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.