Monday, January 29, 2007

Entwined Mysteries

This appeared on Sunday, Jan. 28, 2007


The late Tom Bostelle’s paintings carry with them quite an air of mystery, it seemed to me on a recent visit to the Chester County Art Association’s building up the street from the Daily Local News.

The association has mounted a retrospective of the Pocopson-based artists’ work, in conjunction with West Chester University and the Brandywine River Museum, and it’s worth a look for anyone interested in art, life and sinister men in hats. The 35 or so paintings and 20 or more sculptures that fill the association’s Mary P. Allinson Gallery give a good look at Bostelle’s career, which began in the 1940s and ended with his death in 2005. I’ve had favorite Bostelles here and there, but none of them match the quality of the one’s shown here.

There’s the glowing black and green “Self Potrait” early in the show that sets the basic structure of his work – the flat, two dimensional outlines of shadowy figures. And across the gallery from that is a whimsical “Horse From Hearsay” painting of galloping horse that shows Bostelle’s more playful side.

But what struck me most those mysterious painting of men dressed in trench coats and fedoras that evoke a sense of intrigue and bad things to come, like evil Orson Wells leaning out of a shadowed doorway in “The Third Man,” or Saul Bass’s title sequence in “Anatomy of a Murder.”

Bostelle must have been a movie fan to have captured such impressions, with titles like “Desperado,” or “The Red Detective.” Even the name of the show itself, “Out of Nowhere,” chosen from one of his poems, suggests classic 1950s noir.

It makes me wonder if he ever left the confines of his home/studio overlooking Lenape Park and drove over to the 202 Drive In Theater – that bygone outdoor movie palace of sometimes flashy and sometime family fare between West Chester and Chadds Ford on Route 202, run by Arlene May Lenz and her late husband Isaac for 35 years.

She might have inspired him in some way, since she suggests something of a mystery herself -- an educated, family oriented mother whose life’s work brought art with titles like ‘Don’t Look in the Basement” and “Zombie Horror” to a car crazy culture.

Mrs. Lenz was born in the 1920s and got a degree in psychology from Penn State back when not so many women were getting degrees in anything. She met and married Isaac after World War II, and the pair built and operated the drive in until they retired, she wrapping herself in Girl Scouting activities when not at the drive-in..

Anyone who was alive in the 1950s or 1960s or 1970s probably has a drive-in memory, but mine are soaked in a cloud of mystery. It was always dark outside, you were surrounded by strange people, and something bad was always about to happen on screen.

I mention Mrs. Lenz only because word came this week that she had died at 84 at her daughter’s home in West Chester. There is no word on whether she and Bostelle ever met but, for now, they’re entwined in my mind.

You can read more about Bostelle at www.tombostelle.com, and more about the 202 Drive In at www.cinematreasures.org

Monday, January 22, 2007

Up My Alley

This appeared on Sunday, Jan. 21, 2006

The alleys of West Chester are being disrespected.

It’s not that they’re not clean, or that they’re allowed to crumble, or that no one uses them.

Quite the contrary. As more and more homeowners look at the carriage houses and two-story garages with their alley access as secondary living units, the liveliness and livability of the alleys in the borough has, to my mind, never been more apparent.

I’ve written about these marvels of small town life before, and my mind is unchanged. Having alleys running through your town is a benefit not to be taken lightly.

Walking them, you gain insight into the character of the people who live in your town (seeing children’s toys lining the backyard of one of your neighbors gives you an idea that good things are going on nearby, and chatting with an acquaintance who’s firing up the Webber off the back porch is a great alternative in a town that hasn’t entirely grasped the notion of stoop sitting.)

Alleys have a historical place in the Philadelphia region and, by extension, the nation, as the cobblestones of Elfreth’s Alley in the city will attest.

And frankly, alleys make a great short cut if you’re 15 years old and late for dinner. Or if you’re 49 years old and finding yourself blocked from your normal route to the office by street repairs.

But disrespected they are, nevertheless.

How so, you ask? Signage, is my reply.

Take a drive around the borough sometime and see whether you can identify the myriad alleys that intersect and bisect the main streets running north and south, east and west. Nope. No can do. There are no street signs telling you what byway you’re traveling on.

It’s a shame, since most of the alleys have wonderful names that should be boasted about, shown to all who travel here. Holly Alley, Juniper Alley, Mulberry Alley, Ebbs and Current alleys, Weaver and Corcoran alleys, Potter and Birds Eye and School and Britnton and Helen – all lilting names that deserve to be noticed.

