This column originally appeared on Sunday, March 30, 2008
Allow me to clear up a few misconceptions about Pat Morley. I would have done this sooner, but Patrick, as I always referred to him, out of honor and respect and because I didn’t know his given name was actually Thomas, would not permit it, out of pure Irish stubborn humility and dignity. If people want to believe things about me that aren’t true, he would have said, I can only hope they spell my name right when they do.
But now Patrick is gone, and he can’t stop me. Thus:
It is not true that the Chester County Commissioners built the Courthouse Annex in 1892 so that Patrick would have a place to sit and talk with his fellow tipstaffs. Truth be told, the building was already 28 years old when Patrick entered the world in West Chester’s Riggtown neighborhood, so the timing is off.
But he was as central to the Annex as the marble on its walls, and nowhere near as cold. As a new reporter to the courthouse in the early 1990s, I thought of the lobby outside Courtroom Two as Patrick’s living room away from home. He populated it as if he had always been there, and always would be.
It is not true that everyone liked Patrick. Because he rarely left West Chester — living outside the borough’s confines for only four of his 88 years — he did not give all the people in the world he never met a chance to get to know him and, ipso facto, like him. But those who did cross his path — and whom he would not allow to wander off without a handshake and a quick wink — did.
When you think of how many people today hate one another, and how they wear that hatred like a badge of honor, it seems impossible that someone as amiable and kind as Patrick could have existed. But I can attest that he did.
It is not true that Patrick loved his wife, Catherine, his entire life. He did not, in fact, come across her until he was 26, so that would not have been possible. But I have it on good counsel that he did love her from the moment in the spring of 1946 when he spotted her at the Eagles Club in West Chester.
I can also report in good faith that their life together started with one of the most romantic gestures I have ever heard of. Arriving late for their first date, Patrick saw Catherine get on a transit bus bound for her home in Downingtown. Realizing that opportunity lost is fate never regained, he hopped in his car and chased the bus down on Route 322, passed it and waited for it to stop. When it did, he got out of his car, Catherine stepped off the bus, and two sons, two daughters, two sons-in-law, two daughters-in-law, seven grandsons, six granddaughters and two great-granddaughters later, they still smiled when they saw each other.
Finally, it is not true that Patrick’s funeral was the largest seen in St. Agnes Church. Nor was it the smallest. But it may hold the record for attendees who believed they were singularly special in the departed’s eyes.
The service reminded me of what actress Ruth Gordon said at the funeral of the once famous writer and broadcaster Alexander Wollcott in 1943. “I was Aleck’s best friend,” she told a stunned crowd. “As, I suspect, were all of you.”
Thomas J. “Pat” Morley. Born Feb. 7, 1920. Died March 21, 2008. Rest in peace.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Monday, March 24, 2008
All I Need Is....
This column originally appeared on March 23, 2008
Some time ago, I voiced the opinion that the municipality known as Chadds Ford had mistakenly been incorporated into the county known as Delaware, and that a change should be contemplated in which that township would be annexed by the county of Chester and thus placed in its proper geographic and cultural setting.
Leaving Chadds Ford in Delaware County struck me as close to a sin against nature as you could get without an actual disruption of the gene pool. Chadds Ford, after all, is home to the Wyeth family, scenic creeks, rolling hillsides and picturesque stone barns. Delaware County, as far as I can tell, is home to a number of meth labs.
But I must acknowledge that there is a corollary to this campaign of mine that became clear on a recent trip to the northwestern edges of Chester County.
This is what everyone should do at some point in their lives if they live here: circumnavigate the county. It could take you several Saturdays, depending on your stamina and what time you get up on weekend mornings, but it is worth the time. A trip around the boundaries of Chester County gives you the clearest picture of not only the beauty we enjoy here, but of the multiple types of communities within our borders. If you live in West Chester or Downingtown or Kennett Square or the suburbiplex known as Lionville, and you don't travel outside of a limited distance from those town centers, you can't grasp what a complex world Chester County is.
