holiday traditions

My holiday season has been great so far. It started off early with a huge multi-ethnic breakfast at home combining the best of Chanukah, Christmas and Chwanzaa - The three C's as we call them. While the rest of my extended family enjoyed the potato latkes, I consumed the thick Pennsylvania Dutch thick ham, all smothered with pineapples, cloves and drenched in raisin sauce. Why? Well it is important to eat fruit during the winter months to keep regular - I highly recommend this meal to everyone.

Years ago we used to walk around the downtowns to shop and look at the festive displays. These downtowns no longer exist as we knew them, and ditto with the Malls. Psst...have you been in Steve & Barry's or Value City lately? So our newest family tradition is to walk around Renninger’s Market and take in the sights of the season there.

It is a great festive place to get support stocking stuffers, and even the support stockings to stuff or to wear.

After parking our SUV on the grounds (warning: there is no valet parking) we immediately entered the grand Hall and headed to the booth to get tickets for the one of the best kept secrets in the area. No, I am not talking about what really goes on in the local township massage parlors; I am talking about The Sounds of Light and Ice Christmas Show. The show has become so popular that you need to reserve tickets ahead of time.

Yes, we all know that Renninger’s Market is renowned for its architecture, boutiques, fine dining and people watching. It is a pop culture phenomena often compared to Venice Beach in California, but many are unaware that it transforms itself every winter into a wonderland filled with colorful displays and fragrant aromas (a combination of poinsettas and smoked sausage); and almost no one knows of the dazzling ice skating extravaganza on the pond which is located behind that exclusive shop that sells used hubcaps and rusty tools. This show puts the Mummers’ Ferko String Band to shame when it comes to old fashioned holiday family entertainment.

With a few hours to wait until show time, we strolled the aisles with the other hundreds of serious sophisticated shoppers all looking for those specials gift for those special someones among the dizzying array of merchandise for sale. Mammy bought some pre-owned VHS tapes – including the complete Saw series - and a tee shirt that proclaims “I’m With Stupid.”

While I trying to figure out who her special someone is, I bought three pounds of frozen herring. We then sat in on the auction for two hours placing bids on every thing that was offered for sale - from Artic boots to Yahtsee games.

Looking at our watches that we purchased earlier at of the many bally-hooed kiosks, we filled up our paper plates with Nachos and cheese and headed out to the bleachers set up for the show. The view was perfect from our seats as the larger Marketeers sat behind us. The music was piped in from the auctioneer’s amplifier while we watched the supersized skaters perform on the ice in their native costumes of bib blue jeans. The pond is not arena size but it is adequate for the half-dozen skaters that dazzled us with pure energy. At one point we thought that some of these skaters might fall through the ice but it did not happen, disappointing the little ones in the audience. Maybe next year kids.
While there is no dancing fountain to watch, you might occasionally see someone shake up a birch beer letting it spurt into the air. If you want to see dancing fountains, I say go to Longwood Gardens, but if you want some good birch beer, then come to Renninger’s Market, available for your consumption at one of the many chic funnel cake and french fry stands that are nestled on the premises.
The enchanting music, by the way, is supplied by North Manheim Steamshovel, an eclectic group of local road crew workers and Rest Haven residents performing holiday pop music with synthesizers as well as the traditional Schuylkill County instrument, the flutophone, in a New Age style.

Yes, North Manheim Township is noted, not only for its red light, adult entertainment district that is bustling along Route 61, but also for its Christmas extravaganza at “The Market.”
I recommend that you take in both this holiday season.

Christmas time memories of Garfield Square

Does anyone else get upset besides me when they drive through Pottsville’s Garfield Square during the “holiday season”? I miss those intricate cartoon characters that used to grace the Square and gave the midtown some holiday cheer. I remember all of them and the location that each was placed.
If you don't remember the glory days of the Square, then I will refresh your memory. Each cartoon character was sculpted from the best quality mahogany, walnut, cedar, cherry and maple; all brought in by Canal boat to the wharf behind Goodfella’s in Mount Carbon and then carefully unloaded and transported to Yorkville for the talented craftsmen to meticulously work their wonder and create such life-like reproductions of Mickey Mouse, Charlie Brown, Snuffy Smith, Steve Canyon, Dick Tracy, Beavis, Brenda Starr, Sgt. Snorkel, the Phantom and so many other whimsical cartoon characters.
Yes, each character was completely hand-carved by skilled Yorkville artists with exacting detail in the sanding, finishing and painting to assure excellence and beauty. Garfield Square at Christmas time was the place to be, believe me.
This cartoon woodcrafting goes back many generations as Yorkville was settled by German immigrants with skills honed in painstaking family traditions and heritage. During the long northeast Pennsylvania winters, these settlers would interrupt their boredom by carving the likeness of cartoon characters that they had heard after arriving in the new world. Thus began what has been called "the Yorkville Renaissance Period." Over a period of time the people in Yorkville began specializing in all aspects of cartoon character reproductions, giving employment to a multitude of carvers, carpenters, and painters.
I remember being an apprentice carver for one whole year, devoting myself to assisting a master craftsman create an astonishing life-like Nancy and Sluggo from the deep-orange Brazilian Rosewood brought up from Sao Paulo. Each piece was hand-painted with greatest of hand and eye coordination, using the finest latex paint from Hadesty’s and Mansell’s, that allowed the wood grain to show through, taking the art of cartoon carving to whole new level.
The exact year that the first cartoon character was carved in the city remains unknown. However, Benjamin Pott, the son of the city’s founder, presented a primitive, hand-carved likeness of one of The Katzenjammer Kids to the borough officials for display during one of the earliest Cruise Night celebrations. Yes, during the late 19th century, the cruise consisted of souped-up wagons and carriages that traveled up and down Centre Street. This Benjamin Pott artifact of white pine is now on display at the Schuylkill Visitors Bureau until January 6th.
From then on, the pieces of cartoon folk art were built to heirloom quality and with proper care, lasting for years to entertain generation after generation, each telling a story that could be shared – whether it was the story of Lil Abner or Beetle Bailey or Little Orphan Annie.

The Square in late December created a magical space where Pottsvillians spent time together, away from the hussle and bussle of the numerous gin joints, speakeasies and gambling halls that doted the city landscape. Just walking around the several blocks was a way to draw deeper meaning into the holidays of Christmas, Chanukah, and Kwanza, all of which are still celebrated to excess by the Trout family to this very day.
In the latter part of the 20th century a movement to “clean up Garfield Square” took hold with its goal to rid the Square of the cartoon characters. Some so-called do-gooders believed that figures were graven images that were leading the population into idolatry. The movement won out and all of the priceless cartoon characters were banished to Port Carbon (a popular location for banishment, even to this day). The cartoon figurines were given a new home but not for long. In 2006 a particularly nasty flood put much of Port Carbon under water, washing away these treasured heirlooms down the Schuylkill River; all lost forever.

Merry Christmas.....

