Where your favorite TV characters hang out in Scranton, PA
The fact is we don’t watch a lot of TV. Heck, we’re on the road so much it’s all we can do to catch a motel movie now and again. But whenever possible, we’re slaves to “The Office.” Maybe because it’s plain hilarious, and maybe because it takes place in Scranton, PA.
We cruise into “The Electric City” on old Route 11 just to check out the joints they talk about on “The Office.” We even have the radio in the ragtop glued to Rock 107 FM. (Remember the episode when Dwight calls the station: “Hello, Rock 107? Am I the 107th caller?”) An appropriate anthem, “Little Pink Houses,” rolls us past little brick ones built for the miners and millers and railroaders who gave this town its heyday.
Today, factories have become art studios. Old storefronts are unique boutiques. Antique pressed-tin ceilings look down upon lively pubs and steak houses. And next to the railroad yards – now the mighty Steamtown National Historic Site – is The Mall at Steamtown.
We park below and ride an elevator into the bells and whistles of a shopping paradise that often co-stars on our favorite show. Sneak a peek inside Victoria’s Secret, where Michael Scott, the office boss, inexplicably takes his female co-workers on “field trips.” Check out Nail Trix, a salon where Kelly Kapoor would totally spend every Saturday morning.
We’re tacky tourist shutterbugs until a security guard tells us no pictures inside the mall. “Except at the food court,” he points. “There’s a whole display of those ‘Office’ stars perfect for snapshots.”
Sure enough, there’s the whole cast, bigger than life. We click cardboard cutouts of Michael Scott, Kelly Kapoor, Creed (played by Creed Bratton – did you know he used to play guitar in The Grassroots?), the grumpy nerd Dwight (played by Rainn Wilson, who was made an honorary mall security guard when he came to Scranton for an “Office” convention) – even the original “Scranton Welcomes You” sign from the show’s opening credits. Among the food-court stalwarts of Arthur Treacher’s and The Lotus Express, it’s pretty cool.
Outside the food court we walk a skyway above the massive Steamtown train yards, and down into acres of boxcars, locomotives, cabooses, and lots of electric trolleys. For many years Scrantonians rode the first citywide electric trolley system in the world, hence its nickname “Electric City.”
Follow the tracks to The Trolley Museum at the other end of the yards. Inside, hop aboard an original wooden streetcar, with velvet curtains and leather benches. Imagine the clang-clang-clang. Sure beats walking.
Folks still ride these restored wonders along the edge of town, through the woods and over to the friendly confines where the Triple-A Yankees play. It’s a romantic ride through time to one gem of a ballpark.
Around the corner and high above, a blazing round sign illuminates the city’s happy heritage every night: “Scranton, The Electric City.” It’s a beauty.
Back in the ragtop, we pass the big green sign on the home of the Crystal Club Soda Water Company. (Seems there’s a can of Crystal Club Root Beer on every desk in “The Office.”) We spy the building on the corner of Adams and Mulberry that stands in for the fabled Dunder Mifflin paper company. It has a sixties kind of architectural cool, and we can’t help but snap a drive-by pic.
Swing down Washington and there’s Abe’s Delicatessen, just in time for lunch. (Have you seen the Abe’s menu stuck on “The Office” fridge?) We stand before a gleaming case of pickles, smoked fish and kosher salamis. On top, a cooling tray of noodle kugel and knishes fresh from the oven. A counterman (Abe himself?) catches our gawk and shrugs, “What’s not to like?” We go with matzo ball soup and the best whitefish salad this side of Second Avenue. Kosher deli in Scranton; who knew?
We walk a couple blocks to the Artists For Art gallery. It’s home to contemporary work from local artists, including – at least on TV - Pam Beesly, played by Jenna Fischer. AFA’s set in a row of restored brick storefronts, another intersection of hardscrabble and new-wave Scranton.
Not far from AFA we discover the favorite watering hole of “The Office” denizens. Poor Richard’s Pub, with its spicy wings, local tap beer and a waitress who calls us “honey,” is tucked inside the South Side Bowl. The alleys are booming with bowling teams of all ages, and the bright lights and neon colors are a groovy shock after the brick streets of downtown. A mural of enormous bowling balls the color of grape soda and limeade loom over the ten-pins in a pattern that suggests 1950’s linoleum on 1960’s acid. It looks as loud as it sounds, and we lace up two-tones and throw a spare or two between gutter balls and sure enough work up a lager thirst.
Inside Poor Richard’s the lights are low again, and a popular local duo called The Girlz sway gently with electric guitars. We nurse our bowling-ball elbows by bending a few with some refugees from genuine Scranton offices.
One fellow is actually sporting a t-shirt, for sale here at Poor Richards, emblazoned with a slogan from “The Office” that seems oh-so true: “Ain’t no party like a Scranton party ‘cause a Scranton party don’t stop.”
We buy a double XL and strike out from the lanes into a beautiful mountain town evening. Time to check into the majestic Lackawanna train station. The grand waiting room, adorned with marble and amazing tile mosaics from a gilded time, is now a grand hotel lobby, and we’re made welcome with uncommon opulence.
Tonight, it’s dinner at Cooper’s Seafood, an “Office” favorite. (Remember when Michael wants sushi? Dwight tells him Cooper’s has calamari.) We giggle over the corny lobster beanie with its googly eyeballs and wiggly antennae and slurp just-shucked Virginia Salts. Fresh oysters in Scranton; who knew?
Tomorrow it’s a spooky séance at The Houdini Museum and a dark trek deep inside a real coalmine. Then more live local music at The Bog, a hipster bar across from Embassy Vinyl, one of America’s last great record stores. Like the t-shirt says, a Scranton party just don’t stop. Until it does, we’ll see you around the bends and back roads.
For an illustrated map of your tour of Scranton sites made famous on "The Office," hop on over to www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.
Steamtown National Historic Site/Trolley Museum
What’s more powerful than a locomotive? Lots and lots of locomotives! Ride a steam train, explore the huge old train yards, and take a jaunt on an old electric trolley. Then fix your shopping jones at The Mall at Steamtown right next door. It’s where “The Office” shops for everything. Learn all about it at www.nps.gov/stea/ and/or www.ectma.org.
Farley’s Steakhouse
Oak, brass and Certified Angus Steaks. On the episode called “Basketball,” the warehouse team played the office team and the losers had to buy dinner at this popular steak house. (Check out the homemade old bay potato chips.) 300 Adams Ave. 570) 346-3000. Farleysrestaurant.com
Abe’s Kosher Delicatessen
Hot pastrami, corned beef on rye, lox and bagels. What’s not to like? 326 N Washington Ave. 570-346-2946.
AFA Gallery
Exhibits from local artists rotate monthly. See for yourself at 514 Lackawanna Ave or take a virtual tour at www.artistsforart.com.
South Side Bowl/Poor Richard’s Pub
The favorite place to hang out after working at “The Office.” Bowl a strike, have a pint and try the spicy wings sampler. Life doesn’t get better than this. 125 Beech Street. www.southsidebowl.com. (570) 961-5213
Cooper’s Seafood
Look for the lighthouse and welcome aboard. The corny gift shot is almost as much fun as tearing into those fresh oysters and twin lobster tails. 701 N Washington Ave. (570)346-6883. www.coopers-seafood.com
Lackawanna Station Hotel
The lobby/restaurant is one of the most beautifully restored gilded railroad stations in America. The mini-suites have microwaves and refrigerators. 700 Lackawanna Avenue.
(570) 342-8300. www.radisson.com/scrantonpa
Nay Aug Park/Everhart Museum
At the top of Mulberry Street is a huge public park. There’s a pool, an animal rescue (with monkeys and an alligator) and a fabulous treehouse with a gorgeous view. The Everhart Museum has an art collection that blows us away. scrantonpa.gov/nayaug_park.html
Glider Diner
When you need a late-night fix of homemade corned-beef hash and eggs, remember The Glider is open 24 hours. 890 Providence Rd. 570.343.8036. www.gliderdiner.com.
The Houdini Museum
Houdini in Scranton; who knew? Here’s the largest building devoted to Harry Houdini, with great magic shows, scary storytelling and spooky séances in “The Psychic Theater.” The website says, “not for the feint of heart.” 1443 N. Main Street. Call for reservations: 570.383.9297. www.houdini.org or www.psychictheater.com.
Ok, now it's your turn. Let us know what you find out there with an email to shunpiker@visitpa.com.
Friday, May 2, 2008
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Pennsylvania Wilds
Where country roads lead to oil booms, simpler times and skydiving Aussies.
A roadtrip through the Pennsylvania Wilds is best plotted with county maps. We’re driving old logging roads, dirt highways through 100-year forests, navigating by the direction of sunlight through stands of black cherry hardwood. We’re dappled in the ragtop, on the way to the world’s first oil well, and looking for oil-boom echoes from the 19th century.
We find our first petroleum ghosts at a pit stop called Pithole. There’s not much left of the boomtown that was once roaring with 15,000 hard-living speculators. Pithole, appropriately, was a muddy, smelly and completely unsavory place created in a flash of oil-fueled fantasia. Hotels, saloons and yes, any number of ill-reputed houses appeared overnight in what was then and still is pretty much the middle of nowhere.
We make the short hop from Pithole’s bleak memory to the pride of Titusville: the Col. Drake Oil Well, the world’s first to bring “black gold” out of the ground. The well’s still there, 150 years later. And so’s plenty of oil, to hear the clanking pump tell it.
Our local docent, Jerry, hollers to be heard. He takes us past great oilrig parts and ancient mammoth trucks. There’s even an old nitro wagon with painted warnings of its dangerous cargo.
“They blasted rock with nitroglycerine,” Jerry tells us. “Nitro’s skittish and hauling it’s a suicide job. Any little bump in the road and boom. Never lend money to a nitro man,” Jerry chuckles.
This place is a hoot worth the holler, and we’re glad the ragtop hauls souvenirs instead of explosives as we head into Titusville proper. It’s a sweet old town, with bustling breakfast joints, a great old sporting goods store where we browse ammo and arrowhead, and a cheery motel of painted railroad cabooses. We sleep like Casey Jones in an old Pennsy rail car and wake up to whistles. Across the way the Oil Creek & Titusville tourist train steams off on a fall foliage run.
After eggs over easy we highball towards Tidioute, a dreamy village on the edge of the Allegheny Forest. Burning break pads make our nose wrinkle and the ragtop limps with luck into Chris McLaughlin’s garage. He and his pop are Tidioute’s very own Click-and-Clack, and they keep locals in well-tuned cars. Today they help a couple of strangers with smelly breaks and don’t want money.
The right front wheel comes off with a “hmmm” and an “I thought so.” A wrench turns, an oilcan squirts and our breaks are judged good to go. We tell Chris we’re lucky to find an honest mechanic so far from home, and he laughs. “Aw, we take care of each other up here. It’s still the way life used to be everywhere else.”
The whole roadtrip’s a reflection of happier, simpler times. And to prove it, Chris points us across the Allegheny River, up Route 62 a couple miles to The Simpler Times Museum. A hand-scrawled sign says “Out back, honk horn,” so we do. Soon enough, Mr. Ziegler, octogenarian founder, curator and ticket-taker ($4 each) strolls down from out back and shows us into his amazing museum.
Mr. Ziegler’s collection is a sculpture garden of beautiful antique gas pumps, oilcans, Model-T’s, cast-iron tools, decades of road signs and license plates. The gas pumps stand like palace guards at attention, with antique clock faces on heads of Disneyland colors. Paraphernalia from when gasoline seemed to come right out of these Pennsylvania woods.
We ask our antique host if they really were simpler timers. “Simpler, maybe, but not easier,” Mr. Ziegler says. “We had to work hard to sit pretty.”
Sage wisdom in our rearview, we cruise a dirt highway through the Allegheny forest. We rumble toward Kane, where we find homemade sausage and smoked cheese at Jack Bell’s old-time country store and produce/meat market. Jack’s been making homemade sausage (love the “leak log”) and canning beets and pickles and spicy marinara for 37 years. We grab some picnic goodies that marry quite nicely with a bottle of “Route 6” Chardonnay from the Flickerwood Wine Cellars down the road a piece. A little bit of tastebud heaven in the noonday sun.
