Get Ready for Pottsville's Tricentennial

this is the first new story on the blog, everything else so far has been recycled material. Waste not, want not.

Will you be around for the Pottsville Tricentennial? I definitely will be here in 2106. I will be here because I have preplanned my cyrogenic suspension; my wasted, cigarette, bleenie and alcohol ridden body will be frozen for many decades , and then re-animated just in time for the Tricentennial. I will visit the Sovereign Majestic Theatre, by then renamed the One WorldBank Majestic. It’s a small, cozy theatre, not large enough to book Seigfried and Roy, just Seigfried or Roy, and maybe one small cat.
For those of you considering cyrogenics, I suggest you head over to the Jalappa Ice Company and check out their special. Until the end of this month – “Cyrogenic Suspension” plus two seats at the Majestic Theatre for only $30,000! The price is even lower if you don’t mind sharing space with frozen butterball turkeys. I don’t know about you but I want to make a funny face before being frozen; my daughter Santana would get a kick out of that.
I have cyrogenics on my mind since I purchased a used VHS tape of “Encino Man” at Arizona Video on West Market Street. It stars one of the best actors of all time, Pauly Shore. It’s about a caveman who is frozen for thousands of years.
I will be fortunate to attend both the Bicentennial and also the Tricentennial. In 1956 Mammy Trout participated in the city’s Sesquicentennial festivities; in fact she was the first woman to join the “Brothers of the Brush;” a reluctant honor that she has mixed emotions over. Nair had not yet been invented.
Do you often wonder what Pottsville will be like in 2106? I constantly have this on my mind. I’ll share some predictions. The John D.W. Reilly Transportation Modal along Route 61 will be finished, with all sorts of spacecraft vehicles landing there. It will be busier than the heliport. Additionally the removal of Greenwood Hill will be completed, and it will be difficult to recognize the old east side, as it will be flat as a pancake. In fact, an Interplanetary House of Pancakes (IHOP) will be built there. The west side will transform itself also. The old historical district will be finally put out of its misery, replaced by one gigantic, treeless parking lot. The new historical district will be Forest Hills. It is where many of the city’s first clones will have settled. It will be referred to as “Clonial Forest Hills.”

Mount Carbon’s population will have declined to a dangerously low level. Annexation with Pottsville did not occur and a breeding program, presumably at both of the two barrooms, had marginal success. With only a handful of residents, Mount Carbon will soon become a ghost town and join the ranks of Mount Laffee, Kehley Run Junction, and Frackville.
Nearly one hundred years after the first human clone was created, the science of human replication will remain controversial. Pottsville, however, will have accepted the concept and it will show in its blended population. By the end of the 21st century the first Pottsvillians will have been cloned and will attempt to integrate into the Pottsville's mainstream, tearing down the barriers that previously held them back. By 2090 the City’s Unity Day Coalition, having abandoned race, religion, sexual orientation, weight, looks, age, personality and smell as problems, will emphasize the stigma against “Clones and Other Genetic Mutations.” The last barrier to conquer.
PADCO will encourage cloning as a means to increase the population by clever marketing. There will be merchants’ promotions, such as the “Lady Clone Night” at the “Titanium Tap” on East Norwegian Street, and the “Clones Eat for Half Price!” special at the Phase XXII Restaurant on West Market Street. The city will even offer to include clones and cyborgs in a family membership at the new Caroline Kennedy Schlossberg Pool. The Claude A. Lord Shields Beltway will add a special clone carpool lane to ease the congestion of vehicles, requiring two or more clones per car. Violators will be subjected to being stopped and ticketed by, yes, a robocop – a robot that looks and sounds uncannily like a former city police captain of one hundred years ago. Yes, the police force in 2106 will consist of forty cyborg replications of Captain Clarkson.

When I am thawed out in late 2105, with that silly smirk on my face, I plan to open a Millinery or Haberdashery. Don’t laugh, hats will once again be very popular. With all of the clones in the city it will be important for each to wear a different hat so that you can tell them apart. "Hats-R-Us" will be where the money’s at in Pottsville, 2106! If I am wrong, I will eat my hat, or maybe my clone or cyborg will.

Tamaqua School District Dress Code

I had lots of fun writing this one. The material was great to work with.

