This appeared on Sunday, Feb. 25, 2007
I cannot remember how cold it was, or if there was snow on the ground.
But I do remember the intense scene of a group of men and women standing in a half circle around a gravestone at the Chestnut Grove Annex Cemetery.
The date was Feb. 22, 1988 – 19 years ago last Thursday – and the occasion was a remembrance ceremony for Horace Pippin, the respected and acclaimed artist who was born in West Chester 100 years ago to that date, and who made his home here after the seeing the end of World War I, returning back to the nation that enslaved his grandparents and treated those of his race with distain.
I was not attending as participant in the ceremony, anymore than I would have for any event that I covered for the Daily Local News in my quarter century here. I was there as an observer, with pen and reporter’s notebook in hand. But the moment has stayed with me for all this time.
The event had been organized by the Chester County Historical Society and some of Pippin’s peers as a way to atone for the neglect that had been shown him during this life, and at the time of his death from a heart attack in 1946. A man named John Halstead, president of the historical society at the time, noted how a contemporary of Pippin’s had noticed the lack of representation by the West Chester community at his funeral. Halstead spoke of a redressing of that grievance.
Here’s part of what I wrote:
“To the Rev. Earl D. Trent Jr. of West Chester, the event served as “a tax, a debt of respect and honor to Horace Pippin.
“ ‘The fact that it came on the centennial of his birth is merely coincidence,’ said Trent, pastor of St. Paul’s Baptist Church, where Pippin worshipped and taught choir. ‘The age does not matter. It is due him.’ ”
Pippin was a self-taught artist whose work showed the lives of black men and women in their daily lives in the flat, linear style that became known as primitive. He also painted scenes from the Bible and American history that cast a forceful light on the racial injustice that his country allowed at the time. His paintings toured the country as part of a Museum of Modern Art traveling show. He sold dozens of paintings to collectors and museums across the country.
And he was a good man, working within the black community of West Chester to better young lives.
But the larger community in his home town apparently did not pay him the respect he earned elsewhere. Two days after he died at his home on West Gay Street, the Daily Local News seemed more interested in noting that Charles Lukens Huston, “Steel Pioneer,” had his 90th birthday.
I went looking for his gravesite on Thursday but the frozen snow kept me from finding it, even though in my mind’s eye I could see it clearly. And I remembered, too, what one of Pippin’s contemporaries, Warren H. Burton, told me.
“In his quiet and gentle manner, he was an integral part of this community,” concluded Burton.
Chestnut Grove Annex Cemetery is just north of West Chester on Route 100. Maybe when the snow clears, we might stop by and put down another payment on our debt to him.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
A Valentine to West Chester
This appeared Sunday, Feb. 18, 2006
Whatever else its benefits are, the new parking garage in the 200 block of West Market Street has provided a remarkable scenic overlook of downtown West Chester.
Standing on the site of the late, great Short Line Bus Co. terminal, the garage spirals up five levels or so, putting the climber several dozen feet above the rooftops.
If you look east up Market Street, you can see the clock tower of the Chester County Courthouse, the west facade of the elegant Farmers & Mechanics Building, the top of the Green Tree Apartments, and the awning of the former Mr. Sandwich Building at the corner of North Church Street — currently occupied by a certain state senator Andy D. who has a penchant for, well, let‘s just say the spoken word.
From this vantage point, you can‘t see the way the town has changed over the years, and you can imagine it as it was in the early 1900s —quiet and beautiful.
And if you look hard enough, you can see the people that make the borough as colorful and vibrant as a Dennis Haggerty watercolor. In fact, you can even see Haggerty himself, chugging his little red truck (”Honk if you are Elvis“ bumper sticker included) up Hannum Avenue.
Look north and there‘s Mickey Cugino handing out Pennsylvania Lottery tickets for the financial dreamers who stop in his smoke shop all day. Across the street you‘ll spot Amy Beaver, making sure the Deadheads along Gay Street have a place to hook up with a supply of sandlewood.
Pulling into the back of her sports pub is Ruth Gallagher, of the Delaware County Gallaghers, making sure the place is ready for business when Skip and Carlos wander in towards the late afternoon.
You might catch a glimpse of Dawson R. ”Rich“ Muth skipping down the steps of his law office and heading out for lunch, or to check to see whether there‘ve been anymore shenanigans outside Sheriff Bunny‘s office.
Lunch is what‘s being served right now at Tony‘s Market, run by Kenny, and if you hurry downstairs after your panoramic tour you might be able to get the last roast pork sandwich. But if you miss out, you‘ll just have to take out your sorrows by buying the new Lucinda Williams CD at The Mad Platter, where John and Debbie probably have it on hold for you anyway.
