Thursday, December 17, 2020
Tuesday, August 11, 2020
Home Delivery. July 16, 2020
Copyright © 2020 John F. Oyler
July 16, 2020
Home Delivery
My (soon to be Nonagenarian) friend Don Toney is continually impressed with today’s technology and the modern miracles it has produced. Recently he was waxing eloquent about the convenience we have today ordering things on the Internet and having them delivered to our front door.
My reaction was “Yes, but how much different is that from 1940?” Eighty years ago our parents appreciated the convenience of leafing through the Montgomery Wards and Sears, Roebuck catalogues, ordering items, and having them delivered to our homes. I particularly remember the excitement of receiving the Christmas catalogues right around Thanksgiving and pouring over the exciting collection of toys being offered.
I too am impressed with the capability we have today, and the ease with which Monday’s orders become Wednesday’s deliveries. Each time a UPS or FEDEX truck comes down my street, I am reminded of Marian the Librarian’s brother Winthrop singing “The Wells Fargo Wagon” in “The Music Man”. “I hope that it has something special, just for me!”
It is hard for someone today to realize what home delivery meant eighty years ago. Before every family had several cars, and women had been liberated, the typical housewife had to depend upon it for most of the family’s needs. I remember my mother calling Foster’s to order groceries. She would discuss the selection of meat available that day with the butcher, “How do the pork chops look?”. Half an hour later George Cox would drive up with her order.
Several times a week Louie Dernosek, “the huckster”, would visit our neighborhood and park his produce truck in the intersection of Lafayette and Elizabeth Streets. In no time he would be negotiating with a dozen housewives eager to replenish their supply of fruits and vegetables. His trademark was tossing an orange or apple to any child who happened by.
Milk was delivered daily, very early in the morning. I remember Portman and the Bridgeville Dairy in our neighborhood; I’m sure there were others. This was before the popularity of homogenizing milk. The milk was delivered in glass bottles, with several inches of cream at the top. The bottles had cardboard discs as caps; when the bottles were left on very cold mornings, it was common to find the cap popped and an inch or two of frozen cream extruded.
My memory of bread delivery is dominated by the Ertl Baking Company, primarily because the delivery man was so popular with all the kids. He was a small man, who had a distinctive small delivery van. Whenever he drove by, all the kids would shout, “Hi, Ertl!”.
Until we moved to Lafayette Street and acquired an electric refrigerator, Herman Colussy was another frequent visitor, delivering ice for our ice box. He, too, was popular with the kids because he was a soft touch for any child begging a piece of ice to suck on.
Less frequent visitors were repairmen. One gentleman specialized in repairing umbrellas; I believe he went door to door on foot. Another gentleman sharpened scissors and knives – I remember his having a grindstone that he operated by pumping it with his feet. I wonder if he had a car?
Our mail delivery was exceptional – twice a day! I don’t think we had the volume of junk mail that plagues us today. People corresponded regularly by writing letters – this was the principal contact we had with my mother’s family in Emporium and my father’s in Franklin County.
Newspapers – can you imagine three daily papers? The Post-Gazette came every morning; in the afternoon we had the choice of two dramatically different evening papers. The Sun-Telegraph was a Hearst publication, decidedly conservative. The Press was published by Scripps Howard and tended to be more progressive. I recall politicking my parents to switch to the “Tele” because they carried the Lone Ranger comic strip.
Actually we had better service in many areas in those days than we do today. According to the 1940 Census, over half of the families in Bridgeville were earning less than the poverty level that year. Nonetheless society was able to afford things that are too expensive for us today, when we are all wealthy.
I am reminded of this every Tuesday evening when our high-class neighborhood is cluttered with garbage cans and piles of trash, to be collected the next day. We look like a scene from a movie filmed in an inner-city ghetto. In Bridgeville, in 1940, our garbage can was located in our back yard. The garbage collector carried it to the street, dumped it into his truck, and returned it neatly to its original location.
The same thing might be said about “service stations”. Do you remember pulling up to a gas pump, hearing the bell ring when you drove over the rubber tubing, and being greeted by a uniformed attendant, and courteously being asked if you wanted the oil checked, after he had begun to pump gas into your tank?
My biggest use of our current capability is for ordering books. The vast availability of used and new books on the Internet and the limited number of local book stores makes the on-line ordering decision easy, despite my general preference for supporting local businesses. Most of the books I order arrive within two days.