With happy bellies and a winery tour, we find King’s Run Road, yet another gravel byway on the county map. We’re on the edge of the Commonwealth, up hill and down dale. We actually have to cross into New York and then down a long driveway that takes back into PA and right up the front door of Oz’s Homestay.
Some years back Ashley Easdon-Smith came here from Australia, fell out of the sky and into love with Celeine. They’re a couple of smiling skydivers, and their Homestay is actually an airstrip right out of Sky King. “It’s a homestay cause it’s our home and you stay with us,” Celeine explains.
“Have a beer!” Ash brandishes a pitcher and encourages us to fill it from the outside tap. It’s great to wash away the dirt highways of Potter County.
Everyone gathers in the great room of a restored 100-year old barn. Ash and Celeine live in the basement, and upstairs are a couple of roomy rooms with log beds, fit for a hobbit, and hand-hewn by Ash himself. Ash lords over the kitchen, and piles enormous prawns on plates of steaming linguini, tosses a salad the size of St. Louis and urges us to eat, drink and try to get a word in edgewise. The table is crowded with family, friends, neighbors and guests. Every night’s a dinner party at Oz, and every morning’s an Australian breakfast shines as the sun reflects on the Cessna parked outside.
We opt out of the offered skydive, and with cries of “chicken” in our ears, head for Eldred, where we gawk through a perfect little museum dedicated to the Big One, WW II. And to Smethport, home of toyland’s timeless Wooly Willy, and where we find a spooky county jail and a two-headed calf. But that’s a whole other story, best told in a whole other roadtrip.
Tonight, back to Oz’s Homestay, where Ash makes tenderloin tips and Celeine swears she won’t throw us out of a perfectly good airplane if we clean our plates. Until then, we’ll look for you on the bends and back roads.
When you hit the road, here's where to stop. For a complete map and photos of everything, stop in at www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.
Col. Drake Oil Well Museum
Col. Edwin Drake and his sidekick driller, Uncle Billy Smith, started the oil industry right here. The gooey stuff is still coming out of the ground, and the museum’s a slick way to spend the day. On the outskirts of Titusville, and on a very cool website at www.drakewell.org.
Oil Creek & Titusville Railroad
Take a ride through the Pennsylvania Wilds on a great old passenger train. The forest views along the Oil Creek are just beautiful. Call 814.676.1733 or hop aboard online at www.octr.org.
The Caboose Motel
Every room’s an actual caboose, beautifully restored. Check in as Choo-Choo Charlie and see if they give you a weird look. On Perry Road right next to the Oil Creek & Titusville Railroad. Call for a reservation at 800-827-0690.
Missy’s Arcade Restaurant
The quintessential small-town breakfast and lunch joint. Where locals gather over buckwheat cakes and talk about how the Rockets did this season. (They love their high school sports up here.) 116 Diamond Street, Titusville. 814.827.8110.
Chris McLaughlin’s Garage, Tidioute
If you need an honest mechanic, Chris is your guy. Ask anyone in town where to find him and he’ll point to all the good places to visit in and around Tidioute.
Simpler Times Museum
Just a few miles north of Tionesta, along the Allegheny River on Rt. 62, is a wonderland of how life used to be. Remember gas pumps that looked like robots? Model-T’s and Mustangs? Rotary phones? One man’s collection is a whole world of nostalgia. Simpler times, simply not to be missed.
Bell’s Produce and Flickerwood Wine Cellars
Jack Bell’s opened his incredible deli and produce market 36 years ago. His homemade sausages, smoked cheeses, home-canned pickles and sauces can’t be found anywhere else. Grab a basket lunch and head up the street to Flickerwood Wine Cellars. We enjoyed a picnic lunch from Bell’s with a bottle of Flickerwood’s best. Bell’s: 401 N. Fraley Street in Kane, PA. Order online at jackbellsmeats.com. Flickerwood: 309 Flickerwood Rd in Kane. www.flickerwood.com.
Smethport: The Home of Wooly Willy
When the old man put us in the backseat with our Wooly Willy, it was miles before we asked, “are we there yet.” They still make Wooly Willy, the original iron man, in Smethport. The old county jail and historical society is worth the visit, too. Keep your eyes peeled for the two-headed calf – believe it or not!
Eldred WWII Museum
During the Big One, the Eldred munitions plant supported our troops. Today the story of WW II is beautifully told at this perfect little museum. Be prepared for the lump in your throat. 201 Main Street, Eldred. www.eldredwwiimuseum.net.
Oz’s Homestay B&B
You don’t have to jump out of an airplane to have a great time at Ash and Celeine’s unique B&B. You’ll be welcomed as old friends, eat well and laugh out loud. Come by car or plane or parachute. Call 814.697.7218 or jump online: www.ozhomestay-huntinglodge.com.
Ok, now it's your turn. Let us know what you find out there with an email to shunpiker@visitpa.com.
A roadtrip through the Pennsylvania Wilds is best plotted with county maps. We’re driving old logging roads, dirt highways through 100-year forests, navigating by the direction of sunlight through stands of black cherry hardwood. We’re dappled in the ragtop, on the way to the world’s first oil well, and looking for oil-boom echoes from the 19th century.
We find our first petroleum ghosts at a pit stop called Pithole. There’s not much left of the boomtown that was once roaring with 15,000 hard-living speculators. Pithole, appropriately, was a muddy, smelly and completely unsavory place created in a flash of oil-fueled fantasia. Hotels, saloons and yes, any number of ill-reputed houses appeared overnight in what was then and still is pretty much the middle of nowhere.
We make the short hop from Pithole’s bleak memory to the pride of Titusville: the Col. Drake Oil Well, the world’s first to bring “black gold” out of the ground. The well’s still there, 150 years later. And so’s plenty of oil, to hear the clanking pump tell it.
Our local docent, Jerry, hollers to be heard. He takes us past great oilrig parts and ancient mammoth trucks. There’s even an old nitro wagon with painted warnings of its dangerous cargo.
“They blasted rock with nitroglycerine,” Jerry tells us. “Nitro’s skittish and hauling it’s a suicide job. Any little bump in the road and boom. Never lend money to a nitro man,” Jerry chuckles.
This place is a hoot worth the holler, and we’re glad the ragtop hauls souvenirs instead of explosives as we head into Titusville proper. It’s a sweet old town, with bustling breakfast joints, a great old sporting goods store where we browse ammo and arrowhead, and a cheery motel of painted railroad cabooses. We sleep like Casey Jones in an old Pennsy rail car and wake up to whistles. Across the way the Oil Creek & Titusville tourist train steams off on a fall foliage run.
After eggs over easy we highball towards Tidioute, a dreamy village on the edge of the Allegheny Forest. Burning break pads make our nose wrinkle and the ragtop limps with luck into Chris McLaughlin’s garage. He and his pop are Tidioute’s very own Click-and-Clack, and they keep locals in well-tuned cars. Today they help a couple of strangers with smelly breaks and don’t want money.
The right front wheel comes off with a “hmmm” and an “I thought so.” A wrench turns, an oilcan squirts and our breaks are judged good to go. We tell Chris we’re lucky to find an honest mechanic so far from home, and he laughs. “Aw, we take care of each other up here. It’s still the way life used to be everywhere else.”
The whole roadtrip’s a reflection of happier, simpler times. And to prove it, Chris points us across the Allegheny River, up Route 62 a couple miles to The Simpler Times Museum. A hand-scrawled sign says “Out back, honk horn,” so we do. Soon enough, Mr. Ziegler, octogenarian founder, curator and ticket-taker ($4 each) strolls down from out back and shows us into his amazing museum.
Mr. Ziegler’s collection is a sculpture garden of beautiful antique gas pumps, oilcans, Model-T’s, cast-iron tools, decades of road signs and license plates. The gas pumps stand like palace guards at attention, with antique clock faces on heads of Disneyland colors. Paraphernalia from when gasoline seemed to come right out of these Pennsylvania woods.
We ask our antique host if they really were simpler timers. “Simpler, maybe, but not easier,” Mr. Ziegler says. “We had to work hard to sit pretty.”
Sage wisdom in our rearview, we cruise a dirt highway through the Allegheny forest. We rumble toward Kane, where we find homemade sausage and smoked cheese at Jack Bell’s old-time country store and produce/meat market. Jack’s been making homemade sausage (love the “leak log”) and canning beets and pickles and spicy marinara for 37 years. We grab some picnic goodies that marry quite nicely with a bottle of “Route 6” Chardonnay from the Flickerwood Wine Cellars down the road a piece. A little bit of tastebud heaven in the noonday sun.
With happy bellies and a winery tour, we find King’s Run Road, yet another gravel byway on the county map. We’re on the edge of the Commonwealth, up hill and down dale. We actually have to cross into New York and then down a long driveway that takes back into PA and right up the front door of Oz’s Homestay.
Some years back Ashley Easdon-Smith came here from Australia, fell out of the sky and into love with Celeine. They’re a couple of smiling skydivers, and their Homestay is actually an airstrip right out of Sky King. “It’s a homestay cause it’s our home and you stay with us,” Celeine explains.
“Have a beer!” Ash brandishes a pitcher and encourages us to fill it from the outside tap. It’s great to wash away the dirt highways of Potter County.
Everyone gathers in the great room of a restored 100-year old barn. Ash and Celeine live in the basement, and upstairs are a couple of roomy rooms with log beds, fit for a hobbit, and hand-hewn by Ash himself. Ash lords over the kitchen, and piles enormous prawns on plates of steaming linguini, tosses a salad the size of St. Louis and urges us to eat, drink and try to get a word in edgewise. The table is crowded with family, friends, neighbors and guests. Every night’s a dinner party at Oz, and every morning’s an Australian breakfast shines as the sun reflects on the Cessna parked outside.
We opt out of the offered skydive, and with cries of “chicken” in our ears, head for Eldred, where we gawk through a perfect little museum dedicated to the Big One, WW II. And to Smethport, home of toyland’s timeless Wooly Willy, and where we find a spooky county jail and a two-headed calf. But that’s a whole other story, best told in a whole other roadtrip.
Tonight, back to Oz’s Homestay, where Ash makes tenderloin tips and Celeine swears she won’t throw us out of a perfectly good airplane if we clean our plates. Until then, we’ll look for you on the bends and back roads.
When you hit the road, here's where to stop. For a complete map and photos of everything, stop in at www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.
Col. Drake Oil Well Museum
Col. Edwin Drake and his sidekick driller, Uncle Billy Smith, started the oil industry right here. The gooey stuff is still coming out of the ground, and the museum’s a slick way to spend the day. On the outskirts of Titusville, and on a very cool website at www.drakewell.org.
Oil Creek & Titusville Railroad
Take a ride through the Pennsylvania Wilds on a great old passenger train. The forest views along the Oil Creek are just beautiful. Call 814.676.1733 or hop aboard online at www.octr.org.
The Caboose Motel
Every room’s an actual caboose, beautifully restored. Check in as Choo-Choo Charlie and see if they give you a weird look. On Perry Road right next to the Oil Creek & Titusville Railroad. Call for a reservation at 800-827-0690.
Missy’s Arcade Restaurant
The quintessential small-town breakfast and lunch joint. Where locals gather over buckwheat cakes and talk about how the Rockets did this season. (They love their high school sports up here.) 116 Diamond Street, Titusville. 814.827.8110.
Chris McLaughlin’s Garage, Tidioute
If you need an honest mechanic, Chris is your guy. Ask anyone in town where to find him and he’ll point to all the good places to visit in and around Tidioute.
Simpler Times Museum
Just a few miles north of Tionesta, along the Allegheny River on Rt. 62, is a wonderland of how life used to be. Remember gas pumps that looked like robots? Model-T’s and Mustangs? Rotary phones? One man’s collection is a whole world of nostalgia. Simpler times, simply not to be missed.
Bell’s Produce and Flickerwood Wine Cellars
Jack Bell’s opened his incredible deli and produce market 36 years ago. His homemade sausages, smoked cheeses, home-canned pickles and sauces can’t be found anywhere else. Grab a basket lunch and head up the street to Flickerwood Wine Cellars. We enjoyed a picnic lunch from Bell’s with a bottle of Flickerwood’s best. Bell’s: 401 N. Fraley Street in Kane, PA. Order online at jackbellsmeats.com. Flickerwood: 309 Flickerwood Rd in Kane. www.flickerwood.com.