Look very hard, squinting into the sun, and you might be able to catch Police Chief Scott Bohn teaching the family dog a new trick — staying awake during Borough Council meetings. Or turn your sights west and watch as Fred Gusz attempts to ride his $400,000 bicycle down Wayne Avenue on his way over to Ray Ott‘s for a spin Down The Shore. Or maybe he‘s just on his way over to Blue Rock Road for breakfast with his grandson Graham.
Gaze a little longer and you‘ll no doubt see one of a hundred or more people that you know and who, if they disappeared from the streetscape of West Chester would still be there in the mists of history, forever leaving the borough vibrant and colorful.
And yet not one of those wonderful people saw fit to send me a Valentine‘s Day card this year.
Like Andy, I‘m just sayin.‘
Whatever else its benefits are, the new parking garage in the 200 block of West Market Street has provided a remarkable scenic overlook of downtown West Chester.
Standing on the site of the late, great Short Line Bus Co. terminal, the garage spirals up five levels or so, putting the climber several dozen feet above the rooftops.
If you look east up Market Street, you can see the clock tower of the Chester County Courthouse, the west facade of the elegant Farmers & Mechanics Building, the top of the Green Tree Apartments, and the awning of the former Mr. Sandwich Building at the corner of North Church Street — currently occupied by a certain state senator Andy D. who has a penchant for, well, let‘s just say the spoken word.
From this vantage point, you can‘t see the way the town has changed over the years, and you can imagine it as it was in the early 1900s —quiet and beautiful.
And if you look hard enough, you can see the people that make the borough as colorful and vibrant as a Dennis Haggerty watercolor. In fact, you can even see Haggerty himself, chugging his little red truck (”Honk if you are Elvis“ bumper sticker included) up Hannum Avenue.
Look north and there‘s Mickey Cugino handing out Pennsylvania Lottery tickets for the financial dreamers who stop in his smoke shop all day. Across the street you‘ll spot Amy Beaver, making sure the Deadheads along Gay Street have a place to hook up with a supply of sandlewood.
Pulling into the back of her sports pub is Ruth Gallagher, of the Delaware County Gallaghers, making sure the place is ready for business when Skip and Carlos wander in towards the late afternoon.
You might catch a glimpse of Dawson R. ”Rich“ Muth skipping down the steps of his law office and heading out for lunch, or to check to see whether there‘ve been anymore shenanigans outside Sheriff Bunny‘s office.
Lunch is what‘s being served right now at Tony‘s Market, run by Kenny, and if you hurry downstairs after your panoramic tour you might be able to get the last roast pork sandwich. But if you miss out, you‘ll just have to take out your sorrows by buying the new Lucinda Williams CD at The Mad Platter, where John and Debbie probably have it on hold for you anyway.
Look very hard, squinting into the sun, and you might be able to catch Police Chief Scott Bohn teaching the family dog a new trick — staying awake during Borough Council meetings. Or turn your sights west and watch as Fred Gusz attempts to ride his $400,000 bicycle down Wayne Avenue on his way over to Ray Ott‘s for a spin Down The Shore. Or maybe he‘s just on his way over to Blue Rock Road for breakfast with his grandson Graham.
Gaze a little longer and you‘ll no doubt see one of a hundred or more people that you know and who, if they disappeared from the streetscape of West Chester would still be there in the mists of history, forever leaving the borough vibrant and colorful.
And yet not one of those wonderful people saw fit to send me a Valentine‘s Day card this year.
Like Andy, I‘m just sayin.‘
Monday, February 12, 2007
Vince the Prince
This appeared on Sunday, Feb. 11, 2007
A friend and I were talking at lunch a few days ago about the mystery of how random thoughts or occurrences sometimes join together in mysterious ways.
The conversation started when I mentioned that the two of us should seriously consider dying our gray hair back to their natural colors — brown for me, red for him. It would be a way, I said, of recapturing our youth, proclaiming our vitality, and warding off the frightful experience of looking in a mirror and seeing your grandfather.
And, as male mid-life crises go dying your hair is a lot cheaper than buying that Maserati.
Zounds! Without hesitation, he excitedly told me how he had discussed, just one day previous, that same idea with his hair-cutter. How mystical and marvelous, we thought, that the two of us could have the same notion — however mundane — at virtually the same time.
You‘ve had the same thing happen yourself, I‘m certain: You wake up humming ”Yesterday“ and the first thing you hear when you turn on the car radio is Paul McCartney‘s voice. You think of an old friend you haven‘t seen in years on a Thursday and on Friday, there he is on TV proclaiming to be the father of Anna Nichole Smith‘s baby. Mirabile dictu!
Is this phenomenon a result of cosmic energy that connects us all on a whim? Or is it a form of Jung‘s conception of a collective unconscious, a ”meaningful coincidence,“ or synchronicity? Whether fate or kismet I can‘t say, but I believe it makes the world a more exciting, wondrous, thrilling place to live.