How did we purchase books in 1940? The nearest book store was a department in Kaufmann’s, downtown. “Book-of-the-Month” clubs were popular in those days; I presume there was also more conventional mail order capability. I did find an advertisement for Brentano’s Booksellers with a list of novels that could be mail ordered. It included “The Egg and I” and “Forever Amber”, among others.
It is interesting that we have gone through this eight decades cycle. After World War II, our love affair with the automobile and suburban malls completely revolutionized our shopping methods. Today Amazon has displaced Sears, Roebuck, but in many respects we are back where we were in 1940.
The American Way of Voting: a Wild History. July 9, 2020
Copyright © 2020 John F. Oyler
July 9, 2020
The American Way of Voting: a Wild History
The Bridgeville Area Historical Society celebrated the return of Allegheny County to the “green” status by returning to its regular program of live presentations this month. Appropriately the speaker was one of the Society’s favorites – Dr. Todd DePastino. His subject was also appropriate for these times – “The American Way of Voting: a Wild History”.
Because of my voluntary self-quarantine I was unable to attend the presentation in person; fortunately it was filmed and became available on the “Bridgeville.org” website two days later. I was not surprised to learn that the program was equally entertaining and educational, particularly since we are in still one more highly critical Presidential election year.
The Constitution clearly intended that the selection of President and Vice President be determined by electors selected by the Legislatures of the various states. Each state had its own criteria for eligibility of voters to record their preferences.
In most of them voters were restricted to adult, property-owning white males. An exception was New Jersey that allowed women to vote up until 1807. In some of the northern states free African-Americans could vote. The property-owning requirement was eventually replaced by the requirement that the voter be a tax payer.
Although the Founding Fathers didn’t anticipate the concept of political parties, by 1800 the rivalry between Alexander Hamilton and Thomas Jefferson led to the birth of the Federalist and Democratic-Republican parties, respectively. The Constitution required each elector to vote for two candidates, a reasonable approach for a concept without parties. The candidate with the most votes would be elected President; the runner-up, Vice President.
The invention of parties demonstrated the weakness of this system.The Democratic-Republicans ran a ticket of Jefferson and Aaron Burr against a Federalist ticket of John Adams and Charles Pickney. In each case it was assumed that electors would vote by party. One of the electors from the winning party would abstain from voting, to determine which candidate was President.
The Jefferson-Burr ticket won handily, but somehow none of the electors abstained, leaving Jefferson and Burr each with 73 electoral votes. Aaron Burr was not one to honor a “gentleman’s agreement”, so the election was thrown into the outgoing House of Representatives where the Federalists held a majority (60) of the 106 seats.
In this election each state delegation had one vote. It is not surprising that this resulted in an eight to eight tie, nor that this continued for thirty-four more rounds. Eventually Hamilton stepped in and brokered a deal that favored what he considered the lesser of two evils – Jefferson.
The next particularly abnormal election was in 1824. The Federalist Party had disappeared leaving the field to the Democratic-Republicans, who were splintered into four factions, leading to the nomination of four candidates for President – John Quincy Adams, Andrew Jackson, Henry Clay, and William Crawford. None of them earned a majority of the electoral votes, so it was back to the House of Representatives. This time Adams won with thirteen of the twenty-four states favoring him.
Jackson got even in 1828; his faction adopted the name Democratic while Adams’ faction called themselves National Republicans. The primary difference between a democracy and a republic is the guarantee of minority rights afforded by the republic, contrasted to the lack of same in a democracy. An interesting distinction today when an advocate of states’ rights is considered a racist.
By 1828 most of the states had relaxed the requirement that voters be property owners. This resulted in a significant increase in the percentage of the population actually voting and facilitated Jackson’s election despite a campaign replete with defamatory attacks on his character.
By 1840 the opposition to Jackson’s Democrats had coalesced into a party they called the Whigs, in deference to the anti-monarchists in England. They held the first ever National Convention, where William Henry Harrison was nominated to run against incumbent President Martin van Buren. For the first time Harrison actively campaigned in public.
Once again the campaign was featured with mud-slinging. Despite Harrison’s aristocratic Virginian roots, his opponents painted him as an overly old man who would like nothing better than to stay in his log cabin drinking hard cider. This strategy backfired with the voters in the West, who turned out in droves to support him.
Prior to that election the largest voter turnout had been fifty eight percent of the “voting age population”. The turnout in 1840 was an amazing 81.2 %, second only to 81.8% in 1876. The trend for high turnout continued through 1896. It then dropped to the fifty to sixty percent range that has continued until today. It must be acknowledged however that the “voting age population” includes two segments that continue to be high – non-citizens (including undocumented aliens) and convicted felons.