Way to go Tamaqua! You are now the center of the greatest constitutional crisis in our nation since the days of the American Civil War; all because the Tamaqua school district has adopted a policy that flies in the face of the American principle that I hold dearly (I am referring to “principle” and not “principal” as in Mr. Weatherbee of Riverdale High School). I am not referring to freedom of the press or religion, as they pale in importance. I am referring to the four freedoms espoused by Franklin Roosevelt: The freedom to wear whatever I want to wear, whenever I want; the freedom to be disheveled; the freedom to wear over-priced, brand name clothes and the freedom to have the "right look" in the school yard, whether it is goth, punk, emo kid, prep, jock, hippie, or redneck.
Somehow the school board has lost touch with reality. Don’t these board members realize that to be really “cool” and overcome teenage insecurities and self-doubts, the students have to wear the “right clothing,”otherwise they are unable to learn anything.
Anyone with a grasp of our nation’s history realizes that our founding mothers and fathers sacrificed their treasure and split their blood so that their descendants could dress as they pleased. Yes, the battle cry now heard in the Lewistown Valley goes back to the days of the American Revolution. I dusted off my old American History book and rediscovered some basic facts that truly are self-evident. Did you know that Patriot Patrick Henry stood up at the podium in the Virginia Statehouse, raised his fist in anger, crying out the immortal words, while dressed in his ‘76ers Iverson Jersey and oversized shorts, “Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased a the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me my Big Pecker tee shirt or give me death!” Oh! How we forget! You owe your right to dress as a Red Hot Chili Pepper during biology class to old Pat Henry.
Pat Henry’s emotional plea set off a tremor that rocked all thirteen colonies. Soon Betsy Ross infuriated her teachers by wearing a dress that exposed her legs. When threatened with expulsion and a day in the pillory, the brass young woman screamed out, “Don’t expel me until you see the whites of my thighs.” All I can say is “Right on, Betsy! You go girl!”
Another controversial figure was Bostonian James Otis who supported the cause of freedom by announcing, “A dress code that doesn’t permit underclothing from showing is tyranny.” This simple spark of liberty - to wear one’s underpants on the outside visible for every one to see - triggered the greatest movement towards freedom and democracy that the world has ever witnessed. Years later, Pennsylvanian Ben Franklin, just back from France and its Enlightenment, introduced la frie to the clamoring public. While eating these thin strips of potato, Pennsylvanians read his Poor Richard’s Almanak’s daily fashion tips promoting the idea of young girls dressing like French whores. A very enlightening idea! His belief that a young girl should dress slutty lay dormant for almost two hundred years, but is now the norm among freedom lovers everywhere. Thank you Ben Franklin! Incidentally, you may not know that Franklin received his nickname of “Big Ben” due to his love of wearing his trademark bicycle shorts while walking bare-chested around Rittenhouse Square. If you don’t believe me, just get a hold of a fifty-dollar bill and look closely for yourself.
This purely American credo to dress “down and dirty” continued from the 1700’s until the present. The Tamaqua School Board has no right to crush this freedom that blood was spilt for. Don’t these board members remember that in the 1950 young Rosa Parks refused to get off of her school bus just because she wore her spaghetti strap tank top emblazoned with the words “bootilicious” and her micro shorts? Her bravery touched off the massive civil rights struggle to wear what we want, when we want. This is what American freedom is all about. The Tamaqua School District’s policy is just the first step in crushing every freedom that we know and love.
Noted educator and bluesman, Booker T. Washington, before he recorded his smash hit “Green Onions” eloquently wrote that “the whole purpose of school is to be able to accentuate and flaunt one’s behind and other bodily parts; dress codes interfere with this natural phenomena.”
I say, “Damn the dress code! Full Steam ahead!” How dare we allow some elected school board member from questioning our God given right to come to class wearing bandanas on our heads, muscle shirts and our pants down around our crotches. I want to express myself whenever I please, just as the founding fathers and mothers pleased themselves. Take a look at the famous John Trumball painting of the Signing of the Declaration of Independence, which hangs in the U.S Capitol. Most of the signers are all wearing the same style of designer, brand name clothing. Preppy Tom Jefferson’s Izod alligator is clearly visible to the naked eye. Nothing has changed with time. Now, over 200 years later many Tamaquan students want to wear Abercrombie & Fitch clothing such as fitted t shirts and baggy ripped jeans, hoping that they will be fit into the mass media’s artificially created clique of pretentiousness. Luckily they have the support of parents who rightfully believe that their children’s creativity will be damaged unless the kids are permitted to dress all alike in expensive designer labeled clothing or goth wear. These parents have their priorities right when it comes to school involvement. I say that we should all stand behind the kids and protect their constitutional right to buy their proper identity as determined by the corporate advertisers, Hollywood and MTV. They are certainly mature enough to realize that true happiness is gained by purchasing the proper named brand goods, even if they max out the family credit card. Isn’t that what the pursuit of happiness is all about? It certainly is!

JFK Pool

I was inspired by my memories of going to JFK Pool when it first opened. It was a baby boomer dream come true.

"Let My People Swim!"

