Water Under the Bridge: February 2020

Friday, February 7, 2020

A Christmas Letter December 26, 2019

December 26, 2019

A Christmas Letter

Writing a weekly column is an interesting experience, primarily because of the absence of immediate feedback. My family and close friends do comment frequently, but the vast majority of my audience is remote and unknown to me. Occasionally someone I know will remark on something I’ve written or some complete stranger will announce “I recognize you from your picture. You’re the guy who writes that column in the paper. I enjoy it!”

Nonetheless I sense a bond with all of our unknown readers and have, for the past few years, set aside this one week to write a Christmas letter to you as my way of showing my gratitude to you for allowing me to communicate with you regularly. Let’s pretend this is a typical Christmas form letter you have found folded in a card you just received in the mail.

Season’s Greetings to you from the extended Oyler family! It has been a busy and exciting year for all of us, and especially for me. We hope 2019 has treated you and your family well.

We began the New Year in Maui where I celebrated the holidays with Elizabeth’s family, Sara’s family, and John’s quite extended family, which included Lai An’s other grand-parents as well as Victoria’s aunt. Communicating with three persons whose English is as limited as my Chinese is difficult, but we do share the common interest of loving Lai An.

She is now six years old, bouncing back and forth between precious and precocious. After spending kindergarten in English in the United States, she has spent the Fall term of first grade in Chinese in Beijing. The massive exposure she has had to radically different cultures is difficult for me to imagine. It was wonderful for her to have this opportunity to interact with her four cousins.

John’s company, Beigene, is prospering; the U. S. FDA just approved their first drug.

This was my first full year of retirement, a bittersweet experience. I was happy for the opportunity to stay in bed on snowy January mornings while my ex-colleagues fought the weather and traffic to get into school on time. On the other hand I greatly miss the satisfaction of working with young people and helping them make the transition from student to engineer. I compensated a little by going into school once a week, having lunch with Elizabeth, and mentoring a Senior design team.

A major high point of the year for was being asked to give the Landis Lecture in late April. This is a prestigious honor that has been granted to world class structural engineers in the past; this time they decided to lower the standards in recognition of my retirement. It was a fine event, very well attended. I discussed the importance of focus, judgment, and innovation in Civil Engineering, using three well known case studies as examples.

Later that month was another red-letter day – my retirement banquet. It was held in the Banquet Hall in Soldiers and Sailors Memorial and turned out to be a grand reunion of students from my twenty-six-year career at Pitt. Kevin Abt, class of 1995, was Master of Ceremonies and introduced an impressive parade of students and faculty friends who said lots of nice things about me.

As part of the entertainment the Apollo Quartet, featuring my granddaughter as first violin, performed a group of string quartet selections expertly. Rachael is now sixteen and her musical prowess is growing even faster than she is. This winter she is in the first violin section of the Three Rivers Young Peoples Orchestra (TRYPO), looking forward to performing in Carnegie Hall in New York next Spring. She spent a week at Music Camp Chautauqua; we had the privilege of seeing her perform there.

Not to be outdone, my grandson, Ian, also performed. Ian has gone to Jazz Camp at Duquesne University the last two summers. One of his teachers there is Jeff Bush, an outstanding trombonist. He put together a quartet to entertain at the Banquet, and at one point, Ian played “Ain’t Misbehavin” on his trumpet with Bush accompanying him on piano.

Ian is a Senior at Rocky Mountain High School in Fort Collins, Colorado. When he was here for Jazz Camp in June, his mother and I took him to Penn State for a campus tour; later Elizabeth and I took him on one at Pitt. He plans to major in history in college. While he was here he helped me with research on George Washington in western Pennsylvania. Best of all, he gave me an excuse to attend five wonderful jazz concerts at Duquesne.

I always enjoy visiting Fort Collins. This summer Sara took me and Ian’s sister Claire sight-seeing in the mountains, culminating in a wonderful day-long trip on the Cumbres and Toltec Scenic Railroad. It was certainly one of the most memorable trips this venerable railfan has taken. What a thrill to ride behind steam through that magnificent country!

Claire is a classic third child, now thirteen years old and in her first year of Middle School. Like her mother she is easygoing, highly adaptable to any situation, and a perfect companion for a cranky old octogenarian. Nora, now fifteen, is an accomplished athlete, keeping her parents busy transporting her between soccer and basketball commitments. Despite all the fuss, she still is a lovely, lovable teenager.

Reviewing my list of column titles for the past year, I see that the Whiskey Rebellion showed up four times. One was as part of our series of workshops on Washington’s adventures locally. Last year we alternated them monthly with a series on the history of Bridgeville High School. The workshops were a lot of fun, but eventually the level of interest dropped to the point where we elected to terminate them.

The Whiskey Rebellion was also the topic of one of the Bridgeville Historical Society’s programs, presented by Todd DePastino. In July we enjoyed the re-enactments of the Rebellion at Washington, Pa. and at the Neville Plantation where it was part of their wonderful Market Faire. The final incident was a mock trial of the two men convicted of treason, performed by the Women’s Bar Association. I am probably overly interested in the Whiskey Rebellion, but it certainly is a key event in local history.

Having brunch with my high school friends twice a month is always fun, especially now that my brother Joe has “aged up” and joined us. It was a treat to hear him give an update on his book “Almost Forgotten” at the South Fayette Library last summer. Joe and his wife Pauline are two of the finest human beings I know; it is a special treat to be part of their extended family.

My other regular get-together with elderly cronies is our Book Review Club, which continues to find new and interesting things to read and discuss. My favorite this year was “Overstory”, Richard Powers’ masterful sermon on the synergistic relationship between the human race and trees. Powers was at the University of Illinois while Elizabeth and Mike were there; they were excited about the success of his book.

Mike has now retired from teaching Slavic Languages to college students and is enjoying giving flying lessons to prospective aviators at the Zelienople Airport. I can’t imagine a better flight instructor than Mike. The combination of his knowledge and his ability to focus on minute details is invaluable.

