Faux Tourism

I constantly find myself surprised at the popularity of destinations that are solely designed to sell products. Places like M&M World in Times Square have the feeling of a tourist destination, but in reality is nothing more than a place to sell M&M products and memorabilia rather than an Enlightenment sense of education and self-improvement. There is a sophistication to these stores, including using smells to directly stimulate the senses of those who enter. Patrons are charged almost as much as a film at the mall cinema for a 30-minute film (complete with 3D and fragrances). This consumer tourism creates an imperative to spend more money by fostering (debatable) nostalgia. Many people readily buy in (pun fully intended).

I took my niece and nephew to Hershey’s Chocolate World – a place that is big on hype, but rather short on intellectual engagement. The gratis ride through a “chocolate factory” gives the air of information and education. Actually, it is a poor substitute for an actual factory. As the ride makes its way through video screens and plastic mock-ups of chocolate producing machinery, a happy voice describes the process of making Hershey products. The narrative is all but drowned out by singing cows that extoll the health benefits of the milk in milk chocolate (“It’s Moo-tritious”). In the penultimate display, the visitor is told to smile for a photograph, which can be purchased in the gift shop. Finally, while exiting the ride, we are told that Hershey’s number one goal is to keep a smile on your face. (All this time I thought it was to make money!)

Call me cynical, but very little attention is paid to Milton Hershey (1857-1945), his inventions or good works. No doubt that there are dissenting views, but the Hershey School (f. 1909) and his model town for employees are certainly admirable. There is a collage of him and his work at the entrance to the ride, but it is overshadowed by lights and noises that beckon the visitor to singing cows, as over-stimulated kids and frustrated parents carelessly walk by. 

Avarice in the shopping aisle

I finished re-reading A Christmas Carol late on Christmas Eve. In the tale, which originally appeared 170 years ago, Dickens paints a picture of the wages of a man’s avarice. Although the story is well known, some of the more interesting points of the narrative are not. Case in point is the author’s commentary on Malthusian views of poor people, which do not figure into modern interpretations of the story. Nevertheless, the central theme of how Scrooge allows his greed to overshadow the spirit of Christmas, or more importantly our duty to our fellow humans, remains central to the message. By the end of the book, Scrooge (as well as the reader) learns that there is more to life than material wealth and that our connection to others is what makes our lives complete.

It seems that we live in a world where our desires for trinkets and gadgets outweigh the feelings and familial connections of those who are not as fortunate. We want to buy our goods when it is convenient for us, whether our actions have consequences or not. Thus, if we want to shop on Thanksgiving, then we expect the stores to be open and enough workers to be there to run the tills to satisfy our demands. Never mind that we could wait a few hours to complete our shopping; or, plan ahead and do our shopping a little early. This year major retail stores broke a taboo by opening on Thanksgiving. The effect is that many people, with a low salaried jobs, were forced to give up a meaningful holiday with their families to service those of us chasing a good deal. In fact, those deals are probably suspect. Now that Thanksgiving Day has been added to the list of shopping days it is hard to imagine that Christmas is not too far behind. Christmas will be the next new major shopping day for people who did not do their shopping before or are looking for post-Christmas sales early. The result will be, despite the rhetorical idea of Christmas as a day to spend with family and loved ones, more people will be forced to come to work to satisfy our avarice. 

A rare sight: Walmart closed

Walking in Fredericksburg

Making new friends in Fredericksburg

Mid-December found us enjoying good food and shopping in Fredericksburg, Virginia. In addition to unique restaurants, there are also a couple of good bookstores for bibliophiles. The town as has been the site for many important historical events, some of which will be explored in future posts. But this time it was a limited visit, I took a long walk around the town and observed some interesting building.

The exploration of Fredericksburg reminded me of an important maxim I share with students: If you want to know a city, you must walk the city. Walking south on Caroline Street, I was surprised at the number of extant eighteenth century homes remained in Fredericksburg.

Walk signal on Caroline Street

The downtown section of the city retains a small-town Americana feel. The pedestrian indicators retain the green “walk” sign that was prevalent when I was a kid.  Old drugstores and businesses with lunch counters are still operating in the center of town as well.

Old Power Station between Caroline Street and
Rappahonnock River

Looking through the power station to the River

A fascinating derelict building on the banks of the Rappahannock River is an abandoned power station for the Virginia Electric and Power Company. The station, which is at the intersection of Ford and Caroline Streets, looks to have been abandoned several years ago.

Walkabout in Middletown

It is not often that I get the opportunity to explore Middletown by foot. We are usually hurrying to catch a train and have just enough time for a cup of coffee or a quick bite to eat; or, on the way home, we have a late supper before driving the rest of the way home. But on this crisp day in November, I had a little time to have lunch and a quick walk around town before catching the train to Philadelphia.

An old SEPTA car in the Middletown &
Hummelstown Railroad museum

My perambulation took me down Union Street to Mill Street, which is where the Amtrak station is located. The building at the corner of Union and Mill has a maker that records the high-water marks of the 1904 and 1972 floods of Swatara Creek. A single railroad line running down the middle of Brown Street leads to a small yard that is now the home of the Middletown & Hummelstown Railroad, a museum and excursion railroad. The yard contains many railcars, many of which are in a dilapidated state. Included are several SEPTA cars that look as if there is more rust than metal these days.

Middletown is a particularly old town, the oldest in Dauphin County.  The churches of Middletown are fascinating and the Elks Theatre and Brownstone Café are long-standing institutions in town. Yet, most of focus on buildings and railroads belies the historical significance of this small town in central Pennsylvania.

