Old Fashioned Party

This appeared on Dec. 3, 2006

When participating in the annual Old Fashioned Christmas in West Chester, the more imaginative of us might want to picture in our minds that we‘re walking through the streets of the borough as they existed during the 19th century and the reign of Queen Victoria.

Over there, we see Thomas U. Walter admiring the completion of his new courthouse on North High Street. Down the block goes young Benjamin Everhart, playing in the snow-swept street and dreaming of the day he‘ll give land to the borough for a public park (named after him).

Maybe you could even get a glimpse of Old Gimlet Eye, Smedly Darlington Butler, the future Marine general, as he marches in military time to a brass band.

That is partly the purpose of the annual event: to connect residents of the West Chester area, old and new, with the history that that lends the borough part of its aura. And when you think about it, how many times do you get to see your neighbors dressed in Victorian splendor, or bump into the mayor all dolled up in a top hat and embroidered vest like a cross between a New York dandy and a steamboat gambler?

But if you were stuck concentrating on the ”old“ in Old Fashioned Christmas this past Friday, you would have missed a lot of the fun.

I‘m not certain what Queen Victoria or the West Chestrians of her age would have thought of the Lenape Grass playing in the front window of Halladay Florist, but I really don‘t care. For me, it was more than treat to see a bunch of grey-haired pickers standing in a faux snowscape, wearing jeans and Santa Claus caps, jamming on bluegrass tunes for a crowd of well-wishers on South Church Street.

Nick Halladay — of the West Chester Halladays, of course — called me on Friday to tip me off to the band‘s appearance. A consummate booster of the borough and constant reader of the Daily Local News, Nick normally doesn‘t call unless he‘s got another request for the return of Spiderman to the daily comics page. But his pronouncement about the band got me intrigued, and served as a great opening to the OFC celebration.

Truth to tell, I have not been to the Christmas celebration uptown for several years, and the rain that drenched the borough Friday kept me from getting my fill of the traditional parade and the tree lighting.

The late entry, however, had its advantages. By the time eight o‘clock rolled around and the center of town was emptying out, over at Banknorth at High and Market, the members of the West Chester University Gospel Choir had the stately old building‘s interior rocking and lit up like a 1,000 watt Christmas light display.

I had not expected a performance like the one the 20 or so member of the choir put on. You think of Christmas carols, you think of someone looking vaguely like Charles Dickens intoning O Little Town of Bethlehem with a muffler draped around his neck.

The WCU gospel singers, however, amped their carols up with all the clapping and jumping and shouting and swaying that one would expect from any respectful followers of Mahalia Jackson or Professor Thomas Dorsey.

I did not catch the name of the choir director, but would not be surprised if her middle name was Spirit, since that is what she brought to the party.

And I suspect that even Victoria would have been moved to say amen at the end of the party.