Smethport: The Home of Wooly Willy
When the old man put us in the backseat with our Wooly Willy, it was miles before we asked, “are we there yet.” They still make Wooly Willy, the original iron man, in Smethport. The old county jail and historical society is worth the visit, too. Keep your eyes peeled for the two-headed calf – believe it or not!
Eldred WWII Museum
During the Big One, the Eldred munitions plant supported our troops. Today the story of WW II is beautifully told at this perfect little museum. Be prepared for the lump in your throat. 201 Main Street, Eldred. www.eldredwwiimuseum.net.
Oz’s Homestay B&B
You don’t have to jump out of an airplane to have a great time at Ash and Celeine’s unique B&B. You’ll be welcomed as old friends, eat well and laugh out loud. Come by car or plane or parachute. Call 814.697.7218 or jump online: www.ozhomestay-huntinglodge.com.
Ok, now it's your turn. Let us know what you find out there with an email to shunpiker@visitpa.com.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Harrisburg Jaw Droppers
Morning in the Senate, a few innings with the Senators and rollin’ on the river in the capital city
About the first thing we do in Harrisburg is drop our jaws. We’re in the state capitol building, and it’s a gilded age glory if ever we’ve seen one. We stand beneath the high rotunda and spin like a top. Around us it’s all golden glamour, blinding brass, marble this and granite that. Magnificent Mercer tile mosaics illustrate the lives of farmers and steelworkers, glass blowers and coal miners, teachers and revolutionaries. It’s the story of America itself, and it’s beautiful.
We climb marble stairs and horn in on one of the free guided tours already in progress. We learn that Teddy Roosevelt dedicated this grandest capitol in the country on its opening day in 1913. He proclaimed it “priceless.” Our tour guide tells us that it was actually about $13 million worth of glorious craftsmanship.
Compound the interest and account for inflation and today even a billion isn’t enough to build this uncommon monument to the laws of common men.
A peek into the House of Representatives and we gasp at grandeur. Across the way we exhale just in time to spasm again at the splendor of the Senate. Fabulous chandeliers shed light on the chambers below our peanut-gallery perch and we imagine ourselves holding forth, orating, and perhaps yielding with reluctance to the gentleman from Potter County or Mercersburg. We’re starring in our own fantasy version of Mr. Smith Goes To Harrisburg and loving every minute.
But we have a full day ahead, with a ballgame, a river to run and a belly full of feed-me-now. So we heed the sage advise of an ample local legislator and make a quick stop a couple blocks north of the Capitol. Here’s the Old Original Jackson House, home of what might be the best burger between two rivers. Dave Kegris has been slaving over a hot grill here for a good while now, and he’s pretty serious about what comes off it.
“Why do people settle for frozen patties!” Dave rails. He starts with a big scoop of fresh ground sirloin, like a XL meatball. It flattens out over the flames but stays juicy in the middle. Dave’s pretty ornery about his burgers, and it pays off with a need for extra napkins every time. He’s stubborn about his rolls, too. Every day a fresh truckload trundles in from a venerable South Philly bakery. (Don’t even get Dave started about the difference between sauce and gravy.) And if you’re really serious, order up a burger with the aged sharp provolone from the Italian Market. Close your eyes you can see 9th Street.
With a bag of the best from the Jackson House, we head to City Island to watch the Harrisburg Senators host the Rock Cats from New Britain, Connecticut. The local nine aren’t faring well (losers of their last seven) but inside their island bandbox the sun is warm, the beer is cold, and every day’s a brand new ballgame.
City Island sits in the middle of the Susquehanna, a river city park that’s just blocks from the Capitol and a stone skip from the swinging restaurant row of Second Street. On the west side is a concrete “beach” with a long bathhouse that once played host to hundreds on a weekend afternoon. Nowadays fewer folks worship the sun on this stretch, no doubt because of the party armada moored at the marina on the other side. Sunshine rains on more than 1,000 pontoon boats here. These floating-patios-with-motors are perfect for the shallow river; many are complete with couches and barbecues and hi-fis that send sound waves across the weekend water.
The fifth inning and the Senators’ lanky right fielder lopes after (and misses) another pop fly. We nod along as his manager chews him out from the dugout. It’s double-A ball and a perfect place to watch ‘em learn the perfect game, especially when they start tossing free hot dogs and t-shirts into the stands.
We say wait-till-next-year and skip out early behind the outfield fence and find the little shack with the green kayak on top. It’s Susquehanna Outfitters and Steve Oliphant and Jill Miller, partners on the river as well as in life, take us away from it all, just minutes from here. We leave City Island for islands in the stream, in the middle of the Susquehanna, the Capitol’s rotunda still in full view.
Not far upriver we paddle through a collection of small islands formed 100 years ago by coal spilled from barges, when the river brought America’s energy down from upstate mines. They feel like they’ve always been here; they feel Jurassic compared to the shoreline bustle.
Jill is ahead in her kayak; we’re back with Steve in a long canoe. It’s so quiet and the water is clear as gin. “A lot cleaner than when these islands were built outta coal. We gotta keep it this way,” Steve says. We glide close to Wade Island, the largest colony of nesting egrets and night herons in Pennsylvania. Ducks float along side and cormorants peel their eyes from nearby perches. Baitfish leap from the shallows. We can’t believe how beautiful.
Steve reads our mind. “There’s so much wildlife, so close on this river. And the more you love it and enjoy it, the more you’ll fight to protect it.” An eagle-eyed osprey with a wingspan big as our canoe soars overhead in agreement.
We land back at City Island just in time to walk across the Market Street Bridge with the straggling remnants of the ballpark faithful. It’s time to head upriver to our jazz-age mansion bedroom waiting at The Milestone Inn, where miraculously, the architect found a way to give every room in the house a river view.
We need a shower and time to reflect on such an eclectic day. Later, we dig into Osso Buco, glorious Bolognese and an adventurous (and reasonable) wine list at Char’s Bella Mundo. These people know how to cook and it’s without a doubt our favorite restaurant in “the ‘burg.” Tomorrow it’s the National Civil War Museum and a big appetite for exploration among the bars and beaneries of Second Street. And Steve and Jill wanna take us on a bike ride, which they promise to be as inspiring as our river run. Until then, we’ll see you around the bends and backroads.
When you hit the road, here's where to stop. For a complete map and photos of everything, stop in at www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.
The State Capitol
It’s our own Versailles, spectacular and inspiring like a great piece of art, and that it is. The rotunda itself weighs an astonishing 52 million pounds. And you thought the governor just had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Guided tours are free; check out www.thecapitol.com for a great introduction.
The Original Jackson House
Outrageous hamburgers, real cheesesteaks dripping with gooey goodness and everything on real South Philly rolls. Hand-cut French fries, too. Get your order in early. They’re only open for lunch, and when Dave’s done cooking for the day, you’re outta luck. 1004 N. 6th St. 717.238.2730.
The Harrisburg Senators
Catch the farm team of the Washington Nationals at cozy Commerce Bank Park on homey City Island. Every seat’s great, the hot dogs are hot (and the sausages spicy) and you can’t beat the price. Check the schedule at www.senatorsbaseball.com. Or ring ‘em at 717.231.4444.
Susquehanna Outfitters
Steve and Jill know the river like a pair of Susquehanna Huck Finns. Paddle a canoe or a kayak, count the egrets and enjoy the serenity. Then take a “greenbelt” bike ride through the parks surrounding the capital city. Who knew? Stop by their shack on City Island, visit www.susquehannaoutfitters.com or call 717.234.7879. Tell ‘em we sent you.
Pep Grill
Every roadtrip needs a good dive bar for an afternoon tap beer and a jukebox classic. This is ours. 209 Walnut St, and yep, the Pep’s online: www.pepgrill.com.
The National Civil War Museum
You can spend a whole day exploring America’s official Civil War museum. Fascinating films, amazing photographs and incredible dioramas bring to life the tales, tragedy and triumph of our nation’s most seismic moment. At 1 Lincoln Circle on the northeast side of town. Details and directions at www.nationalcivialwarmuseum.org.
The Milestone Inn
Sean Adams and Robin Clemens are the young couple behind a magnificent restoration of a 100-year old mansion. Think of the best luxury hotel you’ve ever dreamt of, and then boil it down to four very private rooms. (With breakfast recipes from Robin’s grandmother!) 2701 N. Front Street, on the river just north of town. Reserve your room at www.milestoneinn.com or at 717.233.2775.
Char’s Bella Mundo
Char Magaro makes it her personal duty to keep Harrisburg’s best kitchen (and best bartender, we might add) turning out plate after plate of mouth-watering meals. She calls it her “American bistro.” You’ll call it your favorite stop on the roadtrip. (Ask about the day’s risotto special; then order it.) 540 Race Street. Check out a menu at www.charsbellamundo.com. Reserve a table at 717.213.4002.
Let’s hear your road tales.
Drop us a line a shunpiker@visitpa.com and tell us what you’ve seen, where you’ve eaten, whom you’ve met. Until then, here’s to the road ahead.
About the first thing we do in Harrisburg is drop our jaws. We’re in the state capitol building, and it’s a gilded age glory if ever we’ve seen one. We stand beneath the high rotunda and spin like a top. Around us it’s all golden glamour, blinding brass, marble this and granite that. Magnificent Mercer tile mosaics illustrate the lives of farmers and steelworkers, glass blowers and coal miners, teachers and revolutionaries. It’s the story of America itself, and it’s beautiful.
We climb marble stairs and horn in on one of the free guided tours already in progress. We learn that Teddy Roosevelt dedicated this grandest capitol in the country on its opening day in 1913. He proclaimed it “priceless.” Our tour guide tells us that it was actually about $13 million worth of glorious craftsmanship.
Compound the interest and account for inflation and today even a billion isn’t enough to build this uncommon monument to the laws of common men.
A peek into the House of Representatives and we gasp at grandeur. Across the way we exhale just in time to spasm again at the splendor of the Senate. Fabulous chandeliers shed light on the chambers below our peanut-gallery perch and we imagine ourselves holding forth, orating, and perhaps yielding with reluctance to the gentleman from Potter County or Mercersburg. We’re starring in our own fantasy version of Mr. Smith Goes To Harrisburg and loving every minute.
But we have a full day ahead, with a ballgame, a river to run and a belly full of feed-me-now. So we heed the sage advise of an ample local legislator and make a quick stop a couple blocks north of the Capitol. Here’s the Old Original Jackson House, home of what might be the best burger between two rivers. Dave Kegris has been slaving over a hot grill here for a good while now, and he’s pretty serious about what comes off it.
“Why do people settle for frozen patties!” Dave rails. He starts with a big scoop of fresh ground sirloin, like a XL meatball. It flattens out over the flames but stays juicy in the middle. Dave’s pretty ornery about his burgers, and it pays off with a need for extra napkins every time. He’s stubborn about his rolls, too. Every day a fresh truckload trundles in from a venerable South Philly bakery. (Don’t even get Dave started about the difference between sauce and gravy.) And if you’re really serious, order up a burger with the aged sharp provolone from the Italian Market. Close your eyes you can see 9th Street.
With a bag of the best from the Jackson House, we head to City Island to watch the Harrisburg Senators host the Rock Cats from New Britain, Connecticut. The local nine aren’t faring well (losers of their last seven) but inside their island bandbox the sun is warm, the beer is cold, and every day’s a brand new ballgame.
City Island sits in the middle of the Susquehanna, a river city park that’s just blocks from the Capitol and a stone skip from the swinging restaurant row of Second Street. On the west side is a concrete “beach” with a long bathhouse that once played host to hundreds on a weekend afternoon. Nowadays fewer folks worship the sun on this stretch, no doubt because of the party armada moored at the marina on the other side. Sunshine rains on more than 1,000 pontoon boats here. These floating-patios-with-motors are perfect for the shallow river; many are complete with couches and barbecues and hi-fis that send sound waves across the weekend water.
The fifth inning and the Senators’ lanky right fielder lopes after (and misses) another pop fly. We nod along as his manager chews him out from the dugout. It’s double-A ball and a perfect place to watch ‘em learn the perfect game, especially when they start tossing free hot dogs and t-shirts into the stands.
We say wait-till-next-year and skip out early behind the outfield fence and find the little shack with the green kayak on top. It’s Susquehanna Outfitters and Steve Oliphant and Jill Miller, partners on the river as well as in life, take us away from it all, just minutes from here. We leave City Island for islands in the stream, in the middle of the Susquehanna, the Capitol’s rotunda still in full view.
