Honey Just Allow Me, To Give You One More Chance

This column originally appeared on Sunday, Sept. 21, 2008

I know what you're thinking. I know that you're thinking that this is the last Sunday of the summer, that autumn officially starts tomorrow, and that the calendar thus indicates that this must be the date of the ever popular-slash-dreaded West Chester Restaurant Festival.

And you are also thinking that I am going to lecture you about how much we "real" West Chester folks — as opposed to those pikers who walk around town wearing "Dub-C" T-shirts — really don't like the restaurant festival and consider it an event more endured than enjoyed. Sort of an open-air colonoscopy, with crab cakes and crowds.

You are thinking that I am going to tell you how I would rather sit and listen to state Sen. Andy Dinniman describe the machinations of the state budget process, without bathroom breaks, than try to walk down Gay Street today after noon, when the festival is in full swing. That you would no more find me at the festival than you would find a wild elk in Elk Township. That I'm going to hunker down someplace as far away from West Chester as possible without spending more than $50 on gas until the crowds of soon-to-be unemployed Lehman Brothers executives have gone back to MortgageForeclosureLand.

But dear readers, that was then and this is now.

It is the season for change. I know that this is the season for change because every time I turn on the television and listen to the radio, a junior U.S. senator from Illinois or a senior U.S. senator from Arizona is telling me that. Change is no longer something you dump in a bowl with your car keys, but something you have to embrace, something you have to hope for, something you have to accept like it was a birthday card from your Aunt Louise.

So change we must.

This year, I'm going to give the restaurant festival another chance, even though I'm not certain it really deserves it. I am going to open my heart and take the festival back in, like a ex-girlfriend who dumped me on my birthday and now finds that she needs a ride to the airport. I'm going to allow it to make up for past transgressions, and to look for the shining pearl in the center of the grimy oyster.

Who knows? Maybe I will find that the restaurant festival isn't really all that bad. Maybe it will be the same as when I got tired of eating Indian food and vowed that I would never eat it again, that Indian food was the worst food on the planet, that I would no more eat Indian food than I would ask a Lehman Brothers executive for a sub-prime mortgage -- only to find years later that I really like Indian food, and could you pass the chicken tikka, please?

I am, after all, capable of changing. I am not so stuck in my ways that I would avoid going to the restaurant festival just because I ridiculed it in the past. After all, if John McCain is capable of embracing tax cuts that he once denounced, and if Barack Obama is capable of backing off a pledge to take public financing, than I am certainly capable of standing in line for 35 minutes to order a crab cake the size of an iPod Mini and paying $7.50 for the privilege, and enjoying myself in the process.

No matter what you think.

Pooling One's Interest

This column originally appeared on Sunday, May 25, 2008

Word has it that the Chester County Commissioners are taking suggestions for what should happen to the vacant space they will have when they move all the judges, prosecutors, public defenders, prothonotaries, clerks of courts, tipstaffs, secretaries and veteran criminal defense attorney John J. Duffy's motor scooter to the new Justice Center.

Word has it that they'll take suggestions from just about anyone as to what to do with the vacant North Wing and Mosteller's Annex, all the way down to that dog Marley who everyone seemed to be making such a fuss over last week. (Even West Chester Police Chief Scott Bohn's family dog was said to have asked to secure a spot watching the movie-making proceedings on West Gay Street on the off chance that Marley the Mutt might need a stunt double.)

Word has it that the county would just as soon rid itself of the Mosteller Annex, which used to be a department store back when former West Chester Mayor Thomas Chambers could still play a game of half-court basketball without an oxygen tank and a de-fib machine seated next to him on the pine, because, well, frankly, because it's the ugliest building in the borough not owned by renowned landlord Stan Zukin.

Word has it that as long as the price is right, anything goes with the Mosteller site, short of the housing the future home of Andy Dinniman's Personal State Senate Library and Skate Park, with its “Before Mustache,” “During Mustache,” and “After Mustache” sections divided by floors and an animatronic greeting by a life-sized Bam Margera, bar not included.