Or realize that just as Chadds Ford has more in common with life here than it does to Delaware County, then so too does West Sadsbury or West Caln or Honey Brook look more like the rural world across the border in Lancaster County than it does the corporate centers of Malvern or the shopping centers of Paoli.
You see it from the road: The sign that advertises “Hay, Straw, Pine Shavings, One Mile.” The sight of clothes freshly washed hanging on a clothes line beside an Amish farmhouse. The sight of a barn and a silo, with a shingle telling you that brown eggs are available, turn here. A sign pointing you the way to “Hides and Supplies.” A big black angus bull standing in someone's front yard. An odd congregation of white and grey seagulls flocking around a mule-team drawn plough. Working wind mills.
Wait, did that sign say “Hides”? HIDES? What in the name of suburban sprawl do they sell there?
So if I maintain that we should get Chadds Ford, then I'd obviously have to acknowledge that Lancaster gets Honey Brook. Fair's fair, after all.
And Lancaster can have it. I don't need any part of Honey Brook at all. Except the Berry Patch Campground off Broad Street in Cambridge. That's all I need. That, and the gas station that still sells “Regular” and “Super.” That's it, and that's all. The camp, the gas station, and the “Schoolhouse Bar and Grille” on Route 10 are all I need. OK? The camp, the gas station, the bar, and the cheddar cheese curds from September Farm, South Mill Road, Est. 2002. That's it in toto. The camp, the gas station, the bar, the cheese and the place that sells “Hides and Supplies” are all I need. The camp, the gas station, the bar, the cheese, the hides, and ...
This is going to be harder than I thought.
Some time ago, I voiced the opinion that the municipality known as Chadds Ford had mistakenly been incorporated into the county known as Delaware, and that a change should be contemplated in which that township would be annexed by the county of Chester and thus placed in its proper geographic and cultural setting.
Leaving Chadds Ford in Delaware County struck me as close to a sin against nature as you could get without an actual disruption of the gene pool. Chadds Ford, after all, is home to the Wyeth family, scenic creeks, rolling hillsides and picturesque stone barns. Delaware County, as far as I can tell, is home to a number of meth labs.
But I must acknowledge that there is a corollary to this campaign of mine that became clear on a recent trip to the northwestern edges of Chester County.
This is what everyone should do at some point in their lives if they live here: circumnavigate the county. It could take you several Saturdays, depending on your stamina and what time you get up on weekend mornings, but it is worth the time. A trip around the boundaries of Chester County gives you the clearest picture of not only the beauty we enjoy here, but of the multiple types of communities within our borders. If you live in West Chester or Downingtown or Kennett Square or the suburbiplex known as Lionville, and you don't travel outside of a limited distance from those town centers, you can't grasp what a complex world Chester County is.
Or realize that just as Chadds Ford has more in common with life here than it does to Delaware County, then so too does West Sadsbury or West Caln or Honey Brook look more like the rural world across the border in Lancaster County than it does the corporate centers of Malvern or the shopping centers of Paoli.
You see it from the road: The sign that advertises “Hay, Straw, Pine Shavings, One Mile.” The sight of clothes freshly washed hanging on a clothes line beside an Amish farmhouse. The sight of a barn and a silo, with a shingle telling you that brown eggs are available, turn here. A sign pointing you the way to “Hides and Supplies.” A big black angus bull standing in someone's front yard. An odd congregation of white and grey seagulls flocking around a mule-team drawn plough. Working wind mills.
Wait, did that sign say “Hides”? HIDES? What in the name of suburban sprawl do they sell there?
So if I maintain that we should get Chadds Ford, then I'd obviously have to acknowledge that Lancaster gets Honey Brook. Fair's fair, after all.