I want to share my memories of JFK pool with you. For those who are unfamiliar with Pottsville’s JFK Pool, it is named after the late President John Fitzgerald Kennedy and not the presidential candidate, John Forbes Kerry, even though widow Heinz’s ketchup is served at its concession stand. This fabled swimming pool is located at Railway Park in the northwest section of Pottsville. When it opened in 1965, it was the premier swimming hole in eastern Pennsylvania. Not only that, it was the home of “The Tower.” The edifice was a massive vertical block of cement, which appeared a mile high.
Actually, how high was the Tower? Well, the oxygen got mighty thin as you scaled the steps. Once on the platform, you got a peaceful, woozy feeling of accomplishment. You had a breathtaking view of all the humanity down below that appeared as small as ants – ants with pasty, white thighs.
Pottsville’s new pool was big. It was practically large enough to place all of Wadesville’s buildings within the confines of its cement walls. In fact, the pool so was big that it was rumored to have its own zips code. That means it had a very large volume of recirculating water. How much? I can’t tell you for sure. However, when in the center of the pool you could not see land in any direction. It was rumored to be an honorary sixth Great Lake.
Prior to the pool opening, the west side of Pottsville had to be content with an inflatable plastic pool located on the front lawn of the high school. However, a careless lifeguard accidentally punctured the pool and the west-siders had to now cross town to swim at the East Side. The long walk up East Norwegian Street carrying inner tubes and rafts was intolerable for the citizenry. Mayor Mike Close rose to the challenge; a mammoth public works project in earnest. When completed, holding his staff above his head and looking up towards the heavens, his honor uttered the famous proclamation, "Let my people swim!” The JFK Pool swung open its doors to thousands of pasty, white Pottsvillians with flabby thighs all in stuffed Speedos and primitive thongs.
Grand opening was on Memorial Day, 1965! What a sight to behold. Yes; there were a few glitches. The signs for the restroom pointed to the pool and were quickly moved to point in the right direction. Other than that, the place was ready for action. Attendees quickly changed in one of the two Jacqueline Onasis Dressing Rooms, then walked through the gate with their flotation devices searching for a small spots of grass to quickly place one’s towel. Then it was a mad rush over to the concession stand for fries, hot dogs and burgers. Yes Pottsvillians have their priorities in order! After waiting 30 minutes to avoid the possibility of cramps, the titanic crowd headed to the water for an afternoon of frolic under the hot city sun. The pool was now officially open for business! The horde was so large that Pomeroy mannequins were hastily placed on the chairs and draped with whistles to increase the number of lifeguards on duty.
The pool was the deepest and biggest around. Crowds came from near and far that it resembled the Ganges in India on really hot weekends. When the sun set, the crowds would stampede out towards their cars and head home to douse themselves with Noxema or other sunburn lotions. Mammy Trout would linger for a time, walking around with her metal detector while the work crew would clean up for the next day.
Besides recreational swimming, the management featured Pottsville’s own Aquacade. It was truly a spectacle. It occurred at the end of July or beginning of August. It featured many local youngsters performing choreographed swims to the backdrop of Broadway melodies. It was the perfect expression of Pottsville’s excessive style back then – opulent, extravagant, lavish and magnificent. I wonder if anyone else remembers Aquacade. with all of the synchronized swimmers, floats and divers?
For the faint of heart, the facility has the JFK, Jr. baby pool ("The John John") on the south side of the grounds. However, the focal point was “La Torre” (“The Tower”). A trip to Pottsville would seem a waste if you missed the world-famous dives, cannonballs, belly flops and can openers as people plunged off the concrete structure estimated to be 130 feet high. Many would view the death defying acts from the nearby Catholic War Veterans’ balcony overlooking the pool while enjoying a Yuengling beer.
I still swim at the pool forty years later. The grounds and the water are clean, but the Tower is gone and so are the large crowds. The idea of a community pool is not as popular as it once was. Apparently, middle-class kids want to swim alone in a private pool in their yard. I don’t know why. I couldn’t think of anything more boring. Although the Tower is gone, the City has constructed “The Whitewater Slide,” which brings to mind the exhilaration of the Clinton Administration. It is roller coaster without a seat. It is definitely worth the price of admission. Trust me, have I ever lied to you?

The Cartoon Riot in Garfield Square

Originally published after the Danish Cartoon riots of 2006 . I have more respect for the Danish now.

