|Photo of Haish mansion demolition is part of Steve Bigolin's collection | Photo by Jessi LaRue|
By Homer Hall ("Uncle Silas")
Printed in the Daily Chronicle, Sept. 21, 1961
Ah well, at last you've got your way
We can no hope enjoy
To save some old or well loved thing
When PROGRESS says "destroy"
Torn down the study old stone walls
Now rubble fills the space,
An heirloom of the city's gone
No one can e'er replace
Gone frescoes on high ceilinged walls,
The carved and polished paneling,
Gone with the vanished years.
What social life streamed thru those rooms,
What distant strangers came
To see the town whose product spread
World wide to give us fame.
A sneer to those old fogies all,
(Their ranks are thinning fast)
Who wished to save for future years
Some relic of the past.
Who thought some value still may lie
With the old and quaint.
Such obstacles to modern ways
Would irritate a saint.
And Jacob Haish who helped to build
Our town to what it is,
Whose benefactions still abound --
How many gifts were his?
Who built the mansion that he loved,
(Though quaint it was he knew)
Would he be pleased to see it fall
Beneath the wreckers' crew?
Ah well, we'll let New England keep
Historic house and scene,
The West preserve each hallowed hut
Deadwood to Abilene.
DeKalb wants only modern stuff,
We're on the ball, no fear
That visitors can ever say
That we're old fashioned here.
|Photos of demolition provided by Steve Bigolin|