And Lancaster can have it. I don't need any part of Honey Brook at all. Except the Berry Patch Campground off Broad Street in Cambridge. That's all I need. That, and the gas station that still sells “Regular” and “Super.” That's it, and that's all. The camp, the gas station, and the “Schoolhouse Bar and Grille” on Route 10 are all I need. OK? The camp, the gas station, the bar, and the cheddar cheese curds from September Farm, South Mill Road, Est. 2002. That's it in toto. The camp, the gas station, the bar, the cheese and the place that sells “Hides and Supplies” are all I need. The camp, the gas station, the bar, the cheese, the hides, and ...
This is going to be harder than I thought.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Where Have All The Snowflakes Gone?
This column originally apeared on Sunday, March 16, 2008
It is 9 a.m. Saturday and the temperature is hovering in the low-50s. A little while ago I saw a fellow walking down South Church Street in West Chester who was not wearing a coat, just a shirt and some jeans, and he looked perfectly comfortable. When I left the apartment, my neighbor greeted me as she was arranging the flower pots on her porch with a cheery, “Happy Spring!”
I remember when it used to snow in March. Check that. I remember when it used to snow in February and March. The first winter I spent in West Chester, the skies dumped 22 inches of snow on the borough on Feb. 11. My friend Jamie and I watched the snow inch its way up the side of my Volkswagen Beetle until you could not see the door handles anymore. Then we went out and made snow angels in the drifts that had closed down the town to all but foot traffic and snowmobiles.
But those days are seemingly gone. We have not had a really good snowfall here in February or March for years.
Now, it’s about 10:30 a.m. on Saturday, and the temperature is inching toward 60 degrees. The fellow whom I saw walking down South Church an hour and a half ago returned wearing just a T-shirt, shorts and a breezy smile. My neighbor was pruning the dead blossoms from her gladiolas and greeted me with a cheery, “If April showers bring May flowers, what do May flowers bring?”
I checked the records. It usually snows in March at least once, sometimes twice. Fifteen years ago, I’d lived in my apartment building for a decade when the skies dumped 10 inches of snow on the borough on March 13 and overnight into March 14. My car got stuck in the deep snow that clogged the alley behind my house, and I had to call a tow truck to pull me out.
In 2005, 5 inches of snow lay on the ground when the morning of March 1 dawned. A week later, another inch showed up. It was fun taking snapshots of the ankle-deep drifts outside my door and walking to work straight down the middle of West Market Street without a car in sight. Can we hope that any of those days come back?
I just checked the time and temperature at 2:30 p.m. Saturday here in West Chester and it’s a sunny 85 degrees. My walkabout friend just passed by wearing swim trunks and a Hawaiian shirt open at the collar, presumably to show of his tan. When I stepped outside my neighbor was mopping the sweat from her brow, cheerily singing, “We’re havin’ a heat wave, a tropical heat wave …”
What I miss about the snows of March isn’t the shoveling or the scraping or the slipping or the slush that arrives later. It’s the few hours after the snow stops falling when everything seems suspended and people get outside of their everyday skins. Strangers help push cars out from snowbanks and people stop each other on the street to marvel at what Mother Nature has wrought. There’s a sense that the rules of caution are postponed and you can go out of your way to be friendly without encouraging suspicion.
And you can make snow angels in the drifts without embarrassment.
It is 9 a.m. Saturday and the temperature is hovering in the low-50s. A little while ago I saw a fellow walking down South Church Street in West Chester who was not wearing a coat, just a shirt and some jeans, and he looked perfectly comfortable. When I left the apartment, my neighbor greeted me as she was arranging the flower pots on her porch with a cheery, “Happy Spring!”
I remember when it used to snow in March. Check that. I remember when it used to snow in February and March. The first winter I spent in West Chester, the skies dumped 22 inches of snow on the borough on Feb. 11. My friend Jamie and I watched the snow inch its way up the side of my Volkswagen Beetle until you could not see the door handles anymore. Then we went out and made snow angels in the drifts that had closed down the town to all but foot traffic and snowmobiles.
But those days are seemingly gone. We have not had a really good snowfall here in February or March for years.
