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.

Easter week, Schuylkill style

What it week it was. First St. Patrick’s Day occurred during one of the earliest Holy Weeks that I can remember. This confused everyone, not knowing whether to get palms or shamrocks.
Then before you knew it, it was St. Joseph’s Day. Why is that day important? Well, it is the day that the Canadian geese return to Schuylkill Haven. We headed over to watch them dive-bomb towards Bubeck Park, formerly known as Stoyer’s Dam, to the sounds of practically every fire whistle in town. The whole town assembled in a carnival-like atmosphere to greet their feathery friends who land and make Schuylkill Haven their home until Burro Day in late September when they take off for the south once again.

After watching the avian wonder of nature, it was back to Pottsville for the egg hunt at Pic-a-Pac Park on South Centre Street where the Recreation Department hid eggs practically everywhere. Take a good look when you drive by, there is still a few under the concrete slags. Luckily the youngsters were handed out shovels, weedwackers, and egg detectors so that most of the eggs could be found before the nightly frost set in. I put a small Canadian goose egg in the exhaust pipe of one abandoned vehicle at the park. I hope some lucky child found it before dark.
If that was not enough, we then drove over on Wednesday to Shenandoah to stand in the long line at Kowalanek’s for the Easter kielbassi. Legend has it that it was served at the Last Supper. I am not quite sure about that though. Take a good look at the de Vinci painting; it is hard to see what is on the table.

Our trip was marred only by a heated discussion between a man and a woman who kept up an argument over correct pronunciation. She said it was kielbassi with a long e ending, while he said it should be pronounced kielbass –a, with a short a sound at the end. The Shenandoah riot police quickly took them away and peace was restored. We got inside and packed our grub in our large the coolers and headed back to Pottsville.

As we had reserved tickets, we headed to the famed Peanut Roll Exhibit at the Historical Society, an exhibit that rivals the Faberge eggs that the Russian Tzars collected and displayed. The peanut rolls have a better taste. You know, Carl Faberge made his jewel- encrusted eggs for the Romanovs but none of them could be eaten. Our Historical Society proudly has on display the greatest collection of Mootz peanut rolls ever assembled. Some of these peanut rolls were actually made for John and Maria Pott and the rest of the Pott dynasty when Pottsville was still but a dream. They are not really rolls, but creamy candy balls. If you want rolls, then you have to go to Capitol Bakery.

This Exhibit at the Historical Society allows a visitor to get up close and personal with this fine array of mouth-watering candies. I have been to many a candy museum, such as Hershey’s and the Bazooka Gum Museum, but neither can compare to this local exhibit. Viewing the Mootz collection of historic peanut rolls up close, from all angles, gives the spectator a way to gain a real appreciation for the particular detail, design, and fastidious workmanship of Mootz. It goes to say that photographs (and Mammy took hundreds) will never capture the subtlety of the glow of each unique peanut roll. With the glitter of every peanut roll, each one seems to have a life of its own. The stuff of which their made – vanilla butter cream, dark chocolate and ground peanut – makes them time capsules of Pottsville’s grand history.

Last photograph: Faberge egg which unlike peanut roll, cannot be eaten

I cannot impress upon you the importance of taking the entire family to see the Mootz Peanut Roll Exhibit. It is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to experience the elegance of the Mootz family – legendary candymakers to all of the high and mighty within Schuylkill County, Pennsylvania. Peanut roll wrappers and boxes once handled by legendary County Commissioners, Mayors, Burgesses, and School Directors, and a variety of scallywags are all carefully marked so that you can tell each apart from the other without straining your eyes. Do you know that there is even a half-eaten peanut roll on display which was supposedly left on the bench by the quarterback of the Pottsville Maroons during that championship game? After you promenade in the Easter Parade, why not stop in?