Contest time

Dear Mr. Trout:

Will the New Year Baby Contest be held again? If so, what day is it held? I am not a contestant; I only want to place a wager. I think one of the girls in my homeroom class has a good chance to win. Isn’t that awesome? Do you have any favorite wagering parlors to recommend to me? Doesn’t this contest rival Powerball for pure excitement around here? Where is the announcement of the winner to be made? Will it be televised? Will it be featured on the Sam Lasante Show on Comcast’s 7 or 15? Will Sam Lasante interview the proud mother even if she gives birth past her bedtime?
Will the conversion to digital television on February 17th affect my TV reception of the announcement if a winner is not announced by then? I hope not. I still have rabbit ears. Not me personally, but our family’s television set. It is an old Admiral set. My ears can be described as cauliflower-like. I hate cauliflower. How about you Mr. Trout? Do you like cauliflower?
If I win some money picking the winner, then I will use some of my money to buy a new television set for the family so that we can watch American Gladiators on a 52 inch flat plasma! So cool, Mr. Trout, don’t you think?
Someone gave me a tip in gym class the other day. I was told that the winning child would be born out-of-wedlock? I wasn’t sure what that meant so I looked it up in the dictionary. I thought that wedlock was a Rastafarian hairdo; I was wrong. It means a bastard child. Pardon my language but that is what my dictionary had printed. I was told that it is impolite to use the term bastard anymore. Also you can’t use the term illigitimate anymore either. I am glad as that is one hard word to spell. A more correct term is love child. That is easier to spell. I looked up love child and it is defined as “a child born to two unmarried people who got jiggy with one another.” That is what I call being unlucky in love. Did you know Leonardo DaVinci was a bastard? I mean a love child. Sorry. They are only words and bastard sounds so cool and hip. We will study DaVinci next grading period. He was a great artist and a very smart man. They made a movie about some Code he invented. I thought the movie was so-oo boring. I liked Iron Man much better. Anyway it proves that having parents married to one another does not stop a person from being a winner in life.
My gramps told me that the rise in the number of illegitimate children places much higher costs on society for anti-poverty, criminal justice and education programs. He probably doesn’t know about Leonardo DiCaprio or his Code. He is boycotting the New Year Baby Contest and will play the lottery instead. He doesn’t think we should lavish gifts and attention on irresponsible, sexually frisky teenagers.
My neighbor won a pile of money the other year when a crack baby won the contest. That is what he told me, but he brags a lot. I don’t believe everything he tells me. Actually he told me the young mother won the prizes for having the little crack baby. He treated us to a king size bucket of Kentucky fried chicken down on Claude A. Lord Boulevard. Not the crack baby; that would be silly. My neighbor bought us the chicken.
I gotta go Mr. Trout, American Gladiators is on the tube right now, then I have to do some homework.
Sincerely,
Aiden Jaiden Naponavich
Lower Shaft, PA

Dear Mr. Naponavich:
Thank you for your letter. The contest surprisingly is scheduled to begin at the stroke of New Year on the gregorian calendar which is used in most of Schuylkill County. Bets can be taken at most fire houses and gaming parlors. It's popularity is growing and while it does surpass Powerball, it does surpass the Publisher's Clearing House Sweepstakes. Good luck A.J.!!

Altamont Free Festival

The Altamont Free Festival ended up as the most infamous musical concert ever held in Schuylkill County.

It was held on the grounds of the Schuylkill Mall in northern Schuylkill County. It did not have to end like that as it had the makings of a great day. The performers were outstanding: The Jordan Brothers, The Other Side, Lil’ Andy, Tony Karpee, The Schuylkill Haven Belvederes’ Drum & Bugle Corp, Big Barrel Emil Simodejka, Buddy Widel Trio, The Individuals, and The Pottsville Barbershoppers.
With so many in attendance at the concert, some speculated that it would surpass Woodstock or the Bavarian Festival for sheer spiritual energy – surely the dawning of the new age. The venue was moved just a few days before the concert started under order of the local district magistrate. This was a premonition of the negative things to come.
The show began at noon on a cold December 6, 1969 on a stage that was only four feet high and would be surrounded by members of the Pagans, the Warlocks and the local Shriners, who acted as bouncers. There were no other security forces, so if they got out of line, there would be no stopping them.
By some accounts, the Warlocks were hired as security when the Tremont Division of the Eastern Star refused – a story that has been denied by all involved. All of the groups had provided security for other events in the county before, without incident but they never worked together. Altamont would be certainly different. The Warlocks, The local Shriners, and the Pagans would be a bad mix and not worth the $500 worth of beer that was rumored to be their salary. Surprisingly enough, 400,000 fans showed up even though deer hunting season was in high gear. Such a crowd that day brought the traffic on Route 61 and Interstate 81 to a crawl and even strained the restroom facilities within the Schuylkill Mall. Yes, there was violence at the festival as well as chaos - too much to talk about even almost forty years later. It has been said that wherever one finds violence, chaos is usually right behind; this would turn out to be an “anti-Woodstock, “anti-Bavarian Festival” and be forever known as the dark side of musical culture, immortalized in Don McLean’s famous “Shoo Fly Pie” wherein Li’l Andy presided over the “sacrificial rite” on the day Schuylkill County music died.
Who can forget the performance of “The Pottsville Barbershoppers?” This is the legendary group known for its tight vocal harmony, characterized by their consonant four-part chords for every melody note. It is said that the Pottsville Barbershoppers inspired such national groups as The Four Freshmen, The Limelighters, and The Beach Boys. Dressed in their red and white stripped blazers, they had just completed a dazzling twelve minute a capella foul-mouthed rendition of “Good-bye My Coney Island Baby” and had just started their suggestive encore of “I’ll Take You Home, Kathleen” when the violence began to escalate to serious proportions. No one knows who started swinging the pool sticks at the boilo-crazed people in the first row or who throw the quart bottles of Kaiers. Some say the Pagans, some say the Warlocks and others say Those Shriners. Although the concert was filmed by Sam-Son Productions for a planned Holiday television special on Pottsville’s Channel 7, it was impossible to determine who swung that cue stick or threw the bottle that resulted in bodily injury. It was filmed by Sam Lasante with a Bell & Howell Zoomatic Camera and the police were sure that it would offer a “complete record of the Altamont Free Concert.” The film was replayed thousands of times but to no avail. The police determined that the film did not depict violence about to commence but rather just showed the after effects of the violence. It was often compared to the Zapruder film.
No arrests were ever made. When the Pottsville Barbershoppers suddenly left the stage to be taken away by van to the Dutch Kitchen in Frackville, the crowds dispersed. Most headed home, some lingered to do Christmas shopping at the Mall, while others were too overcome by boilo and Kaier's beer and remained in the parking lot for days.

I was one of them.

The Tale of Nutkin the Squirrel

Dear Mr. Trout:

Can you please tell us about the rodent that ended up in the county court a few years ago? Is he still around?

Sincerely,

Aiden Jayden McCool

Girardville, PA.

Dear Mr. McCool:

I believe you are referring to Nutkin the Squirrel, who made all the headlines a few years ago. Some of you may be unfamiliar with him, and/or have short attention spans. Well, here is the lowdown.

Apparently, when the Patriot Act became law in 2000, U.S. Attorney General John Ashcroft came down hard on Nutkin, the gray squirrel, who was living in Orwigsburg. It seems that the Patriot Act, which permits detention and deportation, had been broadly construed to include, not only humans, but also Sciurus carolinensis, better known as the eastern gray squirrel. Weeks earlier, I lectured against the Patriot Act at The Leiderkrantz Hall on Norwegian Street in Pottsville; I predicted that it could be used as a dragnet to round up the animal members of our beloved community that we call Schuylkill County.

