The Creeks With No Name

This appeared on Sunday, May 6, 2007

If you call up Google maps on the Internet and type in Downingtown, Pa., with a little trial and error you can see a satellite image of the creek that runs behind the Downingtown Friends Meetinghouse.

Not to be a wiseacre about it, but it‘s a friendly creek — big enough not to be a mere drainage ditch but small enough for children to splash around in on a hot summer day while their parents do whatever it is adults do after Quaker meeting is over, without them getting in deep trouble. Or hot water, if you will.

But here‘s the rub. So far as I can tell, it does not have a name. It is a tributary of the East Branch of the Brandywine Creek, so it has a purpose in life. It makes a contribution to the greater good, to the larger whole, and yet it is left nameless — at least on printed maps.

And it is not alone. Looking at the latest edition of Franklin Maps‘ atlas for Chester and Delaware counties, I found countless examples of identifiable bodies of water that have no identity ascribed to them. (Well, countless only in the respect that I really didn‘t feel like counting them.) There they are, drawn onto the map like small blue veins stringing along the countryside of West Whiteland or East Nantmeal or whichever Coventry you care to examine, and they are as nameless as Clint Eastwood‘s character in "The Good, The Bad and The Ugly."

They are the Orphan Creeks of Chester County.

Now, I am certain that everyone reading this has their own favorite creek in Chester County, although I‘m going to bet that a good 65 percent immediately go with the Brandywine, east or west branch, as their personal favorite. Fine. If you want to go with the obvious choice — if you want to root for the Yankees or the Cowboys or one of the easy winners — I‘m not going to denegrate you. What some people lack in creative selectivity I‘m sure they make up for in other ways, like an acute passion for dusting or dishwashing.

Me, I go Valley Creek. Not the Valley Creek in Valley Forge, mind you, but the East Bradford-West Whiteland Valley Creek. If the Brandywine Creek is the Pennsylvania Turnpike of Chester County creeks — flat, straight, wide, well-trafficked, boring — then Valley Creek is San Francisco‘s Lombard Street.

It curves and weaves and twists its way through the woods, emerging here and disappearing there, only to turn up crossing your path just a few yards up the road when you least expect it. It‘s clean and swift and bubbly and full of trout, enviable characteristics for any creek.

And it‘s is a lucky creek, too, because it has a name. Just like the Big Elk or the Octoraro or the Red Clay or the White Clay or the Crum or the Ridley or the Radley French Pickering Bucktoe or Marsh, you can talk about it like it‘s a person in the room.

The Orphan Creeks don‘t have that same luck, and I say it‘s time to correct that. I say the next time one of the candidates for county commissioner knocks on your door, you bring up the Orphan Creeks to them.

See what they say.

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?