Now, it’s about 10:30 a.m. on Saturday, and the temperature is inching toward 60 degrees. The fellow whom I saw walking down South Church an hour and a half ago returned wearing just a T-shirt, shorts and a breezy smile. My neighbor was pruning the dead blossoms from her gladiolas and greeted me with a cheery, “If April showers bring May flowers, what do May flowers bring?”
I checked the records. It usually snows in March at least once, sometimes twice. Fifteen years ago, I’d lived in my apartment building for a decade when the skies dumped 10 inches of snow on the borough on March 13 and overnight into March 14. My car got stuck in the deep snow that clogged the alley behind my house, and I had to call a tow truck to pull me out.
In 2005, 5 inches of snow lay on the ground when the morning of March 1 dawned. A week later, another inch showed up. It was fun taking snapshots of the ankle-deep drifts outside my door and walking to work straight down the middle of West Market Street without a car in sight. Can we hope that any of those days come back?
I just checked the time and temperature at 2:30 p.m. Saturday here in West Chester and it’s a sunny 85 degrees. My walkabout friend just passed by wearing swim trunks and a Hawaiian shirt open at the collar, presumably to show of his tan. When I stepped outside my neighbor was mopping the sweat from her brow, cheerily singing, “We’re havin’ a heat wave, a tropical heat wave …”
What I miss about the snows of March isn’t the shoveling or the scraping or the slipping or the slush that arrives later. It’s the few hours after the snow stops falling when everything seems suspended and people get outside of their everyday skins. Strangers help push cars out from snowbanks and people stop each other on the street to marvel at what Mother Nature has wrought. There’s a sense that the rules of caution are postponed and you can go out of your way to be friendly without encouraging suspicion.
And you can make snow angels in the drifts without embarrassment.
Monday, March 10, 2008
A Primer For Hills and Barry
This column originally appeared on Sunday, March 9 2008
They tell me that it is going to get fairly intense over the next few weeks as Hillary and Barack descend on Pennsylvania, in general and Chester County in particular, as the make their run for 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
But while we may have gotten to know them fairly well over the past few months — the way she likes to wear pant suits and he likes to go without a tie; the way she likes to take credit for bringing peace to Northern Ireland and he likes to take credit for blue skies and sunny days; the way she digs on KT Tunstall and he grooves to Natasha Bedingfield — they likely have been too busy to really get to know us.
So I thought I’d give them a small primer on what Chester County is all about, so they won’t make any stupid mistakes while going door to door in Malvern — like saying, “So how do you like living in Modena?”
The Revolutionary War came to Chester County in 1777, via the Battle of the Brandywine and the Paoli Massacre — and that is the last time anything revolutionary has happened here. We like to take our time about things and not get caught up in radically new or innovative procedures or principles. We are sort of the Dewey Decimal System to the rest of the world’s Google. For instance, school lunches here only recently started featuring brown mustard on hot dogs, I am given to understand. It took intervention by an ecumenical council of elders, but we finally gave in. Not so, however, for green catsup.
We have a number of local high school graduates who have actually contributed to the fine arts and culture of our great land. That’s right, we’re not just about Bam Margera and skateboarding naked into brick walls. For example, there is Matisyahu, the only (I think) Orthodox Hebrew rap artist and Henderson High alum. And Daryl Hall, rock and roll singer of “Out of Touch” (No. 33 on a list of worst songs of all time), Owen J. Roberts Class of 1965. And Douglas Brown, author of the soon-to-be-published book: “Just Do It: How One Couple Turned Off the TV and Turned On Their Sex Lives for 101 Days” (You’ll have to read it to find out.) The pride of West Chester East.
The tourist highlights here are not just Valley Forge, the Brandywine River Museum and Longwood Gardens. Longtime residents of our county know that when people want to see what we are really about, we take our out of town guests to one place and one place only. The Herr’s Snack Co. Plant Tour. Where else can you see the actual process of turning unflavored potato chips into Buffalo Wing Kettle Chips? Or regular nachos into Green Chile Monterey Jack dippers? And all within distance of the sweetest smelling mushroom composting operations you’d ever want to turn your nose up at.