Elizabeth’s ability to teach Japanese literature is equally impressive. Her big project this year was bringing a troupe here to perform an English language play “Gettysburg” in the Japanese Noh drama format and to host a symposium related to it. I was apprehensive about the whole idea. The play was sure to be a disappointment and no one would come to see it anyhow. Fortunately I was wrong on both accounts, The play was quite a joy to see, and the Charity Randall Theater on the University campus was nicely filled.

Having Mike, Elizabeth, and Rachael nearby is a blessing for me – it is wonderful to be able to see them often. We have season tickets to both the Pittsburgh Symphony and the Pittsburgh Opera. It is easy to select the highlight of the Symphony season – it would be difficult for anything to upstage Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. The orchestra is magnificent. Rachael’s violin teacher, Irene Cheng, is a prominent member of the first violin section. Through her and through Rachael’s involvement with TRYPO, we have become familiar with many of the other musicians.

For me the highlight of the Opera season was the ending of “Madam Butterfly”. When the multi-racial son of Butterfly, nattily dressed in a tiny naval uniform, leaves her to live with his American father, he turns and salutes her. That is theater at its best. Just writing about it chokes me up!

Every walk in our woods is a highlight for me. Trillium and Mayflowers in the spring, pileated woodpeckers in the summer, sugar maple leaves in the fall, a calm morning after an overnight snowfall has left an inch of snow on every twig – each of these is an incomparable experience.

This year was my fiftieth in this house. It is dear to me, full of memories of my wife, who shared it with me for forty seven of those years. I am grateful for every additional day I can spend in it.

I am grateful too for each of you who takes the time to read my columns. I do indeed wish you a Merry Christmas.

The Allegheny City Ragtime Orchestra December 19, 2019

December 19, 2019

The Allegheny City Ragtime Orchestra

About a year ago I heard the Allegheny City Ragtime Orchestra in concert at the Andrew Carnegie Free Library and Music Hall here in Carnegie. I enjoyed that concert immensely and have been looking for a chance to hear them again ever since. Recently, thanks to the website of their leader Tom Roberts, I learned that they would be performing on a Sunday afternoon in Foxburg.

Foxburg is located on the Allegheny River just south of Emlenton, where I-80 crosses the river. Seemed like a good excuse for a bit of Sunday driving, so I persuaded my daughter Elizabeth to go along with me. It turned out to be an excellent decision; the concert was delightful.

The concert was a project of the Allegheny RiverStone Center for the Arts, a very active organization that sponsors a variety of cultural events in this small community which is itself a tourist destination. It was performed in Lincoln Hall, a recently restored performance space located atop the Foxburg Free Library.

The Allegheny City Ragtime Orchestra was created by Tom Roberts in 2013 to preserve the heritage of ragtime composers and musicians in the Pittsburgh area. Its members are current topflight Pittsburgh area symphonic musicians who perform regularly with the Pittsburgh Symphony, the Pittsburgh Opera Orchestra, and the Pittsburgh Ballet Orchestra.

The Ragtime Orchestra includes Roberts on keyboard, Jose Puentes on String Bass, Maureen Conlon Gutierrez on violin, Elisa Kohanski on cello, Kira Bokalders on clarinet, Julie McGough on flute, Stephen McGough (Julie’s husband) on trumpet, and Aaron Pisula on trombone. Each of them came across as an excellent individual musician; together they play superbly in ensemble.

Tom Roberts is a remarkable musical polymath – stride pianist, composer, American music historian. Last spring the Japan-America Society of Pennsylvania hosted a special showing of an historic Japanese silent movie, they engaged him to compose appropriate background music. Recently I heard him give a fascinating lecture on traditional jazz, playing original 78 RPM records on an antique hand-cranked portable Victrola, to demonstrate the superiority of analog reproduction.

The orchestra began with two familiar Scott Joplin rags – “ The Maple Leaf Rag” and “The Entertainer” – to exemplify the two eras of popularity for the genre. Beginning with “Maple Leaf” in 1899, ragtime became wildly popular throughout the United States before being replaced by “hot” jazz after World War I. It was virtually forgotten until the 1970s when featuring “the Entertainer” in the film “The Sting” initiated a major revival and ensured ragtime its place as a major genre.

After playing “Sunflower Slow Drag”, the orchestra then played “The Ragtime Dance”, which actually a folk ballet intended for narration and choreography. Both pieces confirm Joplin’s genius, as do “Sugar Cane” and “Scott Joplin’s New Rag”, which followed one of Roberts’ own compositions, “The Allegheny Rag”. It was written in loving memory of Allegheny City, a thriving metropolis that was annexed by the City of Pittsburgh in 1911.

After intermission the orchestra played two selections from the concert I heard last year – “Clef Club March” and “The Castle Perfect Trot” (written for popular dancers Vernon and Irene Castle). That concert was dedicated to James Reese Europe, the brilliant black band leader/composer who met an untimely death in 1919 They also performed “Queen Louise”, a nineteenth century waltz by Danish composer Hans Christian Lumbye.

Roberts then changed the mood with a pair of piano solos from a program I saw him do on New Orleans pianists. He began with the brilliant rhythm and blues pianist James Booker by playing a staccato version of “Tico Tico” as Booker would have played it. He explained how Booker had persuaded New Orleans District Attorney Harry Connick Sr. to nullify a jail sentence in return for piano lessons for Connick’s son. Roberts played “Winter Wonderland” as Booker’s pupil, Harry Connick Jr., would have performed it.

The concert ended with Joplin’s haunting “Magnetic Rag”, his last published work. Some critics believe it was the closest Joplin came to establishing his credentials as a composer of classical music as he tried to merge ragtime elements with the classical sonata form. Beyond a doubt Scott Joplin was a true genius whose music has a place in our heritage.

The entire concert was completely enjoyable, as well as being educational. This orchestra certainly warrants our support. Like their leader, they are an underappreciated Pittsburgh treasure. Driving to Foxburg was a small price to pay for such an experience; nonetheless one wishes there were more opportunities to hear the orchestra here in Pittsburgh.

