That title sounds like I am about to write about Monty Python. I’m not, but that would be an interesting topic. If you are ever feeling down and cranky, watch the video “Monty Python Silly Olympics”!  You won’t be cranky for long. But my something completely different is that, today at least, I am writing about the future instead of the past.

I am turning 67 this year. I’ve already lived longer than my mom, two siblings, and my daughter.  I thought it might be a good idea to do some funeral planning and start to prepay. You know, take the burden off my kids. So, yes, my topic is death. All you faint of heart may stop reading now!  If you are still reading, don’t worry…nothing graphic.

My original idea was to be cremated and have my kids release my ashes into Trout Creek, the creek of my wonderful childhood.  But then I got to thinking of how much I love cemeteries. I could wander in a cemetery for hours finding stories written on the stones and just thinking that here was a life that is no longer.  Wow!

So maybe I should have my ashes buried, so there is a permanent marker of my life that is no longer. So that some wanderer, in the future, can see that marker and put a story to it.  My story would live on.

So, I have checked out some funeral homes. They all seem the same to me. I think I may go with Stephens Funeral Home in Macungie for a completely non death related reason.  I used to work with the sister of the owner and she was the most positive person I ever met and a great colleague.  So, you can see, I put a lot of thought into that. Haha.

Now if I am going to have my ashes buried, where should that be? My parents, one set of grandparents, and most aunts and uncles are in Fairview Cemetery in Slatington. That’s a possibility. Another possibility is Sky View Cemetery in Hometown, where my daughter is buried.  It is a beautiful spot but once there is snow cover you can’t find any graves because all the stones are flat in the ground.  I never worked with a positive person whose brother owned a cemetery so I have to put more thought into this one.

I stopped at Sky View the other day to ask about pricing. Did you know that it costs $1250 for them to dig a small whole and have a small concrete vault placed in it and to cover it up again and re-sod?  That doesn’t even include the cremation!  That sounds ridiculous to me so I may have to rethink this and maybe go back to my original Trout Creek plan.  My kids can spend that $1250 on something useful instead.

Other than the turning 67 thing, I’m not sure why I have been thinking more about this lately. Maybe it’s because it is winter. Maybe it’s because I am semi-retired and have more time to think. Maybe it is because I have been writing so much about the past and realizing that so many of the people I write about are no longer with us. I hope whatever plan I choose doesn’t have to be put into action for another 20 years…or more!

I hope I haven’t depressed you with this post. That was not my intent.  If I have depressed you, I would once again like to recommend “Monty Python’s Silly Olympics”. It’s only a few minutes long but it just may make you pee your pants or have milk come out your nose. Two fine things to aspire to!

 

 

I learned to swim in Sunland Pool, in Washington Township. It was more of an organized pond then a real swimming pool. It closed when I was around seven years old. Slatington didn’t have its very own pool until I was eleven or twelve. Sure, we could swim in Trout Creek or any number of abandoned quarries. And we did. But the real alternative for cooling off on a hot summer day was to travel the three or four miles south to the village of Neffs.

Neffs had an ocean of a swimming pool, which at the time was called Stahley’s. I know it was privately owned so I assume by the Stahleys.  I can still picture the people who ran the place. It was a huge pool with a rough uneven concrete bottom. It had two diving boards and a unique feature in the deep end. There was a wooden platform, which was called the raft. It was fun to climb up the ladder and jump off.

The pool had no fence around it. You didn’t pay admission to enter but you had to purchase a swimming tag that fastened to your swimsuit. It was a different color each day. Don’t get caught without your tag or with a tag of the wrong color!  The place you bought the swim tag was the place you could rent innertubes and rafts. There was a refreshment stand off the one corner of the pool. They had amazing food. While you waited for your food, you could stand on a wooden bridge and watch the water spiders in the small stream that flowed by the pool. The area for towels and blankets was only on one side of the pool. Huge pine trees dotted the lawn.

You couldn’t walk from Slatington to the pool at Neffs.  My mom never drove. So during the week I used to count on my aunt, Noreen Becker. She worked, in Slatedale, at Holiday Fashions and sometimes would be sent home early because of lack of work. She would take me and her son, my cousin Jim, to Stahley’s. Awesome times.