Middletown Public Library, which was the home of Liberty
Steam Company (fire department)

I stopped in the local library to learn more about local history. The town was on the cusp of greatness, which is little remembered today. During the debates in the House of Representatives about where to locate the national capital in 1789, Representative Goodhue introduced a resolution proposing: “that the permanent seat of Government of the United States ought to be at some convenient place on the east bank of the Susquehanna river, in the State of Pennsylvania, &c.” Later, Mr. Heister proposed that after the words “Susquehanna river” the phrase “between Harrisburg and Middletown inclusive” should be included. C.H. Hutchinson, in his history of Middletown, reports that although members of the House were generally favorable to the amendment, it was defeated. The resolution was taken up by the Senate where all references to the Susquehanna River were struck in favor of establishing the seat of government as Germantown, Pennsylvania. Ultimately sectional differences led to a compromise of placing the capitol on the banks of the Potomac, rather than the Susquehanna. 

Black Friday

There is nothing worse than navigating a parking lot full of people who mistakenly believe that they can buy happiness. 

Tragedy on South Mountain

We sometimes romanticize the past, somehow believing that it was better, gentler and more wholesome than our present age. Despite Steven Pinker’s thesis that life has grown increasingly less violent, it is hard for us to discern that with the constant barrage of depressing and violent news. As evidence, let me point to the following story that life in the past was violent and difficult: There is a sign along the PA233 just outside Centerville, between Carlisle and Shippensburg. A plain blue sign reads:

With no explanation of what tragedy befell these young girls, the sign does not indicate the story of desperation, grief and hunger that eventually led to the erection of the sign. It is also a story of generosity, kindness and concern by many people. Unfortunately, that generosity and kindness came too late for the Noakes family.  

The Babes in the Woods, as they would come to be known, we three girls found on South Mountain. Initial reports indicated that the girls, whose ages were estimate to be about 15, 10 and 7, did not meet with violent deaths; however, later news media reports suggested that they were asphyxiated. The Shippensburg News Chronicle speculated that it might have been an accidental death. The actual story is more gruesome. The three girls were sisters, Norma (aged 12), Dewilla (10) and Cordelia Noakes (8) were from California. They had traveled east with their father Elmo Noakes and their housekeeper-cousin Winifred Pierce (18). Their mother had died some years before and the Winifred, the niece of the mother, had become their caretaker and according to some sources romantically involved with Elmo. The theory developed by the police was that Noakes was penniless and desperate. Rather than allowing his daughter starve, he took their lives.

When the bodies were discovered it created a media sensation. As it proved increasingly difficult to identify the bodies, media reports began to filter across the country to help piece together a story. Sensational stories, gruesome pictures and wild speculation followed. The kind people of the Carlisle area began to treat the young victims reverently, donating money for a proper funeral and burial. Hundreds of people attended a funeral and many wept openly at the young girls' fate.
The police concluded that Elmo and Nora sold their remaining possessions (a winter coat) and bought a rusty gun. Elmo used the gun to kill Nora and then took his own life.

The girls, Nora and Elmo are all buried in Westminster Cemetery in Carlisle. On December 1, several hundred people turned out for the funeral of the young girls in Carlisle. The entire family are buried in Westminster Cemetery in Carlisle. 

Abandoned and Derelict in Hummelstown

There is an interesting house or building in Hummelstown on Middletown Road, near the intersection of Princeton Drive. I would imagine that it dates from the early nineteenth century; however, I do not have any specific information about it yet. This photograph was taken in November 2013. 

Unfortunate Presidential History in Philadelphia

My recent trip to Philadelphia brought a convergence of three presidents of the United States, all of whom had been assassinated. A week before the fiftieth anniversary of the assassination of President Kennedy I took a stroll over to the plaza that bears his name adjacent to City Hall. I was a little disappointed in that I was expecting some sort of monument of memorial. But perhaps my disappointment was because it was so close to the anniversary.

McKinley outside City Hall in Philadelphia

That same weekend I read in The Guardian that the Harrisburg Patriot-News had retracted its editorial criticizing the Gettysburg Address as “silly remarks” that would “be no more repeated or thought of.” The retraction came days before the 150th anniversary of Lincoln’s delivery of the address on 19 November.

Finally, on the same day as the Guardian article, I happened to be walking on the opposite side of City Hall from JFK Plaza and noticed a statue of William McKinley.  McKinley, the twenty-fifth president, was assassinated in September 1901. Although not widely remembered today, his death was a shock to the country and there were memorials erected around the country, and especially in McKinley’s home state of Ohio. The statue that is next to City Hall in Philadelphia reads: “Soldier, Statesman, Martyr.”

The Adventure of the Lost iPhone

I was on my early morning walk, a ritual when I travel to major cities by myself. It was a cold November morning in Philadelphia but my walk was pleasant because I was out before most commuters were in downtown. The previous night I was listening to the Christmas-themed Sherlock Holmes story, “The Blue Carbuncle” as I drifted to sleep. I did not get very far into the story before I drifted off to sleep, but little did I realize that my experiences a few hour later would approximate Sherlock’s adventure of a previous century. In the story, Holmes is presented with a man’s hat and a Christmas goose, using the existing evidence he tried find the owner of the items. While seemingly mundane, the story takes a dramatic turn when a precious jewel is found in the crop of the goose. My story does not have such a fantastic ending.  

About halfway through my walk, I crossed 13th Street at Arch. As I approached the other side of the street, I spied what appeared to be a smart phone laying in the ramp from the street to the sidewalk. Initially, I walked by. I continued almost to 12th Street, thinking about the phone, who lost it, and how they would find it. I stopped in my tracks when I realized that a person or cyclist would crush the phone if it was unobserved.  I turned around to look, there was no one between me and the phone. It was still very early. I took it upon myself to retrieve the phone.

Despite walking nearly a block in downtown Philadelphia, there was no one on my side of the street. Surely, I thought, someone would see the phone before I did. Alas, no one did. As I approached I considered my alternatives: look in the phone book for a spouse or parent, see if there were any identifying marks, check and see if there were an email address? I tried to channel Holmes and deduce how to find the owner. I picked up the phone. It was a nice iPhone with a black case. I noted the Verizon service and saw that they was an email feed from a gmail account on the homepage. Yet, the phone was locked with a passcode. Despite several attempted maneuvers, I determined that using the phone to find the owner would be impossible.