The Dorr Rebellion in Rhode Island in 1841was an example of the effort to extend voting rights to a larger portion of the public. The state was still being governed by its colonial charter, which specifically limited the right to vote to property owners. By 1841 this disenfranchised sixty percent of the potential voters, primarily factory workers in the cities. Although an armed rebellion failed, the requirement was eventually removed.
The 1876 election, with its huge turnout, ended up being one of the most controversial. Originally it was assumed that President Grant would ignore precedent and run for an unprecedented third term. When he elected instead to retire, James G. Blaine appeared to be the front-runner for the Republican nomination. At the National Convention he was unable to achieve a majority of votes on the first six nominating ballots; at that point the party bosses turned to a compromise candidate, Ohio Governor Rutherford B. Hayes.
The Democrats nominated New York Governor Samuel J. Tilden on the second ballot. A reformer who had succeeded in breaking up the Tammany Hall political machine and sending “Big Bill” Tweed to prison, Tilden’s candidacy was extremely popular with the party. His polarizing campaign to end Reconstruction in the South certainly contributed to the large voter turnout.
Although Tilden clearly won the total popular vote, the electoral college was filled with confusion. By 1876 the Democratic Party had regained its control over all of the “Solid South” except for Florida, Louisiana, and South Carolina. In those three states the results were close enough to warrant questioning. In addition, a technicality had disqualified a Hayes elector in Oregon.
When the Electoral College met, they were unable to declare a winner. The two houses of Congress then established an Electoral Commission, composed of five Representatives, five Senators, and five Supreme Court Justices to resolve the problem. This resulted in a compromise. Hayes was elected President and promptly removed federal troops from the South, ending Reconstruction and permitting the return of white supremacy.
The method of voting has evolved as well. Originally voters either orally reported their preferences, or, in some cases, voted by dropping appropriately colored balls into a container. The term ballot is derived from the Italian word “ballotta”, small balls. This method was replaced by paper ballots, pre-printed by the political parties and handed out to voters to turn in. Even today the specific method of voting is determined by each individual state.
Who's Driving? July 2, 2020
Copyright © 2020 John F. Oyler
July 2, 2020
Who’s Driving?
The events of recent months have been of great interest to us amateur political scientists (a category that includes almost all of us) as “government” has been forced into taking the most active role in our lives since World War II. Who would have foreseen lockdowns, mandatory use of masks, and the general disruption to everyday life we have experienced?
I think most of us will agree that it was necessary for someone to at least consider each of the measures have been imposed on us. The surprising thing to me is the general confusion regarding the level of government that should do this consideration and then act upon the conclusions reached.
I watched the daily Covid 19 White House press conferences with great interest, mostly so I could understand what was happening and partly because of the entertainment value observing the confusion.
At one point the President clearly stated that it was his responsibility to make the decision regarding putting the entire nation under quarantine and emphasized the fact that this was one of the most significant decisions he would ever make. At this point one of the journalists in the audience, citing the Tenth Amendment to the Constitution, reminded him that such a decision was the function of the individual states by default.
The President appeared to reject this idea, but, two days later in another press conference, announced that this decision was indeed up to the governors of each of states. This abrupt turnaround surprised most observers and still is the subject of controversy.
Our current political system can be simplified as consisting of four hierarchical tiers – the federal government, the state governments, counties, and municipalities. For purpose of this discussion I have elected to combine local municipal governments and school districts into one category, although I realize jointures involve more than one municipality. Consequently, we citizens (taxpayers) find ourselves beholden to four levels of government for benefits and for taxes to pay for the benefits.
So, who decides if I can get a haircut, or eat in a restaurant, or attend a Symphony concert, or shop in a grocery store without a mask? It turns out, much to my surprise, that it is the Governor of our state, mostly by default. There certainly isn’t anything specific that I can find in the State Constitution to justify this.
However, for example, the State is responsible for licensing barbers, so it is easy for the Governor to control them. The same can be said for the State Liquor stores. Restaurants, beer distributors, and grocery stores also are licensed by the State Department of Agriculture. Concerts may be an exception; apparently their permits come from the local municipality.
On March 6, 2020, Governor Wolf issued a Proclamation of Disaster Emergency, which referenced the Pennsylvania Emergency Management Services Code as justification for initiating action by the appropriate state agencies – Pennsylvania Emergency Management Agency, State Police, Department of Health, Department of Education, Department of Transportation, etc. – to respond to the emergency. The Proclamation also urged officials of all political subdivisions in the state to support this effort.