It’s not just a matter, however, of a regard for semantics. As more and more people come to live on alleys in the borough it becomes a matter of practicality as well. Right around the corner from where I live if a very beautiful, very red brick, very expensive set of town homes set on an alley.

The residents there all keep their homes neat and tidy, recycle their plastic and glass, pay their taxes on time (I assume), and in return couldn’t find a street sign identifying their street as Clinton Alley to save a former president’s neck.

The surprising thing is that the borough generally has as much reluctance to put up signs as a West Chester University freshman has in tapping a keg. In West Chester, there are signs giving directions to everything, including other signs, so you’d think there could be a few dollars in the budget for our alleys.

So at the next Borough Council meeting, I’m hoping that a few of your readers will demand that the council form a “Friends of the Alleys” group that can raise money to start signing the backyard byways. First on the list? Rambo Alley, between Nields and Sharpless.



Monday, January 15, 2007

Invasion of the Internet Barbies

This appeared Jan. 14, 2007

The Internet has given us many fine things. Access to valuable information on personal health, for example. The expense records of local politicians. Even the occasional eBay auction for human body parts.

Now it has given us one more diamond to add to our cultural jewel box: The Chester County Barbie.

If you’re in the loop, you’ve already gotten this mass chain e-mail in your Yahoo Inbox. It’s a purported announcement from the Mattel Corporation of the release of a “limited edition” set of Barbie dolls tied to specific communities in Chester County. (The release says there are Philly and New Jersey versions on the way for Christmas 2007, but I’m sure we won’t have to wait that long.)

The Chester County Barbies come in 10 versions. The Berwin Barbie. The West Chester Barbie. The Phoenixville Barbie. The Exton Barbie. You get the drift. Each has a description of what accessories come with the doll, and characteristics that are meant to – humorously, in the mind of the e-mail author -- link Barbie to that particular community.

The Downingtown Barbie, for example, comes with a Ford Windstar and a matching gym outfit. “She gets lost easily and has no full-time occupation of secondary education,” we learn. West Chester Barbie comes with a choice of a BMW or a Hummer H2 and has her own Starbucks card and country club membership.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Some of the Barbie descriptions dive too quickly into the cesspool of clumsy stereotypes. (I’m not going to repeat those here; they’re all too sordid.) And you have to remember that none of this is real. The Mattel people are probably in the midst of a corporate PR meltdown over the matter right now.

But, frankly, I’m not interested in that. What I’m interested in is who started this, and the way in which the Internet helped CCB circle the globe in less time than it takes a Coatesville City Hall employee to turn in their resignation letter.

You see, I got my copy of the e-mail on Thursday. Or actually, my copies. First came a version from Constant Reader Jamie McVickar in West Vincent, who commented on the nature of the e-mail by addressing it: “Amazing.” Minutes later came a second version from former WCHE-AM news reporter Joan Pitt, now happily toiling away at a cushy job in Great Britain.

How had these two people come across the same e-mail from thousands of miles of separation? Simple. They passed it on from other sources, who had received the e-mail from other, other sources.

I’m not naïve enough to claim shock that “Chester County Barbie” can spin around the world in a matter of minutes. But this just struck me as odd. And wrong, too, in some vague, “has-it-all-come-to-this?” sort of way.

So I’d like to talk with the creator of Chester County Barbie. I’d like to know how he or she came up with the idea, and how he or she decided that Exton Barbie would be an “acid jeans and ’84 Firebird” dumb blonde and Phoenixville Barbie would be a hippie nicknamed “Willow.”

And I’d also like to ask CCB’s creator how West Chester Barbie could have “her own Starbucks cup,” when we all know that West Chester has no Starbucks.

A Cool Reaction to El Nino

This appeared Jan. 7, 2006

Here’s a story that appeared on Friday.

“LONDON (AP) -- Deepening drought in Australia. Stronger typhoons in Asia. Floods in Latin America. British climate scientists predict that a resurgent El Niño climate trend combined with higher levels of greenhouse gases could touch off a fresh round of ecological disasters -- and make 2007 the world's hottest year on record.”

The writer might have added – “Increasing frustration in West Chester.”

It has been more than a year since I urged the politicians who are supposed to be watching out for their constituents to take action and build a public recreation pool in the borough.

Preferably in a shaded location. Preferably with an air conditioned clubhouse. Preferably within walking distance of my home. Despite the eminent reason of my recommendation, to date I have heard nothing.

There are public and private construction projects springing up on seemingly every street corner of West Chester, yet no pool. There are courthouses being built, and banks, and office buildings with fine dining restaurants that have, um, not actually appeared yet, but nothing that says, “Come on in. The water’s fine.”