There were no business immediately around, and even if there were it was too early for any to be open. I put the phone in my jacket pocket and experienced a twinge of guilt. Did someone see me and think I was pilfering a smart phone?

Now that I had a lost smart phone in my jacket– what was I to do with it? There was a feature to bypass the code to make an emergency call, but this did not seem like a situation that warranted a 911 call. I decided to continue my walk and consider my options; perhaps there would be a police officer to whom I could give the phone. A few blocks down I met a traffic officer and tried to pass the burden of the cellphone to him. He said he was not a police officer and could not accept the phone. He suggested that I continue my walk and if I came across a police office and give it to him (or her). Not finding a police officer until I reached my hotel near the corner of Market and Juniper Streets, standing outside a Dunkin Donuts was a police officer. He stood, staring at me dispassionately, as I explained by dilemma. He barely made a sound as I relayed my story. When I turned on the phone to demonstrate the phone was locked, a message popped up: “This phone is lost. Please call xxx-xxx-xxxx.” I looked up, the police officer continued to stare at me, even as he casually glanced down at the phone. I looked at the phone, then at him, and said: “Never mind.”

I returned to my hotel room to retrieve my own cellphone. I called the number, a man with a slight accent answered. I said that I had found his cellphone. After some preliminaries, including that I did not live in Philadelphia and the iPhone was his wife’s, we made arrangements to relieve me of the lost phone. He asked my name and the nearest coffee shop, which was the Dunkin Donuts where I encountered the disinterested police officer. He said is wife Anna would meet me there. I asked how soon and he replied, “Shortly.” I told him I would wait outside. After I hung up the phone I debated calling him back and say, “I am wearing a green jacket…or a hat.” I did not.

I waited outside the iconic donut franchise on Juniper Street for about ten minutes, watching people pass by. The policeman who I had spoken to earlier had moved on. As I watched people I tried to discern who might be Anna. I noticed a young woman in a green sweater walked by and made eye contact. She walked into the shop and I can continued to scan the people walking by. After a few minutes, the woman in the green sweater reemerged and asked, “Are you...?”

“Anna?” I replied. She affirmed my question with a nod.

I pulled the iPhone from my jacket pocket and Anna seemed relieved to finally see the phone. Her accent and appearance provided an indication that she was an immigrant from Eastern Europe; however, her accent was slight and were it not from speaking to her husband I might not have detected it. She explained that that she had fallen that morning and her phone had dropped, undetected, out of her pocket. She said with earnestness, “I would like to give you fifty dollars…” I cut her off and replied, “Absolutely not…it was my pleasure.” With little left to be said, we exchanged pleasantries and went our separate ways.

Philadelphia, which in Greek means brotherly love, does not always live up to its moniker. I am sure Holmes would have some profound statement at this point. I do not, except: It is these little vignettes that allow us to connect to people, and give us travel stories to remember.

Short Observations of Vancouver

Sometimes when we travel we see what we want or expect. In a travel guide published in 1927, J.E. Ray wrote:

“One of the charms of Vancouver, to an Englishman, lies in its suggestiveness of the homeland. The climate is something like that of England. Whilst the gardens and the flowers therein might easily have been transported in their entirety from Devon or Cornwall.”

Some eighty-six years later it is difficult to discern much of what Ray saw. While some things may be reminiscent of Britain (such as the additional U in words such as labour and neighbour), in many respects, Vancouver is distinctly Canadian and emblematic of the Pacific Rim and a global city. Where else, but Canada, could you wake up to a morning newspaper where the front page has a picture of Sidney Crosby and Nathan MacKinnon, the two first round picks from Cole Harbour, Nova Scotia (2005 and 2013, respectively) playing against each other for the first time in the NHL? (The Globe and Mail, 22 October 2013)

Much like neighboring American cities to the south, the weather is dictated by the patterns of the Pacific Northwest. Although the forecast might call for sunny skies, this does not rule out the possibility of fog, which was persistent throughout my visit. Perhaps as a result, much like Seattle and Portland, there are a plethora of coffee shops. Although there are a few Starbucks, Blenz is far more ubiquitous (not to mention Tim Hortons).

Looking down at the sidewalks in Vancouver, one will find the outline of leaves imprinted onto the concrete. There is no pattern that is discernible, just decoration that is a nicety. Also on Burrard Street, between Alberni and Georgia, there are two sidewalk markers that denote the locations of Oscar’s Restaurant (1943-1962) and the Palomar Nightclub (1937-1952).  It is a happier commemoration than looking down at the sidewalks in central Europe.

Ray does mention the Asian population of Vancouver in his account; however, he uses some unfortunate terms what is considered insensitive today. In his description of Chinese, Japanese and Indians he assigns certain jobs to each populations. The Museum of Vancouver has a very interesting exhibit on the history of the city, which includes artifacts and stories about Asian migrants. Chinese immigrants, who referred to Vancouver as “Saltwater City,” have been a significant segment of the population since the 1860s. Beginning in the 1880s the government of Canada tried to limit the number of Chinese immigrants through a series of taxes, and later exclusions that prevented anyone from China immigrating to the country.

Nelson Park is a neighborhood park in the middle of the west end of the city. I expected to find a statue of Admiral Nelson somewhere in the park; however, there was none that I am aware of. Instead, the park is a green space in the middle of a mixed neighborhood of single-family houses and stylish apartment buildings. There is a large dog park and a farmers market on Saturdays during the summer months.

Near the cenotaph at Victory Square, there is a small plaque that recalls the reading of the Riot Act in 1935. Protesters at a work relief camp in the city held a demonstration over conditions, treatment and food that escalated into a riot at the Hudson Bay department store on Georgia Street. A reminder that the effects of the Great Depression were felt worldwide. 

Powell Street and Asahi Baseball

What once was the area of the city where Japanese immigrants in Vancouver lived, today evidence of the Japanese community that once flourished along Powell Street is difficult to find. There is a small historical marker on the building at 314 Powell Street indicates that the building was once Fuji Chop Suey Restaurant, the most popular establishment in the neighborhood. The marker states that the restaurant served “Japanese-style Chinese cuisine” and was a fashionable venue for banquets and wedding.