On March 19, Governor Wolf announced that all “non-essential” businesses should be closed until further notice. This was followed by the Governor’s stay-at-home order for the entire state on April 1. Regardless of the questionable legal justification for this action, it was clear he was in charge. Despite opposition from certain counties and from the Republican-dominated State Legislature, he has maintained this role and gone a long way in establishing a precedent for power of the state.
It is interesting to compare this result with the process followed by other major democracies in this crisis. Modern Germany is subdivided into sixteen states; their “lockdown” policy is decided at the state level, like ours. On the other hand, in Italy, subdivided into sixteen districts, the quarantine decision was made at the federal level by the Prime Minister.
The United Kingdom is a special case. Parliament passed legislation permitting Prime Minister Boris Johnson to shut down the entire nation. However, Wales, Scotland, and Northern Ireland have their own legislatures and currently are relaxing requirements at their own level. The final member of the United Kingdom, England, relies on Parliament to function as its legislature.
Other major democracies in which the lockdown decision was made at the federal level include France, Spain, India, and Poland. In contrast, state or district level responsibility was granted in Brazil, Mexico, and Indonesia. Sweden, South Korea, and Japan elected to avoid a formal lockdown, instead appealing to their citizens to adopt social distancing measures voluntarily.
How did the United States get to the point where such a critical crisis would be handled at the level of the states, supplemented by federal advice and aid? The subject of states’ rights has been controversial from the earliest days of our country, finally exploding into the Civil War in 1861.
The topic surfaced again during the Civil Rights Movement with the general consensus being that national interests were destined to prevail over local ones. It is interesting that it has made a comeback at a time when the federal government is dominated by two widely disparate political parties.
The states’ rights concept was a natural consequence of the way our nation was formed. Imagine the difficulty of convincing tiny states like Rhode Island and Delaware to join with powerhouses like New York, Pennsylvania, and Virginia into a union that ensured them any influence at all.
I have always been sympathetic to advocates of states’ rights, mostly because of the historical origin of the concept. However, I suspect that the handling of a crisis of the type in which we currently are involved should have been done at the federal level. The absurd example of a Pittsburgher driving to Wheeling for a haircut because West Virginia was not locked down reinforces that suspicion.
Bridgeville in 1960. June 25, 2020
Copyright © 2020 John F. Oyler
June 25, 2020
Bridgeville in 1960
This week we are going to roll back the calendar six decades by taking advantage of the Bridgeville Area Historical Society’s archive of old copies of the Bridgeville News, beginning with the June 30, 1960 issue.
The News was an eight-page weekly paper available at newsstands for seven cents each week, or mailed to your home by subscription for three dollars a year. Ralph E. Hennon and Custer G. Papas are listed as owners and publishers.
In many respects 1960 was a watershed year for Bridgeville in its transition from regional commercial center to suburban bedroom community. The Great Southern Shopping Center had opened four years earlier in Kirwan Heights, boasting “One hundred stores, 3,000 parking spots, and ten acres of parks and playgrounds”, providing nearly impossible competition to Bridgeville’s “Main Street” – Washington Avenue.
It was also the last year for Bridgeville High School; in September the school kids piled on buses headed for Chartiers Valley High School, on Thoms Run Road in Collier Township. This eliminated a major cultural asset that effectively had brought all portions of the community together for sporting events, band concerts, and class plays.
Being June, the News was full of weddings, including several of folks we knew well. Our next-door neighbor, George Goldbach, married Edith Klancher at St. Agatha’s in a ceremony performed by George’s cousin Father Justin Der. It was Father Der’s first sacrament, a week after his ordination as a priest.
Another neighbor, Ralph Weise, Jr., married Carol Green the same weekend, at the Methodist Church. In a wedding in Hutchison, Kansas, still another neighbor, Buddy (Charles) Sims, married a young lady named Patricia Marshall. A large contingent of Buddy’s extended family drove to Kansas for the ceremony.
Of special interest to me is a column in the paper entitled “The Late 1890s – Leaves from an old Bridgeville Scrap Book”. One item reported “A. Fryer is helping to boom the town by building a large furniture store in the west end.” We know this eventually spawned the funeral business; I wonder where this store was located?
“Around Town”, the column reporting current local news included a number of items that warrant repeating. “Sam Lee, local laundryman, who was burned out by the March 1 fire, has reopened his place of business in the basement of the Quarture Building on Station Street beneath Blair Pharmacy”. His was only one of many businesses devastated by the fire that gutted the building block on the west side of Washington Avenue between Station Street and the bridge over the B & M branch.
