polka: the final insult

I nearly fell off my roof the other day. Not the roof at my primary home but my summer home in Gilberton. Well, not really my summer home... but my time share. I was up there trying to get my antenna ready for the big day, June 12 th; the day when television reception signals were scrambled. I don’t know about you, but I recommend having the large Australian rabbit ear antenna on the roof. It helps with getting clearer reception for Baywatch.
I had always been reluctant to sign up for cable tv even though cable television was created in Mahanoy City, not far from my summer time share. I refuse to pay for something that I can get for free. It doesn’t matter if it involves television or my love life. It must be my upbringing.
Don’t think that I was never tempted to hook-up with cable television or a satellite dish. I often thought about it. I am envious of cable subscribers who can watch the bulletin board on Comcast Channel 7 or Pottsville Station Channel 15 throughout the day. But luckily through the kindness of friends I have amassed a great bulletin board video library.
I nearly fell off of the roof that day because Mammy yelled up and told me that the Grammy Award Show has stripped Polka of its recognition as music. It was a shock I will never forget. No more awards to a polka band! To add insult to injury, all past polka recipients must return their awards accompanied by a written apology. It was the saddest day of my life since Pluto was stripped of its status as a planet. It brought back memories of the day Jim Thorpe had to return his Olympics medals and then face banishment in Mauch Chunk.
The Polka Industry should have listened to me. I tried to warn them. I was a voice crying out in the wilderness. I told them that the music needed to become hip and relevant. I suggested that twenty per cent of all future polka albums use such terms as ‘ho,’ ‘bizzle,’ ‘big behind,’ 'pimp’ and ‘gettin' jiggy.’ If the vocalists were too prudish to use such terms in english, then they could slip them in songs using Polish or Russian slang. Crude word usage such as 'cichodajka,' 'bljad', and 'dupek' may have helped save the grammy recognition.

I also told them that their dress had to be modernized. I said, “…get more gold chains…. let your underwear show…and for God’s sake,get your noses and eyebrows pierced…” Maybe they should appear in public only wearing their socks, just like the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I told them to dump the upbeat melodies and focus more on pain, despair and death. I told them to get rid of the E-I-E-I-Os and introduce guttural roars, grunts, snarls, and low gurgles. I also told them to get some woman onstage during the next Pierogi Bowl, maybe Mrs. T herself, and have a "wardrobe malfunction," like Janet Jackson had at the Superbowl several years ago. But no one listened to me, not Happy Louie, not Joe Stanky, not even Little Andy himself. Even though this is what the public wants, the polka industry refused to change course, and now the polka industry is finished, worthless as my unused tickets for the Lakewood Roller Coaster.

I carefully got down from the roof and went into the parlor to wait for the government to scramble my television reception from analog into digital. Mammy was scared; she remembered what had happened to our computer when the millennium started. “Will the remote control now adversely affect her pacemaker?” “Will the Prince of Belair still remain fresh?” “Will the same old crap still be on?” We held each other tight and shared a cigarette; waiting for the moment to arrive. “Would the NBC Peacock begin molting, shedding its feathers?” “Would Law and Order have too much Order and not enough Law?” “Will Morley be any Safer?”

All the while my mind drifted back to the shabby treatment given the Polka. I swore that day that if my tv set still worked I would never watch the Grammies ever again. Instead I would watch some of my old analog tapes of the Community Bulletin Board.

When the big day came the government mandated change-over was actually easier than back in the late 1970s,when everyone was forced to convert from eight-track to cassette.

thoughts on swine flu & bleenia

The self-proclaimed Pottsville Surgeon General had a press conference on Comcast Channel 15 the other day. He discussed the prevention of swine flu, the things we can do to minimize its severity, as well as other ideas to help us through this crisis.

Here is a summary of his suggestions:

*Don’t get friendly with any unfamiliar pigs.
*If your sneezes sound more like "oink" than "achoo"

you probably are infected.
*When dining out, Frank's hot sauce generally will kill bacteria. Use it liberally.
*Cigarette smoke can kill any airborne bacteria that are aiming right at you.
*Avoid Kevin Bacon movies.
*Fill your piñatas only with Sudafed.
*When departing from the Zerbe Airport, wear your hazmat suit.
*Avoid crowded areas; shop at the Schuylkill Mall.
*If infected, just calmly tell others you have a mild case of monkeypox.
*Boilo!

I appreciated these helpful hints so much that I went downtown to thank him personally at his office at the old Warne Clinic which is (sort of) at Second and Mahantongo Streets. I say “sort of” as the doctor works out of an old Chrysler in the parking structure.
He still is distraught that the old downtown hospital has been knocked down. Yes, the Warne Clinic used to be at that corner but it was razed to make room for parking.
If you go to find him, you can spot him as he generally is wearing his stethoscope, a “Nurses Call the Shots” button; he also has a pack of Camels rolled up in his sleeve and is holding a defibrillator.