Philly has Geno’s Steaks. Pottsville has Yuengling Brewery. Pittsburgh has, well, we’re sure that the Iron City has something but we just don’t know what. West Chester has Wally’s Weiner World, the best place in the state to buy a hot sausage from a man who can stop the blades of a fan with his tongue.
There’s more, but since Hills and Barry are going to be here awhile, I’ll save the rest for later.
They tell me that it is going to get fairly intense over the next few weeks as Hillary and Barack descend on Pennsylvania, in general and Chester County in particular, as the make their run for 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
But while we may have gotten to know them fairly well over the past few months — the way she likes to wear pant suits and he likes to go without a tie; the way she likes to take credit for bringing peace to Northern Ireland and he likes to take credit for blue skies and sunny days; the way she digs on KT Tunstall and he grooves to Natasha Bedingfield — they likely have been too busy to really get to know us.
So I thought I’d give them a small primer on what Chester County is all about, so they won’t make any stupid mistakes while going door to door in Malvern — like saying, “So how do you like living in Modena?”
The Revolutionary War came to Chester County in 1777, via the Battle of the Brandywine and the Paoli Massacre — and that is the last time anything revolutionary has happened here. We like to take our time about things and not get caught up in radically new or innovative procedures or principles. We are sort of the Dewey Decimal System to the rest of the world’s Google. For instance, school lunches here only recently started featuring brown mustard on hot dogs, I am given to understand. It took intervention by an ecumenical council of elders, but we finally gave in. Not so, however, for green catsup.
We have a number of local high school graduates who have actually contributed to the fine arts and culture of our great land. That’s right, we’re not just about Bam Margera and skateboarding naked into brick walls. For example, there is Matisyahu, the only (I think) Orthodox Hebrew rap artist and Henderson High alum. And Daryl Hall, rock and roll singer of “Out of Touch” (No. 33 on a list of worst songs of all time), Owen J. Roberts Class of 1965. And Douglas Brown, author of the soon-to-be-published book: “Just Do It: How One Couple Turned Off the TV and Turned On Their Sex Lives for 101 Days” (You’ll have to read it to find out.) The pride of West Chester East.
The tourist highlights here are not just Valley Forge, the Brandywine River Museum and Longwood Gardens. Longtime residents of our county know that when people want to see what we are really about, we take our out of town guests to one place and one place only. The Herr’s Snack Co. Plant Tour. Where else can you see the actual process of turning unflavored potato chips into Buffalo Wing Kettle Chips? Or regular nachos into Green Chile Monterey Jack dippers? And all within distance of the sweetest smelling mushroom composting operations you’d ever want to turn your nose up at.
Philly has Geno’s Steaks. Pottsville has Yuengling Brewery. Pittsburgh has, well, we’re sure that the Iron City has something but we just don’t know what. West Chester has Wally’s Weiner World, the best place in the state to buy a hot sausage from a man who can stop the blades of a fan with his tongue.
There’s more, but since Hills and Barry are going to be here awhile, I’ll save the rest for later.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Hey, Wait! That's My...
This story originally appeared on Wednesday, March 5, 2008
WEST CHESTER – Something looked familiar to Frank Nagy.
Specifically, the chain saw he spotted at a pawn shop in Pottstown, where he had gone after failing to find a replacement for his missing chain saw at one of the big box retailers. Specifically, the Husquavarna Model 23 chain saw with the plastic blade cover. Specifically, the same chain saw that had until a few weeks ago been sitting in the shed at the rear of his home on Ridge Road in East Coventry.
Specifically, the chain saw that his grandson, Stephen Allen Wisneski later admitted taking from the shed without telling anyone, then pawning it supposedly to buy food to feed his family.