“Rev. and Mrs. Robert E. Bailey, and four sons of Dubuque, Iowa, spent last week with his parents, Mr. and Mrs. E. A. Bailey, of Elm Street”. Reverend Bailey was “Slugger” Bailey when we were kids; I had the pleasure of a having lunch with him and Mary Weise a few years ago when he came back for their high school reunion.
“Mr. and Mrs. Maryland Copeland of 654 Bower Hill Road celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary at the home of their son, Curtis Copeland of Bluff Street, on Saturday evening”. Imagine how surprised they would be to know that Curtis’ widow, Betty, would be Bridgeville’s first female mayor, sixty years later!
The sports news in this issue consisted of a fairly comprehensive review of stock car racing at Heidelberg, Clinton, and South Park; and the weekly summary of games in the local Little League. Teams sponsored by the Kiwanis and by Reliable were tied for first place with four and one records, with Rotary and Legion teams trailing them.
The advertisement for the Rankin Theater was emblematic of the decline in Bridgeville business. By then the theater was reduced to three days a week; “The Bramble Bush”, starring Richard Burton and Barbara Rush was this week’s feature. I presume the “old show”, the Strand, had been shuttered by 1960.
Another ad reported that Herman Colussy’s Garage was “now open”. Before the popularity of refrigerators, Herman Colussy and his ice truck were common sights all over Bridgeville, delivering to every household.
There were automobile ads for Colussy Motor Company, still on Baldwin Street; E. A. Motor Company, on Station Street; Bridgeville Sales (Chrysler), on Washington Avenue; and Burgunder Motors, at the “Y”, in South Fayette. Each company highlighted used cars as well as new ones. A 1959 Plymouth Savoy V8 could be yours for $1695.
Other bargains included three pounds of ground beef for $1.15 at Ben’s Meats, 608 Washington Avenue; a three-bedroom ranch home for $19,000, from the Silhol Agency; men’s short sleeved sport shirts for $1.88, at Saperstein’s; or new broadloom carpeting at $5.88 per square yard, from Rusmur Floors. To put these prices in perspective, the U. S Bureau of Labor Statistics equates one dollar in 1960 to $8.66 today.
Andy and Sophie Yurkas invited customers to the new, air conditioned Royal Restaurant at 447 Washington Avenue, 6:00 am till midnight, with “all the tasty specialties served right…at modest prices”.
Fed Donelli ran an ad announcing that he was an agent for the State Farm Insurance Company, specializing in automobile insurance. He and his wife, (the former) Pat Winnechuke, were fellow members of our proud BHS Class of 1949.
Classified ads are always fun to read; where else can you get twenty words in a newspaper for sixty cents? For sale: Remodeled older seven room house for $10,900; Modern Kenmore gas stove, $85 (reduced from $245); and 1941 Chevrolet two door sedan (best offer). Wanted: Spoiled bailed hay; Dishwasher – inquire Weise’s, 528 Washington avenue; and “Ladies full or part time, evening work, car necessary”.
Those were indeed nostalgic times. Our country was enjoying the relative peace of the Eisenhower years. It would be another three years till Bob Dylan would write “The times, they are a-changing”, the anthem of the turbulent 1960s. Change was ahead for all us; the community of Bridgeville was not an exception.
Venturing Out Into the Brave New (Green) World. June 18, 2020
Copyright © 2020 John F. Oyler
June 18, 2020
Venturing Out Into the Brave New (Green) World
I have been self-isolated for eleven weeks, probably over-reacting to the Covis 19 pandemic. My children are over protective and keenly aware of my fragility. And I must agree that the fact that about one fourth of the octogenarians who have been infected have died. Consequently I have stayed close to home all this time.
I am writing this on June 6, which is the second day Allegheny County has been promoted from “yellow” to “green” in the gradual transition back to something closer to normal. Two weeks ago my daughter Elizabeth, who has carried the brunt of supplying me with groceries, allowed me to run with her when she took my car to the gas station for a fill-up.
The following week I gathered my courage and drove my car around a very long block in our neighborhood. I must admit I was a little apprehensive and was happy to get back home safely. Since then we have had a trip to the local garden center to purchase flowers which we then planted in the cemetery at my wife’s headstone. Two days later I returned alone to the cemetery to water the plants, building up my confidence.
Much more ambitious was the decision to drive to Elizabeth’s home in Sewickley Heights for a socially distanced dinner outside on their deck. This is a trip I have made in the past at least once a week; this time it loomed as a major excursion. I was extremely curious about seeing how things had changed during my absence from driving.