I am following the story of the cartoon riots sweeping the world, apparently the biggest craze since the witchcraft trials of the seventeenth century. Isn’t it refreshing to watch grown men act like rabid animals over something so inane as cartoon? This commotion certainly brought back fond memories of the infamous Cartoon Riot that occurred in Garfield Square during the mid-twentieth century. I am sure you all remember the massive demonstrations, the beheadings, the bombings, and other acts of random mayhem that occurred when the cartoon characters started to outnumber the local residents in Garfield Square during the “Christmas Season.” For those not familiar with the Christmas Season, it is the period of time commencing on Black Friday (the day after Thanksgiving) and ending on January 8th, the Feast of the King, or Elvis’ Birthday. Many still think of Christmas as a solemn time honoring the humble birth of Jesus Christ, and for that reason the idea of the Square, located in the heart of Pottsville, approximately one hour drive from Bethlehem and Nazareth, being overrun by The Tasmanian Devil, Broom Hilda, and Mandrake the Magician was blasphemous, leading to the massive civil unrest.
You may ask ‘Why Garfield Square?’ Why ‘cartoons?’ The answer is quite obvious. The Square was named after a fat, lazy, cynical orange cartoon cat who loves lasagna, coffee, and his remote control. There was not a better place to honor other famous cartoon characters. However this idea backfired.
The Square was not always Garfield Square; for a long time it was “Market Square.” The change in names was instigated by events occurring to our north. Apparently the city officials of Mauch Chunk in Carbon County decided to fix up its historical district and then rename the city “Jim Thorpe” in honor of the famed athlete whose corpse they purchased; enabling the city to cash in on the tourist dollars. Envious Pottsville City officials decided to follow suit. It was unanimously decided that it was not a good investment to preserve Pottsville’s unique architecture as the city of Jim Thorpe did. Therefore, all of Pottsville’s old buildings were re-classified as ‘pre-parking lots’ and left to decay until someone needed a place to park a car, at which time HARB would issue a demolition permit. All demolition permits needed HARB stamp of approval and the permits were given out like candy in the Lions Halloween Parade.
The idea of renaming a part of the city in honor of a national figure, rather than a local politician, was agreed to only after several weeks of cantankerous debate. City Scouts were quickly dispatched with shovels in hand into the hinterlands to seek out a cadaver of a famous individual to be re-interned at the Square, but they all came back empty handed. There were no celebrity corpses for sale anymore; apparently Mauch Chunk had purchased the last one available. A debate then raged over the renaming the Square after a well-known living individual. This was revolutionary, as in the history of Pottsville, all its buildings and streets were named only after local politicians. To rename the Square after a living nationally known figure was quite bold and daring. Pottsville was never noted for its boldness, so a compromise was reached. Grade school children will remember this from their American History as “The Great Compromise.” The Square would be renamed after a well known animated figure rather a living person. While many animated felines were suggested- Sylvester, Felix, and Cheshire, to name just a few – the council decided on “Garfield” the lovable self-centered couch potato, as he projected just the right image that the city desired to capture. During a beautiful and touching ceremony Market Square was renamed “Garfield Square,” with hundreds of well-wishers packing the streets, and even John F. Kennedy stopping by to see what was happening.
Word quickly spread throughout the nation that the famous feline was being honored in Pottsville and soon the city Square became a hang-out for many old time cartoon characters; a sort of Sunset Strip or Times Square for animated has-beens. One could drive by at any time of day or night and be pestered by Snuffy Smith and Mary Worth with squeegee in hand; propositioned by Wonder Woman, Mammy Youcum and Brenda Starr; intimidated by the sight of Alley Oop, Joe Palooka and the Katzenjammer Kids walking side-by-side as they glared at you; panhandled for loose change by Whimpy and Linus; and saddened by the seeing Orphan Annie, Charlie Brown, Nancy and Sluggo, now disheveled and homeless runaways left to fend for themselves in the heart of the anthracite coal region. The number of cartoon characters wandering Market Street soon created animosity within the community bringing tempers to the breaking point.
As religion is often a good excuse to be cruel to others, violence erupted to clear the infidel cartoons from the Square once and for all. Blasphemy would be punished and soon feathers began to fly after the local crowd ripped Huey, Dewey, Louie, Tweetie and Daffy to shreds in the name of the Almighty. It did not take long for the Square to be cleared of the cartoons once and for all and the Cartoon Riot of Pottsville soon faded into history. The Pottsville Minister of Propaganda quickly redid the history books; soon it was taught that Garfield Square was named after a former U.S. President who regularly ate hamburgers at the nearby Diner while reading the funny papers.

Elvis & Cruise Night

I enjoy cruise night because it is the only time people in Pottsville come outside other than to recieve the Domino Pizza that was just delivered. I also grew up with Elvis.