They modernized the pool at some point and got rid of the rough bottom. It was beautiful. But it started to gradually deteriorate and it was left abandoned about ten years ago. It now belongs to North Whitehall Township, which doesn’t have enough funds to fix it. Some recent pictures follow.

Another one of those places that you have fond memories of, that unfortunately stays in the past.  I am sure you all can think of a similar place in you memory.

 

 

The other day I had a client, an early fifties male, who was mourning the loss of his  95 year old grandmother. That was a little hard for me to relate to because I lost my grandparents, all four of them, while still a kid. Then I found myself a little envious that some people get to have amazing, long lasting and loving relationships with their grandparents. I barely knew mine!

That, I assume, is a consequence of being an oops baby. My parents were older, so my grandparents were older too. I do carry, daily, a legacy from my maternal grandfather. My middle name was his first name. My middle name is Ray and his first name was Raymond. I’m glad I could carry your name on for you, PopPop.  PopPop, that’s what we called our grandfathers and we called our grandmothers Mammy! So I had PopPop and Mammy George and PopPop and Mammy Becker.

My Becker grandparents grew up in Mahanoy City and moved to Slatington when their children (my mom was one of them) were young. They moved here so my grandfather could work in a slate quarry. They lived on West Church Street, between 5th and 6th Streets. Their house, years after their death was burned down on purpose as a training exercise for new firefighters. Here is what I know about my maternal grandmother, Catherine. Absolutely nothing. I can’t remember hearing any stories about her while I was growing up. She died when I was in Kindergarten. I wish I knew more about her. My maternal grandfather died when I was six. I remember him a little. Very little. Stories about him, which I heard after his death, focused on his being a health food and healthy regimen devotee way ahead of his time.

I knew my George grandparents a little better because they lasted a little longer. But not much longer. They grew up in Quakertown and owned a little grocery store there. They moved to Slatington for a job for my grandfather, Wilmer. He had a mobile retail truck route selling coffee and other staples to the housewives of Slatington and Walnutport. Hellick Coffee Company. anyone remember that? The two things I remember most about him was cigar smoke and visiting his small warehouse of supplies on West Franklin Street. It smelled sooo good!  The warehouse, not the cigar smoke. He died when I was 9 years old. My grandmother, as did my grandfather before he died, lived in an apartment at the corner of First and Church Streets in Slatington. Two unique things about that apartment. The bathroom was decorated with pictures of the Dionne Quintuplets! and there was a set of stairs that led up to a tower from where you could see wonderful views of the area.

Mammy George gets her own paragraph because I knew her the longest. Lillian died when I was in 9th grade. My dad and I used to visit her every Saturday morning. My mom never went along. Apparently, they did not like each other very much. I can remember my mom and dad having arguments over my dad’s relationship with his mother. My grandmother made the best bread pudding I ever tasted. I remember she had a Boston Terrier doorstop. I am just realizing that I really don’t know much about her either. That’s sad.

Here are four people who, indirectly, had a huge influence on my life. My parents learned how to be parents from them. I grew up where I did because of choices my grandparents made years before. My genetic makeup comes from them. Their decision, on how many children to have, had an effect on how many aunt, uncles, and cousins I grew up with. My aunts, uncles, and cousins had a huge effect on me. My dad was an only child but my mom had five siblings. I love all these people.

I was about to close and I remembered an important thing. On a wall in my paternal grandmother’s apartment was a framed picture. It was four pictures in a row, in one frame, of my siblings graduation portraits. My picture would be added to that frame in just three years. I looked forward to that. Alas, it was not to be. A shout out to my brothers….does anyone have that?

So, your grandparents are very important people. VIPs!  If you still have them, make sure you check in with them. Learn what you can from them because once they are gone it is too late. If your grandparents are gone, like mine, think of them once in a while and give them some credit for who you are today. Of course, if you are a bad person, give them the blame! Just kidding! My readers are all wonderful! Stay warm!

 

 

It’s January, it’s snowing, and it’s cold. What a wonderful time to think about vacation! The vacations of my youth were very traditional and very consistent. Every year, in July, we went to a cabin at Lake Wallenpaupack and had wonderful times.

