'SMOKE IN THE HOUSE'

In three of the years after my wife and I split I lived in one unit of a 4 unit row house downtown that a friend of mine owned.  I was working on the side for him anyway gutting the other 3 units so I didn’t have to go very far for that.  The building was built in 1829 so it had seen many residents and much change in the town.

Often I would hear strange noises coming from the other units, but since some of them didn’t have windows that were too tight, I always figured wind and other stray breezes were the sources of the noises.

One night, though, I had an experience that made me question what had gone on in the house in the years before I lived there.

I awoke at some point on the night in question to see the room filled with ‘smoke’.   Rubbing my eyes to be sure I had not awoken with gunk on my eyes, I could still see the ‘smoke’.  But then my clearer science trained mind took over and I thought that if the room were as smoky as it appeared, I should be able to smell it, which I could not.  At that instant the smoke disappeared.

I was told at some point after that that what I saw was called The Devil’s Smoke. 

There is  a sequel of sorts to this experience.  Some years later I was living up the street and my friend was in the process of working on the unit I had lived in and had the windows out of the room that had been my bedroom.  My friend Virginia and I were walking past it one night when she looked up and said there was a funny light coming from the room.  I remarked that it was probably a reflection form the bright street lights in that area of the street.  Her answer was that it was something else.

For a number of years before I had come to town, there was a family living in that house who had three sons, all of whom were involved in various crimes including one being implicated in a  double murder in the early 70s. 

Was there evil in that house waiting to spring out at whoever chose to live there? I think I came close to finding out on a personal basis.

THE BERWICK THEATER

I’m sure my readers who lived in South Easton Pennsylvania in the 50s and early 60s fondly remember the Berwick Theater.  Situated on the south side of the 500 block of Berwick Street, it was a typical neighborhood theater of the times.  By that I mean it didn’t get any first run movies and usually showed a fare of second run films, B horror films (some of which were really tacky and some were quite good, like the Hammer Films from England), occasionally a 1930s movie serial, and always cartoons. I doubt if anyone from any neighborhood in the city other than South Easton ever attended a show there. South Siders in those years were as thick as thieves. By that I mean if you didn’t actually know a person, more often than not you would at least recognize them or their names, and rarely did I see anyone there who I truly did not know
It was sandwiched in between a small corner store (though it really wasn’t on the corner) and an appliance store. The exterior of the front of the building, from the marquee to the poster cabinets and the walls themselves looked as if passing the theater in a painter’s truck was as close as a bucket of paint had been to the place in many years. This seediness wasn’t just outside either. The lobby, small and dark, had a threadbare carpet that I am sure was seeing the grandchildren of some of its first patrons. It also contained a forlorn popcorn machine and a few mechanical candy machines. A water fountain with perpetually tepid water was on one wall, and two bathrooms with barely functioning facilities were on opposite sides of the lobby, which ran across the theater from side to side after you entered the double doors.
Except for one row of good seats, the auditorium of the theater was just as seedy as the rest of it.  That row of good seats was fought over every week by whatever children happened to be at the head of the line.  Early entry when the doors opened guaranteed that you would not have a seat that was little more than a cushion on the floor, or which contained broken springs that would poke you in the ass if you moved around. The screen was in such bad shape that it actually fell over one Saturday afternoon during a show and they had to give us our money back.
An older couple, Russell and Anna Shafer (unsure of spelling), ran the Berwick Theater. He was a retired carpenter and they ran the theater on weekends. What made them think that having a theater full of sometimes squabbling children would be a good way to spend their retirement, I’ll never know. Russell Shafer sold the tickets and recycled them.  By that I mean the same tickets had been reused so many times that the only way you could tell if it was an adult or child’s ticket was by the color. Mrs. Shafer took the tickets and was also the usher of sorts, walking up and down the aisles like a storm trooper. That is actually a happy memory for me, because as an adult I have come to appreciate what the Shafers provided for those of us on South Side, and what they had to put up with from all of us. She didn’t tolerate moving around or noise of any kind. If we misbehaved, the close nature of South Siders at that time worked against us because usually she knew our parents and they would get a phone call before we got home.  I think they had a projectionist too, but I really don't remember that.
A typical show at the Berwick usually consisted of coming attractions (sometimes given the misnomer of trailers), usually at least one cartoon, sometimes a newsreel, and either 2 B grade movies or a second run A list movie. It was a very pleasant way to spend a Saturday or Sunday afternoon when I was growing up. The lowest price I remember paying as a child was 20 cents and I think the most was 75 cents, though I don’t recall exactly.
As I had said the theater was open on weekends mostly, Friday nights, and then Saturday and Sunday afternoons. But that was just for the movies. The Shafers had it open on Wednesdays during the winter for the KYM (Know Your Master) Club, a sort of winter version of the Vacation Bible Schools that a lot of churches used to run in the summers. I know very little about it other than seeing the signs for it in one of the poster cabinets on the front of the theater and the large letters KYM on the marquee. My cousins Craig and Gail, who lived almost directly across from the theater used to attend sometimes. To my knowledge the Shafers took care of all the expenses of the KYM club themselves, in addition to using the theater for the meetings.
At some point after the Shafers had closed the theater, Mrs. Shafer was walking their German Shepherd on a real rainy day and was unfortunately hit and killed by a driver who did not see her. To this day it saddens me that she died in such a tragic way. I miss her and can still see her face in my mind. The theater fell into disrepair after both the Shafers had passed away, with the roof caving in the final straw. The city tore the remainder down and there is a house on the property now. The Berwick Theater was home to generations of South Siders on the weekends. I can still close my eyes and remember a lot of it like it was almost 55 years ago, when I first attended a show there.

