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Summer 2009

Hello all. Did you have a good summer? We did - so much so that I was compelled to once again set images to music below. You would think that, after three months, I would have more to talk about - and I hope to post more regularly very soon - but for now, summer past.

July

July. My grandmother passed away on the last day of July 1989 and my grandfather died on the first day of July four years later. I have always thought how strange, how ironic, it is that they both died in the summertime because it is summer with which I inevitably associate them.

Surely there were Christmases and Easters and just plain Sunday afternoons spent with Meem and Gramps across the first forty years of my life, but no memories linger like my summer vacations. These could last from just a few days to a couple of weeks at a time and a mere telephone call home could make them even longer than they were planned to be in the first place. It was often an impromptu decision, hearing at the end of one of their visits, “If you want to come back with us, you’d better go pack your clothes”!

Better yet, there were even built-in playmates because I have six cousins on that side of the family so it was usually me and a couple of them and, maybe, after a week or so one of them would have to go home only to be replaced by someone else (or two). If I stayed long enough, I would see them all.

For my entire life, my grandparents lived in the same house on Crawford Street in Uniontown, PA. The street went uphill and theirs was the second house on the left. It stood out because it was the only house on the street that had a double lot so the lower side was a big sloping yard to play in. Sometimes just rolling like a log down this hill was a game in itself and, while I certainly don’t roll down hills any more (at least not on purpose), even walking down a hill can evoke memories of this place. So anyway, it was a big side yard. In the back yard there was a huge willow tree (you can see it in the picture above), suited equally well for climbing or for swinging, located near the garden shed and what had once been a chicken coop.

Meem and Gramps also had a grape arbor that separated their yard from their next-door neighbors, the Slaters. I remember them for two things: Mrs. Slater, a big, friendly woman who seemed to hang wash seven days a week and Mr. Slater, short and hunched over, more of a curmudgeon and also, apparently, a rabbit hunter. I still wince thinking of the day when, for reasons long forgotten (or suppressed), I walked into their basement and came eye level with a row of dead rabbits hanging by their back legs from a line strung across the room.

But the most notable place in the yard was the garden – my grandfather’s garden. Scrupulously tended in the back left corner, the garden took up about a fifth of the entire property and annually produced truly heroic quantities of tomatoes, beans and cucumbers not to mention a host of other vegetables. A walk up “to see how the garden was doing” was always the traditional start to any visit, even years later when Margie and I visited with our kids for yet another little summer vacation. The abundance that this piece of good earth produced also led to an almost ceremonial end to every stay, when we left with boxes and baskets full of something of everything. The aforementioned trio of vegetables dominated the garden but scallions, radishes, lettuce and cabbage were also represented. The tomato plants were tied to posts of all shapes and thickness, including rectangular stakes and the vestiges of bamboo rakes, brooms, shovels et al whose business ends had given up the ghost long ago but whose handles lived on to stand tall and serve.

Once summer ended and school began, several weeks or a couple of months might pass before I got back to Uniontown. It was always a jolt to look out at that back corner of the yard and see a miniature vacant lot, and in the center of it the long cooled, scattered ashes of burned tomato stalks, bean bushes and cabbage leaves. The garden was gone for another season, but only to come back and live again next year. This type of concomitant reflection and anticipation has stayed with me my entire life, this sense of, “It’s OK. It’s gone but only for awhile”. It is reaffirmation that works in all kinds of situations. Summer vacation is done, but we’ll come back next year; Christmas is over, but it’ll be here again before you know it.

Truly Do

Some photos of our fave granddaughter taken between last July and last week. Yes, that is a fish at the end - one of four she caught that day!

Life and Death in the Northern Water Tribe Nation

Our story so far ~ "The Last Airbender" is set in a world balanced on four nations - Water, Earth, Fire and Air. In each society, there are masters who can manipulate their native elements - Waterbenders, Earthbenders, Firebenders and Airbenders -- while the one person who can master all four is the Avatar.

When the current Avatar, a 12-year-old boy still learning to master his powers, seemingly dies, the Fire nation launches a war for global domination. One hundred years later, two teens discover and free the Avatar and his flying bison from suspended animation, and he must fight to restore harmony among the four nations.

My buddy Rick and I are extras in this new movie being directed by M. Night Shyamalan, the man who gave us “The Sixth Sense,”, “Signs,” “The Village” and who, somewhat oddly in light of this litany of creepy movies, also wrote the screenplay for “Stuart Little.” The set is a huge palace, covered in ice, replete with courtyards, fountains, a bridge and oh so much more. I can’t tell you oh so much more than that, however, because we are all forced to sign a confidentiality agreement – daily – promising not to take any pictures, etc.