The unlikely discovery of the chain saw eventually led to Wisneski's arrest on charges of burglary and theft and to an unusual plea bargain hearing in front of Judge William Mahon on Tuesday.
Although Wisneski acknowledged that he had taken the chain saw from his grandfather's shed to use on his own, he said he had not “stolen” it but rather “borrowed” the equipment. He said he got the chain saw mixed up with other tools that he took to he Cash Converters store in Pottstown to pawn them.
He said he had intended to tell his grandparents about the matter but had forgotten. But his grandfather had told police at the time of Wiseneski's arrest that he hadn't seen the man in years.
According to an arrest affidavit filed by East Coventry police, Nagy reported that he had gone looking for his chain saw the morning of Oct. 11 to do some work on the property. When he could not find it, he assumed he had misplaced it and went shopping for an inexpensive replacement.
After failing to find an acceptable model at the local home and hardware store, Nagy stopped by Cash Converters, which buys and re-sells used equipment. When he began looking at the equipment Cash Converters had on sale, he saw the chain saw he recognized immediately as his own there, he told police.
Nagy reported the matter to the store manager, and contacted police. When East Coventry Officer Brian Ceulers arrived to pick the chain saw up as evidence, the manager turned over the seller's information sheet, which was signed by Wisneski when he sold it on Oct. 3.
Nagy identified Wisneski as his grandson. He told police that Wisneski had later called his home and apologized for asking the saw, saying he did so to raise money to feed his kids. Nagy confirmed that Wisneski did not have permission to take the saw and that he had not spoken to him or seen him in two years.
When Ceulers contacted Wisneski, he said he was sorry for taking the saw and asked if charges could be dropped. When Wisneski said they could not, he told the officer that he was awaiting placement in a drug treatment program. He was arrested on Dec. 12.
Wisneski, 27, of Nutt Road, Phoenixville, was offered a sentence of six to 23 months in Chester County Prison in exchange for a guilty plea to charges of theft. But when he balked at admitting to actually stealing the saw, Mahon rejected the plea and sent Wisneski back to prison, where he is being held on a probation violation for a previous theft case, according to Assistant District Attorney Christin Kubacke, who was handling the plea.
Wisneski's case will now be rescheduled for trial. The saw is currently being held as evidence by police.
WEST CHESTER – Something looked familiar to Frank Nagy.
Specifically, the chain saw he spotted at a pawn shop in Pottstown, where he had gone after failing to find a replacement for his missing chain saw at one of the big box retailers. Specifically, the Husquavarna Model 23 chain saw with the plastic blade cover. Specifically, the same chain saw that had until a few weeks ago been sitting in the shed at the rear of his home on Ridge Road in East Coventry.
Specifically, the chain saw that his grandson, Stephen Allen Wisneski later admitted taking from the shed without telling anyone, then pawning it supposedly to buy food to feed his family.
The unlikely discovery of the chain saw eventually led to Wisneski's arrest on charges of burglary and theft and to an unusual plea bargain hearing in front of Judge William Mahon on Tuesday.
Although Wisneski acknowledged that he had taken the chain saw from his grandfather's shed to use on his own, he said he had not “stolen” it but rather “borrowed” the equipment. He said he got the chain saw mixed up with other tools that he took to he Cash Converters store in Pottstown to pawn them.
He said he had intended to tell his grandparents about the matter but had forgotten. But his grandfather had told police at the time of Wiseneski's arrest that he hadn't seen the man in years.
According to an arrest affidavit filed by East Coventry police, Nagy reported that he had gone looking for his chain saw the morning of Oct. 11 to do some work on the property. When he could not find it, he assumed he had misplaced it and went shopping for an inexpensive replacement.
After failing to find an acceptable model at the local home and hardware store, Nagy stopped by Cash Converters, which buys and re-sells used equipment. When he began looking at the equipment Cash Converters had on sale, he saw the chain saw he recognized immediately as his own there, he told police.