Abood, Calabro, and Shady. December 12, 2019

December 12, 2019

Abood, Calabro, and Shady

The November program meeting for the Bridgeville Area Historical Society was an outstanding presentation by Georgeanne Abood Henson about three very special members of the Greatest Generation – her grandfather, George Abood; his cousin, George Shady; and their boyhood friend and neighbor, Peter Calabro. These three young men grew up together in the Baldwin Street neighborhood, served as Army Air Force crewmen in World War II, were shot down, and ended up in the same Prisoner of War Camp.

The speaker began her talk with George Shady. He found himself at Hethel Air Base, near Norwich, England, in the summer of 1943, when the 389^th Bombardment Group arrived from Lowry Air Force Base in Colorado. He was assigned to the 565^th Heavy Bombardment Squadron of that Group. Sergeant Shady was a radio operator and ball turret gunner on a B-24 Liberator, the “Swamp Angel”. On their eighteenth mission, on February 22, 1944, their plane was heavily damaged by four Luftwaffe fighters over Brunswick, Germany. With the Swamp Angel on fire, the crew bailed out.

The official Air Force Missing Air Crew Report listed Sergeant Shady as “badly burned”. He ended up in enemy hands and moved to Stalag IX-C, near Leipzig. Six months and three camps later he was at Stalag Luft IV, in Gross Tychow, Pomerania (now Tychowo, Poland) with eight thousand other Allied airmen. The speaker displayed a number of his censored letters home.

His cousin, Sergeant George Abood, also was a crewman (left waist gunner) on a B-24, the “Yankee Rebel”. His unit, the 567^th Heavy Bombardment Squadron, was part of the 389^th Bombardment Group, also based at Hethel Air Base. Ms. Henson displayed several photographs of Abood and Peter Calabro, who had been together in a training camp in Florida before being shipped overseas. Sergeant Abood’s combat record included eight missions before the Yankee Rebel was shot down over St. Lo, France on July 25, 1944. Two of those were missions on other B-24s, The “Flying Greenhouse” and “Heavy Date”.

When his plane was hit and caught fire, Sergeant Abood was the first crewman to bail out. The second one got his parachute tangled in the plane’s tail assembly and perished when it caught fire. By coincidence correspondent Ernie Pyle witnessed this incident from the ground and reported it in his weekly column and later in his best seller, “Brave Men”. After being captured, Abood was sent to Stalag VI in what is now Lithuania. Eventually he was transferred to Stalag Luft IV. One of Sergeant Shady’s letters home includes a statement that he was “taking good care of Boots” (George Abood’s nickname).

Unlike the two cousins Peter Calabro was a crewman on a B-17, “Phyllis”. He was assigned to the 340^th Heavy Bombardment Squadron of the 97^th Bombardment Group of the Twelfth Air Force, flying out of the Amendola Air Base, which was part of the massive Foggia complex in southeastern Italy. Sergeant Calabro was a waist/top turret gunner. On his thirtieth mission, on September 20, 1944, his plane was severely damaged in a raid over Budapest. They dove to 5000 feet to extinguish its fires and permit the crew to bail out, over Banjaluka, Yugoslavia.

According to the Missing Air Crew Report none of the crewmen survived. The speaker showed the actual telegram the Calabro family received from the War Department advising them that their son had been killed. This was even reported in our high school paper, the Bridger. Fortunately a few months later the family received another telegram reporting that he was still alive, a prisoner of war.

Calabro was passed from one prisoner-of-war camp to another for several months, finally ending up at Stalag Luft IV in mid-November, where he was reunited with Abood and Shady. This huge camp was subdivided into smaller units; Calabro and Shady were together; Abood was in a different one. Somehow Calabro managed to switch with Abood so the cousins could be together.

Early in 1945, with the Russian army approaching from the east, the Germans began to move the prisoners west. Sergeant Calabro was part of a group that spent eight days on a train being relocated to a camp at Moosburg, near Nurnberg, in central Germany. The cousins were not so fortunate; they were forced to participate in the “Black March”.

This was an ordeal covering five hundred miles on foot lasting two months, often in blizzard conditions, eventually ending at Stalag XI-B at Fallingsbostel, in north central Germany. By now the prisoners were in bad shape; most of them had already lost a third of their normal weight. Many of them failed to survive the horrible ordeal. About halfway through the march, Shady became deathly ill. He credits Abood with carrying him the rest of the way.

Eventually all three were repatriated by the Allies, nursed back to health, and returned to their homes. The really good news is the fact that all three men returned to civilian life, reared families, and became role model citizens. Despite the horrors they experienced each of them was able to conquer his personal traumas. George Abood had a long career with Universal Cyclops, including a leadership role with the United Steelworkers. George Shady operated Shady’s Bar and Grill on Washington Avenue in downtown Bridgeville. Peter Calabro built his boyhood tire-recapping business into what is today the area’s most successful automobile service facility.

Occurring two days before Thanksgiving Ms. Henson’s presentation was a vivid reminder to folks of my generation how much we owe to the generation that preceded us. In addition to saving the world for democracy, they spent the rest of their lives serving as positive role models for the following generations.

Many thanks to Georgeanne Henson for reminding us of their contributions. A brochure based on her comments and artifacts would be a fine project for the Historical Society.

There will be no Historical Society presentation in December; instead you are invited to visit the History Center and purchase your copy of the 2020 calendar. Once again Karen Godwin and Ryan Thomazin have combined to produce a calendar full of relevant local history and photographs.

After the holidays the Society will revert to its winter schedule. On Sunday, January 20, 2020, Dana Del Bianco will discuss “Roza Shanina, a Soviet Sniper in WW II”, in the Chartiers Room, Bridgeville Volunteer Fire Department.

Autumn in the Woods. December 5, 2019

December 5, 2019

Autumn in the Woods

For me Autumn began this year when the Harvest Moon made its appearance in mid-October as I was returning home from a visit with my daughter Elizabeth and her family. I had just crossed the Ohio River on the Shipbuilders’ Bridge on I-79 and was in the beginning of the big “S” loop heading up the hill toward Moon Run, heading due east, when suddenly I was confronted by a gorgeous golden, oversize, full moon just above the horizon.

