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!☺