Amy Perkins. June 7. 2018

Copyright © 2018                               John F. Oyler

June 7, 2018

Amy Perkins

The Bridgeville area recently lost one its most distinguished citizens with the passing of centenarian Amy Perkins. Aimee Purnell was born on May 20, 1915, the daughter of Leroy and Viola Purnell. Before she was old enough to know her father, World War I took him to France, where he died. We believe he was the first African-American from the Bridgeville area to lose his life in the service of his country.

Years later the government arranged for mothers and widows of servicemen buried in France to visit the cemeteries in which their loved ones were buried. Over six thousand women participated in this pilgrimage. Unfortunately in those days of Jim Crow segregation, African-American families were not included. Fortunately, Mrs. Purnell’s employer, Dr. Fife, interceded and made it possible for her to make the trip separately.

The Bridgeville Area Historical Society has a poignant photograph of Viola Purnell at her husband’s grave in France, an appropriate symbol of the horror of war and its aftereffects on its survivors. It is ironic that we are writing this on Memorial Day Weekend.

Despite being orphaned as a small child and reaching maturity at the height of the Depression, Aimee Purnell prospered as a survivor. She is recorded as a graduate of the Class of 1934 of Bridgeville High School. Among other members of the class were John Abraham, Arthur Colussy, John Deklewa, Jane Patton, and Arthur Rittenhouse. Aimee was obviously BHS’ oldest living alumnus. One wonders who has inherited that distinction?

At some point Aimee morphed into Amy. She became a licensed practical nurse and spent many productive years at Kane Hospital serving the elderly and indigent. She married Morris Perkins and began a family that eventually included eleven great-grandchildren.

The First Baptist Church of Bridgeville and Amy Perkins are practically synonymous; she served as Deaconess and as the moral conscience of the congregation. In later years her interests included Meals on Wheels and the Bridgeville Food Bank. Very few people can match her service to her community. It is trite to say she will be missed, but that statement has seldom been more appropriate.

One of best things about writing this column is the feedback we get from readers. Georgia Abraham emailed us in response to the column dealing with the Bridgeville High School classes of 1950 and 1951. We had reported the election of Louise Tonarelli as May Queen in 1950.

Georgia reported “The mention of Louise Tonarelli as May Queen brought back a favorite memory.  Her father was on strike at the time she was selected as May Queen, and the Baldwin St neighborhood got together and collected money so that she could purchase her new dress to wear to the coronation.  One of the many pluses of growing up in Bridgeville at the time.”

That is indeed a wonderful memory and a wonderful story; our thanks to Georgia. On the same general subject, we owe Arlene Toney an apology. She was the Maid of Honor for the May Dance in 1951; we inadvertently referred to her as Audrey.

Cheryl Williams, a volunteer docent at the Oliver Miller Homestead, asked us what route a colonial packhorse train from Bridgeville would follow to go east to Bedford. We sent her information on Colonel Noble’s Trace. Hearing from her reminded me of my one-person campaign to increase cooperation between neighboring organizations interested in local history – I must visit the Miller Homestead some Sunday soon.

The recent renewal of a very old friendship with Don Colton continues to generate lots of new information as well as old memories. His response to the column on “Academic Regalia” was the information that he still proudly wears his father’s hood, which the first Dr. Colton presented to him in 1964, when Don earned his Ph. D.

Dr. Horace Colton was justly proud of his doctorate, a Ph. D. in Education Administration from the University of Pittsburgh; most Education doctorates today are D. Ed. I have been around the academic world long enough to appreciate the distinction. I am touched by the thought of his original Pitt hood being worn by Don at distinguished academic affairs all over the Mid-West all these years.

For those of you keeping score, I must report a disappointment. I submitted three columns to the Press Club of Western Pennsylvania Golden Quill Awards competition. I was pleased to learn I was a finalist, then shattered when I was informed I had not won. This competition was for columnists in the Weekly Papers with circulation below 45,000; guess I need a category of less than fifty readers.

Despite my disappointment, I still receive a lot of satisfaction from putting something together each week, especially when it involves local history. I am reminded of the slogan of the Cameron County Press Independent newspaper, which was published by my cousin Jim Klees – “The only paper in the world that gives a damn about Cameron County”. I will strive to continue to produce the only column that gives a damn about the Bridgeville area.

The Gully Washer. May 31, 2018

Copyright © 2018                               John F. Oyler

May 31, 2018

The Gully Washer

Gully Washer was my father’s term for the abrupt, heavy rainstorm that immediately forces small streams to overflow and for temporary streams to suddenly appear in every crevice running downhill. We had one late in the evening recently; severe enough that I was eager to inspect its aftereffects on my morning walk in the woods the next day. It was also severe enough to make the morning news – the Bridgeville Fire Department had to a rescue a motorist stuck in two feet of water on Baldwin Street.