Like most people, I often wonder what Elvis would think about Pottsville’s cruise night. I am sure that the King would love Cruise Night if he were still alive as he had an affinity for Cadillacs. During his lifetime he had purchased over one hundred of them. I am sure that he would love to drive into town in his 1955 pink and white Fleetwood Cadillac and head over to 7th and West Market Street looking for the Earl Stoyer Cadillac Showroom. Sadly he would be disappointed to learn that it was now a dental office. Making the best of it, he would get a quick teeth cleaning from Dr. Barket before heading uptown. Elvis would be 69 years old this year if he was still alive, so I am sure that he would also stop at Dr. Jack Dolbin’s for some chiropractic treatment. The ride from Memphis to Pottsville would take a toll on anyone’s back, whether you are the King of Rock and Roll or not. Feeling refreshed after his spinal adjustment, he would drive into Martz Hall parking lot and register, just like anyone else. After registration he would try to call Mohammed Ali at his Deer Lake camp. Alas, The Champ had out-migrated like so many others. Luckily, the new owner of the camp told him that the place is the Butterfly and Bee Bed and Breakfast. Elvis would request a room and then would ask if the place had a breakfast buffet. “Pancakes fit for a King.” He would reserve a room using his AARP discount. Throngs of the curious would surround him, and he would talk to them all. Many would not know he was. Some would say he sure doesn’t look like Elvis Costello. Others would be excited to see Michael Jackson’s former father-in-law in person. Some would marvel that, despite his age and medical problems, he still looked better than Keith Richards.
When the actual cruise started, Elvis’ car would certainly be moved to the front of the line. After a few pictures taken with Mayor Reilly and Jerry Enders, he would accelerate and head down Laurel Boulevard. He would be greeted with cheers of, “burn some rubber, gramps!” The King of Rock and Roll would oblige the crowds after some youngster would pour Clorox on the asphalt to give him just the right amount of traction. How would Elvis react to Officer Clarkson pulling him over to ticket him? I imagine he would tell the policeman, “Don't be cruel, officer, to a heart that's true?” No one knows but I am sure that Clarkson would be let go with just a warning to act his age.
When Elvis gets to Centre Street, he would be greeted with immense adulation from his well wishers. His response would be his trademark, “Thank you, thank you very much.” He would look around and notice all of the changes in Pottsville since he had been here last thirty years or so ago. Someone would yell out to him to make sure he looks at the General’s statue that was just placed at the old fountain. “General, did someone say General…I sure could go for some General Tso’s chicken right now....Hey! The Coney’s still in business!” This would be the first of several stops along the way.
“I like my burgers well done. I wonder if I can still get three for a dollar?”
He would look around while eating his burger and marvel at all of the new parking lots and the reconstruction of the farmer’s market into a theatre.
“Damn, I wish it was still a farmer’s market, I could go for some collard greens. I wonder if the Majestic will show ‘Harem Scarum’ or ‘Liva Los Vegas’ here soon?”
Further down the street, Elvis could see that Pomeroy’s was now gone but Bohorad’s was still in business. “I wonder if Bohorad’s carries any sequined jumpsuits with capes?”
Then it would be time for a quick pit stop at the Garfield. “Mmm. Ham bone dumplings and glazed donuts!”
Further up the street, he would be disappointed that Charlie’s Pizza Shop was closed as it was a Sunday. “I could go for a hunka hunka burning hot pizza right now.” But at Mike Watcher’s auto center he would get out to admire the car dealer’s hot pink Caddy and enjoy some potato salad with Ginny, the office manager. By the time he got to the Uptown Coney for a few burgers and fries, he would be getting some indigestion and decide to call it a night. “Lord Almighty, I feel my temperature rising higher and higher. It's burning through to my soul. Maybe it’s that special sauce. I better call Dr. Nick when I get to Deer Lake.” With that he would drive towards the Gordon Nagle Trail.
Over the loudspeaker from the parking lot, the voice could be heard telling the large group, “Elvis has left the Yorkville Coney.”

Pottsville's American Way "May" Fair

The May Fair has become Pottsville's Frankenstein Monster. When it was created in 1976 it was great but it has outlived its usefulness as is now an annoyance.