When I say we,  I mean  my extended family of aunts, uncles, cousins, siblings. In fact, any particular July there could be any combination of relatives staying at the cabin.  The cabin itself belonged to my Uncle Dave’s supervisor, some guy named Rhody. So Rhody’s cabin it was.

It was in a small cluster of cabins in an area called Lakeview Acres. To get to the cabin you had to take two very long dirt roads past nothing but woods. The cabin itself was wooden clapboard, if I remember correctly. You would go in the front door, into a large living room with fireplace. Directly to the right of the front door, as you entered, was a small bedroom.  Once in the living room, opposite the fireplace, were two more small bedrooms and a bathroom. In the ceiling was a pull down set of stairs which led to the attic which was filled with about ten more beds. This is where the kids usually ended up.

Into the kitchen, small but utilitarian and with a long, long, dining room table. The site of many awesome vacation breakfasts. The view from the kitchen window was spectacular. Lake Wallenpaupack in full view.

We walked the dirt road to the lake itself and our dock and rowboat. Many good times fishing from the boat and jumping into the lake water from the dock. Even in July, lake water can be…refreshing!  There was a small wooded island maybe a quarter mile off shore. A famous family legend involves that island. My brother, Gary, had an argument with his fiancé, Nancy. In the middle of the night, Gary rowed our rowboat to the island and spent the night there! Such a long time ago.

At night we would go deer spotting, sometimes counting into the hundreds. Sometimes we would travel to a resort called White Beauty View and see a movie, or swim at their sandy beach, or buy souvenirs.  Most of the time though was spent at the lake, or in the cabin, or in it’s wonderful side yard.  We didn’t have to be doing anything special to have fun. Just family being together was more than enough!

I tried to find Rhody’s cabin a few years ago, maybe 40 years after I had last been there. I found Lakeview Acres! I was able to find it because I remembered the villages of Greentown and Newfoundland. Did I find the cabin? Maybe, but maybe not. There were no long dirt roads, only blacktop. There was not a cluster of cabins, but a multitude, back to back and side by side.  I saw a little white cabin that could have been ours. But I can’t say for certain. Maybe that is a good thing. Maybe Rhody’s cabin is best left in my memory. Not maybe, for sure.

 

I write about my home town of Slatington a lot. You all know how my memories take me back there regularly. I write about Slatington, because I know, or knew, Slatington pretty well. But Slatington doesn’t exist in a vacuum. In fact my high school, Slatington High School, was made up of the boroughs of Walnutport and Slatington and the villages of Slatedale, Emerald, Rextown, Welshtown, Bucktown, Friedens, and Lehigh Gap.  All of those villages make up Washington Township. All of these places make up a perfect circle around my town.

For my readers who don’t know the area I thought I would talk a little about some of those villages and the other borough.  I am not as well versed in them so if I make some mistakes I hope my readers will correct me. I think a lot of those who lived in Slatington may have looked down a little at those “bus people”.  Sorry about that!

First, the other borough, Walnutport. It’s often said, Slatington, Walnutport, same thing. But, growing up, Slatington was about four times as big as Walnutport. It was the only part of Northern Lehigh School District to be in Northampton County. It has a canal!  It had the Albino Woman! It also had The Anchor Hotel, a great place to go for food after a football or basketball game. Walnutport has grown a lot since my youthful days and now has become the commercial center of the school district. The main intersection in Walnutport boasts a McDonalds, a Burger King, and a Taco Bell! There is no fast food in Slatington. Sad. Healthy, but sad.

Slatedale is a village of about 500 citizens. It is often described as a sleepy village. That’s a good thing! During my early years and my high school years, Slatedale was a destination for furniture buyers throughout eastern Pennsylvania. It was the home of the now defunct, Kern’s Furniture.  It has an interesting baseball field in that if you hit a home run, the ball could land in Trout Creek and travel all the way to Delaware Bay!  Another nice feature of Slatedale is the aptly named Lovers Lane!