Sure enough there was evidence of a massive over-wash where the path from the lower end of our street up the hill to the grade school crosses the tiny creek in our woods. At this point the creek passes through a long twenty-four-inch diameter pipe buried under the path.

Once or twice a year a gully washer provides so much runoff so rapidly that debris piles up at the entry to the pipe, backing up water so quickly that it soon overflows. This had obviously happened this time, as all the recently applied wood chips had disappeared.

In honor of Earth Day the Township Maintenance folks had trucked in reclaimed asphalt chunks and compacted them with a Bobcat so the “Greenie” volunteers could spread loads of wood chips on top and produce an ecologically friendly environment for school children and nature lovers. Once this was complete, the Gully Wash scheduler rubbed his hands together and allowed it to survive three weeks before washing it all down the hill and into the creek.

I was not surprised to see that the storm had carved out a gully a foot deep that will survive and grow till Earth Day 2019. About two hundred yards west of this path is another, equally steep, path that leads from the school to a permanent bridge over the creek. Several years ago it was the subject of an Eagle Scout project to eliminate the perennial gully that runoff carves through it.

The solution was the installation of a series of transverse landscape timbers to interrupt the runoff. Where the gully crossed the path they installed a makeshift catch basin feeding a buried pipe, with a piece of hardware cloth across the opening to turn away debris. It quickly plugged and soon the whole area was covered over.

This Spring I saw a man digging out the catch basin and the discharge from the pipe and shook my head in disbelief. Last week’s storm has deposited several bushels of wood chips, sand, and debris over the catch basin once again; the gully has reappeared, and the runoff once again is undermining the timbers.

A neat byproduct of a heavy storm, especially one accompanied by thunder and lightning, is the reinforcement of our humility. No matter how badly we mangle our natural environment, once we are gone (“When Earth’s last picture is painted … etc.”), it won’t take Nature very long to erase all the evidence of our existence.

This year’s Eagle Scout project is the improvement of what I call “Maya’s Trail”. Thirty years ago we had a brindle female boxer named Maya, who was skitterish around traffic. We would be fine on a trail along the south edge of the woods, fifty yards or so from the boundary street, then encounter a problem when it exited the woods and dumped us on a sidewalk for several hundred yards. I remedied this with a pair of long-handled trimmers by carving out my own trail, well inside the woods.

After a few years other folks began to use it; it was a perfect connector to the path above the artificial cliff at the southwest end of the soccer field. And, because it was so skillfully laid out, paralleling a natural gully, it was not subject to erosion. And now the endorsement of the Scouts and the Conservancy folks has made “Maya’s Trail” official, even if they don’t know its proper name.

Last week was “School in the Park”, an annual invasion of third graders and their teachers. I am sure it is well-intentioned and I hope it does generate curiosity about nature in the children. I enjoy inspecting their various work stations, during lunch hour., and occasionally learn something. This year it was “lady’s thumb”, a plant so-named because it does appear to have a thumb print in the middle of each leaf.

More significantly, I also found a sign identifying a tree as a “bitternut hickory”. For many years Hugh Carr and I have disagreed on nearly every subject – religion, trade unions, politics, popular music, etc. – but have found enough in common to remain friends. At one time he identified a prominent tree in the woods as a butternut. I immediately corrected him; after all we had a butternut at our cottage at Conneaut Lake, and this was no butternut.

I then studied tree identification books and eventually became convinced it was a bitternut hickory, so named because the nuts were so bitter that even squirrels would not eat them. I promptly stationed Hugh directly under the tree and explained his error. Just as I finished emoting, something fell at our feet. Would you believe, a squirrel was sitting directly above us, chewing on a nut!

Hugh has reminded of this regularly ever since. Recently I found a nut from the tree, cracked it open, and sampled it. Bitter is an understatement. Now that I have “School in the Park” on my side, I am ready to reopen the discussion.

One of my favorite popular songs from my youth is “Spring Will Be a Little Late This Year”. When Sarah Vaughn sang it, she blamed it on her lover leaving her; today we blame such things on climate change. When Spring finally came this year, she came in a hurry. The golden blanket of celandines appeared in mid-April; a month later the leaves had dried up and disappeared completely.

Our trillium bloomed by the first of May, several nice clumps of white and painted varieties. Unfortunately we could not find the single, wine colored “sessile trillium” that we have been admiring in recent years. For some reason the Township Maintenance guys felled a large beech tree and dropped it right where we expected to find our sessile. According to the references we can find, it is not native to this area; I fear it is gone forever.

By mid-May the Mayflowers had finally bloomed, as well as a pair of plants I cannot identify – a serious threat to my reputation as guru of the woods. One is a very common fern with smooth, slender footballed shaped leaves and a slender white bloom centered on the stalk. The other is a small tree with serrated, rounded leaves and a complex white blossom. Typically, the bloom has five stalks with a large, four lobed flower at the end and a string of tiny five petalled flowers along the stalk.