Which brings us, of course, to Vince Fumo.
State Sen. Fumo, D-1st, of Philadelphia, Pa.; Harrisburg, Pa. Margate, N.J.; Ventnor, N.J., Florida; and soon maybe the Minimum Security Prison at Alderson, W. Va., was recently indicted by a federal grand jury for a variety of alleged crimes, including using taxpayers‘ money to spy on ex-wives, girlfriends and future state governors; ordering members of his staff to drive his daughter to school; and using charitable funds to keep a sand dune from being built in front of his ocean-front home.
Nice work if you can get it.
What leapt out at me as I read the indictment weren‘t the sordid details of those alleged crimes. It was the vacuum cleaners.
Sen. ”Put It On The Other Guy‘s Tab“ reportedly spent $6,556 in public money to buy 17 Oreck home vacuum cleaners — allegedly one for every floor of every home that he owns.
Presumably, this was done out of an overwhelming sense of cleanliness, plus a concern for the back strain on whichever legislative researcher may have had housecleaning duty that week.
Zounds! The hair on the back of my neck stood up straight up. There was that eerie, binding energy again.
You see, I too have an Oreck vacuum cleaner for every floor of my house, just like Vince. You may argue that I only occupy one floor of the apartment building I live in, but facts is facts, as they say.
So Vince, call me. We‘ll talk, we‘ll connect, we‘ll marvel at the mystery of the world. And we‘ll sing: ”Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away …“
A friend and I were talking at lunch a few days ago about the mystery of how random thoughts or occurrences sometimes join together in mysterious ways.
The conversation started when I mentioned that the two of us should seriously consider dying our gray hair back to their natural colors — brown for me, red for him. It would be a way, I said, of recapturing our youth, proclaiming our vitality, and warding off the frightful experience of looking in a mirror and seeing your grandfather.
And, as male mid-life crises go dying your hair is a lot cheaper than buying that Maserati.
Zounds! Without hesitation, he excitedly told me how he had discussed, just one day previous, that same idea with his hair-cutter. How mystical and marvelous, we thought, that the two of us could have the same notion — however mundane — at virtually the same time.
You‘ve had the same thing happen yourself, I‘m certain: You wake up humming ”Yesterday“ and the first thing you hear when you turn on the car radio is Paul McCartney‘s voice. You think of an old friend you haven‘t seen in years on a Thursday and on Friday, there he is on TV proclaiming to be the father of Anna Nichole Smith‘s baby. Mirabile dictu!
Is this phenomenon a result of cosmic energy that connects us all on a whim? Or is it a form of Jung‘s conception of a collective unconscious, a ”meaningful coincidence,“ or synchronicity? Whether fate or kismet I can‘t say, but I believe it makes the world a more exciting, wondrous, thrilling place to live.
Which brings us, of course, to Vince Fumo.
State Sen. Fumo, D-1st, of Philadelphia, Pa.; Harrisburg, Pa. Margate, N.J.; Ventnor, N.J., Florida; and soon maybe the Minimum Security Prison at Alderson, W. Va., was recently indicted by a federal grand jury for a variety of alleged crimes, including using taxpayers‘ money to spy on ex-wives, girlfriends and future state governors; ordering members of his staff to drive his daughter to school; and using charitable funds to keep a sand dune from being built in front of his ocean-front home.
Nice work if you can get it.
What leapt out at me as I read the indictment weren‘t the sordid details of those alleged crimes. It was the vacuum cleaners.
Sen. ”Put It On The Other Guy‘s Tab“ reportedly spent $6,556 in public money to buy 17 Oreck home vacuum cleaners — allegedly one for every floor of every home that he owns.
Presumably, this was done out of an overwhelming sense of cleanliness, plus a concern for the back strain on whichever legislative researcher may have had housecleaning duty that week.
Zounds! The hair on the back of my neck stood up straight up. There was that eerie, binding energy again.
You see, I too have an Oreck vacuum cleaner for every floor of my house, just like Vince. You may argue that I only occupy one floor of the apartment building I live in, but facts is facts, as they say.
So Vince, call me. We‘ll talk, we‘ll connect, we‘ll marvel at the mystery of the world. And we‘ll sing: ”Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away …“
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Whose Bricks Are These?
This appeared on Sunday, February 4, 2006
You know me — I love the Chester County Courthouse. Those engraved bricks around the Market Street side? I love them, too. But some of them should offer an explanation for those wanderers who stroll by on a Sunday morning.
"In Memory of Guernsey Cow Exton?"
Remember, the majority of people who live in Chester County don‘t remember anything here before they put up the Beaver Chase Run subdivision in London Grove. They‘re supposed to pay homage to a mid-century dairy bar? I think not.