Wasn’t the whole Democratic takeover thing supposed to bring a new sense of urgency over the needs of the average American public? I’m not sure what new Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi thinks she’s supposed to be doing in her First 100 Days, but I suggest she start accepting bids on an in-ground swimming facility somewhere in the vicinity of South Church and Dean streets, 19382. Speaking for myself, we don’t need a hike in the minimum wage; we need a deep end with a diving board.

I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this, but I’m obsessed with the heat. I spend countless hours in the summer trying to get the maximum cool out of a collection of air conditioners and floor fans and open windows. Last July, during one particularly intense period of sweltering, I tramped over to the 7-Eleven and bought two 16-pound bags of ice.

“Planning a nice backyard barbeque?” the overly cheerful checkout clerk inquired, smilingly.

“No, I’m planning to dump these babies into my bathtub and fill it up with the coldest water available, and then I’m going to sit in it until my body looks like a blue prune,” I snarled.

“Have a nice day!” she said, not missing a beat.

It used to be worse. I used to live on the third floor of my building, and the southern exposure and the flat tin roof would combine to heat the place up like a microwave. And I, not content on just feeling hot, would put indoor/outdoor thermometers in strategic locations throughout the apartment. That way, I could factually verify that while it was only 89 degrees outside, it was a searing 97 degree indoors. At 12:30 a.m.

All of this fixation would end in a matter of minutes if I could simply stroll down the block to a nice pool, shaded, with a comfortable air conditioned clubhouse, and a deep end for diving, and a 15-minute “adults only” period, during which the British climate scientists and I could talk about El Nino. Cooly.

Random Thoughts

This appeared on Dec. 31, 2006

A few random thoughts while waiting for the first snow of the winter:

* I’m assuming that the good folks over at the Chester County Office of Voter Services haven’t found those missing votes in the 156th count off, but I think we all know who those ballots would have gone to, and why they went missing.

That’s right. Those had my name on them.

I will freely admit that my campaign for county commissioner didn’t go so well, sort of like Napolean’s invasion of Russia didn’t go so well. But in its final days, I could sense that my nascent ideas for a reformed Chester County had caught on with some members of the public, and that they were organizing to draft me for an even more important and influential post – that of a freshman state representative in the political Athens that is Harrisburg, Pa.

Of course, the powers that be would have none of that. They certainly recognized that once news leaked that there were voters willing to cast their ballots for me, a powerful groundswell could not be stopped to place me in some strategic governmental post – say, county Director of Weights and Measures or U.S. Passport Applications Clerk. And they couldn’t handle that.

So the votes went “missing” -- as in they’re hidden in somebody’s desk drawer in a file marked “Do Not Show To Press.”

I am certain that when the truth comes out, there will be hell to pay at the Government Services Building. But for now, I’ll just have to accept the fact that my quest for political office goes on.

*Given the penchant over at the West Chester Borough Municipal Building for putting up signs, I’m shocked that the Borough Council hasn’t held an emergency session to draft a request for multiple directional signs to be placed on the front lawn of the Chester County Courthouse.

After all, in allowing a menorah and a crèche to be erected at High and Market, the commissioners basically opened the front door and said, “Hey, everybody! Come on down! Put your cheesy markers all over our historic example of classic Greek architecture!” I would have thought the borough would have been first in line to put up a sign or two, either proclaiming the borough as the best place on Earth, or just a daily count of the number of new liquor licenses approved for Gay Street.

(Which of course begs the question as to when the borough is going to require all shopkeepers on Gay Street to obtain liquor licenses, whether they currently sell liquor or not. What the heck; we’re already got barbers dispensing beer, why not record store owners? Why not top off your purchase of a newspaper and a hot dog at Cugino’s with a shot of Jagermeister? But that’s a topic for another day.)

*I truly believe that writing a newspaper column for the Daily Local News is the best job on the planet, next to groundskeeper for a Major League baseball team. After all, where else would I have the opportunity to use the word “nascent” in a sentence?

Warm Hearts, Warm Homes

This appeared Dec. 17, 2006

The weather almanac that I check on-line every morning says it has been a mild winter, and you probably don‘t need me to tell you that.

Temperatures are hovering around spring levels, people are wearing shorts to the mall for Christmas shopping, and not a trace of snow has been spotted on even the highest peaks hereabouts.

But there are those of us in Chester County for whom the current mild weather offers little consolation. It still gets cold at night, and April is still far in the future. If you look very hard, you will find people who go through the winter without any heat in their homes. Many elderly people, many not, make choices every November that you and I do not ever consider: Should I cut back on groceries, or turn off the heat?

