Schuylkill County History (chapter One)

The true but condensed history of Schuylkill County

Chapter One : The legend of Necho Allen

Prior to settlement by early pioneers, the area we now know as Schuylkill County, was indeed one vast wilderness. More wooly and wild than even Shenandoah today. Native Americans (or "Indians" as they were referred to prior to the Hindu Temple being built in South Manheim Township) ruled the southern area. These original inhabitants had not yet gone into the casino business and used the area primarily for hunting and fishing.
The first German settlers made camp in the southern part of the county and kept a watchful eye on these Delaware and Nanicoke Indians who were allies of the French during the French and Indian War (now the French and Native American War).
Luckily for us the British won the war or else we would all being be eating crepes, Roquefort cheese, fondue, and our women would not be shaving their legs.
Soon after beating the French and Native Americans, Pennsylvanians soured on the British and independence was fought for and won. The area we now know as Schuylkill was then a part of Berks County. After the colonies won the war, resentment began to build as the early Pennsylvania German settlers wanted nothing to do with the Pagoda, the Berks shogun warriors and the imperial city of Reading. They wanted to eat their shnitzels and sauerkraut with forks and knives and not chop sticks. It seemed as if civil war would break out but luckily cool heads prevailed and Schuylkill County (the southern part only) was born in 1811. The northern part was still uninhabited and yet to be discovered. Necho Allen would be the first to explore this area.
And independence came just in the nick of time. Necho Allen discovered coal in the county when he camped out on the Broad Mountain.
The story of Necho Allen is fascinating. While never reaching the fame that his siblings, Frodo, Chico and Charo achieved, Necho, in comfortable middle age, led a group of dwarves and hobbits on a quest to reclaim the Broad Mountain and its treasure from the dragon Smaug. Along the way Necho encountered frantastic creatures, including trolls, elves, and goblins. Today, some of the descendants of these creatures are still visible at Renninger’s Market.
While at the base of the Broad Mountain after an exhausting day of picking huckleberries, Necho built a fire and began to toast some stale marshmallows. This would be the first reported toasting of marshmallows in the New World. He was awakened by a great heat and light and stayed up all night trying to figure out what was going on. He thought that he may be a new Moses. This was the same night that Necho Allen created S’mores by placing a toasted marshmallow on a slice of chocolate which was placed between two graham crackers.
Necho Allen never made one single halfpence from his two discoveries. After realizing that his campfire was built on a outcrop of anthracite coal and the fire could not be put out, he quickly left the area for the Green Mountains of Vermont lest he face arrest for attempting to cause a catastrophe.
Back in Vermont he tried his hand in the confectionary candy business creating the Necho Wafer which brought him some financial security. He also penned some long forgotten songs, but had one hit “Baby, It’s Coal Outside” which is played every December in the tap room that bears his name.
The death of Necho Allen remains a mystery. Legend has it that he died accidentally while waterskiing on Lake Champlain. No one knows for sure.
His discovery of both anthracite coal and S’mores would soon fall into the hands of the cunning and crafty Stephen Girard, who would soon become the richest man in the universe. Girard would soon clean his S’mores-covered fingers with the finest linen napkins made by the women who worked in the Pottsville Full Tilt Silk Mills and throw them away in his coal stove.

- end of chapter one - quote the Raven "Never S'more."

Allentown's plans for St. George's

I have been watching the demolition of the historic St. George’s Church in Shenandoah for some time now. People have been coming up to me asking, “what are the plans for the site once the church is finally down.” I casually reply “Who do you think I am? Mr.know-it-all?”
They get the message,walk away and leave me alone.
Curiosity finally got the better of me and I headed over to the Allentown where I would meet the person in charge of the demolition. I needed a real answer to give the people who depended on me to clear things up for them, rather than give them some koan to ponder. I arranged a luncheon at the Patio Restaurant in the basement of Hess Brothers Department Store. The mystery would soon be solved.