If he is not there, you can wait for his return in his car and read magazines or else try tracking him down at the Eagles Club.

I remember the last medical uproar which caught the county without warning. That was the great Bleenia Scare of the late 1970s. That was when many of the counties best and brightest youngsters developed an overwhelming craving for bleenies, and suffering all of the dire consequences. A generation truly at risk of being hooked on potato pancakes. This also put a strain on both the county potato crop, onion crop, not to mention our fledgling sour cream industry.
Yes, the surgeon general warned that too many bleenies could be hazardous to one’s health - but no one listened to him. No one believed that bleenies could be addictive. His warnings of the pending “frying pandemic” went unheeded. He was laughed at and scorned. But soon the local out-patient dispensaries were overflowing with hundreds of young people complaining about stomach cramps brought on by this overeating of these greasy potato cakes, as well as a noticable increase in acne.
The uncelebrated surgeon general had been a prophet way ahead of his time; crying out to everyone at all the local block parties; attempting to stop the madness of overconsumption of bleenies.
Now, thankfully, all bleenie stands must have the Surgeon General’s Warnings posted boldly in both English and Cyrillic. You know those bright yellow signs that warn against consuming six or more bleenies before swimming, and warn against squeezing the paper plate for its oil and then trying to use it as a tanning lotion.
Like we are so stupid that we need these warnings.

To fight the pandemic Channel 15 soon broadcasted a live telethon from the Pottsville parking lot along Route 61, featuring top notch county singers, polka dancers and dog acts, who despite professional jealousies, worked together to raise research funds needed to eradicate the scourge of the dreaded bleenia before another young person got hooked and gorged himself silly.
All in all, $427.00 was raised by the end of the show.

Actually before the show’s last act, the total was over $600, but then people started to call in cancelling their pledges. The disgruntled donors thought the money was going to fight bulimia, not bleenia, and they wanted their money back. I was one of them.

Within days a vaccine was released to the public. Now every middle-school child is immunized against bleenia. One rarely hears about bleenia anymore.

When was the last time you heard about any outbreak of bleenia west of Minsk? But one never knows. Hopefully you are up to date with your booster shot.

There are now more important ailments to fight such as the Swine Flu, obviously, but also Sniffles, Scabies, Hickies, Cell Phone Elbow, Disco Fever, Winter Carnival Depression, Irritable Wife Disorder, Foot in Mouth Disease, Restless Buttocks Syndrome (a/k/a The Hippy Hippy Shakes), Semicolonitis, Compulsive Twittering, the Heebie Jeebies and so many others.

Watch the telethons to fight these epidemics (err..pandemics) on Channel 15 this summer.

Ashland's mother monument

Dear Mr. trout,

Was the statue of the Girardville Pirate Lady the most talked about monument in the county’s history?

Geraldine

Dear Geraldine:

Indeed not. Many would recall the day the Pomeroy’s mannequin was passed off as a statue of a native American woman; installed at the front of Lake Wynonah with all the bru-ha-ha following. But that is nothing compared the mother of all monuments in Ashland.
That monument was planned and erected during the depression that began in 1929 and, to some, continues in Schuylkill County to this very day.

What a controversy!
Reading the Ashland Daily News, it appears that there was confusion over what type of monument to erect honoring motherhood. Many believed that the appropriate image would a reproduction of the statue depicting the twins Romulus and Remus being nursed by the she-wolf. “It would be a slam dunk.” Or so they thought. However after heated argument, that proposal was stunningly voted down in Committee 8-5. Some say the vote was meant to to embarrass Benito Mussolini who had just invaded Abyssinia.

Others wanted a monument of Al Jolson on his bended knee singing “Mammy” with a loudspeaker blaring the song 24/7.Luckily that was rejected 4-9.





The Committee sincerely wanted something that had not been done anywhere in the country so the first rendition of the monument depicting Whistler’s Mother was to be called, “the two mothers monument." It was hoped to capture the imagination of all of the 48 states, as well as the district of columbia. However because of a limited budget, this proposal was withdrawn and the Committee went with the traditional Whistler’s only one Mother. I was able to procure a rare photograph of the rejected “two mothers monument" proposal which I am sharing exclusively with the readers of the blog. Here it is:

As a local woman would be selected to depict the virtues of motherhood, women came from both sides of Ashland - the high side and the low side of town- for the modeling audition. It was during the bleak days of the 1930s, and most townswomen were out of work, so you can imagine this auditioning drew a huge crowd of model wanna-bes. The try-outs became a cross between America’s Next Top Model and Star Search.
You cannot imagine how intense the competition got. Some spent the little money they had a cosmetic make-overs. Many other women would practice for the role by sitting quietly for hours, to the delight of many of husbands.