All of this movie magic is constructed in a huge hangar at the Philadelphia Navy Yard. Other shooting has already been completed in Greenland and at the Pagoda up in Reading. [Ask yourself - when was the last time you saw Greenland and Reading mentioned in the same sentence?]

Apparently, in these four nations you are one of three kinds of people: a villager doing what comes naturally, a warrior who protects the villagers while they do what comes naturally or if you are really cool (yeah, pun intended), you are a bender possessing the ability to manipulate whatever eponymous element you have at hand.

Rick is a Water Tribe villager. He was supposed to be a warrior but when he went for his costume fitting, they said, “Rick, you’re a villager,” and so he is. I am a Water Tribe warrior. I was supposed to be a villager but when I went for my costume fitting, they said, “Dan, you’re a warrior,” and so I am.

Being a warrior carries with it certain privileges, namely that I get a weapon! In wardrobe, they told me that I would get either a sword or a spear. I know what you’re thinking: Is it really wise to give someone who says things like, “Growing old is required; growing up is optional,” a weapon of any kind? Is it? Well, while I secretly wanted a sword, I got a spear, and a fine piece of weaponry it is with a sharp point, a sharp hook and, uh, a tassel. It’s a little over 6-feet long [As they say, “The longer the spear… “]. To tell the truth, I feel like one of the Winkie guards from “The Wizard of Oz” – you know, the one near the end of the movie after Dorothy throws water on the wicked witch who says, “Hail Dorothy! The Wicked Witch is dead,” and then gives her the broom to take back to the Wizard.

Water Tribe warriors wear a costume that can only be described as “Doctor Zhivago” meets with “The Wizard of Oz” in order to “Sink the Bismarck.” Brown suede boots give way to ice blue, cotton velour pantaloons. Dan is also wearing a blue tunic top beneath his matching knee-length, ice blue, cotton velour, ten pound (I think) coat, trimmed in fur at the bottom, around the neck and up the middle. A 4-inch wide silver belt with a buckle the size of a coaster holds the whole thing together (but the suspenders help too). The helmet – oh yeah, a helmet – is grey with fur flaps in the back and over both ears. It has a spike on top for that Kaiser-like effect. On Wednesday, it rained so our grand outfits were further complemented by a clear plastic emergency poncho and black galoshes over the boots.

The Water Tribe Nation is supposed to be pretty cold, hence the heavy clothes. As you see in the synopsis above, we are getting our ice cold asses kicked by the godless Fire Nation warriors. I mean, if they’re Nazi Germany, we’re Poland. It’s pretty bad. How bad? Well, in wardrobe, the lady told me that I will probably be killed. I don’t mind that but I don’t want to be tortured – I hate when that happens!

Despite being a future society, these guys are incredibly backward in many ways. No jewelry is allowed on set – no chains, no rings (not even wedding rings) and no watches. We all walk around saying, “What time do you think it is?” Women aren’t even allowed to wear nail polish. Something else that is particularly troubling is that no one in the Water Tribe wears glasses. Apparently, in the future, everyone’s insurance covers Lasik eye surgery. During takes, I have to stick my glasses beneath my coat and trust that the belt will keep them from falling to the floor. Of course, the “floor” is actually the courtyard of the palace, covered with snow. The “snow” looks to be something like white sawdust and they have crates of the stuff.

Much of the time – make that most of the time – is spent standing around waiting to do something, anything. Shyamalan is all over the place. By the way, don’t believe the IMDB website stat that he is 5’11”. Sorry Night (all of us in his inner circle call him “Night”), you’re 5’8” at best. On Tuesday, Night was dressed in a black T-shirt and a pair of jeans that looked worse than jeans that I threw away because they were too ratty to give to charity. But nothing succeeds like success so I reckon he can wear whatever he damn well pleases. He looked better on Wednesday – only one hole in the jeans (left knee), another black T-shirt but a spiffy red World Champion Phillies cap completed the look, so he’s OK!

Dressing down means that you don’t have to worry about spilling something on yourself at lunch. Not true, however, for us villagers and warriors and benders. Before lunch on Tuesday, they handed out lobster bibs to protect the merchandise. As we waited in line outside the holding tent, a plane taking off from PIA flew low overhead and I imagined the pilot coming on the intercom saying, “Ladies and gentlemen, if you look out the right side of the aircraft, you will see futuristic villagers, warriors and benders locked in a cataclysmic struggle to save the world from evil domination. And yes, those are lobster bibs they have around their necks.”