I was immediately struck with the realization that, even though over one thousand full moons have risen in my lifetime, most of which I have observed, the thrill of seeing a full moon is as rewarding as ever. I was reminded of the October evenings in the past when my wife and I would drive over to Pymatuning to watch the Canada geese fly home. The combination of the rising moon in the east and the setting sun in the west and thousands of geese overhead was always a memorable experience.

Autumn came a little later than usual this year to our woods, but was easily as enjoyable as ever. Observing the progress of the seasons is one of the many blessings of living here where we do. Early in the sequence the sugar maples dropped their unique combination of golden, orange, and flaming red leaves, almost all at the same time. There are three or four places I know where this occurs, and I am firmly convinced that the air temperature there is five degrees warmer when it happens. There certainly must be a short circuit between my visual and thermal sensors to explain this.

At the peak of the season the leaves came down so fast that our familiar paths were completely obliterated, forcing one to search his memory for familiar landmarks and retain his orientation. It required at least a week for the paths to be re-established, a classic bittersweet experience that reminds us of our impermanence in nature. We must remember that we are visitors and should act accordingly.

Having introduced the term bittersweet, it is appropriate for me to mention the thrill I get each year when the deep yellow colored skin of its berries pops open, exposing the beautiful red-orange seeds inside them. Their color is a gorgeous, unique shade, duplicated only for a few seconds as a sunset matures or when a blacksmith’s workpiece cools from cherry red toward deep orange (between 1100 and 1000 degrees Fahrenheit).

This variety of bittersweet, “Celastrus orbiculatus”, is commonly called oriental bittersweet and is considered an obnoxious invasive species. The Defenders of the Park have waged war against it for years. Fortunately I am aware of three spots in our woods that they have missed, and I look forward to their explosion each Fall.

I never venture into the woods without my walking stick. The current version is a special favorite. On the Fourth of July, 1954, a group of us climbed Mount Fuji (3776 meters). Part of this ritual was the purchase of an eight-sided walking stick at the base of the mountain and then having a brand burned into it at each of the stations of the ascent.

Unfortunately I was unable to bring my walking stick home with me on the troop ship. Three or four years ago Elizabeth and my granddaughter Rachael climbed Mt. Fuji, and, remembering my story, brought back a branded, eight-sided walking stick for me; it has seen good use.

My walks in the woods always include a visit to the tulip tree we had planted in memory of my wife. It is now about twenty feet tall, with a three-inch trunk at its bole. Shortly after it was planted, a buck damaged its bark trying to rub velvet off its antlers. This necessitated my building a rugged fence around it; so far it has been effective.

I have nominated myself as godparent (Lorax?) for all the tulip trees in the woods, at least for the very young ones close to the paths that I frequent. This past year two of them, each about six feet tall, appeared to die and then put out “suckers” near the bottom of their trunks. I removed the dead trunks and am trying to train the strongest sucker in each to become a healthy tree.

A bigger problem is the Freedom Tree. In 1973 the family of Major Robert Pietsch, an Air Force pilot missing in action in Laos since 1968, planted a tree in his memory in an obscure spot in our woods, accompanied by a monument with the inscription “The Freedom Tree, with the vision of universal freedom for all mankind, is dedicated to Major Robert Pietsch”. Eventually the monument was forgotten by everyone except my neighbor, Mike Mongelli, who regularly raked the leaves off it and cleaned its face.

The tree survived until 2008, when it finally died. A few years later the monument was moved to a different location by a group of Girl Scouts and a new Freedom Tree planted. Within a year or two it too died. Two or three years ago I saw a family planting a robust tulip tree near the monument. It was bushy, five or six feet tall, with a one inch trunk. I have checked it frequently, hoping that this version of the Freedom Tree would prosper and perpetuate Major Pietsch’s memory.

Two weeks ago I was shocked to see that it was gone. The trunk had been shattered about a foot from the ground; the bulk of it and the training pole were still tied to the remnant. Rubbings on its bark suggest it was the victim of a buck with itchy antlers. I wish I knew who had planted it so I could notify them. I suspect the root system is still healthy enough to shoot up suckers next Spring. The Freedom Tree must survive!

I enjoy sitting on a bench near the Picnic Pavilion toward the end of my walks and drinking in the atmosphere of the surroundings. By now the leaves are down and most of the undergrowth has disappeared. The only motion anywhere is a trio of gray squirrels auditioning for careers as trapeze artists.

The advocates of deer culling have been quiet lately. I am pleased to encounter a doe and two yearlings, completely oblivious to my presence. A few weeks ago I was thrilled to see an eight point buck. Is it possible that he destroyed the Freedom Tree, trying to rub velvet off his antlers?

Not far from the Freedom Tree is the “Deer Exclosure”. This is a 2012 Eagle Scout project. The Scout fenced off a portion of the woods about fifty feet wide by one hundred feet long as an experiment to evaluate the effect of deer browsing on the undergrowth. It is beginning to appear that there are more saplings inside the exclosure than in the rest of the park. We need a proper census to confirm that.

The next event in our progress of the seasons ritual will be the lighting of the Solstice Candle on December 21, to remind the sun that it is time to reverse its southern path and allow the days to begin to get longer.

I am grateful for the opportunity to get out into the woods and observe the seasons changing, “close-up and personal”.

Wednesday, February 5, 2020

Lafayette Street, 1954. November 28, 2019

November 28, 2019

Lafayette Street, 1954

My previous column dealing with Lafayette Street in 1939 described a “frontier” neighborhood full of newly constructed houses and numerous vacant lots. As I promised, this week I have imported my brother Joe and our mutual friend, Dale DeBlander, to help describe a much more mature neighborhood, fifteen years later in 1954.

By this time I was off in Japan, defending the free world against the Communist menace, so I am happy to have their help.

One of several errors in the 1939 column was my reporting that the DeBlanders were already living at 1073 Lafayette Street; Dale refuted this and reported that they didn’t move into our neighborhood till 1940 or early 1941. Since he remembers the paving of Lafayette Street, my dating that event to 1939 is another error.

My original column also had the Chamberlain family living in the corner house on Elizabeth Street – the address is actually 619 Elizabeth Street. I recently found a copy of information from the 1940 census that lists a family named Weir at that address.