Later the competition got very rough and dirty. In fact, the winner had been attacked by a rival, who struck her in the legs with a coal shovel, requiring the winner to wear the long dress to cover-up the bruises. This physical attack is thought to be the reason the statue does not depict a smiling, happy mother.
Many of the contestants were over 70 and were disqualified because the Committee was interested in a more youthful mother figure, and these older women were discretely informed to apply to the Whistler’s Grandmother Competition which was scheduled to be held in nearby Centralia but later cancelled due to the outbreak of World War II.

Others were disqualified because they were too heavy. This had many of the contestants jogging and running up Center Street trying to shed some pounds before the all important weigh-in, as it had been unanimously decided that the winner would have to resemble the svelte figure in the “Whistler’s Mother” painting. These rejected contestants were discretely given an opportunity to audition for the "Whistler’s Portly Aunt Competition" which was to be scheduled in Shenandoah, but cancelled due to the outbreak of World War II. Apparently Whistler had a gold mine going with his franchise.
The statue was finally unveiled on September 4, 1938 during a gigantic Tupperware Party held in the borough. This celebration has has been held yearly thereafter in honor of mothers throughout the county; with Ashland mothers exchanging left-over chow-chow with the many out-of-town visitors in the new fandangled plastic containers while the men drinking Pepper's Ginger Ale to their hearts content.

another pirate story

Dear Mr. trout:

In your last rant you omitted any mention of pirates “north of the mountain.” Did piracy stop at the south end of the Broad Mountain?
Your loyal follower,
Jim Hawkins

Dear Mr. Hawkins:
You are correct and I apologize. Yes, there once was a nameless, shameless woman that lived on a houseboat, floating on the Girardville Creek; she was one of the biggest pirates of our time; this being the late 1990s and early 2000s. This lady pirate did extensive illegal downloading and file- sharing and was well known within the Napster, Limewire, and Kaaza circuits. The genres she looted included big band, World music (polkas), and folk. The latter category was devoted only to the Pottsville Barbershoppers. Anyone who tried to tell her that the Barbershoppers were not folk singers ended up floating facedown in da crick.
Her MP3 player was loaded with vast array of Dorsey Brothers, Les Brown, Jolly Jack Robel and even Little Andy tunes; every song stolen away, with not one cent of royalty going to the songwriters or musicians. Yes, some nationally known music was illegally downloaded, primarily Captain Beefheart, but she focused on the local music scene, becoming a legend north of the Broad, sharing her ill-gotten music files with hundreds that lived in the Upper Schuylkill Region.
She later started pirating the likeness of celebrities, imprinting cheap tee shirts to be sold at Hometown and Renninger’s Markets. Her luck ran out when she became bold enough to steal the likeness of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. which rattled his children’s family to no end.
Very few people are aware that Dr. King remains one of the wealthiest dead celebrities, following in the ghostly footsteps of Elvis and Marilyn, with his grabby children extracting millions of dollars for the use of the MLK image and words. In fact, the King family had just recently extracted about $800,000 for allowing a statue of Dr. King to be erected in Washington.
Our local pirate lady took on Dexter, Martin III and Bernice King and lost the battle. It was one local pirate versus the more sophisticated, well-heeled pirates. I was told that the Kings even had Dream City, located between Port Carbon and Cumbola, shut down; arguing that the name “Dream” was a copyright infringement. Go to Renninger’s Market or the Hometown Market today and you no longer find any bootleg tee shirts featuring Dr. King.
Despite her defeat, our pirate remains an archetypal figure in Schuylkill County folklore and remains significant in popular local culture where she is known for "stealing from the rich record companies and giving music to our lazy, self indulgent teenagers."
When I was a youngster I had to work countless hours hauling coal ash just to scrape enough money together to purchase the latest Jordan Brothers 45 RPM.
To this day the Schuylkill County Government does not recognize January 15th as Dr. King Day as a holiday, hoping not to offend local supporters of the Girardville Pirate. Quietly, within the courthouse, Captain Beefheart Day is celebrated in its place.

Not to be forgotten, our female pirate was immortalized in Girardville with a controversial statue. The artist took some liberties with her likeness pandering to both the health conscious and the disability crowds. I understand that some purists picketed the statue wanting the original likeness to be restored but they were outvoted in the special referendum that was recently held.

original likeness of

Girardville pirate lady

Postscript: this story was inspired by reading the following story on the King family: Lessons seem to be lost.