Powell Grounds at Oppenheimer Park, Vancouver 

Just a few blocks down the street is Oppenheimer Park, which contains an old baseball backstop, which is the remnants of Powell Grounds where the Asahi Baseball team played. The team was very success in the in the city league and an inspiration for Japanese-Canadians who faced discrimination. The team was widely supported and played a brand of baseball (known as “small ball”) that is relies on skill and timing rather than simple brawn. (A 1931 picture of the team at Powell Grounds)

Ultimately, both Fuji Chop Suey Restaurant and the Asahi Baseball Team found their demise because of fear in the early 1940s. The team played its last season in 1941 and the restaurant closed in 1942 primarily because of the deportation of policy of the government of Canada. After the bombing of Pearl Harbor in December 1941, those who were born in Japan or Canadian-born citizens of Japanese heritage living in Vancouver were obliged to move east:

“2. Japanese Canadians who want to remain in Canada should now re-establish themselves East of the Rockies as the best evidence of their intentions to co-operate with the Government policy of dispersal.” (T. B. Pickersgill, Commissioner of Japanese Placement)

In 2013 the only minor league team in MLB-affiliated baseball located in Canada was the Vancouver Canadians. Although baseball has a rich tradition in Canada, it is often under appreciated. 

Carnegie Library (Vancouver)

The Carnegie Library, which is adjacent to Chinatown, is a majestic structure that was once an important facility in civic education and now serves the Vancouver Public Library until 1957. Today, the Carnegie branch is located in an area of town that faces substantial economic challenges. The building, in addition to continuing to host a small collection, serves as a recreational facilities and low-cost cafeteria for local residents. Inside the library there is a remarkable stained-glass window that honors English literary greats: Milton, Shakespeare and Spenser. Because of renovations inside the library, the bottom section of the window is not seen in this photograph, but honors Burns, Scott and Moore. 

community in various ways. Built in 1903, it was among the 2,507 libraries paid for Andrew Carnegie. The building housed the main branch of the

Whither the Book?

Angie turned to me and said, “Anyone who thinks the book is dead should come here.” The here to which she was referring is Strand Books in New York. We were visiting the famed bookstore on a Saturday afternoon in late September. The store, which is very big, was so crowded it was often difficult to browse for books because people were moving in and out between shelves. The line at the checkout counter stretched 20-25 people, long enough that I could overhear conversations about twenty-something dating rituals as we waited to complete our purchases.

There are other famous bookstores that engender such passion as well. Located at the corner of Pender and Richards streets in Vancouver, MacLeod’s Books is one of those used book stores where one can lose yourself for hours. It is a small space; however, there are so many books stuffed into the store that it makes shopping a treasure hunt for unknown goods.

MacLeod's Books

Featured in Macleans two years before my visit, I spent almost two hours searching through stacks of books. There are so many books that line the aisles that it leaves little room to walk, and this did not include the books that are on the shelves and perched on top of bookcases. While I was browsing the multitude of books, contorting myself to read spines that were not in an orderly fashion, I thought to myself that I was searching for books I did not know I wanted.

As I was browsing I could overhear a number of conversations between customers and the staff. The staff was knowledgeable and friendly, but not in an artificial manner that one finds in chain stores. The man and woman who worked the store while I was there figured out queries with minimum information. Among the customers was a woman from Germany, who purchased a couple of books and said that she had read about the store online. 

Persons Day

As I sit in a coffee shop in Vancouver, I write to take note that today is Persons Day in Canada. On this date (18 October) in 1929 the Privy Council declared that the word “persons” in Section 24 of the British North American Act (1867) includes females. The Act was the constitution of the country at the time and the ruling set the stage for gender equality in Canada and the subsequent expansion of rights to indigenous and minority communities. The five women who petitioned the Privy Council for the ruling adorn the $50 bill in Canada today. 

Sports in Massillon and beyond

Even the unobservant traveler will notice that Massillon has an affinity for football, in fact football legend Paul Brown was born here. Football is inescapable as one walks around town. There is a mural on the side of a building along Lincoln Way that treats football as akin to Greek mythology; its greats as gods. At the bottom of the mural is a poem:

Mural on Lincoln Way, Massillon, OH

“In the Beginning when the great creator was drawing plans for this world of ours, he decided there should be something for everyone. He gave us mountains that reach to the sky, deep blue seas, green forests, dry deserts, gorgeous flowers, and gigantic trees. Then he decided there should be football, and he gave us Massillon. He created only one Massillon, he knew that would be enough.”

Virtually every business in town has a sign in the window exhorting the local high school football team to do well. The woman working the breakfast this morning in my hotel wore a t-shirt that read: “One team, one town, one goal.” While at first glance this source of civic pride is admirable. Yet I find some of the aspects of this as troubling. High school football players adorn the flags along the main street of town (Lincoln Way) posed in their uniforms, like football players outside a NFL stadium. Pictures of the town’s cheerleaders are found in the windows of many businesses in Massillon, exhorting the team to greatest. The implicit message is: “This is as good as it gets.” High school is the apex of one’s life and our heroes are the 15-18 year olds who represent our town each weekend.

My trip to Massillon coincided with a number of articles and book releases that caught my eye. The emphasis on sports, particularly football is the subject of Amanda Ripley’s article in The Atlantic. The author examines the amount of money that is spent on high school athletics in the United States, much of it hidden and compares it with the money spent on scholastic programs. Rarely do people calculate coaches’ salaries, bus rides, and equipment refurbishment. There are stunning figures to make high school sports happen and it is not recouped through ticket sales. It probably goes without saying that the most expensive sport is football; however, in the Pacific Northwest one school was spending $328 per student for math instruction while at the same time spending $1348 per cheerleader. While most arguments that favor sports in high school point to keeping marginal students in school, this segment of the student population is small. Yet the emphasis on sports keeps resources from making classes interesting and innovative with fully qualified teachers.