Emerald, still smaller than Slatedale, was known as Little Chicago.  That’s because a high percentage of kids who got in trouble in school were from Emerald.  I don’t know if that is true or if that is one of those looking down our noses at the country folk kind of things. A couple cool things about Emerald. It was first called Franklin until it was discovered that Pennsylvania already had a Franklin.  I am not sure if this is how it got its name, but driving into Emerald, from the east, the first thing you would see was a small, emerald green quarry in someone’s side yard.  Here is something I bet few people know. St. Peter’s Methodist Church, on Center Street, was the picture for a designated month on thousands upon thousands of calendars sold throughout the country and for many, many  years!

Friedens, just south of Slatington, is a village I know little about. I know it is the site of Peters Elementary School and of Avery’s Farm. I know there is a little flat stretch of road, known as the 1/8th mile where drag racing took place.  Growing up, Friedens was also the home of Endy’s Auction House and a restaurant called The Shady Nook. Cool name!

I will lump Rextown, Welshtown, and Bucktown all together.  They were all in the country between Slatington and Slatedale. All nice little villages. Rextown with its one room schoolhouse turned into a home. Welshtown with its, now closed, dump. Bucktown with Billy Buck’s store which was something out of a distant past.

Growing up, we didn’t think much of Lehigh Gap, as a village. It was a collection of just a few houses, a few of them very old stone buildings.  One of them became The Osprey House and the site of the headquarters of Lehigh Gap Nature Center.  Another is an abandoned tannery, closed for decades.  Still another is occupied by a descendant of the family that started the tannery.  If you walk on the D and L trail, through Lehigh Gap, you will see photos of the village when it was a thriving train station with an immense hotel.

That is my history lesson for today. Like I wrote, if any of my readers see mistakes or would like to add more please feel free to leave a comment.  Interestingly, with the exception of Walnutport, I can drive through any of the other places mentioned and they don’t look a lot different from when I was a kid. The more things change, the more they stay the same. All of these places, no matter how small, had some effect on making me the man I am today.

Back in my senior year in high school, I was asked to be a Rotary Observer for the month of November.  It was considered to be an honor to be named this. It usually went to a really smart jock. I think I was asked because it was football season and Rotary meetings were on football practice night. Plus, I was Vice President of Student Council and a wrestler (worst wrestler ever).

So now I may have you confused. What is a Rotary Observer?, one might ask. The Rotary Club International is a fraternal organization (yes, women were not allowed) much like The Lions or The Jaycees or The Oddfellows (strange name, right?). Most towns had their own local chapter of Rotary International. I am talking about the Slatington Chapter.  It was made up of town leaders like doctors, lawyers, and Indian chiefs. Sorry, got carried away there. It was made up of doctors, lawyers, school administrators, and local businessmen.  They would meet once a month, at Herman’s Restaurant, have drinks, then dinner, and then listen to a speaker.  I think the idea was to give a chance for a student with potential to rub elbows with the rich and powerful.

The night arrives for the meeting I am to attend. I dress in a coat and tie and drive to Herman’s Restaurant. I am nervous because I know none of these people and I am hoping someone takes me under their wing.  I find out that the speaker that night is a nun who is showing slides and talking about a mission trip to New Guinea, or some place like that. Okay, that sounds interesting. Maybe this won’t be that bad. Plus, free food.

I mentioned above that this meeting started with drinks. That must have started long before I got there. It was loud and very obvious that many of my town leaders were buzzed, at the least.  Our high school principal, Mr. Kemp, did take me under his wing and introduced me to a lot of the men. That part was ok. The food was good. For anyone who remembers Herman’s, it was always good.  Then it was time for the speaker.

She was a small woman in a full habit, like all nuns wore back then. I miss seeing that. She seemed a little nervous. Did I mention the drinking? I did. It continued through the meal and into the nun’s presentation.  I was embarrassed by the rudeness and lack of decorum from our town “leaders”.  I was embarrassed for the nun. She tried her best. But she was loudly talked over. She was interrupted in the middle of sentences. Her slides were the target of rude and sometimes off-color comments.  It was a debacle and the first time I was truly disappointed by adults I looked up to. This was around the time we were encouraged not to trust anyone over 30. Perhaps I should have taken that more seriously!