No one listened to me.

I tried to inform my audience that Nutkin had been living in the Orwigsburg and had been totally acculturated to Schuylkill County. He no longer thought of himself as a Carolina squirrel. He had become a Skook; he had become one of us. He now preferred pierogies and funnel cake over acorns. While this made the law officials more determined, the Liederkrantz crowd was more interested in drinking Yuengling and singing old German songs.
Yes, several Decembers ago the Immigration officers arrived at The Nutty Pear Restaurant on Adamsdale Road. With that knock on the door, the Carolina squirrel dropped his hot Irish nut mixed drink and went out the back door. The burly Chief of Immigration turned to his fellow officers and yelled:

“Listen up, ladies and gentlemen. Our fugitive has been on the run for 90 minutes. Average foot speed over unever ground barring injuries is four miles per hour; that gives us a radius of six miles. What I want out of each and every one of you is a hard target search of every gas station, residence, warehouse, farmhouse, henhouse, outhouse and doghouse in that area. Checkpoints go up at fifteen miles. Your fugitive's name is Nutkin J. Squirrel. Go get him!”

Squirrels are most active in late winter when the mating season begins. In fact Nutkin was at the Nutty Pear in hopes of getting lucky that night. The spry rodent eluded the feds, but was spotted at Renninger’s Market the next afternoon trying to pass a bad check at a natural foods stand. He quickly hijacked the STS Cabella’s bus and headed north on Route 61 at a dangerously high rate of speed, but as there were no passengers aboard, no one was hurt. Abandoning the bus in Pottsville at the site of the planned intermodal bus station, Nutkin then blended into the stream of the one or two passer-bys walking on Centre Street. Within an hour, the Immigration officers then stormed the abandoned Atkins Building under the assumption that the place would be a natural hideout for the furry fugitive.

They were wrong.

Nutkin had entered the packed Majestic Theater and watched the Clark Gable film matinee, Manhattan Melodrama. Squirrels primarily rest in the afternoons, so the renovated theatre was the perfect mid-afternoon location for him as well as a few courthouse employees.

Despite the fact that the sweat glands of a tree squirrel are located on their feet, the city police's bloodhounds could not pick out his scent from others wandering about on Centre Street. Once again, Nutkin had did the impossible, he eluded the massive police hunt.

Days went by. It was rumored that the fugitive had landed a Section 8 apartment under an alias and assumed various identities. He would sometimes impersonate a pediatrician, an attorney, a pilot at Joe Zerbe International Airport, or a professor at Penn State Schuylkill, where he taught one full semester of Philosophy. Students there described him as “nutty” or “squirrelly.” One freshman gave the following account, “he had a slender body, a gray belly with a thick bushy tail, but he was a damn good professor. He taught me the meaning of life. Aren't we are all squirrels trying to get a nut?”
Nutkin apparently lived a charmed life in the county seat for many months bouncing from one occupation to another. The fascinating rogue rodent loved the challenge of taunting local law enforcement officers.
The thrill of escape boosted his furry ego. He had an uncanny ability to, first bait, and then elude the law enforcement authorities at the last minute during their game of "cat and squirrel." His notoriety became widespread. He was featured on the Fox Show “America’s Most Wanted: The Hunt For Nutkin” and “When Good Squirrels Go Bad.”

But he finally got caught. Skateboarding illegally on Center Street. The case ended up in court and the county judge threw the book at him. He was sentenced to be hanged in the prison yard and then led away by the Deputies in leg irons. The Food Channel got exclusive rights to cover the event for its upcoming Pennsylvania Dutch Special, “Preparing Squirrel Sauerkraut Casserole.” However his appeal to a higher court paid off and he scampered away on a technicality -the skateboard had not been properly identified.
Where is Nutkin today? It is believed that the rodent is still at large in the county, taunting us, assuming some new identity. He now ranks among the most notorious rodents in Schuylkill County history. Look around. He could next to you at this very moment.

Hold on to your..... acorns.

the bonsai tree and city parking lots

Autumn is a beautiful time of the year to wander about the city and get familiar with the local trees. I have walked up and down Yuengling Park and round and round Baber Cemetery but my favorite tree is the bonsai in the 800 block of Mahantongo Street.

Bonsai, by the way, is the art of aesthetic miniaturization of trees. The cultivator must then shape the tree as it grows. It is a painstaking labor of love. I have watched this Mahantongo Street tree grow from a small seedling into a magnificent specimen over the years. The technique the owner uses is what is referred to as Ishizuke, which means that the roots of the tree are growing in the cracks and holes of the cement basement entry-way. No container is necessary. Take a look at the photographs and you will see. Some see a gigantic weed, but I see bonsai.

I wanted to know more about this tree and I was told to call City Hall. I was not sure what department would help me. Someone said call the Shade Department. I asked for the Shade Department but all I got was a phoned message telling me that I need to fill out an application and get approval before hanging any Venetian blinds in any part of my house. I called the switchboard and the operator and was told that I needed the Shade Tree Department, not the Shade Department.

After a few more phone calls I connected with the Shade Tree Department but unfortunately the bonsai tree on Mahantongo Street was not listed in its inventory of trees and I could get no further information.

I tried to contact the cultivator at his residence which houses the bonsai, but no one was home. Looking in the window I was amazed at the minimalism I found within the walls. The owner of the home not only practiced the art of bonsai but also decorated the home in a form of Feng Shui – the emptiness before me evoked feelings of peace and harmony. Less is better. To an untrained eye, one would say I was looking at an abandoned house. But I recognized the spareness before my eyes as aesthetic genius. Less is better. That goes for chocolate chip cookies as well as home design.

While standing in front of the building, a passerby told me that what I was admiring was neither bonsai nor feng shui, but only what is referred to in the city as a “pre-parking lot." That is, a building that will eventually become a nice macadam parking lot someday. She told me that “just as caterpillars become butterflies, and tadpoles become frogs, historic buildings become parking lots – it is part of the plan of nature.” I drove around and studied every parking lot and was amazed to discover that every single one of them had been a building at one time. This process of metamorphosis takes many years and sometimes even decades, but eventually the building sheds its skin of bricks and wood and its inner parking lot is unleashed.

A quick walk back up Mahantongo Street led me to spectacular vertical parking lot of St. John the Baptist Church. It is directly south across the street from Yuengling Park. It appears that the lot is being extended up Sharp Mountain; perhaps within my lifetime it will reach the Cressona border. Maybe a ski-lift will be installed to take the parishioners from the top of the lot to the Church and back again.

Someone told me that the city has an ordinance that parking lots should be landscaped and trees planted around. I assume that ordinance was passed to appease the tree-huggers that still remain in the City. Luckily the ordinance does not cover the expansion of current parking lots. The new section of the vertical parking lot is an asphalt masterpiece and any trees would impair its spectacular view of the top of Sharp Mountain.

If you ever stop and admire the asphalt vertical wonder and you still want to see a tree, then skip Yuengling Park and take a walk down the north side of Mahantongo Street and sit with me under the bonsai tree that grows up from the concrete.

