Dead Motel

Has your radio ever provided the perfect soundtrack for your real life? Just as I was driving past the now abandoned Ferns Motel on Rte 1 in still seedy Saugus, The Gun Club's “Moonlight Motel” started playing.

A photo from the long gone glory days of this fine establishment

low rates and color T.V.

money on the bed, left there for me

and one of these days I'll kill you,

while you sleep...

In the rooms we call motels like Ferns “the alcoholic’s crack house.” When booze makes living with other people impossible, and you doubt you'll live long enough to get your money’s worth out of a first and last month deposit, the pay by the hour becomes pay by the week. You find yourself stuck and a desire to stop drinking fades in and out, like a weak radio signal from a far off land. Odds are, you’ll soon stop hearing it.

Driving past the carcass of Ferns, I passed other motels and trailer parks where I have visited clients for one of my social-worky day jobs. Many of my folks tacked up MAGA flags on their windows or flew them proudly from a rusty pole. I'd sign them up for meals on wheels, encourage them to use their Mass Health benefits for a hospital bed for their spouse, or to stop sending their money to their favorite country star via Shanghai or Estonia.

These hard living old timers were promised a penthouse view from Trump Tower. They’re still seeing life from poverty parking lots, off a depressing stretch of state highway. Empty beer cans no longer making it to the dumpster close in on their ever shrinking world.

Feel bad for them? Don't. I'm talking about all of us.

Jason O'Toole, reporting from Saugus, Sunday, March 23, 2025 A.D.