Not far upriver we paddle through a collection of small islands formed 100 years ago by coal spilled from barges, when the river brought America’s energy down from upstate mines. They feel like they’ve always been here; they feel Jurassic compared to the shoreline bustle.
Jill is ahead in her kayak; we’re back with Steve in a long canoe. It’s so quiet and the water is clear as gin. “A lot cleaner than when these islands were built outta coal. We gotta keep it this way,” Steve says. We glide close to Wade Island, the largest colony of nesting egrets and night herons in Pennsylvania. Ducks float along side and cormorants peel their eyes from nearby perches. Baitfish leap from the shallows. We can’t believe how beautiful.
Steve reads our mind. “There’s so much wildlife, so close on this river. And the more you love it and enjoy it, the more you’ll fight to protect it.” An eagle-eyed osprey with a wingspan big as our canoe soars overhead in agreement.
We land back at City Island just in time to walk across the Market Street Bridge with the straggling remnants of the ballpark faithful. It’s time to head upriver to our jazz-age mansion bedroom waiting at The Milestone Inn, where miraculously, the architect found a way to give every room in the house a river view.
We need a shower and time to reflect on such an eclectic day. Later, we dig into Osso Buco, glorious Bolognese and an adventurous (and reasonable) wine list at Char’s Bella Mundo. These people know how to cook and it’s without a doubt our favorite restaurant in “the ‘burg.” Tomorrow it’s the National Civil War Museum and a big appetite for exploration among the bars and beaneries of Second Street. And Steve and Jill wanna take us on a bike ride, which they promise to be as inspiring as our river run. Until then, we’ll see you around the bends and backroads.
When you hit the road, here's where to stop. For a complete map and photos of everything, stop in at www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.
The State Capitol
It’s our own Versailles, spectacular and inspiring like a great piece of art, and that it is. The rotunda itself weighs an astonishing 52 million pounds. And you thought the governor just had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Guided tours are free; check out www.thecapitol.com for a great introduction.
The Original Jackson House
Outrageous hamburgers, real cheesesteaks dripping with gooey goodness and everything on real South Philly rolls. Hand-cut French fries, too. Get your order in early. They’re only open for lunch, and when Dave’s done cooking for the day, you’re outta luck. 1004 N. 6th St. 717.238.2730.
The Harrisburg Senators
Catch the farm team of the Washington Nationals at cozy Commerce Bank Park on homey City Island. Every seat’s great, the hot dogs are hot (and the sausages spicy) and you can’t beat the price. Check the schedule at www.senatorsbaseball.com. Or ring ‘em at 717.231.4444.
Susquehanna Outfitters
Steve and Jill know the river like a pair of Susquehanna Huck Finns. Paddle a canoe or a kayak, count the egrets and enjoy the serenity. Then take a “greenbelt” bike ride through the parks surrounding the capital city. Who knew? Stop by their shack on City Island, visit www.susquehannaoutfitters.com or call 717.234.7879. Tell ‘em we sent you.
Pep Grill
Every roadtrip needs a good dive bar for an afternoon tap beer and a jukebox classic. This is ours. 209 Walnut St, and yep, the Pep’s online: www.pepgrill.com.
The National Civil War Museum
You can spend a whole day exploring America’s official Civil War museum. Fascinating films, amazing photographs and incredible dioramas bring to life the tales, tragedy and triumph of our nation’s most seismic moment. At 1 Lincoln Circle on the northeast side of town. Details and directions at www.nationalcivialwarmuseum.org.
The Milestone Inn
Sean Adams and Robin Clemens are the young couple behind a magnificent restoration of a 100-year old mansion. Think of the best luxury hotel you’ve ever dreamt of, and then boil it down to four very private rooms. (With breakfast recipes from Robin’s grandmother!) 2701 N. Front Street, on the river just north of town. Reserve your room at www.milestoneinn.com or at 717.233.2775.
Char’s Bella Mundo
Char Magaro makes it her personal duty to keep Harrisburg’s best kitchen (and best bartender, we might add) turning out plate after plate of mouth-watering meals. She calls it her “American bistro.” You’ll call it your favorite stop on the roadtrip. (Ask about the day’s risotto special; then order it.) 540 Race Street. Check out a menu at www.charsbellamundo.com. Reserve a table at 717.213.4002.
Let’s hear your road tales.
Drop us a line a shunpiker@visitpa.com and tell us what you’ve seen, where you’ve eaten, whom you’ve met. Until then, here’s to the road ahead.
Cruising Coal Country
Into the mines and hot on the trail of the Molly Maguires
The top is down and we’re riding through patch towns along the world’s largest anthracite coal ridge. Once thriving mining towns with plank houses and plain churches, most had a company store to which you’d owe your paycheck if not your soul.
On a sunny day the tough beauty of these hardscrabble towns belie the fact that at one time more men and boys worked underground than above it. They didn’t know from sunshine; we soak up every ray in the ragtop.
We pull up short in Ashland, along Route 61, amazed by the Mothers Memorial high on the ridge. She’s the world’s only 3-D replica of Whistler’s Mother and she’s been scowling down at the town since the Ashland Boys Association sat her up there during the Great Depression. The bronze matriarch sits on a granite pedestal etched with a goose-bump maxim of foot high letters: “A mother is the holiest thing alive.”
Across the street, in an old row house, we meet Jim Klock, who keeps the ghosts alive in the local historical society. He shows us sepia snapshots of Mother’s dedication day. He even has the sculptor’s original plaster-cast model of Mother herself. Jim’s a living walking tour of proud old Ashland. “I oughta know it,” he says. “Been here all my life and I’ll die here, too. My plot’s already bought and paid for.”
Mother’s park is surrounded by gorgeous WPA stonework. We sit at her feet munching crunchy little cheeseburgers with a potent homemade hot sauce from Danny’s Boulevard Drive In, a throwback shake shack up 61.
Just off the main drag, past Kitty and Dotty’s Flowers and a grand firehouse, we find the Pioneer Tunnel Coal Mine. Down the mine it’s 54 degrees year round, so we grab jackets from a collection of thrift store rejects. Zip up and hop aboard a clacking coal train and trundle through a timber shaft 300 feet below the surface of the earth.
Not that long ago the Pioneer was crawling with miners. Now folks come from all over for guided tours, and some leave their mark. We find cave-painting graffiti from a 1969 visit by Mercury 7 Commander Scott Carpenter: “Astronaut Was Here.”
Our guide hails from a long line of miners. “John Patrick Reese is my name,” he boasts. “I use the ‘Patrick’ so you know I’m Irish.” He shows us how to plant dynamite and how to load a cart with 16 tons of “black diamonds” and how to detect methane gas about to blow us all to kingdom come. And just to prove a point, he shuts off all the lights - even the light on his miner’s cap. It’s darker than dark. Some kid confuses our leg for his father’s and gives us a frightened pinch.
The lights are back and we spot an inspector’s report on the shaft wall that young Mr. Reese has signed tongue-in-cheek. “Inspected by Jack Kehoe,” it reads, with today’s date. “Blackjack Kehoe,” points a fellow tourist. “We saw him in that movie, The Molly Maguires.”
“Aw, that’s Hollywood,” scoffs John Patrick. “You want the real story, go to the Hibernian House and meet Jack’s great grandson.”
So we’re off to Girardville, where Joe Wayne still tends his great-grandfather’s Hibernian House tavern. “Black Jack” Kehoe was called the ringleader of the Molly Maguires, a secret society of Irish miners fighting robber-baron owners. Corrupt Pinkerton detectives infiltrated the Mollies, and Jack Kehoe and 9 others were railroaded to a public hanging on a day locals still call “The Day of the Rope.”
“My great-grandfather was framed, and unjustly executed over in Pottsville,” Joe rails. “This is the door from his cell, and this cement anchor was shackled to his ankles.” The imposing iron door looms over the smaller man where Joe has installed these strange heirlooms behind the ancient Hibernian bar.
“I went before the pardon board 100 years after the execution. Won the only posthumous pardon of its kind in history. The board said I shoulda been a lawyer. Which is what my mother told me every day till they laid her in her grave.”
Joe takes us upstairs, past glorious murals of Jack Kehoe and fellow miners at work. The paintings glow like headlamps in the narrow stairway. He shows us cozy rooms for rent, which miners used to share in 8-hour shifts. In the old days, while one man’s at work, a second enjoys the tavern while the third roommate saws logs upstairs. When the colliery whistle blows, each man rotates to the next 8-hour position. Work, tavern, bed. “I can still see my grandmother washing bed linens every shift,” Joe sighs.
His Irish eyes smiling wide, Joe waves as we head out of town, looking for Rt 209 to Pottsville. As we approach the county seat, the enormous courthouse and ancient jail peer over the valley like medieval majestics. The scene of injustice committed 130 years ago, rectified long after by a hard won pardon.
We meet an off-duty jailer who offers confirmation. “Yup, this is where Black Jack was hung. It wasn’t right, but that’s what happened.” He tells us to follow the Molly Maguires’ trail and make sure we stop at Tony’s Lunch for a “screamer.” It’s Girardville’s favorite burger, with the hot sauce cooked right into it, just down the street from the Hibernian House. Now he tells us.
“It’s called Tony’s Lunch, but he doesn’t open till 8:30 at night,” he shrugs. “May seem weird, but we coal crackers don’t do anything easy.”
So maybe we’ll backtrack for a screamer tonight, but now there’s a Coney Island lunch grilling old-school tube steaks right down the hill. All this talk of hard time and coal mining works up an appetite, so we grab some Coneys for the ragtop. As we drill deeper into coal country we’ll look for you along the bends and back roads.
When you hit the road, here's where to stop. For a complete map and photos of all this, check out www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.
The Mothers Memorial
Put up in 1938 to honor Pennsylvania’s long-suffering coalmine mothers. Said to be the only 3-D replica of Whistler’s Mother in the world. One look at her sourpuss you know why. And check out the Historical Society across the street. Visit online at www.ashlandpahistory.org or by phone at 570.875.2632. Ask for Jim Klock.
Danny’s Boulevard Drive-In
This is the way cheeseburgers and fries and milkshakes used to be. Take home a jar or two of Danny’s homemade hot sauce. Dig their online jukebox at dannysdrivein.com. Order at the window or enjoy the counter at 630 S. Hoffman Blvd (Rt. 61) in Ashland. 570.875.0711.
The Pioneer Tunnel Coal Mine
A steam train takes you through the woods and then down 300 feet in a real anthracite mine. Doesn’t sound like much till you consider it’s like 30 stories below ground. Right off the main drag in downtown Ashland. The website’s great: www.pioneertunnel.com. And they answer when you call at 570.875.3850.
Jack Kehoe’s Hibernian House
138 years ago, this was Black Jack Kehoe’s tavern. They called him “King of the Molly Maguires.” It’s still full of cold ale and conspiracy theories. Rent a room and revel in coal country lore all night.
Granny’s Motel
Definitely not your chain motel. Rocking chairs, antique lamps, doilies on the divans and a very weird statue outside. What is it about coal country that makes the mothers and grannies look so unforgiving? (What is it about calf’s liver and mac/cheese in Granny’s restaurant?) Rt. 61 in Frackville, right off I-81. Call 570.874.0408 or check in online: www.grannys-pa.com. Strange but true.
Schuylkill County Courthouse and County Jail
This is where it all went down. Worth it just to read the historical markers. And check out downtown Pottsville, where they still brew Yuengling Beer.
Eckley Miners Village
Preserved in its pure patch-town essence, this old village was the location for The Molly Maguires movie starring Sean Connery. Now a state museum, some old miner families still live here. Walk through a miner’s plank house, order a sack of flour at the company store, and check out a real coal breaker. Off the beaten path in Weatherly, PA and online at www.eckleyminers.org. A must see.
Ok, now it's your turn. Let us know what you find out there with an email to shunpiker@visitpa.com.
The top is down and we’re riding through patch towns along the world’s largest anthracite coal ridge. Once thriving mining towns with plank houses and plain churches, most had a company store to which you’d owe your paycheck if not your soul.
On a sunny day the tough beauty of these hardscrabble towns belie the fact that at one time more men and boys worked underground than above it. They didn’t know from sunshine; we soak up every ray in the ragtop.