City Mascot

Only a few of the many Schuylkill County municipalities are lucky enough to have official mascots. Some of the more familiar names include the Clamtown Clam and Ringie, the Ringtown Ring Worm. However Pottsville has been under contract with the famed snowman, Pottsie Ottsie, for almost three decades. There is now a public demand that his contract with the City not be renewed. Some taxpayer groups are questioning whether or not the city got a raw deal when the contract was first signed. Many insist that Pottsie Ottsie has not lived up to the rigors of the job and that it is time for a replacement? Some argue that a City Mascot is an unnecessary frill and a waste of tax dollars. However these uninformed individuals are not aware that the City Code mandates a mascot.
City Ordinance 3755, adopted in the early 1970’s, reads as follows:

“The City of Pottsville finds that a mascot has the potential of having great benefit and impact upon the people of Pottsville. It is the intent of this ordinance to provide for an exclusive city mascot and to regulate the activities of the said mascot within the limits of the City and the satellite and puppet municipalities of Mount Carbon,Mechanicsville, and Palo Alto.”

The ordinance was adopted when the city was going through a metamorphosis with many changes occurring.The City Surgeon General predicted a rapid rise in obesity within the city.In response, a public works project was immediately commenced; widening the downtown sidewalk in order to handle the pending girth of pedestrians. However, city officials failed to realize that obese people aren’t noted for any discretionary walking and the large sidewalks remained empty. This time period is known to all as the "Era of big sidewalks."
I recently visited the Historical Society and after several hours of research I discovered that there were numerous applications for the position of city mascot. In fact, applications came from all four corners of the county. Auditions were held for the position of mascot after a merit selection panel, free of any political pressure had been appointed. These four men and one woman had a tremendous burden placed on them – to select the city’s goodwill ambassador! Right off the bat, many applicants were disqualified as not projecting the “right” image. For instance, the chain smoking Sharp Mountain bear, the fuming East Penn Co. Bus, and, of course, the unknown Warlock biker, were just three immediately rejected.
The finalists were selected on personality, poise, talent and brains. Most of the talent was mediocre as the various interpretations of “Smoke on the Water” got stale rather quickly. However, the brains category required the contestant to properly spell such words as Mahantongo, Jallapa, Faraquar, and Fischbach; Pottsie Ottsie nailed them all!
However, when it came down to the final two contestants, the judges had their work cut out for them. Henry- “the Claymation Sensation” - was certainly the odds-on favorite. He was a cross between Henry Clay and a California Raisin. He was sharp and he was on target. He wowed the judges with his soulful medley of “I Heard It Through the Grapevine” and “My Old Kentucky Home.” Many in the audience thought it would be a slam-dunk for Henry.
Luckily for Pottsie Ottsie,in the early 1970s Pottsville was still a noted ski resort. It was the home of the famed “Pottsville Ski Lodge,” nestled in the majestic Sharp Mountain in the city’s Yorkville section. Winter sports were big back then within the city. Skiing, snowmobiling, and ice fishing were just a few of the many outdoors activities available. The Ski Lodge single-handedly transformed the community into another Innnsbrook. In fact, lederhosen could be spotted in City Hall and the annoying yodeling of “Lonely Goatherd” filled our streets.
Yes, Pottsie Ottsie, the pudgy snowman, won the coveted contract. His talent also helped a great deal. Who would have thought that the eating one pound of Mootz Peanut Rolls washed down with an ice cold Yeungling beer in less than one minute would be so popular? Pottsie did.
While in some respects Mr. Ottsie was a sage, unfortunately he did not foresee the collapse of the ski industry within the city. Some blame its demise on the fact that its ski lift only traveled downhill. Historians, such as Mark Major, argue that there is a link between the death of the ski lodge and the fall of disco music. Others argued that it was due to the obesity epidemic that continued to spiral, encouraged by Ottsie's over-indulgence in peanut rolls. Al Gore blamed it on global warming. This controversy still rages on to this very day.
With the end of the city ski industry, Pottsie Ottsie limited his activities to an occasional appearance at the Winter Carnival Queen Coronation and Cruise Night. That is why many complain that as a city mascot he has grown fat and lazy. He no longer projects the image the city is trying to project. And then there was the scandal in which he was accused of selling his autographs to children in exchange for Mootz’ peanut rolls. Enough already. Isn’t that enough to get him out?
I think its time that the City selected a mascot worthy of leading us towards the tri-centennial which is only 98 years away. If you agree with me, then write to City Hall and demand a new City mascot and offer ideas for a replacement, or you can email the City at contactus@city.pottsville.pa.us

dancing in the '70s

It was hard to believe that in the 1970s, within walking distance, you had a choice of disco, funk and lounge music. The buildings along Route 61-South, that once housed the Alley and the Disco Alley have long been razed and the location is now the current Aldi’s parking lot but things were so much different then. Let me give you a short history lesson.
Pottsville Musicologists defines disco as “up tempo music (but not as up tempo as polka music).” In the mid 1970s, all of Schuylkill County was distraught over the Rest Haven Scandal and were in search of a new beat to escape from the daily headlines of corruption in the highest places. It would not take long for the hypnotic sound of “Rock the Boat” by the Hues Corporation to captivate an audience from Sheppton to Port Clinton. To channel this energy, a massive undertaking commenced and the first discothèque was opened near Cressona. It was christened “Disco Alley.” I recently walked the grounds of the Aldi’s parking lot, able to find actual platform shoe footprints of some of those earlier disco adventurers. I highly recommend it.
What was this Disco Alley exactly? Mark Major, a local historian, called it the hottest, most elite and outrageous, one-of-a-kind "mother of all nightclubs.” During its early reign, The Disco Alley was like real-life theatre, with a fascinating cast of characters being selected for each night's grand cabaret performance party from the multitudes clamoring to get past the famed velvet ropes to do the Hustle under the rotating mirror ball that reflected a bundle of colored lights. Celebrity status did not guarantee admittance to the Disco Alley and many ordinary Skooks, such as I, got in while some more prominent were turned away. According to Major, billiard champion Joe Balsis and author Conrad Richter reportedly never gained admittance. Unbelievable! One former Winter Carnival Queen, according to one anonymous Winter Carnival committeeman, was stunned after being rejected from the glittering nightspot. The bodacious diva had exclaimed, "I was once Queen of the Snows!" as the doorman shoved her away.

If one tired of disco music, there was a secret passageway that led to the “Alley” on the other side of the large building. The entire building once had been a bowling alley but converted to a nightclub in the mid 60s. According to respected Schuylkill mythologists, a few patrons swore that when the band would take a break they heard rolling bowling balls and falling pins.
“The Alley” featured live musicians. The most notable was a group called “Waterfront,” named after the nearby Schuylkill River. The band was racially integrated, with a lead singer by the name of Johnny Friendly, but I could be wrong. It was here, according to the Zerbey History of Schuylkill County, that the county Funkadelic music explosion took place. Hundreds were captivated by the danceable beats and booming bass lines, and they headed to the Alley on band nights. As a result, the phrase was born, “Niveus populus de Schuylkill tellus operor non tripudio bonus” or “White Skooks can’t dance.”