By 1954 Josephine Licata, her aunt, and two extremely belligerent cocker spaniels lived in that house. Small children would detour across the street to avoid being accosted by the dogs. Joe had difficulty delivering their newspaper. Recently Alfred Barzan gave me a copy of a Johns-Manville brochure featuring this house and extolling the virtues of the J-M insulation in it. Alfred’s father, Sam Barzan, built the house in 1932 for Arthur Silhol, as a model home.

Gordon Baker and his wife now lived at 1041 Lafayette; the Antions had moved away a few years earlier. Mr. Baker was a metallurgist at the Universal Cyclops plant; thirty years later I had a reunion with him when he worked for Dravo Corporation as a steelmaking consultant.

Vic and Dorothy Mauti had moved into 1049 by then. Their children, Dale and Sandra, were part of the first wave of “Baby Boomers”. My parents considered themselves their adopted grandparents. Vic was an accomplished engineering draftsman, and in addition an excellent accordion player.

Butch and Helen Goldbach moved into 1057 in the mid-1940s and forged a close link with the Oylers. Their son George was Joe’s age; I remember my father affectionately calling him something that sounded like “lunchman”. Years later I learned that it was a Pennsylvania Dutch term “landsmann”, that means fellow countryman or neighbor. It is very close to the Yiddish term “lantsman”.

When the weather permitted the Oylers and Goldbachs had Sunday supper together in the backyard, cooking hot dogs and hamburgers on a makeshift fireplace my father built in a wheelbarrow. My mother and Mrs. Goldbach were ardent fans of the Sunday crossword puzzle, spent most of the afternoon comparing notes on their progress.

In 1954 the Abrams family had built a new house at 1061, next to Goldbachs. The lot at 1065 had disappeared in 1949 when the Polichnowskis built their new home there. They had two sons, Ron and Eddie. The construction of Abrams’ house was the death knell for our vacant lot “pitch and putt” golf course.

Hoppers were still at 1069. Billy had left by 1954, but Don was still in high school. The DeBlanders were firmly ensconced next door. Wayne was still at home; Dale was a Freshman at Marietta College. Joe has a wonderful story about ex-coach Al Como’s efforts to help Bridgeville kids get scholarships at his alma mater, Marietta, even after he had moved to Ellwood City. In addition to Dale, Marvin McCormick and Frank Calabro benefitted from his efforts.

Coxes, Hellers, and the Sims family still occupied the next three houses. A new house was being built on the corner lot (1099); Joe thinks a Miller family moved into it. The lot between 1099 and the Sims house was still vacant. According to the Allegheny County website it was the last lot to be developed, in 1966, by the Jack Wight family.

On the west side of the street, the Tom Smart family, including one son, Tom, was now living in the other Elizabeth Street corner house, at 1050 Lafayette. The Hayes family, with son Fred, were now living at 1062; Bealls had moved when the Vanadium Corporation relocated to Cambridge, Ohio.

The vacant lot at 1066 was filled by a new home occupied by the Daniels family in 1940. The Guido Paroline family moved into a new home at 1070 in 1945. Mr. Paroline was the Golf Professional at St. Clair Country Club; I think that one of his competitors for that very desirable job was his neighbor, Tom Smart. The Parolines had two children, Tom and Fay.

The Jones family was still living at 1074. The entire neighborhood was still mourning the death of their son, Amos, in the crash of a navy plane in Iceland the previous year. Their son, Gary, was a senior in high school, as was Tom Paroline and my brother Joe.

There is some confusion about the next address – 1078. The Allegheny County website reports that a house was built on it in 1936. We are unanimously convinced that the Joe Ferris family built their home there late in the 1940s. Ken and Richie were their sons.

My earlier column had the Panizzas and Capozzolis living in the next two houses in 1939. According to the County website their houses weren’t built until 1941. At any rate both families were solid members of the neighborhood in 1954.

The three of us are unable to come to a consensus on the occupants of the corner house, 1096, by 1954. I know that Dick Hobson, the Scoutmaster of Troop 245, lived there in the mid 1940s. Joe thinks the Veydt family occupied that house at some point, possibly later.

I had the impression that there were very few dogs in our neighborhood in those days. Once again Joe and Dale proved me wrong. In addition to the Licatas’ nasty pair, Bealls had two terriers, Smitty and Imp. The Jones family had two beagles, Jiggs and Mike. DeBlanders had Tippy; Panizzas had Tippy’s mother, Chloe.

Dale contributed a cute story about the time Tippy was hit by a car and presumed dead. Mr. Jones had a stethoscope that he used in his refrigerator repair business; thanks to it they were able to confirm that Tippy was still alive, a condition they reinforced with an eye dropper filled with whiskey.

Dale also questioned my statement that Mr. Hopper worked for B. K. Elliot and suggested his employed was their competitor, the Eugene Dietzgen Company. I suspect he was right. He also noted that Mr. Cox was a medical/dental supplies salesman and that his named was Albert. Also, Mrs. Sims first name was Mildred.

Dale also remembered the time his father and Mr. Heller paved their driveways. They built the forms, had Silhol deliver a load of concrete, poured it, and even did the finishing themselves, down on their hands and knees with a trowel. Incidentally Dale also reported that Mr. Heller’s name was Kelvin, not Kellen as I thought.

By 1954 our neighborhood had matured. Bridgeville was at the peak of its commercial prosperity. We were sure we lived in the nicest neighborhood in a wonderful little town close enough to Pittsburgh to take advantage of the good things it had to offer, yet far enough away to avoid the bad things.

My thanks to Joe and Dale for their contributions to this column. We hope it presents an accurate picture of a close-knit neighborhood in the middle of the twentieth century.

The Whiskey Rebellion Trial November 21, 2019

November 21, 2019

The Whiskey Rebellion Trial

Thanks to an old friend, Gary Davis, I recently had the opportunity to participate in a workshop dedicated to the federal trials at the end of the Whiskey Rebellion. One of the younger members of our “Elderly Gentlemen’s Book Review Club”, Gary is an attorney obligated to earning Continuing Education Credits in jurisprudence each year in order to maintain his license to practice law.

