty five years.”[7]
The 112th Engineers Battalion and many volunteers set the pole and donated
American and Ohio flags.
Boston Park, though, remained a park that belonged to no
one. In the eighties and nineties it was
maintained sometimes by the Boston Cemetery, sometimes by Boston Township. It was the gathering and stepping off point
for the annual Memorial Day ceremonies honoring Boston’s veterans. The stone pipe housing became a planter
maintained by residents, the cedars planted in the forties were tall guardians
of the park.
Suddenly, in the 90’s, the residents of Boston learned their
park would be swept away. Dynamic forces bore down from three sides. The
National Park wanted Riverview’s curves eliminated to enable their vision of a
45 m.p.h. scenic byway; the ski resort wanted more parking, and the County
Engineer was happy to find funding to straighten the road.
John and Bonnie Johnston, assuming the title Life-long residents,[8] undertook
a campaign to make powers that be understand Boston’s residents did not intend
to let their history sink under asphalt.
Petitions were submitted, public hearings held. The National Park and the ski resort offered
to relocate the park as a wayside, with benches and interpretive signs.
The people were not pleased.
The National Park and the County Engineer formulated a
design that would relocate the road leaving the north and west sides of the
park intact, saving the cedars, the walks, the planter, the flags.
The ski resort was not pleased; if the park could be relocated,
parking for the ski resort would be gained.
The citizens of Boston and their elected officials continued
to petition their government, attend public meetings, demonstrate their park
was Boston.
The people prevailed.
Today the park is a grassy rectangle. In the northwest corner towering cedars
surround the stone planter, the sandstone walks have been reset. The Memorial Day parade still steps off to
the Boston Cemetery. The little park
that could still has no credentials; no title of ownership, but the quiet
grassy plot covering road right away remains as the heart of Boston.
Joanne Noragon
Boston Township Fiscal Officer
August 31, 2013
The red building in the lower left was Zelinski's store
[1]
Conversation with Claire Zelinski Muldowney, August 23, 2013
[2] Riverview Road, a Scenic Byway, prepared
by GPD Associates, April, 1991, for the Summit and Cuyahoga County Engineers
[3]
Conversation with Jerry Ritch, Boston Township resident, August 23, 2013
[4]
Conversation with Joe Paradise, Summit County Engineer’s Office, August 26,
2013
[5] Quoted
from My Town: Boston, The Beacon Magazine, November 20, 1955.
[6]
Conversations with Amy Zorena Anderson over the course of this park research.
[7] Fran
Murphy, in the Akron Beacon Journal, May 21, 1971.
[8] John F.
and Bonnie Johnston letters and petitions commencing May, 1996