The last piece of the musical treasure was the legendary “Fink.” This was center of the county’s lounge music. That style is defined by the conductor of the Schuylkill Symphony as “light melodies influenced by pop, big band and elevators.” If you were a fan of such syrup as “Muskrat Love,” “We’ve Only Just Begun,” and “You’re Having My Baby,” and you wore the right type of polyester clothing, then you were a bona fide lounge lizard. The Dusselfink was the place for the 30s and 40s crowd, especially those divorced or longing to be divorced. The scene was oblivious to the rise of funk and disco. This was the place to have your sangria or pina colada, while listening to some of the worst songs ever written. Do you remember that song, “Feelings?” You know that song; you heard it a million times. Didn’t it make you sick to your stomach? Didn't it make you want to smash your fists against the wall? It went something like this, “If you’re happy and you know it, and you really want to show it, clap your hands.” No that was not it…. It went like this….. “Feelings, wo-o-o feelings….”

The ‘70s are so long ago. I hope I taught you something. Have a Nice Day!☺

The schuylkill senior olympics of 1976

Do you have Olympic fever? I do.

The official Olympics are in China this year but I am worked up over our own Senior Olympics. I have been preparing by having dinners at the Fairlane Village Mall “all you can eat” Chinese buffet.. Tonight I will be looking forward to some old fashioned Peking duck….not Bejing duck… but Peking duck. I am over 50 and I am training for the Chinese Pentathlon; that is, I will eat five different courses at one at a time. The senior Olympics has added so many new events over the years and this is just one of them. Another is whining and still another is “The Decather.” I prefer the Chinese Pentathlon over the decather. The menu will feature Moo Shu Pork, General Tso’s Chicken, Cantonese Lobster, and Kung Pao Shrimp. It is tough being a senior athlete but someone has to do it.

As a young man I did attend the 1976 XXI Schuylkill Senior Olympiad that was held in Hegins. It was awesome to watch Grandpa Trout being helped onto the podium to receive his gold medal for watermelon seed spitting while his beloved Pine Grove Township anthem was being played. He wiped tears from his eyes as he tried to sing along. It was a great day to be a Trout.
Every four years, since 1884, the Senior Olympics have been held in various areas of Schuylkill County. The only times the game were cancelled occurred during the first and second world wars and, in 1992, the year Lawrence Welk died. That year, the participants were so distraught they just wandered about aimlessly.
While the games have modernized over the years (for instance, the athletes no longer compete in the nude) most century-old traditions are still honored. First of all, the opening ceremonies are breathtaking. In 1976 hundreds of aging athletes shuffled into Hegins Park, marching under the flag of their respective municipality. Pennsylvania is noted for its largesse of local governments, so this ritual continued for many hours. The first flag was that of Ashland, followed by Auburn, and Blythe Township. I think you can figure it out by now that the municipalities were in alphabetical order, with the last flag being that of West Penn Township. The procession of athletes took over eight hours.
Everyone in attendance had his or her own favorites but nearly all teams received rousing applause. The only noticeable disruption involved one winner who stood on the podium with her fist raised, protesting Pottsville's absorption of Yorkville many years ago. The mainly German-American seniors of Yorkville now must bring home the gold for Pottsville rather than their own independent borough. I hate when politics enters into the sports world.
After the last athlete entered the stadium, the host municipality had to entertain the audience with something that portrays its unique heritage. Hegins had several women make faschnachts and funnel cake, which was then passed around on paper plates to be sampled. Afterwards eight stocky women dressed in the latest fashions from Sixteen Plus knitted a quilt in the form of a hex sign. The crowd roared with approval.
Soon the torch was brought into the stadium by the elderly relay runners to light cauldron which would signal not only the opening of the games but also keep the bean soup warm. After the cauldron was lit by one of the surviving Maroon Cheerleaders, the pigeons were released - but immediately shot down before getting airborne by the Hegins Skeet Shooting Team. It was a beautiful sight. All the while the crowd could be heard singing the Maroon’s Victory Song.
Once the Township Supervisor Chairman declared, in perfect Pennsylvania Dutch, that the Senior Summer Olympiad was open, the games began in earnest. The rivalry between the superpowers of Pottsville and Shenandoah was the focus of attention and the object of most of the sports betting. For years the senior Olympics became a symbol of the struggle between the North and South of the Mountain with Shenandoah and its satellites battling Pottsville and the up and coming rising stars of Orwigsburg and West Brunswick Township for dominance.
Yes, there were some scandals and accidents. A few athletes were disqualified when their urine tests came back with positive readings for Geritol. And one elderly member of the Porter Township synchronized swim team drowned to a Captain and Tanelle medley without anyone ever noticing.
The political rivalry seemed to disappear when the athletes returned to the Senior Olympic Village to sit back on lazy boys and adjustable Craftmatic beds, swapping pins as well as swapping stories of their grandchildren, and complaining about the weather. It was great to see the athletes sharing Metamucil and Dentucreme, living in perfect harmony. The boundaries of “north” and “south” seemed to be forgotten. The Senior Olympic Games created a small window of time when Skooks allowed themselves to believe that peace and goodwill would prevail in the County; that competition could coexist with harmony. No longer were there any “North” and “South.” No longer were there upteen municipalities all duplicating services.

It was a great time to be old in Schuylkill County.

Polka Club memories

I was at the Altamont Free Festival back in the late nineteen sixties. You know, the legendary celebration held in the south end of Frackville. How did I hear about it? Well, I was sitting at the counter at Phaon’s Diner waiting for my scrapple breakfast, listening to my Toshiba transistor radio which was tuned to the WPPA Sunday morning Polka show. It was difficult to hear polka music in my native west end of the county so I had to set the radio next to the window to get clearer reception. That is when I first heard that a free concert was planned to be held in Altamont with an intoxicating line-up of the county’s best bands. Later Yak Tam Billy Urban made the same announcement on WMBT, the station that played progressive polka music.

I knew it would a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I had to go to Altamont and be part of the county’s musical history. Just think about it, the Jordan Brothers, The Other Side, Lil’ Andy, Tony Karpee, The Schuylkill Haven Belvederes’ Drum & Bugle Corp, Big Barrel Emil Simodejka, Buddy Widel Trio, The Individuals, and so many others, all on one stage...and for free. The event would go down in Schuylkill County musical mythology.
It would be three days of peace and love in “The Mountain City.”
Before I tell you of the festival, I want you all to know that while my musical taste was based in “underground” Polka music, I was open-minded to listening to other forms of music. Underground polka music is the edgy polka music that did not have a mainstream following. Traditional polka music could be heard on the Lawrence Welk Show but I preferred the raw energy heard at the Bavarian Festival in Barnesville. The best polka music was not the sappy, upbeat, happy Myron Floren-variety, but rather the type of polka that reflected the dismal lifestyle of many of our county youths. This music circled itself around both aggression and crime (as found in the lyrics of “Who Stole the Keeshka?”) and misogyny ( “She’s Too Fat Polka”- utterly offensive to Rubenesque women). As an angry white boy, it was the music that spoke to me…it was both the music that annoyed anyone over thirty and was also the music to allow me to “get jiggy with the ladies.”
While polka music was unheard of in my native Pine Grove, misogynistic lyrics were not. In fact the west end “Hoe Down” music was notorious and the subject of a Grand Jury Probe on obscenity in the record industry. That will be a story for another day.
I was attracted to this new, high-energy polka music with its pulsating 2/4 beat, and I remained an underground polka aficionado for many, many years - a regular on the polka party club scene that flourished in the clandestine, boilo-fueled houses of northern Schuylkill county. I longed for those twelve hours of non-stop musical bliss. Minersville was a Mecca for polka clubbers like myself, where the all-night DJs would play the latest Jimmy Sturr, Frankie Yankovic, Stanky and Eddie Blazonczk albums for the revelers, remixing polka tracks in and out of each other. Some of these house DJs became celebrities in their own right; Jouz Cabachi, from WPPA, is one name that comes to mind. This legendary figure turned polka turntablism into an art form by beat mixing, matching and scratching, exploring the repetition and altering rythms of polkas, obereks, mazurkas and czardashes. Yes ear-shattering clarinets, accordians, alto saxes and trumpets all blending together! What a time to be alive! Stomping on people’s feet! Frantically pushing and shoving into the swirling crowd as if it was an out of control rugby game! Full-figured factory girls in their stretch pants seductively removing their babushkas and throwing them into the crowd; all the while the energy was fed by kielbassi and pierogies, washed down with boilo, Columbia beer and Kaier’s ale.
Whoop-I, Shupp-I!