That‘s right. Not everyone in Chester County is wealthy enough to enjoy a McMansion in DevelopmentLand with a 72-degree heated living room. Go off the main road in towns from Malvern to Marshallton and you will find folks who can‘t keep pace with the rising costs of things like food and fuel.

That is where the creatively charitable folks at United Way of Chester County enter the picture.

Teaming up with equally large-hearted workers at the Housing Partnership of Chester County and Good Works, United Way last year started a comfy little program called Share the Warmth.

In addition to all the other work that United Way takes on to better the quality of life in the county, last winter the agency raised money to help keep people from being cold in their homes.

It sounds simple, and really it is; there aren‘t any socio-political issues here to grapple over — just install a new furnace or winterize some windows and somebody‘s life takes a step forward.

United Way started with $150,000 and turned that into $165,000 with the help of National Penn Bank, the Concerned Citizens of Chester County, Siemens, and QVC. (Imagine: Buying another set of Diamonique earrings may actually be a good thing! Ain‘t life grand?) Then they found 41 families who needed help keeping warm.

The people who got the help have real problems, not imagined.

Kevin, for example, has multiple sclerosis and can‘t work, but he‘s got four children and wants to maintain the home his mother and father lived in. Share the Warmth made sure he got a new roof and a tank of oil. James is an 83-year-old widower who went cold for two years for fear of burdening his family. He got a new heater.

In the end it looked like this: 22 roofs repaired, 16 windows winterized, 12 tanks of fuel oil delivered, 12 heaters replaced, 6 sets of insulation installed, and five doors installed. They probably would have thrown in a partridge in a pear tree, too, but partridges don‘t come cheap around these parts.

So you might want to give the folks at United Way a call at 610-429-9400 and ask how you could contribute to Share the Warmth. They‘re trying to up the ante this year to help even more families stay warm.

And that, in a word, is cool.

Driving While Wet

This appeared Dec. 10, 2006

The news release came across my desk via fax on Tuesday, dated Dec. 1, 2006.

Titled “For Immediate Release” by the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, Department of Transportation, it read:

HARRISBURG -- “The Department of Transportation announced that a new law, which goes into effect in January, will require motorists to turn on their headlights anytime their wipers are in continuous or intermittent use due to weather or other atmospheric conditions such as fog or mist.

“Motorists who do not comply with the law could face a fine of $25, but with fees and other associated costs, the penalty would approach $100.

Let’s review:

May: Andy Dinniman is elected to the state Senate, the first Democrat since the War Between the States to be so chosen..

December: Pennsylvanians’ civil rights while driving go to Hell in a handbasket.

Q.E.D.

I mean, what’s next? The state telling us that we have to honk the horn every time we put our turn signals on? That we have to pat our heads and rub our stomachs while we use the air conditioning? That we have to put on the emergency flashers while applying lipstick using the vanity mirror? Is there no end to the state’s interference with our right to drive by our own wits?

Duh! You turn the headlights on when it’s dark, not when it’s wet. You gonna tell me I now am required by law to turn on the windshield defroster when there’s a full moon, penalty approaching $100?

I love the wording the folks at PennDOt use, too: “…due to weather, or other atmospheric conditions.” As if there is a day when there isn’t weather. Or an atmosphere, for that matter. How about “…due to pigeon droppings on the windshield?”

I should not be surprised, however, that the folks in Harrisburg are up to nonsense. It’s been that way for years. A little research shows that Pennsylvania has a history of crafting silly motor vehicle laws.

For example, in the not-too-distant past automobiles traveling on country roads at night were told to send up a rocket every mile, then wait ten minutes for the road to clear. If a driver saw a team of horses, he had to pull to one side of the road and drape a blanket that had been painted to blend into the scenery over his Chevy.

Can you imagine driving along Lenape Road and shooting off a Roman candle every time the odometer clicked? The repercussions from neighbors would be immediate and vociferous, not to mention Bam Margera getting another bright idea to keep his name in the news.

I know what you’re saying, especially if you’re a member of local law enforcement. “Safety first.” But here in Chester County, we don’t need headlights to be safe. We’re suburbanites! We drive Hummers. We drive Expeditions. We drive pickup trucks so big they classify as small Third World nations. Other motorists can see us coming home from Philly all the way up in Eagle, rainy day or bright sunshine.

The next thing you know the do-gooders in this country will try to intrude on other facets of our lives, like, say, outlawing trans-fats in the junk food we get at the drive through.

Say what?

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.