We pull up short in Ashland, along Route 61, amazed by the Mothers Memorial high on the ridge. She’s the world’s only 3-D replica of Whistler’s Mother and she’s been scowling down at the town since the Ashland Boys Association sat her up there during the Great Depression. The bronze matriarch sits on a granite pedestal etched with a goose-bump maxim of foot high letters: “A mother is the holiest thing alive.”
Across the street, in an old row house, we meet Jim Klock, who keeps the ghosts alive in the local historical society. He shows us sepia snapshots of Mother’s dedication day. He even has the sculptor’s original plaster-cast model of Mother herself. Jim’s a living walking tour of proud old Ashland. “I oughta know it,” he says. “Been here all my life and I’ll die here, too. My plot’s already bought and paid for.”
Mother’s park is surrounded by gorgeous WPA stonework. We sit at her feet munching crunchy little cheeseburgers with a potent homemade hot sauce from Danny’s Boulevard Drive In, a throwback shake shack up 61.
Just off the main drag, past Kitty and Dotty’s Flowers and a grand firehouse, we find the Pioneer Tunnel Coal Mine. Down the mine it’s 54 degrees year round, so we grab jackets from a collection of thrift store rejects. Zip up and hop aboard a clacking coal train and trundle through a timber shaft 300 feet below the surface of the earth.
Not that long ago the Pioneer was crawling with miners. Now folks come from all over for guided tours, and some leave their mark. We find cave-painting graffiti from a 1969 visit by Mercury 7 Commander Scott Carpenter: “Astronaut Was Here.”
Our guide hails from a long line of miners. “John Patrick Reese is my name,” he boasts. “I use the ‘Patrick’ so you know I’m Irish.” He shows us how to plant dynamite and how to load a cart with 16 tons of “black diamonds” and how to detect methane gas about to blow us all to kingdom come. And just to prove a point, he shuts off all the lights - even the light on his miner’s cap. It’s darker than dark. Some kid confuses our leg for his father’s and gives us a frightened pinch.
The lights are back and we spot an inspector’s report on the shaft wall that young Mr. Reese has signed tongue-in-cheek. “Inspected by Jack Kehoe,” it reads, with today’s date. “Blackjack Kehoe,” points a fellow tourist. “We saw him in that movie, The Molly Maguires.”
“Aw, that’s Hollywood,” scoffs John Patrick. “You want the real story, go to the Hibernian House and meet Jack’s great grandson.”
So we’re off to Girardville, where Joe Wayne still tends his great-grandfather’s Hibernian House tavern. “Black Jack” Kehoe was called the ringleader of the Molly Maguires, a secret society of Irish miners fighting robber-baron owners. Corrupt Pinkerton detectives infiltrated the Mollies, and Jack Kehoe and 9 others were railroaded to a public hanging on a day locals still call “The Day of the Rope.”
“My great-grandfather was framed, and unjustly executed over in Pottsville,” Joe rails. “This is the door from his cell, and this cement anchor was shackled to his ankles.” The imposing iron door looms over the smaller man where Joe has installed these strange heirlooms behind the ancient Hibernian bar.
“I went before the pardon board 100 years after the execution. Won the only posthumous pardon of its kind in history. The board said I shoulda been a lawyer. Which is what my mother told me every day till they laid her in her grave.”
Joe takes us upstairs, past glorious murals of Jack Kehoe and fellow miners at work. The paintings glow like headlamps in the narrow stairway. He shows us cozy rooms for rent, which miners used to share in 8-hour shifts. In the old days, while one man’s at work, a second enjoys the tavern while the third roommate saws logs upstairs. When the colliery whistle blows, each man rotates to the next 8-hour position. Work, tavern, bed. “I can still see my grandmother washing bed linens every shift,” Joe sighs.
His Irish eyes smiling wide, Joe waves as we head out of town, looking for Rt 209 to Pottsville. As we approach the county seat, the enormous courthouse and ancient jail peer over the valley like medieval majestics. The scene of injustice committed 130 years ago, rectified long after by a hard won pardon.
We meet an off-duty jailer who offers confirmation. “Yup, this is where Black Jack was hung. It wasn’t right, but that’s what happened.” He tells us to follow the Molly Maguires’ trail and make sure we stop at Tony’s Lunch for a “screamer.” It’s Girardville’s favorite burger, with the hot sauce cooked right into it, just down the street from the Hibernian House. Now he tells us.
“It’s called Tony’s Lunch, but he doesn’t open till 8:30 at night,” he shrugs. “May seem weird, but we coal crackers don’t do anything easy.”
So maybe we’ll backtrack for a screamer tonight, but now there’s a Coney Island lunch grilling old-school tube steaks right down the hill. All this talk of hard time and coal mining works up an appetite, so we grab some Coneys for the ragtop. As we drill deeper into coal country we’ll look for you along the bends and back roads.
When you hit the road, here's where to stop. For a complete map and photos of all this, check out www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.
The Mothers Memorial
Put up in 1938 to honor Pennsylvania’s long-suffering coalmine mothers. Said to be the only 3-D replica of Whistler’s Mother in the world. One look at her sourpuss you know why. And check out the Historical Society across the street. Visit online at www.ashlandpahistory.org or by phone at 570.875.2632. Ask for Jim Klock.
Danny’s Boulevard Drive-In
This is the way cheeseburgers and fries and milkshakes used to be. Take home a jar or two of Danny’s homemade hot sauce. Dig their online jukebox at dannysdrivein.com. Order at the window or enjoy the counter at 630 S. Hoffman Blvd (Rt. 61) in Ashland. 570.875.0711.
The Pioneer Tunnel Coal Mine
A steam train takes you through the woods and then down 300 feet in a real anthracite mine. Doesn’t sound like much till you consider it’s like 30 stories below ground. Right off the main drag in downtown Ashland. The website’s great: www.pioneertunnel.com. And they answer when you call at 570.875.3850.
Jack Kehoe’s Hibernian House
138 years ago, this was Black Jack Kehoe’s tavern. They called him “King of the Molly Maguires.” It’s still full of cold ale and conspiracy theories. Rent a room and revel in coal country lore all night.
Granny’s Motel
Definitely not your chain motel. Rocking chairs, antique lamps, doilies on the divans and a very weird statue outside. What is it about coal country that makes the mothers and grannies look so unforgiving? (What is it about calf’s liver and mac/cheese in Granny’s restaurant?) Rt. 61 in Frackville, right off I-81. Call 570.874.0408 or check in online: www.grannys-pa.com. Strange but true.
Schuylkill County Courthouse and County Jail
This is where it all went down. Worth it just to read the historical markers. And check out downtown Pottsville, where they still brew Yuengling Beer.
Eckley Miners Village
Preserved in its pure patch-town essence, this old village was the location for The Molly Maguires movie starring Sean Connery. Now a state museum, some old miner families still live here. Walk through a miner’s plank house, order a sack of flour at the company store, and check out a real coal breaker. Off the beaten path in Weatherly, PA and online at www.eckleyminers.org. A must see.
Ok, now it's your turn. Let us know what you find out there with an email to shunpiker@visitpa.com.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Pittsburgh’s Southside Renaissance: one funky neighborhood and five meals a day.
We’re in the middle of a mountain, tunnel wind blowing our hair, and then we burst out and over the gleaming new emerald city of Pittsburgh. Golden at the triangle where three rivers join forces, skyscrapers shine and ballparks roar on our left. The Monongahela flows on our right. And Gustav Lindenthal’s steel truss Smithfield Bridge drops us onto Carson Street on the one and only south side of the ‘burgh.
Sometimes it’s one word, emblazoned in a yellow stripe on red fire trucks: Southside. Sometimes, when the Pittsburgh accent is thick enough, it’s almost one syllable. There’s never a “th,” rarely a “d.” It’s like, “sow’s eye,” only said real fast. “Sowseye’d.”
Start with a look-see from atop Mt. Washington. (Zach: Use the panorama photo montage here? ) Plunk down a few bits and ride the incline tram straight up the mountain. It’s a hairy 35-degree angle, the oldest and steepest such public transit in the country. Up here we look down upon coal-barges hauling upstream, and the city glimmers below like a toy town. Down to the right, Southside lays flat against the river where glass factories and steel mills once clanked and screamed. It runs a few blocks and rises up along what folks here call “the slopes.”
Heights make us thirsty so on Carson Street we can’t believe our luck. At one time, this workingman’s neighborhood held title to more bars per human than any other city in the world. Ain’t it nice that in high-tech, 21st century Pittsburgh, some things haven’t changed too much.
There are still more bars than you can shake a mug at. All kinds: Tap rooms and taverns, beer halls, gin joints, cocktail lounges, cabarets and saloons. Billiard parlors, meet markets, nightclubs, dance halls and juke joints. Wine bars, tapas bars, and sushi bars - even hookah bars. And, thank heavens for small favors, fantabulous bar food.
We wash down Cajun Comfort wings and a Voodoo Killer burger with pints of Penn Pilsner at a watering hole called Fathead’s. We dig into hubcap fries, junkyard nachos and jailhouse chili at an old filling station now dubbed The Double Wide. And we make room to share a Pittsburgh footlong at The Pickle Barrel, a $3-lunch counter that opened the same year Roberto Clemente was baseball’s MVP. We behold a skinny tight-wrapped dog, laden with black olives and cheddar cheese. “Black and gold,” says a local in line, who eyes us eyeing our prize. “Pirates’ and Steelers’ colors. Colors of the ‘burgh,” he swells.
Back on the street, a Southside lifer named Tim cranks up the perfect afternoon cooler. He works an ancient ice-shaver like an organ grinder, and collects cold crystals in a paper cup. Homemade root beer syrup soaks the ice and we have a handmade snow cone that sets us back a buck and sends us back about 40 years. We ask how’s business and Tim says, “It cools off till it gets hot.” Southside logic.
It’s five-meals-a-day here, which we walk off from one end of Carson to the other. Start where the incline drops in Station Square. A glorious throwback to the gilded age, a marble-palace railroad station is now a four-star tablecloth restaurant. We slurp Blue Point oysters below the dazzle of dozens of stained glass skylights. Our hostess tells us a thick layer of common shoe polish hid these gorgeous marvels for decades. “Black-out from the war,” she explains. “No one knew how beautiful until they took 30 cases of oven cleaner to it. Now look.” We bask in rainbow light and imagine catching the cannonball to Erie.
Reverie complete, we head upriver along Carson and browse oddball boutiques: Vintage clothing, Polish newspapers, weird lamps and handicrafts from local artisans. Must be a dozen tattoo parlors, where galleries of ships’ anchors and vines of wild roses stand ready to wrap around a bicep. And there’s a real magic shop, The Cuckoo’s Nest, where we buy a fake thumb. We spend the next few hours attempting to pull a silk scarf out of it like Mysterioso.
It’s break time over a cold bottle of Iron City, and one of Carson Street’s proprietors tells about his neighborhood. He goes by Demo, short for Demetrius. (His Greek surname would take up the rest of this page.) Demo worked the mill in ’79 when the last pig iron was cast into Pittsburgh steel. “40,000 men worked these mills,” Demo’s eyes close with memory. “You could hear the roar across the river and up the slopes.”
Up the slopes is where we head next. Back in the day, thousands of men trudged a cardio commute, up hundreds of narrow steps from blast furnaces on the flats to hillside lanes just wide enough for the iceman’s cart. Neat row homes line the alleys. We puff and pant, out-of-breath tourists, and climb past humble homes with killer views. Some aren’t even on the street; their porches face the concrete steps. We imagine hauling groceries home here and have to sit a spell to wipe our brow.
The scene below intoxicates. We can see the street where we’ll sleep, at an inn called The Morning Glory, with its brick courtyard and feather light pancakes. Over there is the back alley of The Pretzel Shop, where the door by the oven opens near dawn and we get brown bags of hot pretzels hand-pulled the same way for generations. And across the river, downtown towers reflect a hot noon sun in clear skies, a sight rarely seen when the steel mills belched smoke and soot.
Tonight it’s a saloon singer in a sofa-stuffed cocktail lounge. But only after briny olives and grilled calamari at a Sicilian restaurant only a Southsider can find. Then it’s up and at ‘em, with the other side of Carson to stroll, giggling discoveries to make and the usual Southside lunchtime toss-up between gyros, pierogies and pretzel sandwiches. And perhaps a tiger’s head tattoo...