“The Great American Way May Fair” has been a Pottsville tradition for a long time. It did not begin in 1976 as you have been led to believe. It actually had its start in 1809. According to my book, Pottsville History For Pathetic Numskulls, Maria Pott set up the first funnel cake stand on South Centre Street to celebrate the arrival of spring in her new city. That first event was rather primitive. While the fair only had the funnel cake stand and a mule ride, the highlight was to be the stage debut of the city founder, John Pott. Apparently the entrepreneur attempted a mid-life show business career. Trying to shake his stuffy, German businessman image, the city father was introduced under the name of hip name of Pott Daddy. His musical numbers included a rousing “Working in a Coal Mine,” “Last Train to Pottsville,” and the finale, “Sixteen Tons.” It was billed as his “ Big Suit Tour” with the deliriously eccentric singer wearing his now legendary oversized suit. As it was extremely hot that day, Mr. Pott supposedly removed both his suit and shirt and threw himself into the city’s first mosh pit, which was shocking in those days. Little is known of the members of his back-up band, but Pott Daddy’s own guitar pyrotechnics were cutting edge. The pyrotechnics consisted of lumps of smoldering anthracite coal. His guitar was used as an object of rage as he smashed it against an architecturally historic building. I think it was the old Weiss building. However, his audacious performance ended The Big Suit Tour, his musical career, as well as the Fair itself. The phrase, “Going to Pott,” was coined after his performance and it refers to “someone who is going downhill or has seen better days.” The Fair did not resume again until 1976, and, since that year, all Pottsville men take off their shirts at the festival and proudly display their pasty white chests out of reverence for the city founder. It is lucky for humanity that John Pott kept his trousers on the first fair day! As a footnote, his oversized suit is on display at the Historical Society during its summer long exhibit of “The One Hundred Most Shocking Moments in Schuylkill County History.” Try and catch it, if you have a chance.
The contemporary Fair has more musical variety than there are bumpy city streets. The current Mrs. Trout and I have differing musical tastes but that is no problem. She enjoys the Swiss yodelers, while I really like my country music. I dress for the occasion and wear my finest, shiny belt buckle. I polish it for days before the fair begins. Women who dig country music apparently appreciate a man’s shiny belt buckle. I don’t know why though. Last year there was a great duet that sounded incredibly like Owens and Jennings. No, not Buck Owens and Waylon Jennings. I mean Bill Owens, a former County Prothonotary and Peter Jennings, the ABC newscaster. The group that brings the Trouts together is The Pottsville Kiltie Tribute Band that features performances of the legendary all female bagpipers’ greatest hits. During their heyday, the Kilties were better than The Spice Girls, Courtney Love, Salt N Pepper, and The Notre Dame Bagpipe Band all rolled into one. Maybe most of you don’t remember “The Kilties.” I do, I was present on January 30, 1969 when they gave their impromptu farewell performance on the rooftop of the Necho Allen Hotel. Some say that they played eleven bagpipe songs to the curious crowd of onlookers before dispersed by the city police. But others say that they only played one cover set of “Ina Gada Da Vida.” To this day, no one is sure, as bagpipe music all sounds annoyingly the same. Its sort of like rap music without words – monotonous, yet hypnotic.
My daughter, Santana Trout, loves ^)(^ -“The Band formerly known as Third Brigade.” This musical group has a long history. Can you believe that they have played since the days of the Civil War? That means that they have been together longer than the Stones. Yet, to get a hipper imagine, they recently changed their name to just an unpronounceable symbol. I am not sure how that is going to work out. I liked the name “Third Brigade Band.” Lastly, Mammy Trout can’t get enough of the Three Pennsylvania Dutch Tenors. This awesome trio is known for performing the bawdy songs of 2 Live Crew in the authentic dialect of southern Germany. That includes Ich So Hornig and all of the others. The Tenors will perform in front of the Senior Center and hopefully Mammy will behave herself. Last year the coal and iron police, who act as Fair security, had to drag her off the stage. If you haven’t been to the fair, then you haven’t lived.

Ein Sommer der Liebe 2004

Article originally printed in May 2004. I attended two Bavarian Festivals and I have fond memories.