It’s funny how that was fifty years ago and I think of it often. Whenever I see or hear a similar act of rudeness on someone’s part, I am immediately taken back to Herman’s Restaurant. It ended up being a powerful learning experience for me. Three things in particular. People aren’t necessarily who you think they are. Drinking has a powerful effect on peoples’ judgement.  Never be surprised by anything. So, today, if someone mentions Herman’s Restaurant to me, I try to think of the food. The food was good.

So, there has been something bothering me lately. Is it that Donald Trump is our president? Yes, but this is a non-political blog so…no. Is it that this is an almost snowless winter, so far? No. I love that! Is it that learning ukulele is harder than I thought it would be? No. Because I suspected that just might be the case.

What has been bothering me is the conflict between my spiritual beliefs and my obsession with nostalgia and, in particular, my obsession with the Slatington of my youth. Even though I was raised in the United Church of Christ, and have much respect and many fond memories, I consider myself a Buddhist.  One of the key tenets of Buddhism is to be in the moment. This moment, right now, is all we have. The past is done and the future is not guaranteed. So, what is going on here?

I am mostly happy with my present moment. I am semi-retired. I have a wonderful family. I have good friendships. I have a job that I love and that gives me fulfillment, even at two days a week. My health is relatively good. My hobbies are keeping me engaged and mentally and physically active.  So, what is going on here?

I must be looking for something from my youth. But what is it?  Is it youth itself? Maybe. I am turning 67 this year and I know I am nearing the finish line, even though it may be 20 years away.  But would I want to be 17 again? I would if I could be 17 in 1969. I would not want to be 17 in today’s world. It is way too complicated and fast paced.

Maybe that is it. Am I  looking for peace and quiet and a much slower pace? Definitely, that is part of it. But, I do find peace and quiet in today’s world. I usually hike alone, and when I am in the middle of the woods or on top of a mountain, and there is not another soul around, I am at my most happy place.

It’s something more. I think it may be simple. It is that I had an amazing childhood! I grew up in a beautiful little town. I grew up in a wonderful era. Most people whose childhood spanned the ’50s and 60’s would surely agree.  I  had great friends and great teachers and great adventures. I loved, and still love, my family. I had Trout Creek, and the slate dumps and the slate quarries and Bedbug Cave!  Was it perfect? No, because I had parents who didn’t get along. I had an appendicitis in 4th grade and nearly died. I had my share of romantic heartbreaks.  But, still…what an awesome time to be young.

So I have solved my own dilemma. What am I going to do about it? I am going to enjoy my present moment as much as I can. I am going to continue to hike and kayak and read. I am going to be thankful for every day I have on this amazing planet! But every once in a while, in a quiet moment or when I am driving from uptown to downtown, I am going to savor my past and my youth and my little hometown.  No reason I can’t have both, right?

 

 

Sometimes I feel sorry for kids growing up today in housing developments. They are missing one of the unique and memorable characteristics of living in a small town…alleys. Yes, alleys. Slatington had lots of them. Oak, Middle, Chestnut, Centre, to name a few.

Alleys were the shortcuts to our friends’ homes. They were, for me at least,  the place to learn how to skateboard. They were the setting for many of our neighborhood games like Detective or Hide and Seek. They were the place to walk with a fellow teenage girl if you were trying to get a kiss. They were also good for sledding after a snowstorm because they were the last roads to be plowed.

If you remember a previous post, they are NOT the place to be setting off fireworks….especially if a certain German Shepherd lives close by.

I assume alleys were designed to be service passageways for homes and businesses. Store deliveries, coal deliveries, oil deliveries. Many homes had garages in the back of their house, opening onto an alley.  When I was real small child we had a produce truck visit our neighborhood every week, parking in an alley near our home. Jimmy Mariah. Anyone remember him?

There is an alley in Slatington affectionately called Pigshit Alley. I think it’s real name is Oak Alley. It got its name because pigs, before my time,  were driven through the alley to a slaughterhouse off of Franklin Street. I guess the pigs didn’t “hold it” until they arrived at their destination!

That’s all I have to say about alleys, but I am a little concerned about the image of my hometown that I am presenting, to my non-Slatington readers, with this and another recent post.  Pigshit Alley, the Shit Hooks!  I swear…Slatington is a beautiful little town!

 

 

 

 

A love story. No. I haven’t found the woman of my dreams. Besides, Scarlett Johansson is already taken. No. This is not a love story about anyone I know personally. This is a love story of mythical proportions. A love story for the ages!