MEMORIES OF LAFAYETTE COLLEGE

It is difficult to distill my feelings on this year being 40 years since I graduated from Lafayette College.  It is not that the experiences I had while a student did not consciously and conspicuously stay with me these last 40 years.  I am ever grateful I have a good degree and had the chance to obtain it from a first rate institution of higher education.  It is just that the necessities of life in the real world have left me with little time to reflect on the experience.

On one level it has been difficult to feel as connected to Lafayette as much as some of us have, and I take full responsibility for that.  Living at home in South Eaton for the entire 9 semesters it took me to get my degree and participating in almost nothing on campus outside my classes I had little connection to the campus when I wasn’t in class.  Greek life didn’t appeal to me either, so I did not have that to add to any feeling of brotherhood while a student.

Further distancing me from involvement were my generally conservative political and social beliefs, which seemed to run counter to what most students in our day wee believing.  I am not saying that most social and political goals were not laudable, I just didn’t’ care for the confrontational style evidenced by most students in their efforts to attaining them. I tended then to have a loner personality and that I am sure contributed to me not joining many activities I could have in those days. 

With all of that I can honestly say I miss our days in college.  I miss the professors we had, many of whom I am sure are no longer with us.  I especially miss Ed Brown, whose course of Russian Literature in English, though and elective, I consider the highlight of my college years, because if you did the voluminous reading for each class,  the student could sit back and really enjoy the process of being taught by a master teacher. 

It may have taken me 9 semesters and a few night school courses to get back on the road to my Lafayette degree, but it was a road I am proud and privileged to have traveled.

THE CAVE

When you are a child growing up there are some activities you just have to do, not because you are supposed to do them, not because you are asked or told to do them, but just because you want to do them.

I have previously written about the Belmont Jungles, the name we boys had for the wooded area behind our houses on Belmont St. in South Easton Pennsylvania.  In the back of the Jungles, near where the truck farm fields started, there was  a slight bank where the terrain of the woods dropped off toward Glendale St., or more properly the right of way of Glendale St. , And a few of us decided this would be a good spot to dig a cave.  What we intended to do with the cave once we had it dug is lost in the mists of time.  Why we were going to do it probably wouldn’t make much sense either.  Let’s just say it was there, we had our folding camp shovels, and we just wanted to dig the cave.

The Belmont Jungle Excavating Company consisted of Roy, Mike, Bill, sometimes Jim, and I.  We took turns digging the dirt and throwing it out of the hole as it got bigger. We must have picked  a good place, because even though we were into the side of a bank in the woods, we didn’t run into any tree roots and no big rocks.

We eventually got the cave big enough that two of us at a time could be in it digging.  Digging went quick because the ground proved to be somewhat damp.  I don’t remember why we stopped, but I know why I wasn’t allowed to dig any more.  Mom and Dad had bought me a new winter coat, and I had been wearing it while I dug, ruining a coat they could ill afford to replace at that time.

THE LAND SPEED RECORD AND I

I have been a fan of land speed record racing ever since learning as a young child that my Aunt Mary Glinsky had babysat Art Arfons, a great competitor in the land speed record wars in the 1960s, when he was a child. I have maintained that interest over the years. There were lean years of course. Land speed record racing seems to go in spurts. But the news in the early 90s, that Richard Noble intended to build a car capable of breaking the sound barrier on land got me going again. When his car was on the Black Rock Desert in 1997 I used to come home from work and go right to my computer, which was in a room on the unused side of my house, and go online to see if Andy Green had done the deed. Before supper and anything else I wanted to know if the crack of a sonic boom had been heard on the Playa outside of Gerlach Nevada.
Land speed racing is mostly a solitary sport, but once, in 1960 on the Bonneville Salt Flats, there was a group of five land speed racers together at the same time, the legendary Great Confrontation. They were:

1. Nathan Ostich, a California surgeon whose Flying Caduceus, was the first jet powered land speed racer
2. Mickey Thompson, whose Challenger I, powered by 4 blown Pontiac V-8s would come so close to the wheel-driven record
3. Athol Graham, whose City of Salt Lake was powered by a huge Allison V-12 aircraft engine but was hampered by 2 wheel drive.
4. Art Arfons, whose Anteater, so named for its long snout, was also Allison powered but had 4 wheel drive. He would go on to set numerous records with a car powered by a huge GE J-79 jet engine.
5. Donald Campbell son of the great Malcolm Campbell, with his gas-turbine powered Bluebird, which, when rebuilt after a disastrous crash, would actually hold the world wheel-driven record set in Australia.
6. While he wasn't yet setting land speed records, I am sure Craig Breedlove was there too. His day would come very soon.