Excuse me, but Memo to Carol, Terence and Kathi: No need to send out the RFPs. Save the postage. I've got the answer that should have been as obvious to you three commissioners as Joe Norley at a West Chester U frat party.

Two words: Community pool.

West Chester has been aching for a community pool -- where hot, tired sweaty citizens could relax themselves after a hard day's work and, as I have pointed out on many occasions, is within walking distance of South Church Street -- ever since 1983, when I, coincidentally, spent my first summer watching the temperature in my South Church Street apartment rise above 95 degrees.

There didn't seem to be much room in the borough, however, for a pool the size that could accommodate hot, tired, sweaty journalists because the space was taken up by frivolous luxury uses like houses and stores and parking lots. Now, however, opportunity is presenting itself with all the anticipatory glee of a 15-year-old hacker looking at the Downingtown Area School District's computer “security system.”

So tear down the Mosteller, dig a nice hole, get the crews to come pour some concrete, plant a few trees for shade, get Wally the Wiener Man to provide concessions, and open it up in time to provide a backdrop for the first “Swinging Thursday” event. Don't worry: We don't need anything as fancy as an Olympic-sized pool with lap lanes, because frankly, we don't lap. We float and bob and chill like a half-empty wine bottle in Marsh Creek Lake.

Word.

A Way To Name That Creek!

This appeared on May 27, 2007


The plight of the Orphan Creeks of Chester County has been well documented, at least in this space. They are the creeks and streams and runs scattered throughout the county that —while making a real contribution to the community and its environment, by way of playing the role of tributary to larger creeks and streams and runs — have been left off the map, if you will, by going unnamed.

And while our local politicians have seen fit this election season to weigh in on supposedly more weighty topics such as property tax reform, liquor tax implementation and turnpike privatization, they have been strangely silent on the issue of giving names to those proud but officially ignored bodies of water.

Not one of the recently nominated candidates for county commissioner, Democrat or Republican, for instance, bothered to make even passing reference to the Orphan Creek Scandal in his or her acceptance speech. Their message, thus far, has seemed to be: "Millions, no … billions, no … umptydumptygazillions!!! for open space; not one dime for creek names."

How sad and ineffectual they all must find themselves when their children look to them for true leadership and see only abject failure.

But citizens, I am here to tell you that it is not too late, nor in any way impossible, for us to take matters into our own hands and begin to right this wrong of monumental proportions. You, me and your Aunt Sarah can all take part in naming the Orphan Creeks of Chester County. All it takes is a trip to the Web site for the U.S. Board on Geographic Names; its got a form there for just that purpose.

Water Resources Executive Director Jan Bowers, aka ”The Stream Queen of Chester County,“ assures me that although all of the large creeks and most of the medium sized ones here have names, many do not. Or if they do, they are ”local“ names, not known outside of a few villagers and people through whose backyards the creeks cut, streams flow and the runs, well, run. So it wouldn‘t be like you‘d slap a name like ”Dinniman Run“ on that trickle that runs through your West Nottingham neighborhood, only to find that it already has been named Hog Run.

There‘s a list of the names already taken, so you can check to make sure your nomination wouldn‘t trample on others' toes. Like Massacre Run or Leech Run or Dennis Run or Pigeon Creek or Trout Creek or Two Log Run or Jug Hollow. Just use your imagination.

I started this quest a few weeks ago by wondering what was the name of the stream that flows in back of the Downingtown Friends Meeting. One caller suggested that she knew it as a child as Park Run, but no such name exists on my BGN list. The caller suggested that I check with Francis Brown, the local historian and eminent Quaker, whose property through which the stream runs.

But knowing what I know of Mr. Brown, his place in the community and love for that stream, I think the better choice would be to fill out the BGN naming form in his honor.

That‘s : http://geonames.usgs.gov/bgn.html.

A Modest Proposal

This appeared on Sunday, April 1, 2007

Although I am certain he means well, the new legislation that state Sen. Andy Dinniman, D-19th, of West Whiteland, introduced at a sparsely attended session of the Legislature last week seems to me to be, well, shall we say, a trifle odd.