Let me set the stage. If you read my blog, you know I love history. If you follow me on Facebook, you know I love Lehigh Gap Nature Center.  If you know me at all, you know I love Slatington.  What I learned in fourth grade, in Lincoln Elementary ties it all together.

Here goes. Before there was a Lehigh Gap, before there was a Slatington, and certainly before there was Facebook; the Lenni Lenape Indians (ok, politically correctly Native Americans, but I am using Indian from now on!) ruled the land we call the Lehigh Valley.  There was an Indian God that lived here, as well, and he fell in love with a beautiful Indian maiden.  Remember, no Lehigh Gap existed, but the long and high Blue Mountain did. Behind the Blue Mountain was a huge lake. One day, our Indian God was out walking on the mountain and he looked down onto the lake and saw the Indian maiden that he loved so much. But, she was not alone. She was in a birch bark canoe with an Indian warrior!  He loved her so much that he became angry and split the mountain in two, draining the lake.  No more lake, but now we have Lehigh Gap, the gap in the mountain. The lake is gone and, I assume, the maiden and the warrior were washed downstream. They probably ended up in Easton, near the Free Bridge!

Just look what love can do! OK, all love stories do not have a happy ending. That’s true in real life too.

I first heard this wonderful myth in fourth grade in a lesson called Our Lehigh County.  It may have been Our Lehigh Valley. It was a long, long time ago! I wish I had a copy of the text book we used in that class. If anyone happens to have a copy, I would love to see it.

That is the end of the love story myth. Time to get back to real life. Is Amy Adams married? And if not, do you think she would be interested in a balding 66 year old? Yeah, I guess not. Hope for me there would truly be a myth!

When I am talking to a client in my counseling office, I often check the clock. I am looking for the magic number of 53 minutes from the start of the session. That is how much time insurance companies will pay me for.  When I look at that clock I am also looking at something that is near and dear to me.  My clock is made from Slatington area  slate.

I got it as a Christmas gift several years ago. It is beautiful and solid. The slate comes from the Penn Big Bed Slate Company near Slatedale, a small village close to Slatington. It is the only, still operating, quarry in the Slatington area.

Sometimes, when I look at the clock, I think how much slate has been an integral part of my childhood.  My dad, when I was very small, used to take me on walks on old roads up into the area of the quarries themselves.  The area is filled with quarries and piles of waste slate, called slate dumps.  As I got older, into my early and later teen years, I spent a lot of time in that area exploring that area with friends. Whether it was hunting or hiking or swimming in quarries, it was where I grew up.

I saw my first burning cross erected on top of the highest slate dump that overlooked the town. I don’t know if it was teens having “fun” or the actual KKK. All I know is that it was a little scary.

My entire school career was spent in classrooms with slate blackboards. Slatington was once known as the Blackboard Capital of the World. The largest producer of slate blackboards was the National School Slate Company, just off of Seventh Street. Sadly, blackboards are disappearing from the face of the earth. But, not sadly, also disappearing is that horrible screeching of chalk on slate!

I am old enough to remember when most of the houses had slate roofs. I am also old enough to remember slate curbs and sidewalks in town. I know there are still a few slate roofs around but I doubt if there are any slate curbs or sidewalks.  The Slate Heritage Trail has some new benches made from slate. Again, solid and beautiful.

Until 10th grade I was a Slatington Slater. That is how my town was linked to slate. Even the school mascot was linked to the slate industry. In 10th grade we became Bulldogs and a few years after that we became Northern Lehigh Bulldogs, further blurring the links between slate and our town.

Slatington, of course, is named after slate. We were a Slating town. Before that, it was Kernsport. Slatedale used to be known as Labarville. I wonder as we get further detached from our slate history if we will get a new name in the future. I hope not.

Here is something I recently learned about slate from our area.  Slatedale had the Crescent Slate Company and was well known as the producer of Federal Government slate. Independence Hall in Philly is covered by a roof made of Slatedale slate.  The same  can be said of many of the government buildings in Washington. How cool is that?

That ends my ode to slate. One last thing. You haven’t really played quoits unless you played it on a slate board!