Never since has such a Great Confrontation of land speed racers occurred.

But even they could not have imagined what Andy Green hopes to do, probably in 2012.   On the Hakskeen Pan, ad dry lake bed in South Africa, he will strap himself into Richard Noble's Bloodhound SSC, accelerate to 350 MPH with a conventional jet engine and then fire a rocket engine that should have him up to 1043 MPH.  That's right. Over 1000 MPH on land. 

If that isn't enough, Waldo Stakes is designing a car around an Atlas missile motor that he expects to do Mach 2, almost 1500 MPH.  Theoretically it should do Mach 3 on land.

McADOO ASSOCIATES

We were living in McAdoo around the time McAdoo Associates became active in he mid 70s. I was working at the Purolator Oil Filter plant outside Ringtown.  I had been hired to be trained as second shift quality supervisor but as it turned out only had to spend occasional time on a second shift, when we were building aircraft oil filters, which as you might suspect, were made to much tighter standards than the equivalent auto filter.

My boss, the quality manager, had decided to resign and move back to Iowa, where he had come from when that plant had been shuttered.  I essentially did his job and mine for over a year, and never had gotten any complaints.  But in that time we had acquired a new division quality director, and when he was ready to fill the quality manager position, I was told I would not be considered.  I saw that as the same as telling me that I could not advance where I was at. 

Prior to the above phone call by several months, I had acquired a portable water testing kit, and had been doing some ad hoc testing for McAdoo Associates.  Since I had been given the message that I would help train the quality manager replacement and that he would be over me, I convinced the owner of McAdoo Associates he needed me full time.  As you will see in subsequent entries, most of the time want I did was only related to testing by the slimmest of threads, but it paid a little better than Purolator and it was only about 3 miles from home so that helped.

What they were attempting to do there was to come up with a way to dispose of the myriad kinds of industrial waste discharge by many different companies both local and out of the area.  We tried to burn a lot of the stuff we got in, because there were a lot of organics in them that burned easily, but unfortunately we were told to dump a lot out on the ground or take it to another property the owner owned in town and put it into a tank that formerly held fuel oil and had been partially dug up and had holes punch in the bottom.  I remember the owner being ticked that the slop we put into the tank wasn’t running out fast enough. 

There is  a lot more I could add, but I would have to write  a book to fully explain what went on there and its part in helping me formulate my attitude about industrial waste disposal.  Anyone who cares to hear more can write me at drjekyll@hazleton.net or call me.  I am in the book in Weatherly, Pa. 

HOW THEY LEFT US KNOW

We had only been aware for 2 months of Mom’s breast cancer, which had metastasized throughout her body by the time she let on that she thought she had a problem.  On the weekend when she left us, she had asked Dad to call the ambulance, as she couldn’t’ get out of bed to get to the bathroom. 

By Monday she was fading fast.  I had decided to go to work, reasoning I can wait for a phone call anywhere.  My wife called early in the afternoon and told me Dad had called and told us that Mom had died.  I called him from work, and he told me he had been to the hospital just before noon and found her disconnected from much of the equipment.  The staff told him nothing, having been told be their doctor that he was a heart patient and to tell him nothing. 

He went back home and was sitting in his recliner, not really thinking of anything in particular, and he heard her voice call his name.  Five minutes later the hospital called to tell him she was gone.  I told him that when she was passing through the doorway that separates this world from the next she turned around to say goodbye to him.

I didn’t know, but 2 years later when Dad died he would let me know that he made it to the other side as well.  Dad had been going downhill from congestive heart failure from October to July, when he died.  My wife was pregnant the entire time with our youngest son.  Dad got to see Scott when he was 2 weeks old.  Two weeks later we had him baptized, and the day after Dad was put on the critical list and the day after that he died. I firmly believe Dad lived to see his third grandchild baptized to God’s care and love.  I also believe that when he baptism was complete, he felt a gentle tap on the shoulder  and was told that he didn’t’ have to hold on any longer, that his race on earth could now be completed.

But I digress form my story.  The day he died I had to go in early to work to get our pilot machine started.  As I sat in the kitchen getting my lunch organized, I saw the shadows in the kitchen move very distinctly.  No vehicle had passed outside.  I got to work at 6 and  a half hour later my brother called and told me Dad had died. 

When we got to the funeral home later that day, I asked the F.D. what time was on Dad’s death certificate.  He told me 6AM.  I told him I thought it was a little before that.