To my usual check list I added my mask, just in case I ran into trouble during the drive. Cautiously I eased my way out of our neighborhood and onto the network of main streets in our community. Despite it being a lovely weekend afternoon the number of people on the street was surprisingly low. Also surprising was the absence of masks.
I carefully checked the prices at the gas stations I passed and confirmed that the price of gasoline had indeed dropped, in response to the major decrease in driving during the red and yellow phases of our “lockdown”. It didn’t really seem to me that the traffic was much lighter than usual, but I decided to reserve judgment on that until I reached the Sewickley Bridge, a consistent bottleneck in normal times.
For many years there has been a sign at the Carnegie entry onto the Parkway West reporting that a specific family, whose name I have forgotten, was taking care of litter at the interchange, in memory of their matriarch. I have missed the disappearance of the sign, but it certainly is obvious that no one is picking up trash there these days.
Onto the Parkway and immediately it is obvious that I am driving much too slowly to suit the other drivers. I realized this when a car zipped in front of me as I entered the one lane ramp onto I-79. I resolved to change my ways and speed up a little.
At about this time I decided that I should turn on the air conditioning in the car, for the first time this year. I seldom use it, preferring to drive with the windows open. However it had been important to my wife – she actually forced me to junk one of cars when its air conditioning failed.
I rolled up the windows, turned on the fan, adjusted both dials from red (hot) to blue (cold), and waited for the air on my face to get cool. When nothing happened I began to mentally diagnose the problem. Maybe the coolant level has gone done significantly in the months the car hasn’t been run – better ask Mike to check it when I get to Beth’s house.
Suddenly I had a déjà vu moment; didn’t I go through this same experience last Spring? Hadn’t I failed to push the air conditioning dial in till the light came on? The answer, of course, was that this was one more symptom of rampant Alzheimer’s. Ah well, better than ever.
The large S curve at the bottom of the hill where I-79 approaches the Ohio River is one of my favorites spots, particularly once the trees are in bloom. In this stretch the northbound and southbound lanes are at different elevations and quite a distance apart. The row of trees in this separation space is quite a distance from the trees beyond the opposite lane.
Add to this the fact that the sharp curves create the impression that the two rows of trees appear to be moving relative to each other, and one is immediately struck by the phenomenon of depth perception. Invariably I temporarily close one eye, to confirm the wonder of stereoscopy. If only I could find a way to replicate it in my landscape sketches!
In 2001 the State passed legislation naming the I-79 bridge across the Ohio River as the “Pittsburgh Naval and Shipbuilders Memorial Bridge, recognizing the contribution by the Dravo shipyard on Neville Island and the American Bridge facility in Ambridge during World War II. I immediately initiated a campaign to start calling it the “Shipbuilders Bridge”, a campaign that has failed.
For years there has been a sign on the south side of the river recording this designation; last summer it disappeared. I had hoped something had happened in the months since I drove through here, but it still is among the missing. Guess I must begin a campaign to investigate its absence.
I am preparing this column on the seventy-sixth anniversary of D-Day. One of the key components in that invasion was the LST, officially “Landing Ship, Tank”. One hundred and forty-four LSTs participated in D-Day; the actually date of the invasion was determined partially by the Allies’ ability to assemble that many LSTs.
Over one thousand LSTs were manufactured during World War II. Dravo’s shipyard was the lead yard for the program, producing LSTs number 1 through 150. This is a heritage that deserves to be remembered.
Across the Shipbuilders’ Bridge and off its ramp onto Ohio River Boulevard. The traffic still seemed to be nearly normal, but once I reached the Sewickley Bridge I realized that wasn’t the case. Usually there are several dozen cars backed up there, waiting to cross the bridge. Not so this time, and the same was true on my return trip later that evening.
Past Quaker Village shopping center where there were fewer cars than normal in the parking lot, up Ferry to Beaver, then finally onto Camp Meeting Road and its hairpin turns, and into Beth’s driveway. I am relieved that I have managed to navigate my way through this new environment and that it really hasn’t changed that much.
Thursday, June 4, 2020
The Mystery of the Missing Canine. June 11, 2020
Copyright © 2020 John F. Oyler
June 11, 2020
The Mystery of the Missing Canine
For a number of years, a statue of a dog has been a landmark in our woods. It was about thirty inches high, portraying a Golden Retriever obediently sitting back on its haunches (hunkered down?). No one seems to know how it got there, although some of the older eccentrics in the neighborhood apparently have fabricated unlikely scenarios.
