Letter: Lamenting the Transformation of the McLellan Street Neighborhood

The following letter was sent to the Amherst Town Council and the Amherst Planning Board on April 28, 2026.

As a longtime resident of downtown Amherst, Massachusetts, I am deeply concerned about the dissolution of our local community. It is undeniable that the University of Massachusetts Amherst and the Five College Consortium are hubs of employment and culture that make the Valley a desirable place to raise a family. I consider myself incredibly fortunate to have grown up in the shadow of UMass, on McClellan Street.

After moving from North Village, UMass’ campus housing, to McClellan Street, I remember vividly the sense of community that defined my new home. There were so many children, many of whom would become lifelong friends. I can still picture waiting for the bus at the corner of McClellan and Beston Street with seven or eight other kids and my brothers. That memory now feels distant, almost obsolete. The bus no longer runs down McClellan, because there are no longer enough young children living on the street.

Growing up, my family understood that student rentals were part of the fabric of a college town. That balance once existed, and it was something the community actively worked to maintain. My brothers and I even participated in a local awareness campaign initiated by UMass Admissions called “We Live Here Too”, which aimed to bridge the gap between students and permanent residents and promote a sense of mutual respect. What we are experiencing now is something very different.

Today, likely more more than half of the homes on McClellan Street have been converted into rentals. What was once a neighborhood of families has gradually become dominated by transient occupancy. That shift didn’t happen overnight, but its effects are now impossible to ignore. The sense of continuity—the idea that neighbors know each other, look out for one another, and build a life together over time—has been steadily eroded.

Last year, hearing a local developer justify yet another rental on McClellan by stating he is exclusively “renting to girls” was deeply troubling. It felt not only discriminatory, but also like an acknowledgment that these changes are being pushed through despite community concern. Even more troubling is the quiet acceptance of this shift. Many of our neighbors are now elderly, and their homes, once filled with families, are at risk of being absorbed into a cycle of high-density, investor-driven rentals.

The changes behind McClellan Street are impossible to ignore. New construction has come at the cost of clear-cut land that once provided privacy, natural beauty, and peace. What was once a woodland buffer filled with evergreen trees and birdsong has become an open passageway into town. It is now common for groups of college students, often intoxicated, to walk directly through what used to be private backyards. I miss those trees. I miss the quiet. I miss the feeling that our neighborhood belonged to the people who lived in it.

Now, when I come back home, that sense of familiarity is gone. Instead, I feel as though I am being watched. There are six cars in the driveway next to us, and six more behind our house. The shrubs, crabtree, and flowering bushes have all been clear cut. I now understand that was to prepare the land for another development project, though at the time it was labeled as “cleaning up the property”. McClellan Street looks more and more like a parking lot. It is sad to see the local driving school try to navigate two way traffic when UMass is in session. One by one, family homes are being replaced as neighbors pass away or feel pressured to sell.

The scale and pace of this change have made the neighborhood feel unrecognizable. In my most recent visit home, I saw stakes marking out a new building site and heard from a neighbor that a developer plans to build another house on 68 McClellan, despite having previously, and publicly, promised not to. This new structure will sit directly beside my childhood home, squeezed between other rentals that took months to construct. If I could show what McClellan Street looked like twenty years ago compared to today, it would break anyone’s heart. Enough is enough.

I think of neighbors who spent their lives in these homes, one who proudly remained in her historic house until she no longer could, another who dreamed of passing her home on to a young family and tended a beautiful garden in her backyard. I think of the towering evergreens, the tree-lined street, and the sense of safety we felt playing outside all day. We never worried about strangers cutting through our yards or cars constantly turning around in our driveway, things that now happen daily.

Why are some neighborhoods protected while others are left to absorb this level of change? And how much student housing can we continue to build that offers little benefit to long-term residents, while contributing to rising housing costs driven by ongoing shortages?

If this is the future the Town of Amherst envisions for its downtown neighborhoods, then it is a decision it will have to live with. But we must ask: how many cars can our streets realistically support? Why are some neighborhoods protected while others are left to absorb this level of change? And how much student housing can we continue to build that offers little benefit to long-term residents, while contributing to rising housing costs driven by ongoing shortages?

I worry that when the time comes for families like mine to sell, the highest offer will come from a developer, and financially, there may be no real alternative. That reality should concern anyone who values the long-term stability of this community.

Growing up with an older brother with autism, I understand deeply that the importance of community cannot be overstated. Stability, familiarity, and connection are essential. The increasing transience of the population—while not the fault of the students themselves (I proudly attended UMass as well)—has turned neighbors into strangers. It has eroded the sense of belonging that once defined this place.

I recognize that the town has taken steps to address housing challenges, including efforts to expand supply and adjust zoning policies. But from where many of us stand, those efforts are not doing enough to preserve the balance that once allowed neighborhoods like this to thrive.

If the town is serious about protecting its community, it must take a more intentional approach—one that acknowledges that not all housing development serves the same purpose, and not all growth benefits the community equally. I urge the town to consider the following actions:

• Enforce existing occupancy limits in a meaningful and consistent way
• Create incentives that prioritize owner-occupants and discourage investor-driven purchases
• Place limits on the conversion of single-family homes into high-density student rentals
• Protect remaining green space, prevent unchecked clear-cutting, and prioritize planting rather than removing trees
• Establish zoning protections that preserve affordable, family-oriented neighborhoods
• Develop a long-term housing strategy that supports non-student residents and year-round community stability

Ideally, I would like to see a moratorium on new rental housing developments on McClellan Street. This is not about opposing students or denying the importance of UMass and the Five College Consortium. They are central to what makes this region vibrant. But a healthy college town requires balance.

Without meaningful action, we risk losing more than just century-old trees and carefully tended gardens. We risk losing the continuity of community itself, the relationships, the shared history, and the chance for future families to experience what so many of us once had. And once that is gone, it will be incredibly difficult, if not impossible, to bring back. Sincerely,

Devon Glennon

Devon Glennon grew up in Amherst, graduated from UMass, and is now a Program Specialist at the Commonwealth’s Executive Office of Labor & Workforce Development.