Last week the Historical Committee of the Western District of Pennsylvania, of the Women’s Bar Association of Western Pennsylvania put on an event entitled “Spirits of High Treason: Legal Consequences of the Whiskey Rebellion”. Attendance at the event earned each attorney two Continuing Education Credits. Apparently these affairs are usually highly technical and inherently boring.

This time the sponsors decided to re-enact part of the series of trials in Philadelphia in 1795 that concluded the Whiskey Rebellion and to then follow the depiction with a panel discussion of the legal implications of treason. Knowing of my interest in local history, Gary invited me to accompany him to the event, which was held in courtroom 8A, in the U. S. Courthouse, Western District of Pittsburgh.

My first surprise once we were seated in the courtroom was recognizing three familiar Colonial-era re-enactors. Dan Ragaller portrayed a very distinguished President George Washington admirably. Dan is a stalwart supporter of the Woodville Plantation, serving on its Board of Directors, in addition to being a loyal member of Wayne’s Legion, well-known military re-enactors of the late eighteenth century. He also was the prime mover behind last summer’s marvelous “Market Faire” at the Plantation.

Clay Kilgore is Executive Director of the Washington County Historical Society and another credible re-enactor. Most recently I saw him at Woodville as John Holcroft (Tom the Tinker?) leading the charge against Wayne’s Legion. This time he was David Bradford, the most radical of the Whiskey Rebels.

Pete Ferbaugh was at Market Faire last summer, portraying Alexander Hamilton, a role he replicated in this event. He is a remarkably credible Hamilton; I wish his part in the trial had been expanded.

The script for the drama was written by Blaire Patrick, Esq.; she also served as one of its narrators. Judge Joy Flowers Conti was its director.

Senior U. S District Judge Maurice Cohill played the part of Judge William Paterson, complete with a beautiful wig with flowing curls. Paterson was a significant member of the Constitutional Convention, proponent of the New Jersey Plan which would have given each state equal representation in Congress; a U. S Senator; Governor of New Jersey; and U. S Supreme Court Justice at the time of the trial. His charge to the jury, as presented by Judge Cohill, was particularly impressive.

Brief appearances by Washington and Hamilton helped the narrator explain the events of the four years that culminated in the Whiskey Rebellion. Playwright’s license was employed to give Bradford (by then safely escaped to Louisiana) to make an effective cameo appearance presenting the Rebels’ side of the story.

Once the Court had been called to order and the jury charged, the trial of Philip Vigol (sometimes spelled Wigle) began. Prosecutor and U. S District Attorney William Rawle, played by Professor Mark Yochum, relentlessly insisted that “combining to defeat or resist a federal law was equivalent to levying war against the United States” and therefore an act of treason.

Rawle called General John Neville as a witness against Vigol. Portrayed by Dan Booker, Esq., Neville focused on reporting on all of the indignities he and his family had experienced, with some embellishment.

Vigol was defended by Attorney William Tilghman, portrayed by Martin Dietz, Esq. (who actually is a criminal defense attorney in real life). Tilghman called Vigol to the witness stand, apparently in an effort to demonstrate that he was merely part of a mob following orders. In cross-examination Rawle got him to admit he had been present at several of the incidents that were clearly illegal. Tilghman’s defense for Vigol (and Mitchell as well) was that he would be putting himself in danger if he didn’t go along with Bradford and his cohorts, i.e, that he felt coerced to participate. The jury had no difficulty finding him guilty of treason.

John Mitchell’s trial followed much of the same route. Rawle put General Daniel Morgan on the stand to testify that his militiamen had arrested Mitchell and that he had admitted being at the burning of Neville’s mansion and that he had indeed robbed the U. S. Mail, on instructions from Bradford. At this point Tilghman produced a letter from Morgan to President Washington dated January 19, 1795, in which Morgan requested clemency on the grounds that Mitchell was merely a minor agent of Bradford. Nonetheless the jury also found him guilty of treason.

The peak of the Whiskey Rebellion was the gathering at Braddock’s Field on August 1, 1794, when nearly five thousand men gathered and threatened a march on Pittsburgh. By the time General Henry Lee’s thirteen thousand militiamen arrived, the opposition had disappeared. On “the Dreadful Night”, November 13, 1794, the militia rounded up about one hundred and fifty suspects and arrested them.

Eventually twenty-four rebels were indicted; ten were apprehended and marched to Philadelphia. Of those ten tried for treason, eight were acquitted. Vigol and Mitchell were sentenced to death by hanging. Public sentiment and common sense made it easy for President Washington to pardon both of them.

Following the trials, a panel composed of three men from the U. S. Attorney’s Office, Western District of Pennsylvania – Michael Ivory, Esq., Robert Cessar, Esq., and Khasha Attaran, Esq. – discussed the current interpretation of treason and the precedent for pardon in such cases. I felt I was able to follow the discussion, but I would feel guilty accepting two continuing education credits based on my comprehension of it.

For a history buff like me, the mock trial was a wonderful experience. I was quite impressed with everyone involved in it and with the way they brought this obscure bit of history to life. It certainly has raised a number of questions about other legal issues related to the Whiskey Rebellion.

What was the legal justification for the sixty writs Marshal Lenox served requiring local farmers to appear in court in Philadelphia? Why were they required to appear in the federal court rather than the state court? What was the President’s justification for calling up the militia? Was there a legal basis for “the Dreadful Night”?

One must also wonder about the trials for the eight men who were acquitted. I presume Rawle prosecuted them as well. Was Tilghman their defense attorney? What was unique about the cases against Vigol and Mitchell?

I forgot to mention the appearance of Albert Gallatin, portrayed by Federal Judge William Stickman IV, in the prelude to the trial. Gallatin came to Pennsylvania in the late 1780s from Switzerland. He was elected as a U. S. Senator in 1793, then removed from office because he lacked the necessary nine years of citizenship. During the Whiskey Rebellion, he served as a rational voice attempting to head off violence.