If you’re doing nothing on set, you stand around. If you’re doing nothing in the holding tent, you sit around. There are a few hundred of us extras including children as young as 6 years. They have a school tent set up outside the hangar. People young and old seem to find a variety of ways to amuse themselves. At our table, a spirited game of Apples to Apples was underway a couple of chairs down. Others read books or had an iPod plugged in. I found a copy of the Philadelphia Daily News and read it cover to cover. We all know that this feat can be accomplished in about 7 minutes so you won’t be surprised to learn that when I did it again about a half hour later, it took even less time and, indeed, even less than that the third (and final) time I put myself through such literary hell.

The highlights of my week came on Wednesday. Good God Almighty, I was actually in two scenes – one in the morning with just eight of us and another late afternoon with just four! The first one was just us Winkie wannabe warriors running across the courtyard with fireballs exploding over our heads. Yep, real fire – fake snow but real fire! The afternoon scene was an extravaganza in which the village is apparently under attack. Villagers – men, women, children - are running everywhere.

It looked a lot like the Acme the day before Thanksgiving.

Anyway, soldiers are running around trying to protect the citizenry. We four charge out, run down to the bridge, go up two steps, cross the bridge, go down four steps and then two more and finally stop, take a defensive position and point our spears toward the unseen enemy. Cut!

I know… you’re breathless. The trick here is that you have to know your route and where the mark is on which to stop. You also have to realize that these wacky villagers, especially the kids, don’t necessarily stay to one side of the bridge as they’re running toward you and knocking them down is considered bad form.

I’m proud to say that everyone got through it OK – each of the ten or twelve times we shot it. I also don’t mind saying that I’m proud of myself, personally, because, remember, I’m… not… wearing my… glasses! Up and down steps, zigzagging around people for about an hour. Jeez, I hope the scene is in the movie just so I can finally see what I was doing!

Every time we came back to our start positions to do it again, we were standing right next to Shyamalan and the crew and he would be watching the take, nodding his head, talking about it with someone. I kept waiting for him to say something like, “What’s with the guy in the middle – is he blind or something,” but he didn’t. The second assistant associate co-director who was in charge of our little group said we did very well. I hope so. I hope he doesn’t just say that to all the Winkies.

The newspaper headline says it all:


At a Petticoat Junction press conference last December, Shady Rest Hotel owner Kate Bradley announced that she had lost millions in the Bernie Madoff investment scandal but expressed optimism at the time that swift legal action might head off complete bankruptcy. Just days later, she traveled to Hooterville to meet with agricultural activist, Grange leader and former attorney Oliver Wendell Douglas.

Mr. Douglas, in turn, contacted former associates at his Park Avenue law firm in New York but by then the case was in the hands of federal attorneys. “One thing I’ve learned from working with Mr. Kimball (Hooterville county agent),” said Douglas, “is that once the government gets involved, you’re pretty well screwed.”

Now that there are no other options available, Bradley is stoic. “I still have my health and, of course, the girls,” she said. “That’s more than some others can say.” She obviously had in mind friend and former owner of Drucker’s General Store Sam Drucker. Another Madoff investor, Drucker threw himself in front of the Cannonball Express late one night before Christmas. “I didn’t see him ‘til the last second,” sobbed engineer Charley Pratt. “I slammed on the brakes but by then it was too late.”

The tragedy was compounded when conductor Floyd Smoot, knocked off balance when the brakes were applied, fell from the caboose and struck his head on one of the posts of the water tower, killing him instantly. The impact was so forceful that several petticoats fell from the tank onto the body, hiding it from investigators for several days. Early this year, Homer Bedloe, vice-president of the C&FW Railroad and owner of the Express, announced that the branch line was finally being shut down.

Ironically, Mr. Douglas finds himself the target of investigators now that the FBI has learned that his wife Lisa is Ruth Madoff’s first cousin and apparently maintained constant contact with the disgraced financier’s wife throughout the years of criminal activity.

“She was up and down that ‘phone pole outside their place more times than I can count,” testified Eustace Haney, a former Hooterville resident but now residing in Crabwell Corners. “She always said that New York is where she’d rather stay, but I don’t think it was because she was allergic to smelling hay,” he quipped.