Until then, we’ll see you around the bends and backroads.
When you hit the road, here’s where to stop. For a complete map and photos of all this, check out www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.
The Morning Glory Inn
Nancy and Dave run a beautiful little inn that’s not easy to find and even harder to leave. The beds have those foam mattresses invented by NASA that conform to your body and the only thing that gets you out of them is the promise of Nancy’s lemony pancakes and fluffy baked eggs. Wireless web throughout and warm cookies at night.
Dish Osteria & Bar
We found this on a corner of a side street a short walk from the Morning Glory. We thought it was an Italian trattoria until the proprietor corrected us. Wagging a chef’s knife he reminded us that Dish is a Sicilian osteria. “Taste the difference,” he scolded. And we did. Fresh, delicious, old-world home cooking. Sicilian, not Italian. Get the papardelle and lamb ragü.
The Brashear Museum
This little astronomical display is hidden in a social services building around the corner from the hotel. It celebrates the life and work of the man who revolutionized telescope technology back in the steel mill days. It wasn’t easy to see the stars through all that soot, so old man Brashear made it happen. You can walk through this little museum gem in about 10 minutes.
The Pittsburgh Jeans Company
Forget your shopping mall jeans franchise. This popular Carson Street indy has been making people look great in all things denim with a unique personal passion. Great jeans and great folks to fit ‘em just right.
The Pretzel Shop
Behold the elegance of the hand-twisted pretzel. Live like a local and use the back-alley door as soon as they open. You’ll see the antique brick oven and get your pretzels fresh from it. Come in the front at lunch and munch a great pretzel sandwich.
Ok, now it’s your turn. Let us know where you’ve been, what you’re eating and who you’re meeting. Send us an email at shunpiker@visitpa.com
Sometimes it’s one word, emblazoned in a yellow stripe on red fire trucks: Southside. Sometimes, when the Pittsburgh accent is thick enough, it’s almost one syllable. There’s never a “th,” rarely a “d.” It’s like, “sow’s eye,” only said real fast. “Sowseye’d.”
Start with a look-see from atop Mt. Washington. (Zach: Use the panorama photo montage here? ) Plunk down a few bits and ride the incline tram straight up the mountain. It’s a hairy 35-degree angle, the oldest and steepest such public transit in the country. Up here we look down upon coal-barges hauling upstream, and the city glimmers below like a toy town. Down to the right, Southside lays flat against the river where glass factories and steel mills once clanked and screamed. It runs a few blocks and rises up along what folks here call “the slopes.”
Heights make us thirsty so on Carson Street we can’t believe our luck. At one time, this workingman’s neighborhood held title to more bars per human than any other city in the world. Ain’t it nice that in high-tech, 21st century Pittsburgh, some things haven’t changed too much.
There are still more bars than you can shake a mug at. All kinds: Tap rooms and taverns, beer halls, gin joints, cocktail lounges, cabarets and saloons. Billiard parlors, meet markets, nightclubs, dance halls and juke joints. Wine bars, tapas bars, and sushi bars - even hookah bars. And, thank heavens for small favors, fantabulous bar food.
We wash down Cajun Comfort wings and a Voodoo Killer burger with pints of Penn Pilsner at a watering hole called Fathead’s. We dig into hubcap fries, junkyard nachos and jailhouse chili at an old filling station now dubbed The Double Wide. And we make room to share a Pittsburgh footlong at The Pickle Barrel, a $3-lunch counter that opened the same year Roberto Clemente was baseball’s MVP. We behold a skinny tight-wrapped dog, laden with black olives and cheddar cheese. “Black and gold,” says a local in line, who eyes us eyeing our prize. “Pirates’ and Steelers’ colors. Colors of the ‘burgh,” he swells.
Back on the street, a Southside lifer named Tim cranks up the perfect afternoon cooler. He works an ancient ice-shaver like an organ grinder, and collects cold crystals in a paper cup. Homemade root beer syrup soaks the ice and we have a handmade snow cone that sets us back a buck and sends us back about 40 years. We ask how’s business and Tim says, “It cools off till it gets hot.” Southside logic.
It’s five-meals-a-day here, which we walk off from one end of Carson to the other. Start where the incline drops in Station Square. A glorious throwback to the gilded age, a marble-palace railroad station is now a four-star tablecloth restaurant. We slurp Blue Point oysters below the dazzle of dozens of stained glass skylights. Our hostess tells us a thick layer of common shoe polish hid these gorgeous marvels for decades. “Black-out from the war,” she explains. “No one knew how beautiful until they took 30 cases of oven cleaner to it. Now look.” We bask in rainbow light and imagine catching the cannonball to Erie.
Reverie complete, we head upriver along Carson and browse oddball boutiques: Vintage clothing, Polish newspapers, weird lamps and handicrafts from local artisans. Must be a dozen tattoo parlors, where galleries of ships’ anchors and vines of wild roses stand ready to wrap around a bicep. And there’s a real magic shop, The Cuckoo’s Nest, where we buy a fake thumb. We spend the next few hours attempting to pull a silk scarf out of it like Mysterioso.
It’s break time over a cold bottle of Iron City, and one of Carson Street’s proprietors tells about his neighborhood. He goes by Demo, short for Demetrius. (His Greek surname would take up the rest of this page.) Demo worked the mill in ’79 when the last pig iron was cast into Pittsburgh steel. “40,000 men worked these mills,” Demo’s eyes close with memory. “You could hear the roar across the river and up the slopes.”
Up the slopes is where we head next. Back in the day, thousands of men trudged a cardio commute, up hundreds of narrow steps from blast furnaces on the flats to hillside lanes just wide enough for the iceman’s cart. Neat row homes line the alleys. We puff and pant, out-of-breath tourists, and climb past humble homes with killer views. Some aren’t even on the street; their porches face the concrete steps. We imagine hauling groceries home here and have to sit a spell to wipe our brow.
The scene below intoxicates. We can see the street where we’ll sleep, at an inn called The Morning Glory, with its brick courtyard and feather light pancakes. Over there is the back alley of The Pretzel Shop, where the door by the oven opens near dawn and we get brown bags of hot pretzels hand-pulled the same way for generations. And across the river, downtown towers reflect a hot noon sun in clear skies, a sight rarely seen when the steel mills belched smoke and soot.
Tonight it’s a saloon singer in a sofa-stuffed cocktail lounge. But only after briny olives and grilled calamari at a Sicilian restaurant only a Southsider can find. Then it’s up and at ‘em, with the other side of Carson to stroll, giggling discoveries to make and the usual Southside lunchtime toss-up between gyros, pierogies and pretzel sandwiches. And perhaps a tiger’s head tattoo...
Until then, we’ll see you around the bends and backroads.
When you hit the road, here’s where to stop. For a complete map and photos of all this, check out www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.
The Morning Glory Inn
Nancy and Dave run a beautiful little inn that’s not easy to find and even harder to leave. The beds have those foam mattresses invented by NASA that conform to your body and the only thing that gets you out of them is the promise of Nancy’s lemony pancakes and fluffy baked eggs. Wireless web throughout and warm cookies at night.
Dish Osteria & Bar
We found this on a corner of a side street a short walk from the Morning Glory. We thought it was an Italian trattoria until the proprietor corrected us. Wagging a chef’s knife he reminded us that Dish is a Sicilian osteria. “Taste the difference,” he scolded. And we did. Fresh, delicious, old-world home cooking. Sicilian, not Italian. Get the papardelle and lamb ragü.
The Brashear Museum
This little astronomical display is hidden in a social services building around the corner from the hotel. It celebrates the life and work of the man who revolutionized telescope technology back in the steel mill days. It wasn’t easy to see the stars through all that soot, so old man Brashear made it happen. You can walk through this little museum gem in about 10 minutes.
The Pittsburgh Jeans Company
Forget your shopping mall jeans franchise. This popular Carson Street indy has been making people look great in all things denim with a unique personal passion. Great jeans and great folks to fit ‘em just right.
The Pretzel Shop
Behold the elegance of the hand-twisted pretzel. Live like a local and use the back-alley door as soon as they open. You’ll see the antique brick oven and get your pretzels fresh from it. Come in the front at lunch and munch a great pretzel sandwich.
Ok, now it’s your turn. Let us know where you’ve been, what you’re eating and who you’re meeting. Send us an email at shunpiker@visitpa.com
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Williamsport to Brookville – Little League dreams, bugle burgers and baseball bats.
We come barreling off the mountain into Williamsport, swinging to the singing of Johnny Hartman. We’re tuned to 88.1 on the FM, cruising Route 15 to Green Dolphin Street. Williamsport has a jazz station!
The jazz makes sense, as Williamsport appeals like an old chestnut. A 19th century chord structure of industrial grit and millionaire mansions lays down a perfect groove for an improvised roadtrip. We’re vamping to the home of Little League baseball, and we’ll follow our nose across the Commonwealth to Brookville, the hardwood home of professional baseball bats.
First stop, the Little League Museum, sitting high above the perfect field of dreams where global Little Leaguers take to the only true World Series every August. This place tells the story of Carl Stotz, Little League’s founder, who in 1939 forever transformed the sandlot. Carl convinced Floyd Mutchler and his Lycoming Dairy to become Little League’s first sponsor. Old man Mutchler said it best: “We’ll go along for the boys.”
Some of “the boys” (and eventually, girls) went on to do big things and are enshrined here in Little League’s Hall of Excellence. Here’s Nolan Ryan and Mike Schmidt. Over there, former Little Leaguers Bruce Springsteen, Tom Selleck and even George W. Bush. (We hear he was all field and no hit.)
Williamsport is one part former glory, two parts good people restoring the luster. We meet Marsha and Gloria Miele, sisters who run the Peter Herdic House and Peter Herdic Inn, side-by-side Victorian mansions along “Millionaire’s Row.” Incredible plasterwork, carved staircases and Tiffany windows adorn the Queen Anne masterpieces. Marsha runs the “House” – a great restaurant – and taps into delicious local bounty. We “ohh” over gilled sausage from nearby Cow-a-Hen Farm, and “ahh” at old-fashioned river shad, smoked just a few blocks away. Next door, Gloria runs the “Inn,” where we sleep tight after a great meal and dream baseball dreams.
We’re up and off early, with a stop along the way for hand-cut fries and a cruise down the Elk Scenic Highway. Who knew the largest herd of elk east of Wyoming roams these thick woods? And right in the heart of Elk County is the sleepy village of Benezette, and the Winslow Hill B&B. Betty McCluskey offers mighty comfy lodging here, and we opt for what she calls the Sunrise Room. “This room comes with a trained rooster alarm clock,” Betty gives us fair warning. “Bert’ll make sure you wake up in time to see the elk.”
Sure enough, at 5:40 the next morning, Bert the rooster is crowing through our screen door. The cockle-do does it, and we enjoy the sunrise with lumbering elk grazing in a next-door meadow.
It seems the elk are everywhere - in back woods and front yards and on local menus. We try a “bugle burger” and grab some elk jerky for the road. We even gawk over weird, beautiful jewelry – “nelklace” pendants with dangling elk poop, compressed, dehydrated, de-stinked and polished a shiny, mesmerizing ebony. These Pennsylvania woods give us oddball delights.
These woods also give us baseball bats. Turns out nothing drives a baseball quite like Pennsylvania maple. Centerfielder Johnny Damon agrees every time he steps to the plate. He’s one of hundreds of pro ballplayers who swing a BWP bat, handmade right here in Brookeville, just south of elk country in the Pennsylvania Wilds.
Our factory guide Dave shows us how to make a great clean-up hitter. Lathe the maple to the precise ounce. Sand the raw bat till smooth, and then do it again and again. Three coats of paint, two of protective lacquer and stamp the logo on just so, with the grain, so you know how to hold the bat when you swing for the fences.
“350 bats a day, seven days a week,” Dave says with pride. “We make the national pastime here.” He gives us our own bat – the model Johnny Damon used when he led the Red Sox to their euphoric (big league) World Series victory. “This bat’s the curse killer,” Dave says. We brandish ours at an imaginary pitcher standing an imaginary 60 feet 6 inches away (perhaps old Nolan Ryan) and all the sandlots of childhood come rushing back.