It is difficult to think about America, or its popular culture, without its emphasis on sports. No doubt I am one who enjoys the history and lore of sports. One of my favorite films of the 1980s is Hoosiers, a semi-fictional story based upon the real team of Milan, which won the 1954 Indiana High School Basketball Championship. The swelling music and compelling visuals celebrate a romantic notion of small-town America. The love of high school sports is woven into the fabric of America. My high school, duPont Manual was one of the principals for the legendary Male-Manual rivalry, touted as the nation’s oldest high school rivalry and I know plenty of people who either attend or intend to attend the game each year. I even co-authored a history of the rivalry for my high school newspaper.

In the closing sequence of Hoosiers, a photograph of the winning team adorns the wall of the high school gymnasium. As Ripley points out, in 1961 sociologist James Coleman wrote that where one interested a high school you are confronted with trophy cases that celebrate athletic, not scholastic, achievements. Nowhere in Massillon are there pictures of students who so well in things other than football and cheerleading. Nevertheless, education is supposed to be a school’s raison d’etre.

We little realize how much high school sports dictate high school academics. I have long known that a later starting time could greatly improve students’ lives and learning. In fact, research demonstrates that a later starting time results in improved student performance; however, most schools have early morning starts to facilitate afternoon daylight sports practices.

Two other articles in The Atlantic tangentially deal with similar themes. One piece by Karl Taro Greenfeld smartly and amusingly examines how much homework students do each night. Greenfeld spent a week doing the same homework assignments as his daughter and found that the assignments tended to be unrealistic and inane. Read in context with Ripley’s piece, one comes to the conclusion that the problems of American education are not simply about one issue. Another article in the same issue examines the amount of money taxpayers give to one of the richest and most profitable organizations in the United States – the NFL. Yet another indication of the power and importance of sports in the United States. 

Nostalgia in Massillon

Massillon, Ohio, alternatively known as Tiger Town and City of Champions, is one of those towns that has fallen on hard times, but the history, architecture and charms continues to shine. Although not born here, silent film star Lillian Gish spent a great deal of her childhood in the city and is claimed by the city. I fear that my reason for coming to Massillon is at an end. (Just as I was getting comfortable spelling the name of the city.)

One of the nice things about walking through town is examining the old buildings and connecting it with local history. The remnants of a local confectionery are still visible. The Sugar Bowl, which was established in 1902 and was a tradition in the city, is no more. The entrance reveals a vacant storefront; however, this painted wall, which faces Diamond Court, is a reminder of a business that lasted nearly a century in Massillon. It was a place where local people gather after games and dances, for dates, and when being social with one another. An even older business is the Liebermann Bakery, opened in 1882, and still making delicious treats and breads today. Although I tried to avoid such delights as a rule, I stopped in for a Boston cream doughnut and a cup of coffee while in town. It was nice to stand in a small shop where you could see the people working, making bread and cakes, and local people were there for a weekend ritual. It is difficult to say why the tactile pleasure of warm baked goods and hot coffee, the experience of walking into a bakery and selecting from a multitude of choices, smelling fresh bread and speaking to those responsible for these delights is so satisfying. I walked by later in the day and the smells of baked good wafted onto the street, which only served to enhance my feelings for Liebermann. All I know is that this is not an experience one has at a megastores.

Of course many more buildings stand without the original tenants. Many buildings in the center of Massillon remain empty or under-utilized. One of the first buildings that stood out for me was the Bloomfield building on South Erie. It was the home of Bloomfield’s Furniture and its showroom was located in the building during the 1930s. During the post-World War II period it had moved to Lincoln Way (old US 30).

Outside Salem, Ohio

It is not easy to explain what compels me to stop while driving along back road. I am not always sure what I am seeing, but in this case the building just looked fascinating. Along the side of the road, near Salem, Ohio, the front plate of this brick building caught my eye. The inscription reads: “1908 / Dist No 4 / Green TP.” My best guess is that it is a former school house, but it has been difficult to track down any information so far.  

NYPL

For some of us of a certain predilection, the most important site in New York is the New York Public Library. Restaurants, theaters, shops, monuments and stadiums all beckon, but do not represent the repertoire of knowledge and culture collected within the walls of the exquisite building at 42nd and Fifth Avenue. Even if it is just a quick pass through the gift shop, a trip to the library is always rewarding.

The ceiling of the reading room surreptitiously
taken with my iPad

A few hours reading books in the main reading room, where no tourists are allowed to take photographs, is ennobling. Unlike many other libraries these days, the time-honored traditional of quiet reflection is largely observed. Often the only noises, which are magnified because of unusual silence is the frequent sound of the wooden chairs legs dragged across the tile floor and the infrequent coughs of patrons. It is a quiet oasis in the midst of a great bustling city. 

The best quality of a research library is that there are books and material that is available very few places, or nowhere else in the world. In fact, the New York Public Library system is a treasure trove of unique items. It is one of the things that makes the library so special and why so many fight to keep much of the collection on-site to continue to make it a working research library.

While the collection makes the library particularly useful, the building inspires us to greatness. At the entrance to the main reading rooms is a quote from John Milton that reminds us of the immortality of literature, words and books: “A good Booke is the precious life-blood of a master spirit, imbalm’d and treasur’d up on purpose to a life beyond life.” There are also corners of the library that reminds of us days passed; my favorite is the bank of public telephones in the basement that are, today, rarely used. 

Public telephones at the NYPL

I was reading a fairly obscure book by a British author (only 52 libraries around the world reported having a copy) from the early post-World War II era. I had expected to find the book distasteful and vehemently disagree with the ideas presented; however, I was struck by the thoughtful exploration of the issue in question. While I disagree with the overall premise, it did strike me as an interesting understanding of issues from a bygone day. The author had written five other books, which made me wonder if the library held copies. More broadly, what ideas, thoughts, stories, narratives and collections must be contained in the volumes within the stacks of the library? These are the types of books that are not on any type of electronic device and likely never will be. When was the last time someone read the book I read on that beautiful fall afternoon? Are there books that have not been read in decades that would be discovered by a patron later today? Next week? Or next year?  