The little meadow which contains the tulip tree we planted in memory of my wife is a sea of buttercups; she would have liked that. The tree appears to be prospering; we planted forget-me-nots and marigolds around its base.

I think I have been able to identify the fungi that are sprouted everywhere on dead stumps and rotting logs. They look like a cross between large ears oriented upward and pancakes. They are yellow/tan in color, with circumferential rings of brown spots, like an unevenly baked pancake. I believe they are “Dryad’s Saddles”, named for the tree nymphs of Greek mythology.

The large stump that housed the final letterbox in our four-box mystery quest finally gave up the ghost and tumbled into the stream bed. I was able to salvage the letter box which contained the final clue, a rubber stamp for the letter-boxer to stamp his/her journal, and a journal for him/her to record his/her visit.

We have lost the letterbox under the “Troll Bridge” (probably to trolls), and Winston, the concrete dog statue that points to the first letterbox, is now pointing the wrong way. Sounds like time for us to refresh our set of clues.

Winston’s orientation is a problem. My grandchildren think he comes back to life and night and wanders around till dawn approaches and that sometimes he forgets which direction he was looking when he woke up.

It is becoming harder each year for me to resist the temptation to stop and rest on the bench near the picnic pavilion. My physical fitness sense tells me I should continue without an interruption, but my emotional conscience tempts me with thoughts of how pleasant it is to just sit there and enjoy the wonder of the day.

I am pleased to report that the current Freedom Tree appears to be prospering. The original Freedom Tree was planted in the mid 1970s along with a plaque commemorating Major Robert Pietsch’s death in Vietnam. It was healthy until the early 1990s when it began to decline, finally dying in 2009.

Two years later a Girl Scout project relocated the plaque to a different site and planted a new Freedom Tree. It only survived one winter before expiring. Last Spring the same folks planted a new Freedom Tree, this time a tulip tree. At this point it appears to be perfectly healthy and well on the route to survival. My politically Conservative friends believe the sequence of its life cycle is not coincidental.

The biggest tree that blew down this Spring is an apparently healthy black cherry that was uprooted by high winds. Unlike many other trees the cherries lack a central taproot to anchor them deep into the soil. The small branches at the top of the fallen giant are fully in leaf, with tiny berries in profusion. Apparently no one has told them the tree is lying on its side with only a few roots still operative a hundred feet away.

What a blessing it is to have these wonderful woods to explore! Where else would one encounter tree nymphs, trolls, and night-wandering dog statues?

BHS Classes of 1950 and 1951

Copyright © 2018                                      John F. Oyler

May 24, 2018

BHS Classes of 1950 and 1951

This month the Bridgeville Area Historical Society “Second Tuesday” workshop series returned to its review of the history of Bridgeville High School, this time focusing on the classes of 1950 and 1951.

The summer of 1949 found local high school football fans full of optimism. Although there were only four players returning who had been starters on the previous year’s championship team, the supporting cast appeared to be ready for another competitive season.

The backfield featured quarterback Elmer Villani, halfbacks Ken Beadling and Roger Bradford, and fullback Lou Cimarolli. The line included end Aldo Mosso, tackle Bob Verdinek, guards Don Emma and Bill Wolf, and center Anthony Capozzoli, all Seniors, plus underclassmen Ken Hofrichter at tackle and Walt Maruzewski at end. Four other Seniors – ends Al Abood and Howdy Collins, fullback Sam Patton, and guard Bob Collavo – would provide valuable assistance as well.

Their first game was a 41 to 13 romp over West Bethlehem. According to Don Colton this game was a last-minute addition to the schedule. After its showing the previous year, it was difficult to find Class B opponents willing to play Bridgeville. Without the Gardner System points provided from the West Bethlehem victory, the locals would not have qualified for the Class B championship game.

The only real competition Bridgeville had that season was from Scott Township’s Clark High eleven. Clark boasted a number of fine players, including three who would go on to have outstanding professional careers – Bernie Faloney, Jim Schrader, and Joe Zombeck. Late in the game with the score tied at fourteen apiece Bridgeville stopped a Clark drive inside its ten-yard line, then ran off three consecutive long running plays culminating with Lou Cimarolli scooting twenty yards for the deciding touchdown.

That season I was a Penn State Freshman, “farmed out” to Clarion State Teachers College, so I missed most of the games. I was able to persuade one of friends to loan me his ’37 Chevy so I could haul four of my buddies home to see the South Fayette game. The car was a disaster; it stalled every time we stopped for a traffic light, including once on Grant Street in front of the William Penn Hotel.

