By Kevin Devlin
Two elderly, lifelong South Boston residents recently journeyed up to Dorchester Heights and looked out upon the local landscape.
“It’s like I don’t recognize it anymore,” said the old woman.
“I don’t recognize myself sometimes,” said the old man.
“You’re entitled to a senior moment.”
“If you say so.”
“But I’m talkin’ about our old neighborhood not your old bones.”
“I know what you’re talkin’ about. I’m not stupid…not blind to my surroundings.”
“New buildings go up every day.”
“I know. It’s a damn shame.”
“It’s more than a damn shame,” said the old woman. “It’s the death of a neighborhood.”
“We didn’t think it was going to happen here.”
“But it did and seemingly overnight!”
“Time changes everything,” said the old man. “It’s too late now…a fait accompli.”
“I know, but soon – probably tomorrow the way things are going – the entire neighborhood is going to look like one monolith. It will be one gigantic, soulless condo stretching from one end of Southie to the other. Three-deckers need not apply.”
“Sad and yet maybe it’s just the beginning of the beginning.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I mean the birth of a totally new neighborhood mixing the old with the new.”
“Really?” the old woman asked.
“Don’t you think change can be good sometimes?”
“I really don’t like change or what time brings with it. I prefer the past.”
“The past is the past but as long Southie doesn’t lose its soul, we’ll be okay. Trust me. I have faith everything will work out for the best.”
“We’ll have to see about that won’t we?” said the old woman, teary-eyed. “We’ll have to wait and see about that for sure.”