Of course, we got criticism from our elders, as there were many injuries, mainly broken toes. Soon safety codes were enforced at the clubs due to the public outcry. The Bavarian Festival was shut down and many of the clandestine clubs turned themselves into respectable parking lots that began appearing in the area in the nineteen seventies.
I will have to tell you about the Altamont Festival some other time.

population increase

I read in the paper that Schuylkill County’s population has finally increased after a steady decline since 1930. The paper credited “fewer deaths and more births.”

Well I am certainly doing my part by staying alive. I have eliminated the cheese from all of my Big Macs and Double bacon burgers. And as for tobacco, while it is healthier than crack, let’s face it, it cannot be considered a health food. That is why I have cut down to one pack of Camels a day.
There are also safety changes that I integrated into my lifestyle. I now have a hands-free cell phone in my SUV. Now I don’t have to be distracted with the phone and I can concentrate on my driving and changing discs in the DVD player while I am on Route 61.

My new motto is “One hand on the wheel, the other on my Fast Forward button.”
My drinking and driving habits have also changed. With gas now costing $4 a gallon, it is cheaper to drink than to drive. So I drive less and drink more, pocketing the change, laughing all the way to the bank.
With these lifestyle changes I hope to last to a extremely old age lingering, forgotten and alone, in a bed; helping to keep our county’s population stable. I now have a living will that requests that I be kept alive by any means necessary and that, if possible, I be transported to Mount Carbon so that I can help keep that town’s numbers up even while comatose.

We also need to thank our local prisons for helping to keep the population up. We not only have the County jail in Pottsville but two state correction facilities north of the mountain, and a federal prison in Minersville. Hopefully more human behavior and activities will become illegal in the future so that additions can be built onto these facilities to make room for the next generation of criminal and increasing the county’s numbers to boot.
I am not sure how many residents are at these facilities, but I would bet that once released most inmates would leave the county. Therefore we should all write to the Pardon or Parole Board objecting to any type of early release until the next census is taken, lest our numbers decrease.
I understand that many girlfriends of prisoners with their children already relocate to the area temporarily to be close by. This should be a signal to the Chamber of Commerce to begin a massive “in-big-house” promotion to retain these mostly young people from leaving the area.

Lastly, the paper failed to give due credit to the humungous rise in illegitimacy in the county. We need to thank these young women for doing their part to keep the population numbers up. If a young girl had to wait until she married and was financially able to support a child, the number of births would be dramatically down. If it wasn’t for these frisky youngsters, Schuylkill County could face extinction, just like the Dodo Bird. That is why I am such a big supporter of the New Year Baby Contest, middle school baby showers, Eighth grade proms and slutty clothes for pre-teens. I say, get the youngsters interested in procreating as early as possible. Entice them with prizes and photo ops in the newspaper to keep our county’s numbers up. Some naysayers argue that I am foolish for advocating such a policy. They claim “young girls are ready or able to properly care for a baby.” I reply with one word, Hogwash! That is what social workers, foster parents, food stamps, and the Women’s Shelter are for. At next year’s Pottsville May Fair I plan to sell five inch, yellow rear car window signs that proclaims “bastard on board” as well as bumper stickers that read: "Honk if you're a bastard" and donate all profits to the winner of the New Year Baby Contest provided the baby’s parents are not married (to one another). Will you buy one to help keep the population numbers up?

Remember when it comes to population, its quantity, not quality.

Clamtown Races

The Clamtown ladies sing this song

Doo-dah! Doo-dah!

The Clamtown racetrack's five miles long

Oh! doo-dah day!

I grew up with this Stephen Foster song ringing in my head, over and over again…doo-dah…doo-dah…oh! doo-dah day! With gas price spiraling as I predicted to seven dollars a gallon by Labor Day, I thought it best to head over to Clamtown right away. Gas prices go up almost hourly, so it is cheaper to ride to Clamtown now and rent a room for a night or two. My destination is the Clamtown Racetrack, just west of Tamaqua.

I want to visit the Clamtown racetrack, I want to watch my horse win, place or show and more importantly I want to see the Clamtown ladies that I heard about. Oh! doo-dah day!

Goin' to run all night

Goin' to run all day

I bet my money on a bob-tailed nag

Somebody bet on the gray

It would be my last ride in the old reconditioned wienermobile that I purchased years ago at a Blum auction. While it certainly is a more attractive “babe magnet” than a Hummer, it uses too much gas, which I just can’t afford anymore. I will take if for its last ride over to the Clamtown Races. Oh! doo-dah day!


Oh, the long tailed filly and the big black horse,

Doo-da, doo-da

Come to a mud hole and they all cut across,

Oh, de doo-da day

I never had much experience with horses. My experiences with horses were limited to riding “Flying Horses” at Lakewood Park and wearing a rented horse costume from Gombar’s. I do however own both the Mr. Ed DVD Collector’s Edition Set as well as America’s album “A Horse With No Name.” I realize that none of the above makes me a proficient equestrian, but I always enjoyed placing a wager on a horse even if the horse was a wooden one on the Lakewood Carousel. That is why I am heading over to the Clamtown races. Oh! doo-dah day!


Goin' to run all night

Goin' to run all day

I bet my money on a bob-tailed nag

Somebody bet on the gray

I bought a horse earlier this year when I decided to go green. I still try to conserve energy. For instance I keep my television on the lowest setting, watching WNEP’s Noreen Clark and Joe Snedeker most of the time. It is Channel 16 but 2 on the dial. However, I needed to take the next step towards energy independence; anyone can recycle old Yuengling cans, but it takes a real man to go out and buy a horse! That is a real commitment, like a marriage. That doesn’t mean I gave up driving altogether. I use the horse for essential local transportation such as picking up the “Saw III” DVD at Hollywood Video or a slice of pizza at Roma. Horses have maintenance costs, more than I originally thought. More costs than associated with a marriage. To recoup my investment I decided to race my horse once or twice and the five mile long Clamtown Racetrack seemed the ideal location. At first he was so slow that the jockey kept a diary of his trip, but he has improved a lot. I credit it to the galloping back and forth to Roma for the pizza slices.

