Retrospect – The Pigeon War of 1952

By Kevin J. W. Driscoll (c) 2025

So, let me take you back to the bustling streets of Boston in 1952. My grandfather, a city boy through and through, loved to regale us with tales of his urban escapades. And none was more legendary than The Pigeon War of 1952.

“It was a crisp autumn morning,” Gramps would start, leaning back in his chair. “I was just a young buck, running errands for old Mr. Thompson, the newsstand guy on Tremont Street. He had the best spot in the city, right next to the bagel cart and across from Boston Common.”

Now, in the city, pigeons are everywhere. But back in ’52, they were more than just a nuisance—they were a menace. Mr. Thompson had been waging a losing battle against these winged rats for years. They’d steal his newspapers, dive-bomb his customers, and generally cause havoc.

“One day,” Gramps continued, “Mr. Thompson had had enough. ‘We need a plan, kid,’ he said to me. ‘These pigeons are ruining my business. It’s time to fight back.'”

Gramps and Mr. Thompson devised a scheme so elaborate, it would make a military strategist proud. They armed themselves with water balloons, slingshots, and even a makeshift pigeon trap made out of a cardboard box and some breadcrumbs.

“The first attack came at dawn,” Gramps said, his eyes sparkling with nostalgia. “Mr. Thompson and I were ready. The pigeons swooped down, thinking it was business as usual. But not this time.”

With a battle cry that echoed through the streets, they launched their counterattack. Water balloons flew, slingshots snapped, and pigeons scattered in every direction. For a brief moment, it looked like victory was theirs.

But then, the pigeons regrouped. It was like something out of a Hitchcock movie. They came back with reinforcements—dozens, maybe hundreds of them. The sky darkened with their numbers.

“We were outnumbered, outgunned, and out of water balloons,” Gramps said, shaking his head. “But we didn’t give up. We fought until the bitter end.”

In the end, the pigeons claimed victory that day. Mr. Thompson’s newsstand was a wreck, and Gramps was covered in feathers and pigeon poop. But they’d earned the respect of the neighborhood. Word of their valiant stand spread, and people came from all over to support Mr. Thompson’s newsstand, if only to hear the tale of The Pigeon War of ’52.

“And that’s how we saved the newsstand, even if we lost the battle,” Gramps would finish with a grin. “Never underestimate the power of a good story.”

Years went by, and the story of The Pigeon War of ’52 became a cherished family legend, told and retold at countless gatherings and here I am now telling it to you. My grandfather’s escapade turned into a symbol of resistance, resilience and camaraderie, a reminder that even in the face of the most ridiculous challenges, a bit of humor and determination could carry you through.

Epilogue:

As I grew older, I often walked by the spot where Mr. Thompson’s newsstand once stood. It had long since been replaced by a sleek coffee shop, but in my mind’s eye, I could still see the old man and my grandfather, battling the pigeons with water balloons and slingshots.

Whenever life threw me a curve ball, I’d think back to Gramps’s story and smile. It wasn’t just about the pigeons or the chaos—it was about facing adversity head-on, finding the humor in every situation, and when it is all over and done always having a good story to tell.

And so, the legacy of The Pigeon War of ’52 lives on, a testament to the indomitable spirit of city folk and the continued power of a well-told tale.

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Kevin Driscoll
(Mostly) Vegetarian, Politically Progressive, Daily Runner, Spiritual, Helpful, Friendly, Kind, Warm Hearted and Forgiving. Resident of Braintree MA.