His legislation, SB 90210, is termed the ”Chester County Open Space Creation Act of 2007.“ When you get past most of the legislative gobbledygook that these documents always include (”Whereas …“ ”Be it therefore resolved …“ ”The General Assembly of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania hereby enacts ...“ ”The term ’Dinniman‘ shall refer to the all-knowing, all-seeing, all-powerful Legislator from Exton …“) what it comes down to is that Sen. Andy is tired of seeing open space in Chester County simply preserved; he now wants to actually make more of it.

Which I admit is a pretty nifty idea on its face. But somehow draining Marsh Creek State Park Lake and filling it in with prime topsoil from Carbon County appears to pose some engineering obstacles that might prove nettlesome, to say the least.

To his credit, Dinniman is optimistic about his plan.

"What a worthy goal this extensively researched legislation aspires to," the county‘s lone Democratic senator said in prepared comments. "For far too long, the waters of Marsh Creek Lake have taken up too much room, when that acreage could instead be a fertile plain among the landscape of Uwchlan Township, giving homeowners a place to walk their dogs, provided they are leashed.

"We all know that we can‘t just sit idly by while developers rape and pillage our hills and valleys and meadows and compost farms," Dinniman continued. "We‘ve got to be pro-active about this. What better way to start creating new open space than by also creating a massive civil service project that would bring new jobs to the underemployed in northern Chester County. Like, those so-called ’soccer‘ moms I see sipping Starbucks at Exton Square in the middle of the day. Don‘t they have a game to go to?"

Regarding the environmental impact of draining a 535-acre lake, Dinniman stated: "Impact, schmimpact. We‘ll grow grass there, and in my book green is good. Except for that moldy stuff that forms on my dog‘s teeth when we don‘t give him the right snacks."

At this point, it appears the biggest fallout over Dinniman‘s bill has been the introduction by state Rep. Carole Rubley of another piece of legislation, seemingly put together to keep her potential rival from getting the lead in the fast-developing Open Space Race.

Rubley, R-157th, of Tredyffrin, said her bill, HB 4-01-2007, the ”Even Better Chester County Open Space Creation Act“ would tackle two problems at once — making more open space and reducing rush-hour traffic.

"I know it would be expensive to tear down the entire Great Valley Corporate Center and return it to the farmland it once was," Rubley said. "But come on! How many cars would that take off 202 at the worst time of day, and how many more ears of corn could it put in the stalls at the West Chester Growers‘ Market? You do the math."

Me, I‘m reserving judgment on the entire thing.

P.S. Check the date on this posting.

The Case of the Brick Windows

This appeared on Sunday, March 4, 2007

Everyone loves a good mystery, even more when the mystery involves something in your own backyard.

You know, like whatever happened to the 12 missing votes from the 156th Legislative District (ballots, you may remember, it has yet to be disproven had my name on them)?

Or exactly when did Andy Dinniman‘s Groucho mustache disappear? And where did it go?

Better yet, how did William H. Lamb, former law-and-order district attorney of Chester County, turn into the Slots King of Fishtown?

But sometimes there are mysteries right under our noses that we don‘t notice until someone points them out.

Like The Case of the Brick Windows, suggested to us by Constant Reader Bob B.

Mr. B, a keen observer of goings-on in West Chester and its accompanying environs, noticed that there was something off-kilter about the new Justice Center (Code Name: We-Don‘t-Know-What-To-Call-It-Yet) going up on West Market Street. To wit: there are five bricked-in windows on the front façade of the building, right there near the corner of North Darlington Street.

The bricked windows go from the ground floor up. At a glance, they remind you of that scene in ”The Matrix“ when Mouse tries to escape from the on-rushing Agent Smith SWAT Team after coming back from Neo‘s visit with The Oracle, and draws aside a window curtain in Morpheus‘ apartment building, only to find that the window has been replaced by a brick wall and that he has nowhere to go and he‘s going to get shot up to smithereens when the SWAT storm troopers break down the door and, thus, become the first of the crew of the Nebuchadnezzar to perish.

Or it doesn‘t. Whatever.

Mr. B. was puzzled by the brick windows because they are not depicted on the original architectural drawings of the project. (Trust me: he checked.)