Vintage South Loop Chicago

A number of item caught my eyes on a recent trip to Chicago and the following are three that are interesting but I do not have anything particular to write about.   

Blue Star Auto Parts sign – 2001 South State Street 

Universal Pluming – 1815 South State Street 

Yellow Cab sign painted on the side of a building as seen from South Wabash 

between Cermak Road and East 21st Street 

Exploring Coudersport, PA

Potter County Courthouse

Nestled among the tree-laden hills of Potter County, Coudersport is a quaint town that makes you feel as if it is twenty years ago. There is no megastores and there are very few national chain retailers, other than the ubiquitous McDonalds that permeates small town America.  The town survives in spite of the economic downturn and the mechanization of the lumber industry. While there we had dinner at a small, locally owned, restaurant where the menu was limited but the food was simple and good. It was a place where locals went for a dinner out, but the dinner selection was like going to a friend’s house: you ate what they had.

North Main Street

The buildings in town are neat and well kept. Most of the buildings date from the 1880s and 1890s, the boom days of the lumber industry. The Masonic Building on North Main Street still has the remnants of advertising for a local confectionery on its side. Inside the post office, built during the Great Depression, there is a frieze dedicated to the lumber industry that hangs next to a display containing the first letter mailed from the new post office in 1938. 

The Allegheny River, which makes its way through town, has its headwaters approximately ten miles from Coudersport (near Cobb Hill). The river briefly goes north, into New York, before joining the Monongalia in Pittsburgh to form the Ohio River.

Cherry Springs State Park is located approximately 15 miles away. The park is designated a dark sky area, which means that the park is protected from ambient light sources. With the reduction of light pollution, observing the night sky (stars, constellations, planets and the Milky Way) much better. People travel from across the eastern half of the United States to stargaze at Cherry Springs because it is considered to be the best location on the East Coast.

Cherry Hill State Park at Sunset

Although the night we were there was not optimal observation conditions, there were high clouds and a very bright moon, one still got a sense about what most of us miss on a nightly basis. An extremely bright meteor, that streak seemingly half way across the sky, was the highlight of the evening. As the sun sank into the west, and the orange glow faded to black, those who were there competed in hushed tones to point out each new star as it appeared in the sky. The observation area is very user friendly with comfortable benches whose basks are reclined at a sixty degree angles to facilitate looking up. The benches are pointed toward the east to aid in adjusting the viewers’ eyes to the dark as the sun sets.

The light clouds and the bright moon adumbrated the Milky Way. Enough so that once again I contemplated in the dark what these faint points of light meant. It has been several years since I took and astronomy class, and even longer since I was first mesmerized by Carl Sagan’s Cosmos. We live in a time and a society that emphasizes us as individuals. Our lives, replete with electronics and artificial light, prevent us from seeing the stars. Many of us engage in solipsistic habits that emphasize our own importance. There are billions and billions of stars, as Sagan would say, in the sky. Each of those stars represents a sun, potentially encircled by planets, at distances so vast it is difficult to contemplate. Many of the stars we see in the sky are so far away that it took scores, hundreds, even thousands of years for the light to reach earth. In the face of such overwhelming number and distances, sitting in the dark, quietly, it is difficult not to feel insignificant.

I was reminded of a prayer I read while in Dublin at the Church of Adam and Eve. At the Shrine to St. Clare of Assisi (1193-1253) a reflection begins, “Place your mind before the mirror of eternity!” 

Vintage Advertisement (Moravia, NY)

A vintage advertisement appears on the side of the building at 148 North Main Street in Moravia. The Gold Medal Flour sign is in very good shape, but because of its location it is difficult to photograph. There is a gap between the building and the one to the immediate left where one can walk between and get a good look at the sign; however, it is not conducive to photographs.

Vintage Advertisements (McAdoo, PA)

Postie’s Beverages – 55 South Manning Street, McAdoo, PA.

It appears that Postie’s was once a local soft drink maker and distributor that have evolved into just a distributor today. I did find some examples of old bottles for sale online, but relatively little other information.

As I was finishing my photography of the building an older man stuck his head out the door and yelled at me, “What the hell are you looking at?” I explained that I was a traveler, interested in old buildings, and just taking a few photographs. He replied, “A traveler, uh?” I went on to apologize if I were disturbing him in any way. He looked around, still not sure of me, “I thought you might be the bank, looking to repossess me.” I assured him I was not, which seemed to placate him. The encounter made me disinclined to enter the store. Although the next time I am passing through I will, more than likely, stop in.

Patriotic Rome

Rome, New York claims many patriotic sites for the traveler to consider. Some are more obvious than others; like many places a little investigation leads to interesting results.
Fort Stanwix, a major colonial British fort, is the first place the Stars & Stripes first flew in Battle (3 August 1777) in an encounter between American forces on one sides and British and Indian allies on the other. A few paces away from the fort, at the corner of West Liberty and North James, is the Tomb of the Unknown Revolutionary War Soldiers. The soldiers were disinterred during an archaeological dig at Fort Stanwix. The monument was dedicated on the country’s bicentennial (4 July 1976).

First Baptist Church, Rome, New York

More obscure is the plaque that adorns the First Baptist Church, at the corner of North George and West Embargo streets. The Reverend Francis Bellamy, the author of the Pledge of Allegiance, was baptized (by immersion) at the First Baptist Church of Rome, New York in 1869. The current church was built in 1872. Although born in Mount Morris, NY, Bellamy’s parents were active in the Baptist Church and moved to Rome when he was five.

Bellamy wrote the Pledge of Allegiance as a way to commemorate the opening of the 1893 Columbian Exposition in Chicago and to bolster a sense of patriotism among school children. Published in Youth’s Companion magazine, Bellamy encouraged schools across the country to have children recite the pledge to coincide with the official dedication of the Exposition. Incidentally, the Columbian Exposition was to celebrate the 400th anniversary of the landing of Columbus in the Western Hemisphere and created quite a spectacle. The stories of the pledge and the Exposition are related quite effectively in Erik Larson’s book, The Devil in the White City.