To be sure, FBI agents searching the Douglas home found drawers full of expensive jewelry and closets stuffed with designer dresses and formal wear. “They don’t sell stuff that good even at the Stankwell Falls Mall,” Mr. Haney observed.

Rural investors are not the only ones suffering. In Milwaukee, the family of former hardware store owner Howard Cunningham gave an interview to the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel and talked about the patriarch’s struggle with Alzheimer’s. They are bringing him back to their home on North Clinton Drive because they can no longer afford the fees at Shotz Manor, the assisted-living community where Mr. Cunningham has lived for the past 14 years.

“He doesn’t understand why he has to leave his friends,” said wife Marion, choking back tears. “He just keeps saying, ‘If it’s a Fonzie scheme, then tell Fonzie to fix it.’”

“It’s sad,” sighed their son, Lieutenant General Richard “Richie” Cunningham, “just really sad.”

Berwyn Hardware, 1955-2009

If there was an obituary, it would probably be something simple, like this:

Berwyn Hardware, 54, passed away on Saturday, February 28th after succumbing to a long illness. It died peacefully, surrounded by many of its friends and customers. In its heyday, Berwyn Hardware was the anchor of several kindred businesses in the village of Berwyn that included Fritz Lumber, Berwyn Glass and Industrial Valley Plumbing & Heating, the latter predeceasing it several years ago. In lieu of flowers, patrons are asked to settle their accounts.

Berwyn Hardware was a real… hardware… store. As other stores increasingly added items like housewares, towels and toys to their inventory, Berwyn Hardware was true to itself, the go to place for nuts and bolts, 8-penny nails, paint remover, electrical outlets, leaf rakes, sandpaper, batteries, L-brackets, caulk, bird seed, drill bits, spackle, door knobs, keys made and most other things that anyone might need on a Saturday afternoon.

It wasn’t a fancy store; in fact, customers might have wondered if the carpet had ever been really vacuumed but, to me, this only added to its charm. If you need a new trap to go under your bathroom sink, who cares if the rug is swept?

Berwyn Hardware was born in 1954, the proud creation of Ed and Sue Dalton who ran it as a family hardware store catering to the needs of residents, contractors and businesses in Chester, Delaware and Montgomery counties. At one time or another, every member of their family worked there joined by a tight group of employees including the "A" Team: Doug, Vince and Joe. Doug’s last name is Burnett and I guess that the other guys had last names too but to this day I don’t know what they were and, besides, last names aren’t important when you need advice on the relative merits of shellac versus varnish.

Such was the beauty of Berwyn Hardware. Not only did it sell the products but it had people who knew – really knew – how to use them and were willing to explain it as many times as it took me to understand it.

We started going there in 1974 when we bought our first home. Our family had an account at the store so it never seemed that what we were buying was actually costing us anything until... well, until the monthly bill came. Sometimes it was a couple hundred dollars and other times it was six dollars. If I needed something in the middle of a job, I could jump in the car and be there in three minutes without a dime in my pocket (since I wasn’t in the habit of carrying my wallet with me when I was installing a ceiling fan). I got what I needed, they wrote it up and home I came. Sometimes I would need a half-dozen 8x2½ inch wood screws or something which came to, oh, maybe 48 cents plus tax. “Get you later,” they would say. Sometimes they did, sometimes not.

The pace was easygoing to say the least. Heck, if I needed to call home to check something, they let me use the 'phone on the wall.

It is not hyperbole to say that a store like this becomes a part of your life. It has been gone for a week and I'm already nostalgic. When I think of it, I think of all of the ways it was there when needed, sometimes when something was wrong and I was really stuck and other times when I just needed something for one of our projects.

In the end, Berwyn Hardware fell victim to the bad economy and the rise of big wholesale stores like Home Depot. “They got us,” I heard Joe tell another customer one day last week (the last time I was in the store) and indeed they had. It was like one of the traveling salesmen asked in The Music Man, "Who's gonna patronize a little bitty two by four kinda store in a little bitty town anymore?"

Well, I will.

If you are lucky enough to have a small family business near you – a hardware store, a drug store, anything - patronize it if you can and pay attention while you’re in there. It may cost you a couple of bucks more but soon it will be gone and its kind will not be seen again. When that happens, you won’t think about the money you spent at the counter; you’ll remember the little pieces of yourself that you left behind in every aisle.

Berwyn Hardware… Dark. Empty. Silent. Gone.

RIP