"The Farnum Twins?" Sounds like an act out of Ringling Bros. "Breakfast Club?" There are two of these, so I suggest they get together and pile on the packcakes as a single unit or be somewhat clearer about whose breakfast and where.
There are two, count ‘em, two "Mike Perrone West Chester Building Depts.," bricks, raising the question of whether Mike is trying to get a message across, or whether some obsequious contractor got carried away.
Everyone likes a mystery myself now and again, but the meaning of "X1E-XIE/Minky/Wly R + S"? Wanna run that one by me again? Should I guess, "secret formula for removing white residue stains from real brick sidewalks?"
Nearby is "Khaki Was Here" and "Imagine." Okay, one‘s the name of a John Lennon song, the other‘s a great name for a post-punk, hip hop, skater band. But what about "Jasmine & The B Boys." Maybe a hip hop, skater, post-punk band?
If you were an alien and dropped down on West Market and took a look at the bricks, you‘d wonder about the proliferation of Swopes and Taylors. "In Honor of Charles E. Swope." "In Honor of Rep. Elinor Taylor." "In Honor of Stephanie Swope." "In Memory of Edna M. Swope." " Elinor Taylor WC Council 1974." "In Honor of Charles E. Swope Jr." "In Memory of Charles E. Swope." "The Swope Foundation." You‘d think they ran the town, for the love of Pete. Oh, wait a minute …
There‘s a certain amount of advertising going on here, which might strike some as unseemly. You can forgive the "Giuntas Thriftway Since 1927," but one might wonder whether the "Jane Chalfont" of one brick is the same as the same "Jane Chalfont Inc." of another. Is "Riggtown" a neighborhood, or a truckers‘ depot on the Pennsylvania Turnpike?
There is a symmetry to it all, though, with "Hillsdale Class of 2003" lined up not too terribly far away from "Class of 62 WCHS." The "in honor ofs" match up nicely with the the "in memory ofs," putting the living in the vicinity of the dead, and it‘s nice to see both "Fred Gusz" and "Fred Gusz Jr." occupying the same territory after all these years.
It is a fun little tour to make, and if you want to know about "In Memory of Betty Rellahan," I‘d be glad to tell you. I can talk about her all day.
You know me — I love the Chester County Courthouse. Those engraved bricks around the Market Street side? I love them, too. But some of them should offer an explanation for those wanderers who stroll by on a Sunday morning.
"In Memory of Guernsey Cow Exton?"
Remember, the majority of people who live in Chester County don‘t remember anything here before they put up the Beaver Chase Run subdivision in London Grove. They‘re supposed to pay homage to a mid-century dairy bar? I think not.
"The Farnum Twins?" Sounds like an act out of Ringling Bros. "Breakfast Club?" There are two of these, so I suggest they get together and pile on the packcakes as a single unit or be somewhat clearer about whose breakfast and where.
There are two, count ‘em, two "Mike Perrone West Chester Building Depts.," bricks, raising the question of whether Mike is trying to get a message across, or whether some obsequious contractor got carried away.
Everyone likes a mystery myself now and again, but the meaning of "X1E-XIE/Minky/Wly R + S"? Wanna run that one by me again? Should I guess, "secret formula for removing white residue stains from real brick sidewalks?"
Nearby is "Khaki Was Here" and "Imagine." Okay, one‘s the name of a John Lennon song, the other‘s a great name for a post-punk, hip hop, skater band. But what about "Jasmine & The B Boys." Maybe a hip hop, skater, post-punk band?
If you were an alien and dropped down on West Market and took a look at the bricks, you‘d wonder about the proliferation of Swopes and Taylors. "In Honor of Charles E. Swope." "In Honor of Rep. Elinor Taylor." "In Honor of Stephanie Swope." "In Memory of Edna M. Swope." " Elinor Taylor WC Council 1974." "In Honor of Charles E. Swope Jr." "In Memory of Charles E. Swope." "The Swope Foundation." You‘d think they ran the town, for the love of Pete. Oh, wait a minute …
There‘s a certain amount of advertising going on here, which might strike some as unseemly. You can forgive the "Giuntas Thriftway Since 1927," but one might wonder whether the "Jane Chalfont" of one brick is the same as the same "Jane Chalfont Inc." of another. Is "Riggtown" a neighborhood, or a truckers‘ depot on the Pennsylvania Turnpike?
There is a symmetry to it all, though, with "Hillsdale Class of 2003" lined up not too terribly far away from "Class of 62 WCHS." The "in honor ofs" match up nicely with the the "in memory ofs," putting the living in the vicinity of the dead, and it‘s nice to see both "Fred Gusz" and "Fred Gusz Jr." occupying the same territory after all these years.
It is a fun little tour to make, and if you want to know about "In Memory of Betty Rellahan," I‘d be glad to tell you. I can talk about her all day.
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