As published in September 1892 the Pledge read:

“I pledge allegiance to my Flag and the Republic for which it stands, one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”

Subsequent changes to the pledge, including the addition of the words “under God” in 1954, would occur every so often. Perhaps a surprising fact many people do not realize is that a year prior to publishing the pledge, Bellamy lost his job as minister in a Boston church because, as a Christian Socialist, his sermons on the rights of working people and fair distribution of wages were too radical for his parishioners. 

Vintage Advertisements (Auburn, NY)

This sign for Pillsbury was observed on my way to Falcon Stadium during the middle of a tremendous downpour. It is on the side of a building that is located at the corner of North Division and Wall streets.

McClay’s Mill Twin Bridges

Seemingly in the middle of nowhere, McClay’s Mill Twin Bridges crosses the Conodoquinet Creek in Franklin County. Located not far from Middle Spring and Shippensburg, Pennsylvania, the bridge was built by Silas Harry, a local stonemason, in 1827. Harry would go on to reconstruct the Franklin County Courthouse in 1846. The bridge was repaired by PennDOT in 2010.

The Conodoquinet Creek is a 106-mile tributary to the Susquehanna River. Its name, in the Algonquian language means, “For a long way, nothing but bends.”

Abandoned Churches in Pittsburgh

My recent sojourn to Pittsburgh was primarily a baseball trip; however, I took a few hours to investigate some of my ongoing interests. Future blog posts will feature some of these investigations. This post, while substantial, still feels incomplete and I will more than likely return to the theme in the coming months.

The recent bankruptcy of Detroit has directed the public’s attention on the plight of urban areas, especially after the decline of an industrial sector. Detroit has experienced decay, depopulation and disassembling. Citizens have become demoralized and have pondered how to escape the seemingly inevitable downward spiral of decline and decay. What is notable is that Detroit is not the only city to have experienced this phenomenon. Other cities, such as Youngstown, Ohio and Camden, New Jersey, have experienced significant decline as well.

Recently, I have been reading Alice Mah’s Industrial Ruination, which is an examination of the artifacts, or “waste,” left behind from industrial societies. As Mah points out the ruins are not static – the empty and abandoned buildings are one state and will be repaired or demolished and rebuilt. Yet, for the residents of that city or town, the artifacts are often nostalgic reminders of what once was. In my explorations of Pittsburgh, I have found an interesting phenomenon that appears to be outside Mah’s analysis. Pittsburgh has had its setbacks and, although they are optimistic signs of its revitalization, a number churches in the city and surrounding areas have been left abandoned and derelict. Yet, many of the churches in Pittsburgh, architecturally, reflect a pre-industrial impulse. Given that many who worked in Pittsburgh’s factories were immigrants, the churches more than likely reflect memories of their homeland and pre-migration lives. What to do with these abandoned churches is a confusing and difficult problem for the city. Because they are architecturally different, and religiously significant, should the city and the community work harder to preserve them? My sentiment is to save these structures. Yet, how many can be?

St. Mary Magdalene Church in Homestead (July 2013)

St. Mary Magdalene Church – Standing across Amity Street from Frick Park, St. Mary Magdalene towers above the working class houses and other churches in Homestead. It was built in 1895-96 and served the working class families who moved to the area to work in local steel mills. After a fire in 1932, the church was substantially destroyed; it was rebuilt and re-opened in 1936. (There was yet another fire in 1977.) The decline of the steel industry in Homestead and Munhall resulted in a depopulation in both boroughs. In 1992, the Diocese of Pittsburgh decided to merge the parishes of Homestead and Munhall, including St. Mary Magdalene. Although originally slated to close, local residents petitioned to have St Mary Magdalene remain open as the new St. Maximilian Kolbe parish; however, the church was forced to close the building in 2009 as a result of financial pressures. The church is currently for sale.

The former St. Peter and Paul Roman Catholic Church

St. Peter and Paul Church – Situated in the East Liberty neighborhood of Pittsburgh, St. Peter and Paul Church was built in 1890. The church suffered a lighting strike and major fire in 1909 and was subsequently rebuilt. In 1992, the parish was merged with five other parishes and closed. In 1999, the church was featured in the Kevin Smith film, Dogma, starring Matt Damon and Ben Affleck. Exploring the neighborhood, the church and rectory, on Larimer Avenue, still dominates the area and from a distance it stills looks impressive. The visual is helped because there are several empty blocks, presumably where houses have been demolished, in the vicinity of the vacant church. But up close, the church tells a different story. In recent months the church and rectory has been broken into, presumably by the homeless, and fires have been started in an effort to keep warm.

The front door to St. Peter and Paul in April 2013

While both of these churches currently stand empty, another former Catholic church has been reincarnated into one Pittsburgh’s most successful dining destinations. The former St. John the Baptist Church is now the Church Brew Work, an award winning microbrewery in the Lawrenceville section of Pittsburgh at 36th and Liberty. The cornerstone of the church was laid in 1902; however, because of the reorganization of the Catholic Church in the early 1990s, John the Baptist was closed in 1993. In 1996, after a renovation, the building was reopened as the microbrewery. The restaurant and brewpub has saved the beautiful interior of the church making it a unique dining experience. Whether Mary Magdalene is repurposed in a way that saves its architectural legacy remains to be seen; however, time is running out on St. Peter and Paul. If someone does not do something with the church in East Liberty soon, there may be nothing left to salvage.

E. B. White’s Here is New York

It has been sixty-five summers since the essayist E.B. While walked the streets of New York, and holed up in a hotel room, in preparation for his ode to the city, Here is New York. The book was reissued in paperback in 1999, for the fiftieth anniversary of its original release, and new copies are readily available around bookstores in the city; however, my copy is from the original publication year (1949) and it the “Book of the Month Club” edition. Somehow, in my affectations, this makes it more authentic.