We finally got to the game at half time and found Bridgeville ahead 28 to 0. No rivalry upset that evening! After my mother fed us bountifully, we set out for the return trip to Clarion. In those days college kids had classes on Saturdays! No traffic problems in the middle of the night, but also no open gas stations. After coasting down hills with the engine turned off, we finally limped into an open station at Shippenville and bought a quarter’s worth of gas.

According to my brother, Bridgeville’s future playoff opponent, Trafford, had the evening off so they came here to scout our team and were full of boasts about the upcoming game. The game was scheduled to be played at Graham Field. I decided to hitchhike to the game and to bring my double-barreled shotgun with me so I could hunt with my brother and our father the next day.

It’s hard to believe today, but I had no problem “thumbing a ride” nor getting into the stadium despite carrying a weapon. I probably should have loaned it to the Trafford team; it turned out to be the most one-sided playoff game in WPIAL history, a 64 to 0 rout. Cimarolli’s scored four times; his shortest touchdown run was sixty five yards long.

Fallout from the wonderful season included spots on the Class B All-Star team for Beadling, Capozzoli, and Cimarolli; a robbery of the safe in the High School (fortunately Dr. Colton had already deposited the $700 check of receipts from the playoff game); and widespread speculation on Coach Hast’s future. From a list of attractive jobs, Hast elected to move to North Catholic as head coach. He never again matched his achievements at Bridgeville.

In addition to the triumphant football players the Class of 1950 was filled with other outstanding members. Emil Borra, Bob Harris, and Bill Norcik all went on to Penn State and were key members of nationally ranked soccer teams there. After receiving an Air Force ROTC commission, Harris had an impressive career in the Pennsylvania Air National Guard, culminating as its commander with the rank of Major General.

Don Colton was Class President; we believe he was the first BHS graduate to earn a Ph. D. It was in musicology, from Indiana University in 1964. His academic career culminated at the University of Evansville as Chairman of the Music Department.

Kathleen Banks was Class Treasurer; ironically our workshop was being conducted in the building named in her honor in recognition for her service to our community. She was also one of the Commencement speakers. Don Gates became a successful attorney; Paul Rankin, an equally successful dentist.

Louise Tonarelli was May Queen; June Piazza, Maid of Honor. Also in the Court was Virginia Keefner, whom we all remember as Mrs. Skip Colussy.

The ’50 soccer team ended the season with a 3 to 2 win over South Fayette that appeared to have clinched another WPIAL championship for BHS. Unfortunately, three of them had participated in a Junior Cup game for the Heidelberg Tornado. This violated WPIAL rules and caused the title to be forfeited to South Fayette.

The next football season began with Tiny Carson as head coach and Al Como as a newly hired assistant. They beat Clark 6 to 0, thanks to a touchdown by Paul Koval, then saw their win streak stopped at 26 when Carnegie upset them 7 to 0 on a last-minute touchdown by Ray Keisling. They went on to lose two more games, to Meadville and Chartiers, ending up with a respectable six and three season.

The team included Amos Jones and Don Brown in the backfield, Ken Hofrichter at guard, and Ralph Hofrichter and Lloyd Crawley at tackle. Amos joined the Navy and was killed in the crash of a Neptune reconnaissance plane on a glacier in Iceland in December 1953. The other four all went to Westminster College and lived long, productive lives. Life is hard to understand.

The Korean War was beginning to take its toll. Class of ’48 alumnus Harry Stringer was the first fatality. Captain William Shadish, Class of 1942, was listed as a prisoner of war. A medical doctor, he eventually spent nearly 1000 days as a POW, providing invaluable services to fellow prisoners. Another Bridgeville man, Larry Donovan, credited Shadish with saving his life. Shadish’s experiences are chronicled in a book he wrote, “When Hell Froze Over”.

President of the Class of 1951 was Leonard Durbin. Patricia Day was May Queen, with Arlene Toney as Maid of Honor. Chuck Degrosky was a popular member of this class; his contribution to the founding and early days of the Historical Society was invaluable.

The audience for this particular workshop included ’51 Class member Paul Love, and four underclassmen at that time – Dale DeBlander, Russ Kovach, Ron Rothermund, and Joe Oyler. Their feedback was extremely constructive.

I started to comment that Paul was the perfect representative for his class – solid citizen, dependable, “nice guy” – when I realized that the same could be said about the other four. They are all classic examples of the best of our generation, the kind of folks who make life worthwhile. Sandwiched between the heroes of the “Greatest Generation” and the rabble rousers of the “Baby Boomers”, the “Silent Generation” members very capably helped rebuild the world after World War II. It is no coincidence that these five men are the heart of our Octogenarian Brunch Club; I couldn’t ask for better friends.

Next month our “Second Tuesday” workshop will focus on George Washington’s second visit to western Pennsylvania, the ill-fated Fort Necessity campaign in 1754. It is scheduled for 7:00 pm, Tuesday, June 12, at the History Center. The following month we will discuss the BHS Classes of 1952 and 1953.