Nagy reported the matter to the store manager, and contacted police. When East Coventry Officer Brian Ceulers arrived to pick the chain saw up as evidence, the manager turned over the seller's information sheet, which was signed by Wisneski when he sold it on Oct. 3.
Nagy identified Wisneski as his grandson. He told police that Wisneski had later called his home and apologized for asking the saw, saying he did so to raise money to feed his kids. Nagy confirmed that Wisneski did not have permission to take the saw and that he had not spoken to him or seen him in two years.
When Ceulers contacted Wisneski, he said he was sorry for taking the saw and asked if charges could be dropped. When Wisneski said they could not, he told the officer that he was awaiting placement in a drug treatment program. He was arrested on Dec. 12.
Wisneski, 27, of Nutt Road, Phoenixville, was offered a sentence of six to 23 months in Chester County Prison in exchange for a guilty plea to charges of theft. But when he balked at admitting to actually stealing the saw, Mahon rejected the plea and sent Wisneski back to prison, where he is being held on a probation violation for a previous theft case, according to Assistant District Attorney Christin Kubacke, who was handling the plea.
Wisneski's case will now be rescheduled for trial. The saw is currently being held as evidence by police.
Monday, March 03, 2008
Sunrise, Sunset...
This column originally appeared on Sunday, March 2, 2008
I would say that the folks who live on Highview Road in Tredyffrin are perhaps the luckiest folks who live in Chester County. But then if I were to say that then I would also have to say that the Boy Scouts who visit Camp Horse Shoe, near Goat Hill in West Nottingham, are also perhaps the luckiest folks who live in Chester County, only in a completely different way.
You could look it up. Highview Road is the easternmost point in Chester County, sort of the Campobello Island, Maine, of our fair county. You can find it right there at 75 degrees, 21 minutes and 29.71 seconds longitude, if you care to.
Being such, it is the exact place where sunrise first touches Chester County, the place where the dawn greets us and beckons with the promise of a new day, a fresh start, and perhaps the chance that those annoying “bucket bridges” at busy intersections, with their fresh-faced college students wandering in and out of traffic begging for money to either cure cancer or fund a night of drop-dead partying, whichever comes first, will disappear from the face of the Earth once and forever.
Meanwhile, the Boy Scouts at Camp Horse Shoe find it their lucky happenstance to be the folks who see the last rays of the sun sinking below the horizon over the Octoraro Creek. Located smack dab at 76 degrees, eight minutes and 10.49 seconds longitude, the campsite is the westernmost point in the county. And a fine place to crank out the S’mores, I’m told.
If you think that everyone in Chester County gets the sunrise and sunset at the same time, you’d be wrong. I know, because I checked. Specifically with Professor Marc Gagne, head of the department of Geology and Astronomy at West Chester University and as friendly a man who teaches a course called “Remote Sensing” that you’d ever want to meet.
Professor Gagne told me that the one degree of longitude that separates Highview Road from Camp Horse Shoe would mean a difference in the sunrise and sunset times of about two minutes or so. Theoretically, he said, someone could pick up the phone at a house on Highview Road and call the camp headquarters at Horse Shoe to report that the sun had just risen, and the camp counselor would not know what in the world the person on the other end of the line was talking about because the sun was still not up down there.
Why anyone would ever want to do that escapes me, but there you are.
The business of sunrise and sunset is preoccupying my time these days, pardon the pun, because that old devil Daylight Savings Time, is creeping up on us once again. You might remember that a few years ago President Bush, acting apparently on a whim, decided to play with our clocks. He moved the start of DST up to March 9 this year, and moved the return to Eastern Standard Time to sometime in late September. Or October. I forget.
Anyway, now the sun is going to rise an hour later than normal, and set an hour later, and completely throw off whatever physiological rhythm my body has grown accustomed to over the last six months.
I’m not sure I like it, but there’s nothing I can do about it, except complain. Sort of like “bucket brigades.”
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