White’s general theme, in what is essentially a long essay, is that the city is both ever-changing and never-changing. The streets and familiar landmarks give one a sense of stability and permanence. Yet, at the same time, old buildings are torn down and replaced with amazing frequency. What I find interesting in the book is how prescient White’s observations are. He notes that people have an edge and arguments occur far more frequently, prefiguring the stereotype of rude New Yorkers. He is concerned about the over-commercialization of society, noting that to him Grand Central Station was the most inspiring interior until ruined by advertising. He laments the intrusion of television into public spaces, arguing that men go to bars to gaze at television rather than having “long thoughts.”

It is the final observation of the book that is the most interesting and far-sighted. White is very much a man of his era; writing in 1948 he is concerned about the specter of nuclear warfare. But his prose eerily foreshadows the September 11 attacks, even though the airplanes he fears are carrying atomic weapons instead of being themselves the weapons of terror. He notes, as well, what makes the city stronger in the aftermath: “The city at last perfectly illustrates both the universal dilemma, and the general solution, this riddle in steel and stone is at one the perfect target and the perfect demonstration of nonviolence…” (53). White returns to the argument that the city’s diversity makes it stronger, specifically that the number of different nationalities and groups meant that people had to be tolerant of one another (43). It is this allure of the city, which White argues bestows the gifts of loneliness and privacy, that allows people to be who they want. Because people migrate to the city to find freedom and anonymity, and they recognize fellow travelers, it creates the essence of urban tolerance. It is also the source of disdain for many outside urban areas, for they fear those who are different. Reading White sixty-five years after his observations, I was struck by his foreshadowing of current trends. Cities are big, often illogical, collections of neighborhoods and people that look like utter chaos; however, as Katz and Bradley have more recently argued, perhaps it is cities that will lead the future. 

Craighead Bridge

A nineteenth century bridge in Central Pennsylvania will not survive much longer. On 18 July, the Cumberland County Commission authorized the closure and demotion of the Craighead Bridge in South Middleton Township, just outside of Carlisle. The 114-year old structure was deemed unsafe and the Planning Department Director said that a recent inspection discovered “advanced deterioration.” He argued that given the current state of the bridge, it would not last through the winter. The plan is to demolish the bridge and replace it with a new two lane bridge approximately 150 feet west of the current location, which will be opened in 2015.

The Craighead Bridge spans the Yellow Breeches Creek, just off PA174 (Walnut Bottom Road) on Zion Road.  It was built in 1899 by the Pittsburgh Bridge Company and is a steel truss construction. It has a single lane that abuts PA174, meaning that if you are turning off PA174 onto the bridge you must yield to traffic already on the bridge. This has made traffic somewhat hazardous. The bridge is 140 feet long and quite busy, carrying approximately 2000 cars a day.

The day after the Commission made its decision (19 July), I went out to photograph the bridge since the Carlisle Sentinel article suggested that the closing of the bridge could occur as early as that weekend or early the following week. I was surprised by the amount of traffic that utilized the bridge and what a dangerous intersection the bridge created with PA174, with difficult sight lines in both directions. Commuters will have to take a four mile detour once the bridge is closed and until the new structure is opened. It is important to remember that when the Craighead Bridge opened in 1899, there was no automobile traffic.

The bridge, with its interesting and weathered perpendicular and diagonal lines, creates a beautiful setting against the wooded banks of the creek. After the bridge is demolished there will be only four truss bridges remaining in Cumberland County. The bridge is a reminder of a day when steel from the western part of the state, particularly Pittsburgh, was a major industry. More than likely the replacement bridge will be a nondescript, concrete structure that will make it difficult to discern that one is actually crossing a body of water. Several years ago it became fashionable to save, or even reconstruct, covered bridges. Perhaps it is time to consider saving nineteenth century steel bridges as well. 

Update: The bridge closed on Tuesday, 23 July 2013. 

Vintage Advertisements (Greencastle, PA)

At 8 East Baltimore Street, adjacent to the town square in Greencastle, there is a brick building once occupied by Carl’s Drug Store. The painted sign, high above the other surrounding structures, remains easy to read as if the drug store may still actually exist. Currently, however, the building is occupied by E.L.M. Department store that covers a number of buildings on the northeast corner of the square. My guess, completely unsubstantiated at this point, is that Carl’s was a place to go after school or on Friday or Saturday evenings for ice cream and soda. Given its location in the center of town, I am willing to be that it was a local social gathering place for young people.

Another interesting artifact is the building at 24 South Carlisle Street. Currently it is Kerm’s Card Shop, specializing in sports memorabilia and cards. But it is clear from wording on the window that the building was a former grocery store. There are signs, which appear to be affixed to the windows, advertising Coca-Cola, meats, and self-service groceries. The signs catch my eyes because they are (and the store itself) is similar to the neighborhood grocery that was just down the street from where I grew up in Louisville. My Mom would sometimes send me down to Fanny’s to get thinly sliced bologna or a carton of Pepsi. In the days before he discovered he was a juvenile diabetic, my Dad would have a 16-ounce bottle nearly every day when he came home from work. I was afraid of Fanny, she often yelled at us kids for seemingly no good reason. I remember one time, when I was about five or six, I was sent to the store for a carton of soft drinks and, after my purchase, she yelled at me because I was slouching as I carried the eight-pack of 16-ounce bottles. When I said they were heavy, she told me that I needed build muscles. I sure she made somewhat of a cogent argument but I was too scared to hear and no longer remember. Another time, because of my fear of Fanny, I convinced by friend Mike to go in and buy bologna for my mom. Mike and his brother Allen were the only kids Fanny ever liked in the neighborhood. Apparently she asked Mike how he would like the bologna sliced and he told her he did not know because it was for my mom. Fanny came out found me waiting around the corner for Mike and started berating me for not purchasing my mom’s order. She knew my mom liked her bologna sliced thin. 

I would never think to eat bologna today; however, I do remember how good it seemed to taste back then.