So he left it up to me to solve the puzzle and get back to him. ”If anyone can get to the bottom of the story, er, actually five stories, top to bottom, it‘s you,“ he fawned, leaving me slightly faint. So, with the help of Chester County Public Information Officer Extrordinaire Evelyn Walker, I did.

Here‘s the skinny, as delivered by the county‘s architect through Ms. W:

"It became necessary to locate a telecommunications and electrical room in the southeast corner of the building in order to properly serve the large floor plates. The architects desired to maintain the character and rhythm of the fenestration along Market Street; therefore, the cast stone surrounds and brick infill were proposed to satisfy the aesthetic goal. Sincerely, Paul Andrew Sgroi, AIA."

Frankly, I‘d have just said: "Oops!"

Mr. B. accepted the explanation with some rancor, and not just because of the technocratese that the answer came in. He declared that the brick windows were an eyesore that the citizens of Chester County would be stuck with when coming to West Chester to file their election recount petitions, or whatever else they‘ll do at the Justice Center, "rhythm of fenestration aesthetics" notwithstanding.

He suggested that the county get a huge refund from the people to blame for the snafu. I can‘t disagree.

Because, as Bill Lamb might say: ”Cha-ching!“

The (Yawn) Commissioners

This appeared on Sept. 10, 2006

I found myself on the fifth floor of the Chester County Courthouse last week. For those of you who don't know, that's where the three county commissioners set up shop and once or twice a week, come out of their plush offices and hold a public meeting.

For those of you who do know, things aren't the same as they used to be.

In some way, after attending the meeting I'm actually heartened that the judges on the Court of Common Pleas decided to pass over my application for Appointed Minority Commissioner in favor of that other guy - you know, the one with the actual governing experience.

In fact, I was reminded of a scene from the movie "The Freshman," in which Marlon Brando essays his comic take on a Mafia chieftain, Carmine Sabatini, and acts as mentor to young Clark Kellogg, from Vermont, played by the endearing Matthew Broderick.

It's the one where Carmine visits Clark in his dorm room at NYU, where Clark has gone to study film. Concluding his visit, Mr. Sabatini - "Jimmy the Toucan" to his friends - gets up, looks around at the concrete block walls, the stick furniture, the creaky bedsprings, and says: "So this is college? I didn't miss nuttin'."

To say that the commissioners meeting was lacking in drama and political import is to say that Terrell Owens has a strong self-image.

I'm not going to complain that the discussions held by the commissioners on Thursday lacked the fire and crackle of the prime minister's question session in British parliament. That would be unfair, pitting the amateurs against the pros.

But I expected something more than a debate over whether to accept the low bid on a contract for masonry restoration and caulking. Or a recitation on the history of the Chester County Economic Development Council and the purposes of the Industrial development Assistance Law.

If I had been selected to replace Andy What's-His-Name, I would have brought whole bunches of controversial topics to the forum. Issues like the elimination of fake Cincinnati chili from the menus of West Chester-area restaurants and the reclamation of the township of Chadds Ford into the boundaries of Chester County would play a lot more lively in the press than the allocation of $10,712.57 to the borough of Modena (Motto: "Just South of South Coatesville") for use in improvements at the Union Pump Station.

Back in the days when I covered the commissioners as a reporter, there was at least some newsworthy action from the front of the room. Irene Brooks would casually propose floating $15 billion in bonds to protect her neighbor's backyard, or D.T. Marrone might offhandedly remark that the county should reassess all property in sight every six months. If you were lucky, Karen Martynick and Joe Kenna would hold a glare-down contest.

What did the commissioners do Thursday? They proclaimed the day of Saturday, Sept. 16, 2006 as "Responsible Dog Ownership Day" in Chester County. You can believe me or not.

According to the proclamation, that day will now be devoted entirely to "enhancing the human-dog relationship," promoting the benefits of "Puppy Kindergarten" and educating the public about training for "obedience, agility and Earthdog."

Has it come to Earthdog training on the fifth floor? What would Jimmy the Toucan think?

It's All In The Resume

This appeared on June 18, 2006



Dear Common Pleas Board of Judges:

(Scratch that.)