With thanks to Dave we toss the maple beauty into the ragtop, pull on a jaw full of elk jerky, and aim south toward Punxsutawney, with Charlie Parker’s alto be-bopping us down the two-lane. It’s a beautiful day for a baseball roadtrip, so we’ll look for you on the bends and backroads.
When you hit the road, here’s where to stop. For a complete map and photos of all this, check out www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.
The Little League Museum
Walk through the story of the perfect game that captured hopes and hearts around the world. This is where it all started back in 1939. You can even measure the speed of your fastball and tee off on a pitching machine. Play ball! Next door to the International Little League headquarters at 539 Route 15, South Williamsport. www.littleleague.org/museum.
Joey’s Place
Where to eat lunch, period. The garden cheesesteak is a two-fisted gooey goodness. Grab a seat at the bar or at one of the many large tavern tables. 505 Washington Blvd in Williamsport. 570.323.6217.
Peter Herdic Inn
Eat, sleep and drink like an industrial-era millionaire. And make sure you take a stroll along “millionaire’s row” and gawk at how the better half lived a hundred fifty years ago. 411West 4th Street in Williamsport. Call Gloria for a reservation: 570.326.0411, or stop by online: www.herdichouse.com.
The E.A. Rowley House
Perhaps the finest Queen Anne architectural masterpiece in the world. Back in the day it had flush toilets, electric chandeliers and a dumbwaiter. You’ll love it for the incredible woodwork, Tiffany stained glass, tiled fireplaces and rare and original sculpted French wallpaper. Ask Eiderson Dean (great name, no?) for a tour. 707 West 4th Street, Williamsport. www.williamsport.org
Socky’s Restaurant
A great lunch counter halfway between Williamsport and Brookville. Just across from the grand old Renovo railroad yards. You won’t find a better patty melt and real hand-cut fries anywhere. Period. 406 Erie Avenue, Renovo. Call ahead for directions: 570.923.0318
Winslow Hill B&B
If you wanna sleep a little later, ask for the Sunset Room. If you want to breakfast with the elk, check into Betty McCluskey’s Sunrise Room. Her trained rooster Bert will sound the alarm just outside your door at dawn. Reserve the Sunset, Moonlit or Sunrise room at winslowhillbb.com or call Betty at 814.787.4212.
Benezette Hotel
A great local tavern with good eats and a great jukebox. The wings are great, the spaghetti dinner’s a knockout at just $6.50, but it’s the Bugle Burger that brings the locals back for more. Right in the heart of downtown Benezette at 95 Winslow Hill Rd; 814.787.4355.
Double Diamond Deer Ranch
Enough with the elk. Come visit Rusty Snyder’s incredible Deer Ranch. The old time family attraction is possible only by Rusty’s love for her deer friends. Feed the fawns and get to know the doe. And don’t miss the barn, where Rusty’s deerly departed rest in eternal splendor, stuffed (ahem) and resplendent in their stalls. On Rt 36 just 3 miles south of Cook Forest State Park. www.doublediamonddeerranch.com. 814.752.6334
BWP Baseball Bats
Watch hearty Pennsylvania hardwood become curveball crushing baseball bats right before your eyes. Hundreds of pros use BWP bats from the Pennsylvania Wilds. See the factory for yourself and you’ll know why sluggers refer to their bats as “lumber.” Just off Route 80 east of Brookville. Call ahead: 814.849.0089. www.bwpbats.com
Ok, now it’s your turn. Let us know where you’ve been, what you’re eating and who you’re meeting. Send us an email at shunpiker@visitpa.com
The jazz makes sense, as Williamsport appeals like an old chestnut. A 19th century chord structure of industrial grit and millionaire mansions lays down a perfect groove for an improvised roadtrip. We’re vamping to the home of Little League baseball, and we’ll follow our nose across the Commonwealth to Brookville, the hardwood home of professional baseball bats.
First stop, the Little League Museum, sitting high above the perfect field of dreams where global Little Leaguers take to the only true World Series every August. This place tells the story of Carl Stotz, Little League’s founder, who in 1939 forever transformed the sandlot. Carl convinced Floyd Mutchler and his Lycoming Dairy to become Little League’s first sponsor. Old man Mutchler said it best: “We’ll go along for the boys.”
Some of “the boys” (and eventually, girls) went on to do big things and are enshrined here in Little League’s Hall of Excellence. Here’s Nolan Ryan and Mike Schmidt. Over there, former Little Leaguers Bruce Springsteen, Tom Selleck and even George W. Bush. (We hear he was all field and no hit.)
Williamsport is one part former glory, two parts good people restoring the luster. We meet Marsha and Gloria Miele, sisters who run the Peter Herdic House and Peter Herdic Inn, side-by-side Victorian mansions along “Millionaire’s Row.” Incredible plasterwork, carved staircases and Tiffany windows adorn the Queen Anne masterpieces. Marsha runs the “House” – a great restaurant – and taps into delicious local bounty. We “ohh” over gilled sausage from nearby Cow-a-Hen Farm, and “ahh” at old-fashioned river shad, smoked just a few blocks away. Next door, Gloria runs the “Inn,” where we sleep tight after a great meal and dream baseball dreams.
We’re up and off early, with a stop along the way for hand-cut fries and a cruise down the Elk Scenic Highway. Who knew the largest herd of elk east of Wyoming roams these thick woods? And right in the heart of Elk County is the sleepy village of Benezette, and the Winslow Hill B&B. Betty McCluskey offers mighty comfy lodging here, and we opt for what she calls the Sunrise Room. “This room comes with a trained rooster alarm clock,” Betty gives us fair warning. “Bert’ll make sure you wake up in time to see the elk.”
Sure enough, at 5:40 the next morning, Bert the rooster is crowing through our screen door. The cockle-do does it, and we enjoy the sunrise with lumbering elk grazing in a next-door meadow.
It seems the elk are everywhere - in back woods and front yards and on local menus. We try a “bugle burger” and grab some elk jerky for the road. We even gawk over weird, beautiful jewelry – “nelklace” pendants with dangling elk poop, compressed, dehydrated, de-stinked and polished a shiny, mesmerizing ebony. These Pennsylvania woods give us oddball delights.
These woods also give us baseball bats. Turns out nothing drives a baseball quite like Pennsylvania maple. Centerfielder Johnny Damon agrees every time he steps to the plate. He’s one of hundreds of pro ballplayers who swing a BWP bat, handmade right here in Brookeville, just south of elk country in the Pennsylvania Wilds.
Our factory guide Dave shows us how to make a great clean-up hitter. Lathe the maple to the precise ounce. Sand the raw bat till smooth, and then do it again and again. Three coats of paint, two of protective lacquer and stamp the logo on just so, with the grain, so you know how to hold the bat when you swing for the fences.
“350 bats a day, seven days a week,” Dave says with pride. “We make the national pastime here.” He gives us our own bat – the model Johnny Damon used when he led the Red Sox to their euphoric (big league) World Series victory. “This bat’s the curse killer,” Dave says. We brandish ours at an imaginary pitcher standing an imaginary 60 feet 6 inches away (perhaps old Nolan Ryan) and all the sandlots of childhood come rushing back.
With thanks to Dave we toss the maple beauty into the ragtop, pull on a jaw full of elk jerky, and aim south toward Punxsutawney, with Charlie Parker’s alto be-bopping us down the two-lane. It’s a beautiful day for a baseball roadtrip, so we’ll look for you on the bends and backroads.
When you hit the road, here’s where to stop. For a complete map and photos of all this, check out www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.
The Little League Museum
Walk through the story of the perfect game that captured hopes and hearts around the world. This is where it all started back in 1939. You can even measure the speed of your fastball and tee off on a pitching machine. Play ball! Next door to the International Little League headquarters at 539 Route 15, South Williamsport. www.littleleague.org/museum.
Joey’s Place
Where to eat lunch, period. The garden cheesesteak is a two-fisted gooey goodness. Grab a seat at the bar or at one of the many large tavern tables. 505 Washington Blvd in Williamsport. 570.323.6217.
Peter Herdic Inn
Eat, sleep and drink like an industrial-era millionaire. And make sure you take a stroll along “millionaire’s row” and gawk at how the better half lived a hundred fifty years ago. 411West 4th Street in Williamsport. Call Gloria for a reservation: 570.326.0411, or stop by online: www.herdichouse.com.
The E.A. Rowley House
Perhaps the finest Queen Anne architectural masterpiece in the world. Back in the day it had flush toilets, electric chandeliers and a dumbwaiter. You’ll love it for the incredible woodwork, Tiffany stained glass, tiled fireplaces and rare and original sculpted French wallpaper. Ask Eiderson Dean (great name, no?) for a tour. 707 West 4th Street, Williamsport. www.williamsport.org
Socky’s Restaurant
A great lunch counter halfway between Williamsport and Brookville. Just across from the grand old Renovo railroad yards. You won’t find a better patty melt and real hand-cut fries anywhere. Period. 406 Erie Avenue, Renovo. Call ahead for directions: 570.923.0318
Winslow Hill B&B
If you wanna sleep a little later, ask for the Sunset Room. If you want to breakfast with the elk, check into Betty McCluskey’s Sunrise Room. Her trained rooster Bert will sound the alarm just outside your door at dawn. Reserve the Sunset, Moonlit or Sunrise room at winslowhillbb.com or call Betty at 814.787.4212.
Benezette Hotel
A great local tavern with good eats and a great jukebox. The wings are great, the spaghetti dinner’s a knockout at just $6.50, but it’s the Bugle Burger that brings the locals back for more. Right in the heart of downtown Benezette at 95 Winslow Hill Rd; 814.787.4355.
Double Diamond Deer Ranch
Enough with the elk. Come visit Rusty Snyder’s incredible Deer Ranch. The old time family attraction is possible only by Rusty’s love for her deer friends. Feed the fawns and get to know the doe. And don’t miss the barn, where Rusty’s deerly departed rest in eternal splendor, stuffed (ahem) and resplendent in their stalls. On Rt 36 just 3 miles south of Cook Forest State Park. www.doublediamonddeerranch.com. 814.752.6334
BWP Baseball Bats
Watch hearty Pennsylvania hardwood become curveball crushing baseball bats right before your eyes. Hundreds of pros use BWP bats from the Pennsylvania Wilds. See the factory for yourself and you’ll know why sluggers refer to their bats as “lumber.” Just off Route 80 east of Brookville. Call ahead: 814.849.0089. www.bwpbats.com
Ok, now it’s your turn. Let us know where you’ve been, what you’re eating and who you’re meeting. Send us an email at shunpiker@visitpa.com
Monday, May 7, 2007
In the Susquehanna river towns, it’s glassware, gumbo and the good life made by hand.
Curving north from the Mason-Dixon, this Susquehanna River road is a pig’s tail curl. We’re driving the eastern bank, toward the river towns of Columbia, Marietta and Wrightsville. The woods we weave haven’t changed much since the Confederate Army marched the opposite shore.
These towns are watersheds in the War Between the States - or the Northern War of Aggression, depending on your point of view. In the summer of 1863, thousands of Confederate soldiers attempt to cross the Susquehanna to capture Harrisburg. But a few citizen volunteers burn their own Columbia-Wrightsville bridge and force General Lee’s finest to head west toward the twilight zone of Gettysburg.
144 summers later, we’re on this Civil War trail hunting for signs of old river town life. We find it within a thriving artisan culture of twisted iron and blackened catfish. Where people still make things with their hands.
It begins off the corkscrew river road, on an alley among the brick rows and barbershops of vintage Columbia. In a backstreet factory called Susquehanna Glass, folks have cut patterns by hand into gorgeous glassware for 100 years. Upstairs we meet Sandy Miller, who’s been cutting glass here for a third of them. Order glassware from fancy-schmancies like Williams-Sonoma, chances are she’s making it for you.
Within seconds, Sandy uses a whirling wheel to etch a tall ship into a tall glass. “What about seagulls,” she muses. And birds appear in flight with a flick of her ample wrists. “Aw,” she shrugs as we gasp. “Some people have a natural knack and this is mine.” Sandy hands us the cut tumbler and we can’t wait to sail her ship through a highball sea come happy hour.
We’re eager for the view from the rebel side, so we head across the 1930 concrete-arch bridge some locals still call “the new one.” For as long as they’ve cut glass on one side, the John Wright Foundry has been forging all manner of cast-iron marvels on the other. Stove grates and lampposts, and the pan in which our grandmother fried “dip eggs” in bacon grease.