This summer of 2004 marks the thirtieth anniversary of one of the greatest events in Schuylkill County history. Many of us will gather together to commemorate what has become known as “the summer of love.” That is when over 418,000 bedraggled fans of German food and music descended on a little known area referred to as Barnesville and entered the gates to consume tons of schnitzel and barrels of brew. Most of these participants were escaping from the Rest Haven scandal that had erupted and which destroyed what little confidence that the people had in the ruling oligarchy.
It was billed as seventeen days of “frieden und liebe” and it lived up to its name. As Mammy Trout said, “It was the best of times and the wurst of times.” The amount of food devoured that summer baffled gastroenterologists at the Good Samaritan Hospital. The staggering quantity of beer and cabbage consumed in such a short amount of time has never been surpassed to this day, despite many numerous attempts.
Word of the festival spread throughout the county and a massive traffic jam formed on Route 54. When I heard about it, I quickly shoved my lederhosen in my knapsack, grabbed my sleeping bag and hitched a ride over to Barnesville. It didn’t take long before I got a lift in a bus that was carrying the Stadkappelle Marching Band. What a trip!
Many of the people who tell you that they were at Bavarian Festival ’74 are just plain liars. I was one of the lucky ones who were there for the duration. I remember the rain, the mud, the frauleins and the strudel. You are fortunate that I have a memory like an elephant. I actually rubbed elbows with scientist Werner Von Braun, Secretary of State Henry Kissinger, UN Secretary Kurt Waldheim, composer Oscar Hammerstein, and Grace Kelly in the main beer hall. I remember watching the elegant Princess of Monaco do the “chicken dance” with Secretary of State Kissinger, while Waldheim balanced a huge stack of beer cups in one hand. I also remember one long table being converted into a “slip and slide” with all of them taking turns diving down the table head first, accompanied by the song 99 Luftballoons.
The festival lasted for seventeen days and nights and the music was groovy. The Rhinelanders, The Heimtklaenge Band, and The Walter Groller Orchestra were just a few of the big names that played there. I was utterly astounded by the power, talent and magic of “The Mischief Makers” as they wandered throughout the fair grounds, captivating everyone with their dazzling oomp-pah music. This german drinking music was hard edged, boisterous, raucous, and almost religious in its fervor. Beer hall culture requires you to slam your mugs first on the table, then against other mugs. A lot of noise and a little spilled beer is the way to show your spirit. All of the while, the sweet scent of sauerkraut was everywhere. Over the loudspeaker, announcements about bad pepper cabbage could be heard. And then there were the fun-loving frauleins. I will always have fond memories of Ulrika, who became my festival soul mate, after serving me a plate of hot potato salad in the main beer hall. She remained my “old lady” for seventeen days. Thanks for the memories Ulrika!
For one brief shining moment, a dream was released across Schuylkill County. Mammy swore that it was a dawning of a new age. She is upset that many young people have no knowledge of this event. The phrase, ein sommer der liebe, has special meaning to those who attended the festival that year. To Mammy it was a gathering of the tribes. They came from all over, Hegins, Sacramento, Pine Grove, and Hecla. Everyone dressed in quaint clothing. Men were in bundhosen and vests, and the women wore colorful dirndls and blouses.
While the music heard at that festival is legendary, the debate about its historical significance still rages today. True believers still call Bavarian Festival ’74 the capstone of an era devoted to human advancement. Cynics say it was a ridiculous excess of gemütlichkeit, whatever the heck that means. Then there are those of us, me included, that say it was just one hell of a party. However no one should consume so much kraut and ale in such a short time span! The Festival, like only a handful of other historical events, has become a part of the cultural lexicon of Schuylkill County. As the Rest Haven Scandal and Sportsmen’s Complex are code words for corruption, “Bavarian Festival ’74” has become an instant adjective denoting Teutonic hedonism. Kermit Deitrick, who created the Festival, as well as its well-known logo of a pigeon perched on a tuba, described it this way, “something was tapped, a nerve, in this county. Everyone just came and ate kraut and drank beer. It was seventeen days of peace and music. It was far-out, man. It was groovy.”