My favorite is the story that a farmer living in the century old house across the road at the west end of the woods was having a problem with a dog that simply wouldn’t obey. One day the dog ran off and refused to come home. When his owner finally located him, he threatened him, “If you don’t come to me this very minute, I will turn you into stone”. The dog didn’t, and the farmer did, and since then we have enjoyed the statue.
Another theory is that the dog really is a troll-like creature that comes to life at midnight and wanders around all night, returning to its home base before dawn, at which time it reverts back to being stone. This fantasy is supported by the fact that, although he is always at the same place, sometimes he is facing a different direction than he was the previous evening.
At some point we learned that his name is Winston; perhaps someone thought he looked like Churchill. At any rate, checking him out regularly was a necessary stop on every hike through the woods, taking special note of which direction he was facing.
Early in December we were shocked to see that he had disappeared. Despite the fact that he weighs several hundred pounds, there was no evidence of his being dragged, no sign of any disturbance whatsoever. That evening I posted a query on “Next Door Neighborhoods”, inquiring if anyone knew what had happened to him.
A day or so later a gentleman named David Kammenzind replied, “What did he look like?” Regrettably, I failed to respond. Since then there have been occasional posts on the “Next Door Neighborhoods” website, mostly folks lamenting his disappearance. Recently, however, I noted one from Mr. Kammenzind, the first respondent.
This time I contacted him, and learned that a dog statue had indeed been deposited on his front porch, that he called the police, and that had been taken away. He even produced a photo that clearly identified it as our missing Winston.
I immediately emailed the local police department, prompting phone call confirming that the statue was in their possession. The next morning I was contacted by Officer O’Brien and arranged to meet him at the parking area at the edge of the woods. Sure enough, he and Officer Harbison (?) showed up with Winston and a dolly, and promptly returned him to his rightful place.
Winston’s return has been celebrated by all the folks who regularly walk in the woods. He is no worse for wear after his six months in (protective) police custody.
We are grateful to the police department for their care of him and the prompt way they brought him home, once they knew where home was.
Conventional wisdom is that someone removed him as a prank, transported him half a mile across town, and dropped him off on Mr. Kammenzind’s porch. That appears to a reasonable explanation and allows the police to close this case. Except, how in the world could anyone pick up that heavy statue and haul it to a car without leaving a trace?
Is it possible that there is something mystical involved here? After all, these woods are well known to be enchanted and to contain any number of phenomena that border on the supernatural, including one that is within a couple of hundred yards from Winston’s stamping ground.
That, of course, is the popular pavilion, or picnic shelter, that the township constructed thirty-five years ago. By the strangest of coincidences, it is oriented such that its main axis and ridgepole line up perfectly with the point where the sun hits the horizon when it sets on the date of the winter solstice.
This is something one would suspect of an ancient Native American structure or even a Druid one. Is it really a coincidence that the township engineer oriented the pavilion in that precise direction? Or is it built on the foundations of some archaic sun-worshiping culture?
And then there is the mystical “brick garden”, which I have described in previous columns. Each Spring a new crop of collectible paving bricks magically surfaces – six or seven “Bessemer Youngstown”, three or four “C. P. Mayer”, and an occasional “Porter National”. The garden is deep in a thicket, high on a hillside, with no apparent access by any road or lane. Again, by coincidence, the closest residence to the garden is the home of the only card-carrying member of the International Brick Collectors Association in Allegheny County.
A few weeks ago we wrote about the mystical re-appearance of the rare trillium recurvatum after an absence of three or four years and wistfully suggested that this coincidence was a hopeful sign from the “Great Spirit” that there are better days ahead for those of us self-isolated and hunkered down because of the Covid 19 pandemic.
The engineer/amateur scientist in me realizes that there is a logical, rational explanation for each and every one of these mystical phenomena. Surely two strong young men picked up Winston and tiptoed to their truck to abduct. Surely it is a coincidence that the pavilion is oriented like an element in Stonehenge. Surely a truck dumped a load of bricks at a site coincidentally near the home of a passionate brick collector. Surely climate change interfered with the life cycle of the trillium recurvatum.
Nonetheless …..
Ian's Commencement Address. June 4, 2020
Copyright © 2020 John F. Oyler
June 4, 2020
Ian’s Commencement Address
My grandson, Ian Aleistair McCance, is about to graduate from Rocky Mountain High School in Fort Collins, Colorado, in a ceremony severely limited in attendees. His mother has elected to supplement this with a teleconference including all of his extended family. I was asked to provide the Commencement Address for this family celebration. What follows is an approximate version of that address.