I went down there with my hat caved in,

Doo-da, doo-da

I came back home with a pocket full of tin

Oh, de doo-da day

When I arrived at the Clamtown racetrack the crowds were already thick with revelers. Yes, the Clamtown races involve many traditions that surround the race itself. For instance, the Clamtown women were there, appearing in fine outfits, wearing the finest elaborate hats on their heads, munching on Heisler Dairy waffles and Leiby pies simultaneously. While I normally limit my consumption at outdoor festivities to funnel cake, bean soup and bleenies, I make an exception on Clamtown Race Day. That is when I join the others and partake in waffles covered with fresh Lewistown Valley butter, strawberry jam and syrup. All washed down with ice cold Yuenglings. Oh! doo-dah day!

Goin' to run all night

Goin' to run all day

I bet my money on a bob-tailed nag

Somebody bet on the gray

My horse’s name is Super Skook by the way. I had him shaved to cut down on wind resistance. Please root for him to win the Clamtown Race.

Oh! doo-dah day!

closing criteria

I was able to obtain a document which supposedly contains the criteria used by the Diocese in its decision to close certain parish churches. Whether it is authentic or not is up to you. I think it is a hoax.

Guidelines for determining whether parish church remains opened or should be closed

1. PHYSICAL APPEARANCE
A. Roof and structure in good condition. Five Points.
B. Pews graffiti-free and polished. Five Points.
C. Kneelers free of rips and tears. Two Points
D. Indoor restroom facilities clean and spotless. Five Points
E. Fresh Holy Water in font. Five Points
F. Energy Efficient Heating and Cooling System. Five Points
G. Off-street Parking for more than ten vehicles. Five Points
H. Confessional handicapped accessible. Five Points

I. American, Vatican,, and Ireland flags ironed and in clean condition. Fifty-five Points


2. PARISH MEMBERSHIP
A. Number of members has increased over the past ten years. Ten Points
B. Active Choir that sings in key most of the time. Five Points
C. Active Women’s Guild. Five Points
D. Active Holy Name Society. Five Points
E. A majority of members gave positive reviews to “Sister Act.” Five Points
F. A majority of members are Notre Dame Football fans. Twenty-five points
G. A majority of members keep both holy water and Jameson’s Whiskey in their homes. Twenty-five Points
H. Active Hibernian Society. Twenty-five Points
I. Active Women’s Auxiliary of Hibernian Society. Twenty Points
J. More than fifty per cent of members have surnames that end in letters I, O, Y, or Z. Minus Fifty Points

3. FINANCIAL
A. Parish treasury is in the black. Twenty Points
B. Bazaar or Picnic held every summer. Ten Points
C At least three gambling wheels at Bazaar. Ten Points
D. Fifty-fifty chances sold at every Bazaar. Ten Points
E. Bingo games held regularly. Ten Points
F. No delinquent electric, oil, coal or incense bills. Ten Points
G. Parish had sponsored a “Half-Way to St. Patrick’s Day” party in September. Eighty Points
H. Fish dinners served just for the halibut. Five Points

I. St. Patrick’s Day dinner held yearly. Eighty Points
J. Parish sponsored bus trip to see The Irish Tenors. Eighty Points

Consolidations, Closings and Mergers

The recent news concerning consolidations, mergers and closings in the area brought back tears and sad memories of similar events from the past. What I am talking about is the great theatre mergers of the 1970s.

I can remember when movie theatres were plentiful in the area. Orwigsburg had the Orpheum, Minersville had the Ritz, Pine Grove had its Adult Drive-In and Pottsville had The Capitol. It was in the early 1970’s that most theatres merged into one giant “United” at the Schuylkill Mall in Frackville. This was extremely controversial in the Pottsville area especially as The Capitol was a spectacular building and many of us did not want it torn down even though the Oasis Bar had an urgency for more parking spots for patrons.

I remember taking the current Mrs. Trout’s predecessor to the Capitol Theatre in 1970 to snuggle and watch “Love Story.” I remember hearing that dreadful announcement in the middle of the film, just when Oliver yelled out "I'm King of the World," that the theatre was closing and everyone had to leave. We were told that a roof cave-in would soon occur to assure that no one would sneak back in to watch the end of the film. Everyone was ordered to get on the bus destined for Frackville to view the rest of the film or just wait several years until the VCR is invented, when it could be watched in one’s own home. We pushed and shoved out of the Theatre that fateful evening but refused to get on that East Penn Bus. We were able to make a get-away, hidden by the thick exhaust emitted by the East Penn bus, and headed over to the Eagles Bar on Second Street to snuggle and drown our sorrows in some Yuengling.

We never did find out the ending of “Love Story” to this day.

I can never get over the loss of The Capitol. Trouts, for generations, went there for entertainment. It was the most gorgeous theatre in eastern Pennsylvania. I keep an old photograph of Grandpappy Trout at the Theatre attending the showing of “Birth of A Nation.” Look closely at the photograph; that’s Grandpappy wearing the white sheets walking down the ramp to the Orchestra floor. Here are other photos depicting the theatre’s marble crystal chandeliers. All of the opulence is gone now, and so is grandpappy. All I have left are these photographs and his old white sheets.

What was behind this consolidation thinking? Some blamed it on the shortage of theatre projectionists. “Not enough of them to service all of those theatres.” I am not sure if that was true. Mammy Trout says that maybe women should have been permitted to be projectionists. But no, the Hollywood moguls said that tradition dictated that all projectionists must be male, reminding those critics that Thomas Edison was a man - as were every succeeding projectionist. Women can sell tickets up front in the booth, and sell cotton candy and be usherettes, but they can never be projectionists, even at PG-13 movies.

Others blame demographics. There were not enough people in Schuylkill County who wanted to watch movies in a theatre anymore. I noticed this decline ever since “The Molly McGuires” movie left town, but local economists held that the decline in patronage was basically attributed to the competition from television’s popular shows such as Hee-Haw and Hogan’s Heroes which kept the citizenry glued to their sofas and bean bag chairs.
Decreasing revenues was another reason given. Concession stand profits were way down. If you recall, Orville Redenbacker had cornered the popcorn commodies, while at the same time the price of Jujube candy soared due to demand from Third World countries and Wilkes-Barre. The usual five pound box of Jujubes skyrocketed in Schuylkill County resulting in rationing by our commissioners.

Several held lawyers responsible. Yes, there were the lawsuits resulting in big payouts to all of those young movie goers, who decades later, came down with cataracts supposedly from wearing those Illusion-O ghostviewers handed out during the screenings of “The 13 Ghosts.” back in 1960.

A final argument for the consolidations was the high cost of maintaining the old buildings. A smaller box-like theatre in the Mall would be more economical to heat and air-condition than palaces such as The Capitol Theatre, which seated over 2700 persons (depending on each person’s girth). The Capitol was designed in an ornate Spanish Colonial style, due to its proximity to Jalappa, with elaborate art-deco plasterwork throughout. It was too much for one old cleaning lady to maintain anymore. But while cinder blocks are definitely easier to clean and maintain, it lacks any soul or personality. I still love that old Capitol Theatre. And Love means never having to say you’re sorry. I heard that corny line in some old movie I saw years ago.