Today the old foundry includes a ground-floor bistro with a wide river view. We sip iced tea and daydream about the blazing bridge that lit up history here back in ‘63. Up in the second floor store, we grab a cast-iron fajita griddle and giggle at the factory-outlet price.
Back in the ragtop, griddle and glassware secure, we head up out of town through fertile fields, to a mountaintop panorama of the Susquehanna sliding by. Sharing the view is Jim and Sue Miller’s Moon Dancer Winery, a dream come true for a couple of recovering white collars.
Grapes love the riverside hill as much as the Millers. Jim pours us some tasty Riesling, but it’s their Blue Moon Port that makes us grin. A tour of the cellar shows off a great collection of Pennsylvania oak barrels, where Jim and Sue serve candlelit dinners among the casks.
With Port and Riesling in the ragtop’s trunk, it’s across the river again, north until we park in front of the Petit Museum of the Musical Boxes, a tinkling miracle in the heart of beautiful Marietta. This town is timeless Americana: the 1st National Bank, the restored theater, the Old Town Hall. On Market Street we expect to run into Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed.
“It’s a wonderful life here,” says a woman of a certain age, sitting on her spotless brickhouse stoop. “And it gets prettier every afternoon.” In the golden light, we ask our new friend where we might find a proper supper. She tells us Josephine’s, up the block, has crab cakes “big as my head.” She winks and throws a challenge. “Then again, if you like it hot, you might try to find Prudhomme’s Lost Cajun Kitchen.”
Turns out Dave Prudhomme’s uncle is the legendary New Orleans Chef Paul, who turned blackened fish into phenomena. Dave fell for Sharon and Sharon hails from Columbia and that’s why this Prudhomme’s Cajun Kitchen feels a little “lost.” But step inside and you’re on the bayou with ‘gator on the menu and zydeco in the air. And the whole family cooks like the devil on fire.
We dive into a bowl of the best gumbo this side of Lake Pontchartrain. Dave grins through his goatee and sets down a plate of Shrimp Sunny: blackened catfish on a bed of crabmeat, slathered with crawfish étouffée, surrounded by succulent shrimp. One bite and Cajun fiddles two-step across our tongues. Awesome.
“All from scratch,” Dave hugs me. “All with our own two hands.” And right there that’s the spirit of the river towns. Like when they need to turn back invading Confederates, a few townies take it in their hands to save the Union. And here we sit today, wolfing hand-made Deep South gumbo in a gritty waterfront community where hard work will never be a dirty thought.
Tomorrow we get up early to beat the farmers to the Central Market in downtown York. So we have to say g’night to Dave and Sharon and head for bed-and-breakfast at The Columbian, a Victorian mansion just a couple blocks from the National Watch and Clock Museum. Which leads us to a whole other story of hands, best saved for a whole other time. While we’re waiting, we’ll look for you along the bends and backroads.
When you hit the road, here’s where to stop. For a complete map and photos of all this, check out www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.
Smith’s Hotel
This old roadhouse is big with the locals. We played shuffleboard bowling and tucked away the best cheesesteak west of Roxboro. “It oughta be good,” grumped our barmaid. “He’s been makin’ ‘em for 20-odd years.” 1030 Lancaster Avenue on the east side of Columbia. Call ahead at 717.684.3385.
Susquehanna Glass Factory
Look for the yellow signs.. They point down a back alley, because that’s where the company started 100 years ago. Today, great factory tours and low factory prices. Watch the weather: they close when the temp is above 90. 731 Ave. H in Columbia. Call 800-592-3646 and ask about tours. Online at www.theglassfactory.com.
The Columbian: A Bed & Breakfast Inn
Karen will make you comfy and cook you a great breakfast at this cozy Victorian B&B. Five rooms, each with a privy. And if it’s nice, take your coffee in the lovely backyard garden. Great location at 360 Chestnut Street in Columbia. Reservations: 717-684-0241 and online at www.columbianinn.com.
National Watch and Clock Museum
It’s just a two-minute walk from The Columbian, so make the time to check this place out after breakfast. 514 Poplar Street in Columbia, and on the web at www.nawcc.org.
John Wright Store & Restaurant
At the foot of the beautiful Wrightsville-Columbia Bridge, this great old foundry has a lovely restaurant, a great river view and lots of cast-iron for home, garden and gifts at great prices. North Front Street in Wrightsville. 717.252.2519. Online at www.jwright.com.
Moon Dancer Vineyards & Winery
Jim Miller will share the wine and the Susquehanna view from his gorgeous hillside vineyards. For live music and food festival schedules, visit www.moondancerwinery.com. 1282 Klines Run Road, Wrightsville. 717.252-WINE.
Marietta Walking Tour
The 19th Century architecture is a well-preserved miracle. Enjoy an afternoon stroll through timeless neighborhoods. Visit the community website at www.mariettapa.com.
Prudhomme’s Lost Cajun Kitchen
Alligators, zydeco and hand-cut onion rings, stuffed with crabmeat, topped with pepperjack cheese and broiled till they’re bubbling. Dave and Sharon Prudhomme bring the best of the bayou to the shoals of the Susquehanna at 50 Lancaster Avenue in Columbia. Call 'em at 717-684-1706. Or see for yourself at www.lostcajunkitchen.com. And you’re goofy if you don’t get the gumbo.
Ok, now it’s your turn. Let us know where you’ve been, what you’re eating and who you’re meeting. Send us an email at shunpiker@visitpa.com
These towns are watersheds in the War Between the States - or the Northern War of Aggression, depending on your point of view. In the summer of 1863, thousands of Confederate soldiers attempt to cross the Susquehanna to capture Harrisburg. But a few citizen volunteers burn their own Columbia-Wrightsville bridge and force General Lee’s finest to head west toward the twilight zone of Gettysburg.
144 summers later, we’re on this Civil War trail hunting for signs of old river town life. We find it within a thriving artisan culture of twisted iron and blackened catfish. Where people still make things with their hands.
It begins off the corkscrew river road, on an alley among the brick rows and barbershops of vintage Columbia. In a backstreet factory called Susquehanna Glass, folks have cut patterns by hand into gorgeous glassware for 100 years. Upstairs we meet Sandy Miller, who’s been cutting glass here for a third of them. Order glassware from fancy-schmancies like Williams-Sonoma, chances are she’s making it for you.
Within seconds, Sandy uses a whirling wheel to etch a tall ship into a tall glass. “What about seagulls,” she muses. And birds appear in flight with a flick of her ample wrists. “Aw,” she shrugs as we gasp. “Some people have a natural knack and this is mine.” Sandy hands us the cut tumbler and we can’t wait to sail her ship through a highball sea come happy hour.
We’re eager for the view from the rebel side, so we head across the 1930 concrete-arch bridge some locals still call “the new one.” For as long as they’ve cut glass on one side, the John Wright Foundry has been forging all manner of cast-iron marvels on the other. Stove grates and lampposts, and the pan in which our grandmother fried “dip eggs” in bacon grease.
Today the old foundry includes a ground-floor bistro with a wide river view. We sip iced tea and daydream about the blazing bridge that lit up history here back in ‘63. Up in the second floor store, we grab a cast-iron fajita griddle and giggle at the factory-outlet price.
Back in the ragtop, griddle and glassware secure, we head up out of town through fertile fields, to a mountaintop panorama of the Susquehanna sliding by. Sharing the view is Jim and Sue Miller’s Moon Dancer Winery, a dream come true for a couple of recovering white collars.
Grapes love the riverside hill as much as the Millers. Jim pours us some tasty Riesling, but it’s their Blue Moon Port that makes us grin. A tour of the cellar shows off a great collection of Pennsylvania oak barrels, where Jim and Sue serve candlelit dinners among the casks.
With Port and Riesling in the ragtop’s trunk, it’s across the river again, north until we park in front of the Petit Museum of the Musical Boxes, a tinkling miracle in the heart of beautiful Marietta. This town is timeless Americana: the 1st National Bank, the restored theater, the Old Town Hall. On Market Street we expect to run into Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed.
“It’s a wonderful life here,” says a woman of a certain age, sitting on her spotless brickhouse stoop. “And it gets prettier every afternoon.” In the golden light, we ask our new friend where we might find a proper supper. She tells us Josephine’s, up the block, has crab cakes “big as my head.” She winks and throws a challenge. “Then again, if you like it hot, you might try to find Prudhomme’s Lost Cajun Kitchen.”
Turns out Dave Prudhomme’s uncle is the legendary New Orleans Chef Paul, who turned blackened fish into phenomena. Dave fell for Sharon and Sharon hails from Columbia and that’s why this Prudhomme’s Cajun Kitchen feels a little “lost.” But step inside and you’re on the bayou with ‘gator on the menu and zydeco in the air. And the whole family cooks like the devil on fire.
We dive into a bowl of the best gumbo this side of Lake Pontchartrain. Dave grins through his goatee and sets down a plate of Shrimp Sunny: blackened catfish on a bed of crabmeat, slathered with crawfish étouffée, surrounded by succulent shrimp. One bite and Cajun fiddles two-step across our tongues. Awesome.
“All from scratch,” Dave hugs me. “All with our own two hands.” And right there that’s the spirit of the river towns. Like when they need to turn back invading Confederates, a few townies take it in their hands to save the Union. And here we sit today, wolfing hand-made Deep South gumbo in a gritty waterfront community where hard work will never be a dirty thought.
Tomorrow we get up early to beat the farmers to the Central Market in downtown York. So we have to say g’night to Dave and Sharon and head for bed-and-breakfast at The Columbian, a Victorian mansion just a couple blocks from the National Watch and Clock Museum. Which leads us to a whole other story of hands, best saved for a whole other time. While we’re waiting, we’ll look for you along the bends and backroads.
When you hit the road, here’s where to stop. For a complete map and photos of all this, check out www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.
Smith’s Hotel
This old roadhouse is big with the locals. We played shuffleboard bowling and tucked away the best cheesesteak west of Roxboro. “It oughta be good,” grumped our barmaid. “He’s been makin’ ‘em for 20-odd years.” 1030 Lancaster Avenue on the east side of Columbia. Call ahead at 717.684.3385.
Susquehanna Glass Factory
Look for the yellow signs.. They point down a back alley, because that’s where the company started 100 years ago. Today, great factory tours and low factory prices. Watch the weather: they close when the temp is above 90. 731 Ave. H in Columbia. Call 800-592-3646 and ask about tours. Online at www.theglassfactory.com.
The Columbian: A Bed & Breakfast Inn
Karen will make you comfy and cook you a great breakfast at this cozy Victorian B&B. Five rooms, each with a privy. And if it’s nice, take your coffee in the lovely backyard garden. Great location at 360 Chestnut Street in Columbia. Reservations: 717-684-0241 and online at www.columbianinn.com.
National Watch and Clock Museum
It’s just a two-minute walk from The Columbian, so make the time to check this place out after breakfast. 514 Poplar Street in Columbia, and on the web at www.nawcc.org.
John Wright Store & Restaurant
At the foot of the beautiful Wrightsville-Columbia Bridge, this great old foundry has a lovely restaurant, a great river view and lots of cast-iron for home, garden and gifts at great prices. North Front Street in Wrightsville. 717.252.2519. Online at www.jwright.com.
Moon Dancer Vineyards & Winery
Jim Miller will share the wine and the Susquehanna view from his gorgeous hillside vineyards. For live music and food festival schedules, visit www.moondancerwinery.com. 1282 Klines Run Road, Wrightsville. 717.252-WINE.
Marietta Walking Tour
The 19th Century architecture is a well-preserved miracle. Enjoy an afternoon stroll through timeless neighborhoods. Visit the community website at www.mariettapa.com.
Prudhomme’s Lost Cajun Kitchen
Alligators, zydeco and hand-cut onion rings, stuffed with crabmeat, topped with pepperjack cheese and broiled till they’re bubbling. Dave and Sharon Prudhomme bring the best of the bayou to the shoals of the Susquehanna at 50 Lancaster Avenue in Columbia. Call 'em at 717-684-1706. Or see for yourself at www.lostcajunkitchen.com. And you’re goofy if you don’t get the gumbo.
Ok, now it’s your turn. Let us know where you’ve been, what you’re eating and who you’re meeting. Send us an email at shunpiker@visitpa.com
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