Dear Guys and Gals:

Some of you I know, some I'm meeting for the first time. But I know there is a deadline of Monday for the resumes of those seeking the venerable office of Minority Commissioner and let me assure you, as a newspaperman of 26 years and counting, I know the meaning of a deadline.
So if I don't get to grease your palm, er, meet with you personally in delivering my resume, please forgive me and accept this column in its place. I'm just trying to be timely.

Let's get started.

Born: Cincinnati, Ohio.

Favorite food: Cincinnati chili three-way, two Coneys on the side, with (onions, of course.)

High School: Walnut Hills High School, 1973-1975. School motto: "High on the Hill," but we don't really need to go there, do we? Senior photo with shoulder length hair and Grateful Dead T-shirt supplied upon request.

College: Earlham College, Richmond, Ind. B.S. Political Science, 1979. Team nickname, Hustlin' Quakers. Team mascot, bearded protester wearing "Boycott Grapes" T-shirt.

Professional experience: As stated, newspaperman 1979-present.

Professional accomplishments: Honorable mention, Pennsylvania Newspaper Publishers' Association, Keystone Press Award, for series exposing confusion on Common Pleas Court surrounding career of controversial judge and subsequent disorder in the courts.

(Hmmm, strike that.)

Professional accomplishments: Wrote series of laudatory profiles of (let's see, one, two, three, four, what the heck call it) five current Common Pleas Court judges. And darn proud of it.
Career high point: Called "a gentleman" by former First Lady Barbara Bush during 1992 presidential campaign appearance, simply for standing up when she came in the interview room.
Career low point: Had unfortunate weight gain commented on by soon-to-be-former state Rep. Elinor Z. Taylor, R-156th, of West Goshen.

Career notable point: Wrote story about alleged UFO sighting at former Lukens Steel Co. plant. (Never actually disproven, however.)

Qualifications: Punctual. Familiar with layout of Chester County Courthouse. Possess courthouse security card (expires, July 1, 2006.) Able, and willing, to vote "no" on any proposal by GOP colleagues, day or night, 24/7/365, with sole exception of enormous budget increases for judiciary departments of county government, which may or may not include line item for new 60G iPods for current Common Pleas Court members.

Political aspirations: It's not about me. I'm just here to help the team.

Platform: It is far past time to free the citizens of Chadds Ford from the cruel yoke of tyranny in Delaware County, in which it is lumped in with slouching municipalities such as Folcroft and Yeadon and Havertown, instead of standing proudly alongside Birmingham, Pocopson, Thornbury, Coatesville and Modena. When we cut Delco loose back in 17-whatever, how were we supposed to know that the masterful genius of the Wyeth clan would choose that township to settle in? We was hoodwinked, and its time to make what's wrong right.

Possible campaign slogan: "I've paid my dues, and most of my parking tickets."

Bridgid for Burgess?

This appeared June 4, 2006


I'm at the Market Street Grill and Kerry walks by. He owns the place.

"How am I going to kick start this campaign for minority commissioner?" I say. "The ground hasn't even puffed, let alone swelled."

"Forget about it," says Kerry. "Phils are in it for a playoff spot, maybe two! Rollins wins the batting title and Howard takes the home run prize. Could be sweet!"

"Did the doctors decide to up your meds or something?" I say. "Look, I put people on notice two weeks ago that I'm the perfect choice, and not one call! Best I got was a good luck note from 'Amy in Texas,' but I don't think she's even registered."

"Forget about it," says Kerry. "The Braves are a pushover, and the Mets are a fabrication of the sportswriting media. By the time July 4 rolls around, we could be in sole possession of first place, and maybe even second, too! Oooh, sweet!"

"I hear they are making lots of progress in treating illnesses of the mind these days," I say. "Look, I've carved out a policy niche that no one else seems to have tapped. No one has even come close to calling for the annexation of Chadds Ford, but what do I get? Not even an old 'I'm proud to be a Chester County Democrat' badge."

Bridgid, the manager, walks by. She's now playing forward for the Philadelphia Pirates of the Women's Premier Soccer League.