Similarly, Hugh Henry Brackenridge, one of the few practicing attorneys in western Pennsylvania in the 1790s, was a major voice of reason who helped defuse the uprising. He is a personal hero of mine; I wish he had been included in the re-enactment.

I am grateful to Gary Davis for making it possible for me to participate in this event and to its sponsors and especially to all the fine re-enactors.

The Demon of Brownsville Road. November 14, 2019

November 14, 2019

The Demon of Brownsville Road

The Bridgeville Area Historical Society celebrated Halloween last month by deviating from its normal subject matter and wandering off into the supernatural. Bob Cranmer made an interesting presentation based on his book, “The Demon of Brownsville Road”.

He prefaced his presentation with an explanation of why he wrote the book, which documents the experiences his family had in their house at 3406 Brownsville Road in Brentwood. In his mind these experiences prove conclusively the existence of God and Satan, Heaven and Hell, and Angels and Demons, and he is committed to bearing witness to the presence of Evil right here in the twenty-first century.

When Mr. Cranmer was a young boy, he lived near the mansion and felt strangely attracted to it. After graduating from Duquesne University, serving a tour of duty in the U. S. Army, and beginning a family in New Jersey, in 1988 he found himself being relocated to Pittsburgh by his employer. By coincidence the house showed up on the real estate market the very week he and his wife began house hunting.

When they learned the house was out of their price range, they offered a token bid, $20,000 below the asking price and were surprised when it was accepted immediately. When he asked if there was something wrong with the house, he was told, “Don’t worry, they have celebrated Mass in the dining room”. The first time the family visited the house, his two-year-old son was terrified by something he could not explain.

Once they moved into the house, a variety of strange things began to happen. The pull cord on the light in the coat closet in the front hall kept getting would around the bulb. Red streaks began to appear on the walls of certain rooms. A crucifix was split into two parts; in another instance, the crucifix mysteriously was separated from the rosary while being held in a supplicant’s hands.

When he was digging in the yard to plant flowers, he accidentally dug up a metal box, which contained a rosary. When he asked the realtor about it he was advised to put it back where he found it an “leave well enough alone”.

Furniture was moved, pictures were rotated on the wall, and objects hurled across the room. Mr. Cranmer reported that eventually a specific individual became evident. Usually it was invisible but could be recognized by a pungent odor. On some occasions it appeared to materialize as a humanoid-shaped dense cloud. He even saw it in the form of a “Grim Reaper” type figure at one point.

Eventually Mr. Cranmer reported these events to his friend Tom Murphy, the Mayor of Pittsburgh at the time. Murphy suggested they contact Bishop Donald Wuerl, who referred the matter to Father Ron Lengwin, who then contacted a local mystic, Connie Valenti. Without ever visiting the house she immediately described its interior in detail and advised Father Lengwin against entering it.

According to Mr. Cranmer, the Church already had a file of information regarding previous anti-religious occurrences in the house and was convinced that it was occupied by a demon. They initiated a program of celebrating Masses in each room, splashed Holy Water on the red stains, and even imported an exorcist. By 2006 they declared that the Demon had been driven from the house. Nothing strange has occurred since then.

Mr. Cranmer believes that Evil arrived at this location in March, 1792, when an Indian raid resulted in the death of a mother and three children there. Based on a radar investigation of the site, he believes the bodies are still buried there. I was unaware of any Indian raids in this area as late as that date. None are recorded in C. Hale Sipe’s classic “The Indian Wars of Pennsylvania”. I emailed Mr. Cranmer with a request for the source of his information; so far I have had no response.

There is also a legend that an immigrant working on construction of the house in 1906 put a curse on it based on his dislike of its wealthy owner. Then too, Mr. Cranmer believes an unscrupulous doctor performed illegal abortions there in the 1930s, at least one of which resulted in the death of the mother.

With the help of a co-author and editor, Erica Manfred, his book was published in 2014. His story has been featured on a number of television programs dealing with the paranormal and a subsidiary of Warner Brothers has purchased rights to make a movie based on it.

At this point Mr. Cranmer is living on the third floor of the house; he and his son Charles are planning to open it as a bed-and-breakfast with an historical theme. Included is “the Washington Dining Room, inspired by the legend that George Washington slept on the property in 1784”. Washington’s Journal of his visit to this area in 1784 clearly indicates that Canonsburg was the closest he ever got to Brentwood.

Perhaps the bed-and-breakfast can have an Elvis room, in honor of Mike Lange’s frequent expression “Elvis has just left the building!” After all, the old Civic Arena was closer to Brentwood that Canonsburg.

It is interesting to speculate on where the Demon went after he was ejected from Cranmer’s house. When Larry Godwin introduced the speaker, he mentioned Mr. Cranmer’s service as Allegheny County Commissioner and the part he played in the construction of Pittsburgh International Airport, PNC Park, and Heinz Field.

Perhaps the Demon joined the management team at USAir in time to convince them to pull out their Pittsburgh hub and doom the airport to an early obsolescence leading to demolition of half of it. Or perhaps it is part of the Pirates ownership group which has failed to field a team worth going to see at PNC Park. Must we exorcise Heinz Field the next time the Ravens come to town?

Hearing Mr. Cranmer in person, one is impressed with the fact that he is articulate, apparently rational, and intensely sincere. His powerful faith in the Church is evident. The presentation was well received by the audience.

Next month the Historical Society will return to history when Georgeanne Abood Henson will discuss her grandfather, George Abood, and his experiences in World War II as one of a trio of Bridgeville airmen shot down and ending up in the same prisoner-of-war camp. The program will be presented at 7:30, Tuesday, November 26, 2019, in the Chartiers Room, Bridgeville Volunteer Fire Department.

Rocky Mountain High. November 17, 2019

November 7, 2019

Rocky Mountain High

I just returned from a delightful trip to Colorado to visit my daughter Sara and her family. The official rationale for the trip was to see my grandson Ian perform in his high school play, “Clue”. However the beautiful weather there encouraged Sara to take me into the mountains and soak up the magnificent scenery.