I took the escalator down to the basement of the store, flashed my blog pass to the store detective and soon was introduced to an elderly cleric wearing an oversized biretta on his head. He had a thick Irish brogue. The picture above was taken by the surveillance Polaroid camera. He was accompanied by two large swiss guards who stood behind him while we dined on hamburgers and drank cherry cokes. The guards ate cheese and drank hot chocolate if you are wondering, keeping a watchful eye on me all the while.
Our conversation went something like this:
“Top of the morning to you. We in Allentown are heartbroken over the animosity that arose over our decision to bring down an old building that was on the verge of collapse. Did you know that the building was over one hundred years old. In dog years that would be about seven hundred years old. If you had a dog 700 years old you would have shot it by now. Yes, we are aware that buildings in Europe stand proudly of upwards of a thousand years and are carefully preserved. But remember, that’s Europe and this is America. In major American cities sports stadiums are considered old and are demolished every twenty years or so and no one bats an eyelash. We just don’t know what all the fuss is about. If the ‘76ers were playing at St. George’s, everyone would be hollering to knock it down. I’ll ask the waitress to bring over a bottle of ketchup.”
“Fadda' What about the cultural heritage that is being lost forever? Ask for mustard while you are at it.”
“Yes, we are aware that it was the oldest Lithuanian Church in the United States, but now some other church will get to claim the title. Don’t you think everyone should get a turn? Remember when Vanessa Williams was stripped of the Miss America title, and she was quickly replaced. Life will go on my son. Please pass me the salt.”
“But Fadda' people are upset that the blood, sweat and tears of the ancestral coal miners who built the church will be forgotten. Fadda' do you want the pepper also?”
I then passed him the salt and pepper shakers.
“My son, we are very sensitive to this. A beautiful memorial will be placed on the location, dependent of course, on enough funds being raised to cover the costs. Last year the Appeal Fund only raised $4.59 plus three Damato Post pool tokens from the disgruntled parishioners. They have to be a little more loose with the purse if they want this memorial. Once the church is completely down, the sacred artifacts hauled away, and the dust settles (no pun intended) we in Allentown have a plan for the site. First we schedule a polka dance on the site to flatten the ground, secondly several truckloads of fresh coal dirt will be spread down and baked on top, followed by still another polka dance to make sure the ground has settled. Then the monument will be erected in the center with a magnificent fence of sheet metal purchased locally from Boley’s Irons Works to surround the entire parking lot....er...I mean...piazza. By purchasing all the metal from Boley’s Iron Works we will be stimulating the local economy rather than outsourcing. The lot...er....piazza... will assist in aleviating the parking problem during the Christmas and Easter holidays when everyone goes to the Kielbassi Shop. Do they still serve those big ice cream sundaes and strawberry pies here?”
At that point he unraveled the blue prints and I saw the proposed memorial marker with my own eyes. Why it was magnificent. Take a look for yourself.

Schuylkill County and Hoodie Hooism

I will not celebrate Hoodie-Hoo Day. Call me an old fuddy duddy, I don’t care. I will not participate in any of the numerous countywide festivities. The concept of grown adults going outside on February 20th at twelve noon to cast some sort of mass spell is against my religious beliefs. At twelve noon I plan to be inside somewhere, hopefully eating a huge cheesesteak, smoking a cigarette and drinking a lager ale.

If you are not familiar with Hoodie-Hooism, it is a combination of Pennsylvania Dutch Pow-Wow, Louisiana VooDoo, and urban gangsta rap. On February 20th open your window and listen the pounding drum rhythms, while the participants chant dutch proverbs (“Kissin’ wears out – cookin’ don’t”) and sing their songs (“Siss Net Alli Daag Luschdich Leewe”) as they do hip hop arm and hand gestures towards the noon day sun. At the same time,some white-robed, red- hatted HooDoo priestess leads them in some strange incantation meant to alter the weather and create more global warming.

These people want to shorten the winter and lengthen the summer!
Their rituals are elaborate, steeped in secret Pennsylvania Dutch, French Creole, and gangsta rap languages. Talismans are bought and sold during the rituals; some could even be bobble heads that represent HooDoo gods. This is the dark side of Hoodie Hooism that I am trying to warn you about. It uses hapless participants to summon the spirit world to alter the normal course of nature, shorten winter, and defying all that the groundhog had told us. Just watch as the high priestess places candles, food, money, cigarettes, amulets, lottery tickets, herbs, necklaces, ceremonial rattles, magical powders, cans of Yuengling beer, flags, bells, sacred stones and knives upon the HooDoo rug (pictured here) as the incantations begin in earnest.

"HOODY HOO!!!!! That's the call for the killaz.
Don’t make me call the dogs (use my ghetto code)
Oh, we got beef? HOODY HOO!
I represent the dirty south
For all my thugs and thugettes out there
To the world
Get rowdy, bout it, bout it (Where they at?)
Where the tru thugs at?
HOODY HOO, Buckle up, Knuckle up What you wanna do?

HOODY HOO, Buckle up, Knuckle up. What you wanna do?

HOODY HOO, Buckle up, Knuckle up. What you wann do?"

Spells which are conjured up to alter the weather take a long time to cast and take a lot of psychic power. The incantations go on for hours. That is why healthy, vigorous volunteers are requested to take part. Those of weakened physical ability sometimes end up in zombie-like stupor with no will of their own destined to walk up and down Pottsville's Centre Street forever.

Hoodie Hooism (a/k/a HooDoo) does not have a structured hierarchy, nor an established theology or clergy. It relies on these lay practitioners under the watchful eye of a Hoodie Hoo doctor or priestess. HooDoo was first documented in 1875 when a spell was cast upon a Pine Grove summer sausage salesman who soon met economic disaster. Hoodie Hooism was recently linked to the freak hail storm that wrecked havoc on the Pottsville Cruise Parade in 2008.