"Change your name," she says. "I'd go with Smedley, as in Smedley Darlington, 1827-1899. He was kin to the other Darlingtons - Issac, William, Edward, that lot - and spent four glorious years representing the old 6th Congressional District. Plus, Smedley Butler's named after him. He may never have been elected, but Ol' Gimlet Eye knew a thing or two about politics."

I look at Kerry. He blinks. Hard. Ever since she scored the winning goal over the Northhampton Laurels, the girl's got delusions of grandeur.

"Forget about it," says Kerry. "August, I figure 22, 23 wins, no problem. We wrap up home field advantage by Labor Day and just wait for the Cards to hand us the first three of five. Sweet-ness!"

"You should lie down when the furies come," I say. "Look, I can't just go around thinking that just because I've met the president judge's parents and can find my way to the fifth floor of the courthouse without an escort that I'm a shoo-in. I need a campaign strategy. Something like Dinniman's 'I'll-even-wax-your-car-if-you-vote-for-me' plan."

Mr. Handforth - Bridgid's dad - pokes his head out from the kitchen.

"You should be a burgess," he says. "Like Channing Way, 1877-1954, son of Marshall and Anna Eliza Smedley Way. Dad served as burgess of West Chester from '95 to '96 - 1895, you understand - and sonny boy took over the family businesses, so to speak, in 1919."

Kerry looks at me. I blink. Very hard. Mr. Handforth must think his daughter's going to start in the World Cup this week.

"Forget about it," says Kerry. "I could get field level seats, maybe even on the field, for the World Series and ..."

Kerry keeps talking but I stop listening. I need a campaign manager, somebody who can get this thing off the ground.

I leave the grill, wondering who it could be. Then I see him across the street.

"Hey, Freddie Gusz!" says I.

Rellahan for Commissioner

This appeared on May 21, 2006



Now that the ground has stopped shaking and the sky has stopped raining frogs and the sun is back to rising in the east, it looks as though we are going to need a new minority commissioner.

For those of you who were out of the loop last week, the Big Gambler in Heaven rolled the dice on Election Day and came up Andy Dinniman. Not that it should have surprised anyone, because as I understand it, Andy went to all the homes in the 19th Senate District and promised every registered voter he would help clean out the garage, polish the silver or de-frag the computer - whatever - if they would just please, please, PLEASE vote for him.

So he's got his work cut out for him over the next couple weeks.

Meanwhile, someone has to take his seat at the boardroom table. And while I don't want to be too forward about it, I think I have the perfect choice.

Me.

Don't look that way. There are several very good reasons why I should be the next county commissioner, and if you would just stop laughing for a few minutes we could discuss them.

First, if the adage that 50 percent of the job is just showing up is true, I'm a natural. I only live a few blocks from the courthouse, I have a pass to go around the security monitors, I know where the elevators are, and I can find my way to the fifth floor. How many other people can say that?

Second, I know how to do the job. Over the years, I've seen lots of minority commissioners in action - Pat O'Donnell, Patty Baldwin, Andy - and I think I can put together a public face that blends a little bit of each. I can tell a good Irish story before voting "no" on everything but the reading of the minutes like Pat; be punctual and stay in the office in case someone has to answer the phones like Patty; and talk about the wonders of Chester County until everyone else in the room wants to throw up like, well, you know who.

As for a political platform, I've got that covered. I think readers of this column will know that I stand for, among other things, annexing Chadds Ford Township from Delaware County, building a public swimming pool within walking distance of my home on South Church Street, coming up with a suitable motto for West Chester (my new favorite: "Better Organic Lettuce Than Phoenixville"), and eliminating fake Cincinnati-style chili from local restaurant menus.

A little help from commissioners Carol and Don and I think we can get all those things accomplished in no time.

You might think there are people out there who have an edge over me because they've, oh, actually been active in Democratic Party politics over the years, but consider this: Not only do I know the president judge by her first name, but I've met her parents. Since the judges in the county make the pick, need I say more?

So I think if we just accept the notion that I'm The Man, we can wrap up this whole thing rather quickly.

Just one thing: I don't have to pose in all those photos with the Marching Band Parent of the Year, do I?