The first day we drove up Poudre Canyon. When Jim and Sara first came to Colorado, they lived in La Porte, a small town a few miles northwest of Fort Collins while they attended Colorado State University. La Porte is close to the point where the Cache la Poudre River exits Poudre Canyon in the Colorado Foothills.

Cache la Poudre is French for “a storage place for powder”. Apparently the name stems back to the very early days when French fur traders were common in this area. The river begins near the Continental Divide at an elevation of 9,000 feet, then flows eastward about eighty miles to La Porte dropping over 4,000 feet. It then proceeds through Fort Collins to Greeley where it joins the South Platte River.

Every trip west into the Rockies is a geology lesson. Fifty or sixty million years ago tectonic plates in the Pacific subducted (slid under) the North American Plate, lifting the western half of the continent significantly. The mountain building process produced a north/south fault line running through central Colorado.

A few miles east of the fault line is the Dakota Hogback. Deposited about one hundred million years ago, the distinctive layer of Dakota Sandstone was tilted upward to the west until it fractured, leaving a distinctive outcropping that runs from Wyoming to New Mexico.

West of the fault line is the mass of gneiss and schist that was uplifted by the Orogeny and thrust thousands of feet upward, forming the foothills. These metamorphic rocks are over one and a half billion years old. Here the river has carved a cathedral-like “Narrows” with majestic steep walls well over a thousand feet high.

Farther west the rocks are granite, a few hundred million years younger than the gneiss and schists and characterized by rounded boulders and peaks. At places the valley is wider, as the river seems to relax a little in its relentless attack on the landscape. The Cache la Poudre has been designated, properly, a “wild and scenic” river and is a popular attraction for the contradictory sports of trout fishing and whitewater rafting. I was content to restrict myself to sightseeing.

The river itself is small, with perhaps the average flow rate of Chartiers Creek. It is hard to believe that it has been able to carve out such a large canyon. However, it has had fifty million years to find all the fractures and soft places in the Pre Cambrian rocks. This time we have a lesson in patience and persistence.

The next day we drove south to Loveland and then west up Big Thompson Canyon. It has similar geology to Poudre Canyon, even more spectacular in several areas. Unlike Poudre, Big Thompson is lined with homes and vacation cottages. In 1976 twelve inches of rainfall in several days produced a flood in the narrow canyon that took 144 lives.

Seeing this small stream (flow rate of seventy-five cubic feet per second) today it is hard to visualize it causing so much damage. Realizing its flow rate reached 35,000 cubic feet per second in that flood (three times the highest flow rate ever for Chartiers Creek) gives one a different perspective. It is hard to imagine anything surviving that amount of water in such a narrow canyon.

At the west end of the canyon, 7,500 feet above sea level, is the delightful town of Estes Park. Famed as the gateway to Rocky Mountain National Park, it is a tourist magnet, filled with shops and restaurants. The Stanley Hotel, famed for its role in Stephen King’s novel, “The Shining” and the television miniseries based on it.

When we stopped at the toll booth entering the Park, the attendant noticed that I was perusing “Roadside Geology of Colorado” and announced that it was his favorite reference. Once again I was impressed with the National Park Service, this time in the person of an humble toll-taker. Whenever I complain about some aspect of our federal government, I remind myself that the Park Service does an outstanding job.

We drove into a lovely valley called Moraine Park. Surrounded by mountains in every direction, including the dominating Long’s Peak, the valley is the site of Sara’s family’s favorite campground. It is also home to a large herd of elk – there must have been 150 of them the day we were there. We took a short hike onto a small granite hill covered with Ponderosa Pines in the middle of the valley.

This part of the park takes its name from the large lateral moraine forming its southern boundary and the series of recessional moraines at its western end. Lateral moraines are made up of debris carried along the side of a glacier and left behind. Recessional moraines leave debris behind each time a glacier pauses during its retreat. Another powerful geology lesson!

We then drove north to Horseshoe Valley and the Alluvial Fan, a large area where mountain floods have deposited massive boulders over a large area in a pattern that, in a satellite photograph, looks remarkably similar to the delta of the Mississippi River where it meets the Gulf of Mexico. Our return drive to Estes Park on a different highway took us across three terminal moraines, each marking the farthest advance of a different glacier.

Back in civilization we had the pleasure of watching Ian play the part of Colonel Mustard in “Clue”. The play, of course, is based on the movie of the same name, which itself was based on a popular board game of my youth called “Clue”. It is a “tongue-in-cheek” version of a classical mystery story; the role of Colonel Mustard is probably the best from a comedic perspective.

Ian played the part well; numerous folks in the audience told him they thought he was their favorite character. Directions for the play describe the Colonel as “a puffy, pompous, dense blowhard of a military man”; Ian exploited the “dense” characteristic, probably because the script gave him numerous opportunities in that direction.

His performance was rewarded by custody of the “gypsy robe”. There is a Broadway tradition that, at the opening of a new musical, a member of the chorus wearing a robe decorated by mementoes from previous shows circle the stage three times in a counterclockwise direction, providing each member of the cast to touch the robe for good luck.

The local school district began its own version of this tradition in 2007; their robe is covered with patches from dozens of performances. Ian’s family now has the responsibility of producing a patch representative of “Clue” and finding a place to sew it on. It is a fitting honor for Ian’s final show; his ninth in a series of community and high school theater productions.

Nora is now a ninth grader at Rocky Mountain High. Next weekend she and her mother are going to St. Louis with her soccer team for a season ending, high level tournament in St. Charles. Her next challenge is the tryouts for the high school basketball team. In between, she is busy with the Student Council planning a special Halloween event at the school for young children as an alternative to trick-or-treating.

Claire is now in sixth grade at Webber Middle School. Her soccer season has ended and she is now concentrating on the middle school choir. The past two summers she has attended a creative writing workshop, with impressive results. Sara had me read Claire’s essay on the whale watching cruise we took at Maui last December. It was remarkably well done, would have been acceptable at the college level.

Despite a significant snow storm on Sunday I was able to get home comfortably the next day, full of gratitude that, despite my advanced years, I am still capable of traveling thirteen hundred miles to visit Sara and her wonderful family. Experiencing the magnificent Colorado scenery is an added bonus.