Solution for Pottsville's Nuisance taxes

With the financial crunch being felt by the City of Pottsville, I think it is time for an overhaul of the nuisance taxes. Currently we have two major nuisance taxes: The occupation privilege and the per capita taxes.
I would replace both with a weight tax. Obesity is now a major health concern nationally. Pottsville is not immune from this scourge. The Warne Clinic has disclosed some revealing statistics concerning the average Pottsvillian. For instance, a large segment of the populace has blood/gravy readings of .10 or over. That is alarming. Also the average Pottsvillian will eat his or her weight in Mootz’ peanut rolls, and within five years. This is appalling. If this trend continues, the peanut will become extinct. The prestigious scientific report goes on to reveal that 15% of the residents have buttocks the size of the Route 61 Indian head. This may be unbelievable to you, but not to me. Remember that statistics do not lie. That is why my weight tax would hopefully reverse this trend. While there have been some encouraging developments, things are slowly getting worse. Yes, consumption of Crisco as a snack food has decreased significantly but this is not enough.
Sadly, at the Middle School, more children are able to identify General Tso than General George Joulwan. Apparently Chinese chicken means more to them than local home town pride. This should not be. The Joint Veterans Council should tackle this problem immediately. Incidentally, the initials “H.H.” in the Lengel school name do not stand for “Hamburger Helper.” It is sad that these kids can identify the Pillsbury Doughboy over world leaders such as North Korean Kim Jong-Il. What is wrong? I thought no child was going to be left behind. The problem is not confined to the school building. The main, after-school recreation for our youngsters appears to be re-winding their videotapes. This is not enough. It wasn’t always this way. Years ago Pottsville was filled with energetic skateboarders and cyclists. However due to complaints from people carrying their take-out pizzas, skateboarding and bicycling have been banned throughout the city to avoid the pepperonis from falling off the pie. This could be easily remedied by adding extra cheese. Even at the pre-school age level, it is not right that the library’s reading hour features ‘children’s menus’ rather than Doctor Seuss. What signals are we sending to these plump little children? The warning signs do not stop there. For instance, the local accountants have also complained that many residents are getting away with claiming two exemptions for having double chins. The last straw, I believe, is that there appears to be a clamoring for our churches to develop “supersize” communion wafers. Where do we draw the line? When do we say enough is enough?
That is why my weight tax would serve a duel purpose. With the nuisance tax being directly linked to one’s body mass, more people would try to slim down - at least at tax time. Simultaneously, the city’s coffers would be burst like Roseann Barr getting into a pair of jeans. The city would awash with the extra revenue that these extra pounds would generate.
Of course, there would be kinks in my new tax program that would need to be worked out. First of all, we could not allow individuals to list their weight. Why? Because people lie. That is why we have locally elected assessors. Did you ever go into the polling booth and look at the ballot and see the office, “assessor,” and wonder what the hell these people assess? With my new tax, you will finally get an answer. They will be able to get up off their behinds to assess behinds. To get things done properly, the city will have to invest in a new scale. The present one that gives your weight along with a fortune for only a nickel is outdated.
Secondly, the appraising would have to be done at a public area to avoid any false accusations against the assessors. A good location would be Martz Hall. I would not use ordinary bathroom scales. No, the scales that I envision would project the weight figure high up on the wall, similar to a bowling score, for everyone to see. The City treasurer’s office would then mark down all of the results. If the assessor guessed the weight correctly, the citizen would win a small prize, such as a stuffed animal. This would encourage compliance as most people enjoy winning things. The animals could be stuffed with breadcrumbs or candy to get compliance up to near 100%. The amount of tax that you would pay would be determined on how much overweight you were. It is that simple. It is that fair. Taxes do not have to be complicated if you simply use common sense. Excuse me. I have stop now, I just had a Big Mac attack.

Pluto demoted as a planet

One of the few articles that I wrote not involving Schuylkill County. I don't know why. I guess I also rooted for the little guy.

Who are these so-called experts that can pick and choose our planets? I don't remember ever voting for them, so… damn it…who gives them the right to pick and choose our planets? What did little Pluto ever do to deserve this slap in the face? I understand that athletes get booted out of the Olympics for using steroids. Do planets get booted out of the solar system for using asteroids? I doubt it.

Last week I heard that our solar system was going to get packed with a ton of "new planets." I am quite content with the nine we have, thank you. I have no use for any new ones and have no intention of ever setting foot on one, except maybe Planet Hollywood.
Did anyone ever check to see if one of these so-called Einsteins did not just sneeze on their Hubble Telescope when they announced that they found a bunch of new planets? How could new planets simply get so close to us without anyone ever noticing? Where the hell is Homeland Security when we need them?
Now I hear that no new planets are being allowed into the solar system; in fact, Pluto is being forced to leave. This is too drastic. Some sort of boycott or sanctions should have been imposed on Pluto first. Where the hell will it now go? Is there a homeless shelter for abandoned planets somewhere? I doubt it. Will more aliens now land in Shenandoah or Hazleton? Think about it.
The last time I was this upset was when Formosa was expelled from the United Nations, or maybe it was when I found out Milli Vanilli was stripped of their Grammy. I can't remember for sure.
So now what is next from the space bureaucrats? Maybe Antarctica will be demoted as a continent? Maybe Pottsville will lose its status as a city? Maybe the last one is not such a bad idea. In that case, maybe Pluto and Pottsville can band together.
The only good news is that the school kids have one less planet to memorize, even though Pluto is one of the easier names to remember. I had trouble with Uranus, and it does have some double meanings. If you watch Bevis and Butthead or South Park, then you know what I mean. Maybe that one should go.
Now what the hell do we do with our maps of the solar system? Do they all get discarded into the recycling bin? Will we be forced to put a post-em over "the icy space rock formerly known as the planet Pluto"? How will this affect Disney's stock? What will this do to the Miss Universe Pageant? There are so many questions that needed to be answered before making such a rash decision. It should have been studied longer. Where will this all end? What about Earth? Is that going to be next? It’s the only planet that is constantly at war. Maybe Earth should be booted out of the solar system until it gets its act together.
I vote for Pluto to remain a planet. If it can’t be re-admitted, then I think that we should call on Arlen Specter to move for its admission as our 51st State. Better yet, let's get He-Man, Master of the Universe on the phone and get his opinion. I find him more trustworthy. Let’s keep Pluto as a planet, and Pottsville a city. And for God’s sake, let’s give Milli Vanilli their Grammy back.