Scientists have been following Hoodie Hooism for years. The direct correlation between global warming and increased Hoodie Hooism can no longer be denied. Go to the Majestic Theatre and watch the award winning “An Inconvenient Truth” once it comes around again.
Since the 1960s, both the atmospheric CO 2 level has increased in direct co-relation to the number of Hoodie Hoo events. Thus, Hoodie Hooism is a proven substantial factor in global warming which can no longer be ignored.

I am not arguing that Hoodie Hooism to be the sole cause of global warming, as one cannot rule out other external forces influencing climate changes. Certainly the eruption of Mount Laffee several years ago, the variations in earth’s orbit around the sun, and the gasses emitted by local greenhouses and those eating excessive amounts of sauerkraut or brussel sprouts are other factors that need immediate attention.

Stay away from Hoodie Hoo. Watch the video below.

Senior Winter Olympics of 1972

I remember the magic and excitement of the Senior Winter Games that were held here in Pottsville in 1972. While overshadowed by the Schuylkill Senior Summer Olympics, these winter games were always a hoot. Obviously most of the winter games were at the old Ski Lodge, not to be mistaken for the Moose, Masonic or Elks Lodges, all within the city limits (and where some of the events were held). For those too young, the Pottsville Club now occupies the old Ski Lodge and it sits high on top of Sharp Mountain.
Just like the summer games, the tenaciously trained senior winter Olympians came from all corners of Schuylkill County to participate in the cold, all sponsored by state lottery money.

The opening ceremony, at Veterans Stadium, had the athletes enter on their Rascal scooters and parade around under the flags of their respective municipalities. It was the last year that scooters were permitted onto the field due to the damage caused by the chains on the tires. All subsequent opening ceremonies had the participants in snowmobiles or pushing shopping carts.

All announcements were all broadcasted in the three official Senior Olympics languages.* Soon the word bellowed that the senior Olympians, all dressed in either spandex or Morgan Knitting Mill Long Johns, were now taking the field in the Parade of Municipalities. A tumultuous applause broke out that lasted for ten minutes as it was discovered that clapping ones hands keeps frostbite risks to a minimum. The athletic events would soon begin in earnest after the male figure skating tribute to the Pottsville Maroons and the torch lighting of the official Senior Olympic cauldron.
The Senior Olympic Committee expanded the number of events that year. Not only would there be the traditional sports of Skiing, Bobsledding, snowball fighting, milk curling, dog sledding and synchronized snowman building, as now many new sports would be featured. Generation G was not content with old sports, they demanded new exciting events. Moustache defrosting was held at the Moose Lodge and was quite a crowd pleaser. If I am not mistaken, Sacramento won the gold for the men, while West Penn won the gold for the women. But I may be wrong. It may be the other way around.
Then there was the sport of Igloo-building which was dominated by the elders of Eldred Township. Rumors spread that Geritol enhancement may have assisted in their victory but the urine tests all came back negative. If I am not mistaken gold medals were given for urine tests that year for the first time. Eldred doubled the gold that year.
One of the most exhilarating sports added that year was the Craftmatic Adjustable Bed Race which had teams carry beds down Market Street, north on Centre and then up Laurel Boulevard to ice-filled Veterans Stadium. Shenandoah was the odds on favorite. “Do you believe in Miracles?” Well, Pottsville got the gold, Shenandoah got the silver, and Ringtown captured the bronze in a breath-taking photo finish upset to the amazement of thousands watching in the stands rooting for their hard of hearing home team. It is often referred to as "the miracle ear on ice."
Icicle Bingo was held at the Elks Lodge but that event was quickly dropped due to no spectators showing up. If anyone got a medal that year, no one cared. Compare that to the Cold Water Diving held at JFK Stadium. “The Tower” was still standing then. That event drew the most contestants and the biggest crowds, with many children encouraging their elders to just give it a try. I don’t know how to express in words, the emotion felt by watching people old enough to be my great-grandparents do twists and turns into the frigid waters of the pool, kept warm only by a heavy coating of Vicks-Vapo Rub, and being judged for technical achievement, overall impression and artistic interpretation. All of this diving was done for the glory of their respective municipalities, and not for personal edification. It brought tears to my eyes, and those tears quickly froze.
The Senior Winter Olympics of 1972 were unforgettable and I was glad to be there.

* The three official languages of the Senior Games are King’s English, Pennsylvania Dutch and Skook dialect. For example:

King’s English : “How are you doing, Sir?”
Pennsylvania Dutch: “Wie tun Sie, Herr throw me down the stairs a kiss.”
Skook Dialect: “How’re youse doin’ yo?”

Another example:
King’s English: “Why, my word, look at that!”
Pennsylvania Dutch: “Gookamoedoe! Throw me down the stairs a kiss.”
Skook dialect: “Wad da frik!!!”

Still another example:
King’s English: “Pardon me Sir. Can you please pass the bottle of ketchup to me?”
Pennsylvania Dutch: “Mich begnadigen geehrter Herr. Konnen sie mich die flasche des Ketschups bitte fuhren and while you are at it throw me down the stairs a kiss.”
Skook dialect: “Yo, butt, gimme dat friggin’ catsup bough-ull, wuj- ja.”