Good afternoon, Ian, and to your extended family as well. I am honored to have been asked to give this Commencement Address. This is an appropriate assignment for me, as I am the oldest, and consequently the wisest member of this family.
Wisdom is the synergistic result of experience, analyzed with judgment, and stored in one’s memory. My long lifetime has produced many experiences. The good judgment with which I have been blessed has provided me with a treasure trove of relevant, significant memories. And, so far, my memory has not deserted me.
Wisdom is of no value unless it is passed on to others. Events like Commencement exercises provide an excellent vehicle for such passage. I am pleased to have this opportunity to pass on a few bits of wisdom to you.
Don’t be afraid to enjoy life. Our lives are filled with wonderful experiences. Nature gives us sunsets; and waterfalls; and clear, calm winter mornings when a snowfall has transformed the woods into a miraculous fairyland. The arts provide many more – a trumpet playing “Ain’t Misbehaving” at my retirement banquet, a first opportunity to read “Lord of the Rings”, and Lazar Wolf negotiating with Tevye for the hand of Tzeitel. If only your Grandmother Oyler could have seen Lazar Wolf and Colonel Mustard and gimpy old Sir Francis Chesney!
Which brings us to your family and your friends. Enjoy the time you have with them; work hard to prevent your other responsibilities and obligations from interfering with it. Don’t postpone opportunities to enjoy quality time with them till “Some Other Time”.
Secondly, don’t be afraid to take a chance. Exploit your potential. We are all capable of much greater things than we realize. Frequently we will fail, but that makes our achievements all the more enjoyable. Follow Robert Frost’s example:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less travelled by
And that has made all the difference.
Consider “The Road Less Travelled” when you encounter a fork in this unpredictable road you are travelling.
And, finally, exercise your mind. Some people think it is our most under-utilized organ. In today’s environment our easy access to information often permits us to look up solutions to problems rather than thinking them through ourselves. This may well inhibit creative thinking and ultimately retard progress.
Most of the advances our society has made have been orchestrated by a small number of independent thinkers, open minded individuals eager to explore all alternatives. You have a mind with remarkable potential – nurture it!
Just as I am the eldest member of my generation, you are the eldest of yours. You are the flag bearer, the role model, for Rachael, and Nora, and Claire, and Ciona, and Lai An. Each of them is looking to you for guidance on how they navigate their own personal journeys.
An interesting theory in social science suggests a symbiotic relationship between the successive generations and the evolution of history. It postulates that society evolves through a repetitive cycle of phases -- crisis, rebuilding, questioning, and unraveling -- lasting eighty or ninety years. The experiences of each generation during its formative years molds its character and the character of each generation in its adult years molds the society it dominates.
In my lifetime this theory is exemplified by the crisis of the Great Depression and World War II, the burden of which was carried by the “Greatest Generation”. My generation came next. Known as the “Silent Generation”, we were so grateful for having survived hard times that it was easy for us to focus on rebuilding.
We were followed by the Boomers, a spoiled generation that was so bored with life that they preferred to question our values. Then came Generation X, the disrupters, and tribal conflicts throughout the world.
And now we are starting all over again, in the midst of an international crisis. Your generation will have the challenge of putting Humpty Dumpty back together again, when this crisis ends. You will be the builders, re-connectors, and assemblers who reconstruct the world order in a positive fashion that will produce a new Golden Era. We have confidence in you!
It is always difficult to end a talk properly. To aid me in this challenge I elected to convene an imaginary virtual teleconference of the patriarchs of the eight families from which you descend – your eight great-great-grandfathers. They represent four similar, but independently different ethnicities.
Your Irish blood is represented by the McGoverns and the Cassidys; your Scotch heritage by the McCances. Your English forbears are the Powells and the Spring family. And finally, this intermingling of strains from the British Isles combines with three Pennsylvania Dutch families, the Oylers, the Kleeses, and the Flecks, each transplanted from Germany four generations earlier.
My posing the question of a proper conclusion to your Commencement Address initiated a heated debate, as might be expected from such a collection of diverse backgrounds. Eventually, however, they elected to focus on the fact that you are beginning a long journey through life, and that the traditional Celtic Blessing would be appropriate.
Great-great-Grandpa Cassidy was selected to deliver it:
Sure, and may the road rise up to meet ye,
May the wind be ever at thy back,
May the sun shine brightly on thy forehead,
And the gentle rain refresh thy fields.
Until we meet again, lad,
May the good Lord shelter thee in the palm of His hand.
This was followed by a chorus of Amens, confirming unanimous agreement.
To which I add, “Amen”.
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