I think it was The Titanic.

Courthouse bans smoking

May 31st is the anniversary of the Johnstown flood, a sad day in Pennsylvania’s history. This May 31st will be another sad day. It will be the day the last tobacco product is inhaled in the Schuylkill County Courthouse.

By edict of the County Commissioners, the legendary “Canteen,”the bistro located in the Courthouse basement, will no longer permit its patrons to light up. A rich chapter of tobacco usage will be closing.

Smoking had been a part of our county’s history. It was said that John Pott actually purchased the land the Courthouse sits on from the Lenni Lenape Indians for a carton of Camels, a box of Mootz peanut rolls, and a six-pack of Yuengling’s. After checking the old court manuscripts at the Historical Society, I discovered that smoking had been permitted everywhere in the Courthouse for decades. In fact it was once a job requirement; more important than say, punctuality or telephone manners. If an employee did not smoke, the likelihood of being fired increased.

There is something untrustworthy about “goody two-shoes” non-smokers.

To commemorate the unhappy occasion on May 31st, there will be a special celebration in the Courthouse with festivities beginning at 9 o’clock and continuing until closing time. For some it will take the form of dressing up as one’s favorite smoker – Marlene Dietrich, Humphrey Bogart, Bette Davis, Cheech, Mae West, Chong, Franklin Roosevelt, Popeye and Keith Richards, just to name a few. Some costumes will be more comical, Joe Camel, The Marlboro Man, Cruella De Vil, and "the Cigarette Smoking Man" from the old TV show, X-Files, will certainly be welcomed additions to bring some levity to the end of an era. I understand that several office clerks will be dressing up as “The Old Gold” dancing cigarette packs. It is this attitude of facing a crisis with a smile on one’s face that makes me proud of this County.

The row offices are not alone. While many of the row employees will wear smoking jackets and fezs, I was told that the court crier emeritus will don a bellhop uniform and “Call for Philip Morrr-issssssss!” one last time in Courtroom Number One at the stroke of four.

No, it will not just be another costume party in the Court House. There will be lots of games. Bets will be placed on who will win the ‘smoke ring’ contest. Then there is the “Who will be the employee to blow the most smoke rings with one breathe?” Your guess is as good as mine. Then there is the sophisticated “French inhale” competition scheduled for three o’clock. If you are not familiar with this European game, a contestant takes a good-sized drag from a cigarette, but instead of inhaling, the smoke is gently pushed up into the nostrils. It has been a ritual at the Courthouse since the Molly Maguire hangings. For those who want something less intense, I recommend both the “multiple cigarettes” smoking contest, as well as the “puffing and dragging” competition which pits title searchers against the Courthouse retirees.
Yes, the identity of the last person to puff away is being held confidential. You can compare it to the opening ceremony at the Schuylkill County Senior Olympics, when some top secret octogenarian gets to light the cauldron to the amazement of the crowds.

I will be there in the Canteen filled with the usual crowd, my eyes filled with tears that are held back in the sad revelry, knowing that the good times are coming to an end.

I have a guess as to who will get to savor the last puff before the Sheriff Department clears out the Canteen and hands out Black Jack chewing gum, as if that will pacify the mob. When the partying ends at 4:30 PM I will look through the thick cloud of smoke hovering over the Canteen, at the men and women holding onto their cigarette lighters, holders, ash trays, corn cob pipes, cigars, hookahs, and bongs knowing that once the last butt is stomped out, the courthouse employees may have cleaner lungs but they will also become more irritable, cranky, depressed and edgy, while gaining weight at an astounding rate.

A brave new world indeed.

Why we honor Henry Clay

Casinos have finally come to our state.

It is just too bad that Pottsville doesn’t get a piece of the action, as the city has a long love affair with gambling, legal and illegal.

We all have fond remembrance of lotteries, chances, and the slots of years ago. Does anyone remember that in the 1960s and 1970s the city’s downtown had several stores selling only a few items, generally one box of Corn Flakes and a few packs of Black Jack chewing gum? That marketing technique defied all rules of business investments. It was an example of pure micro-economics - more basic than a child’s lemonade stand. It turned my notion of “supply and demand” inside out. Any business built around a single box of Corn Flakes should fold in a matter of days, if not hours, especially if your employee did not yet have breakfast. However, these City stores were successful. What would Adam Smith, of laissez faire capitalism fame, say? Surely, Mr. Smith would be smart enough to figure out that gambling was the draw - not the merchandise. But it took me a few years to figure this out. Why, the box of Corn Flakes in the window was merely a front! Boy, was I duped! People wanted to place a bet, not buy stale Corn Flakes or Black Jack gum.
Historians believe that the local passion for gambling went much further back in time than the 1930s when Minersville Street was flourishing. In fact, the early Native American settlements near the Gordon Nagle Trail bear this out. When the Pottsville Soccer fields were built, uncovered remnants of primitive Leni Lenape high stakes bingo halls were found. The Lenapes did not call it “Bingo” back then, but rather “Mahantongo.” The game took much longer and it's popularity faded due to the difficulty of having the duplicate letters a and o on the playing card.

Then came the era of the Schuylkill Canal. I understand gambling proliferated up and down the River and the canal beds during the mid- 1800s. The riverboats offered its passengers elegant accommodations along with many amenities. By day or night there was always some card or roulette game going on in the Upper Deck Saloon or in the Paddlewheel Lounge. For the non-gamblers, the Canal boats offered the usual shore excursions to Port Clinton, dazzling nightlife, reggae bands and, of course, the midnight buffets.

But Pottsville now deserves a legit gambling house because our county seat is the only metropolis having a statue in honor the inventor of Poker. Yes, I am referring to the famous poker card game immortalized by Kenny Rogers in his dreadful song, “The Gambler.” Yes, Henry Clay invented the game of poker as he loved gambling. During the presidential election of 1832 a newspaper wrote that, “Henry Clay spends his days at the gaming tables and his nights in a brothel.” His gambling and drinking made him as famous as did his oratorical skills. Despite once reportedly losing sixty thousand dollars during one card game, most of the time Henry Clay was a winner. This is why Pottsville honors him.
Very few youngsters recognize the identity of the statue that overlooks the downtown. In fact, a majority of high school students recently surveyed assumed the statue to be a likeness of Clay Aiken, the American Idol runner-up. Unbelievable! Nearly all of the high school seniors referred to the statesman as “Henry Dice Clay” or “the Diceman.” What is going on in our schools today! I thought no child was going to be left behind.

Henry Clay was one sharp poker player; having adapted the card game from its European forerunner, Pochen. He is not the Andrew Clay Silverstein that told off color jokes and appeared in such films as The Adventures of Ford Fairlaine, which is now playing at the Majestic Theatre. And he is not the Clay that was beaten by Reuben Studdards on American Idol. He is the card shark “Henry Clay,” former Speaker of the House of Representatives.
Every time I drive on South Centre Street towards Henry Clay Park (the steepest park in the world) I look up and admire the man who is holding a royal flush in his right hand. So, the next time you drive downtown to buy Corn Flakes, take a closer look and see the royal flush for yourself. After that, write to the Governor and politely request a piece of the action for dear, old Pottsville, the city that honors the Inventor of Poker.