Jackson Street (part 3)

There are numerous lessons to be learned from the shut down of Jackson Street. You know, when the street was closed after the untimely passing of the King of Pop by the crowds that held round-the-clock vigils.

First of all we realize the importance of Jackson Street as a vital city thoroughfare. Never again will it be taken for granted. This Street has often been compared to Paris' rue Notre Dame des Champs; it had been the center of intellectual and cultural life when the city had such life. In fact, during the 1950s and 1960s Mickey's Fountainette, on the corner of Jackson and Norwegian Streets, was the gathering place of young teens who flocked to the city; these youngsters were known as une generation perdue ( or 'the baby booming lost generation').

It was a great time to be young and alive in the City of Light beer.

At Mickey's Fountainette, the idealistic, gawky young people ate hamburgers, drank Slushies, smoked cigarettes, read comic books, chewed gum, laughed and loved (not necessarily in that order) while being seranaded by the music of Sam the Sham & the Pharaohs which bellowed from the corner juke box....

"Matty told Hatty about a thing she saw.

Had two big horns and a wooly jaw... Wooly bully, wooly bully...."

Hemingway was probably correct when he wrote, "there is never ever an ending to Pottsville, and the memory of each person who lived there differs from that of every other."

Pottsville in the early and mid-20th century was indeed a grand locale. It was full of euphoria, youth and enthusiasm (not necessarily in that order).

For that reason alone it is imperative that we keep Jackson Street open at all times. Anyone blocking the street should be dealt with swiftly and harshly. I suggest horsewhipping.

Secondly, the city officials must be commended for performing superbly under extreme pressure by launching the flawless "Operation Vittles," with helicopters from the 14th Street Heliport joining the aircraft from Zerbey International Airport to deliver boxes of pizza and hoagies (some hot, but mainly plain; some without onions) to the citizens of Greenwood Hill, dropping the foodstuff by handkerchief parachutes. Lest we forget, Bohorad's Store must be commended for donating the needed hankerchiefs. This certainly boosted moral of the Greenies, who felt isolated, depressed and abandoned (not necessarily in that order); not knowing if they would have to spend a weekend watching the Phillies on television without any of their favorite fast foods. Television is shallow and empty without lots of food to eat, especially if you are watching a baseball game. These resilient people could not break through the hysterical crowd of humanity that closed off Jackson Street from one end to the other. Pizza and hoagies were beyond their grasp.

I was told that discussions are already underway to commemorate this unique East Side airlift with a modest monument to be located at the Greenwood Hill playground. That is a good thing. As a closing side note, one of the hoagies that landed in Greenwood Hill was recently donated to the county Historical Society. I understand it is a small Italian, with oil and hot peppers and extra cheese (not necessarily in that order). It will be placed on public display for the next 30 days.