the Balko Finds the Best Seat in the House for Johnstown, PA’s 4th of July

I’ve seen some fireworks in my time. There’ve been bi-, tri, and sesqui-centennial celbrations; First Nights and New Year’s Eves, Tall Ships and Millenia, big cities and small towns. We did Boston’s Esplanade 4th one time, along with 300,000 others: couldn’t see the band, no alcohol, couldn’t get to the bathroom, couldn’t get IN the bathroom, couldn’t get out of the park at the end of the night, and getting onto the T was murder. But sitting directly behind those howitzers was a BLAST! Man, dig that crazy sound: BOOM! BOOM! Like much of my Boston experience, though, once was enough. Coolest show I ever saw was Ocean City’s 2000 NYE from the door of my tent on Assateague Island across the bay. But that entire night was special. Last night in Johnstown was pretty special, too.

A Plethora of Pyrotechnique

After shooting last year’s unlooked for 4th of July at Highland and Wheat from the shelter of Larry’s porch, I determined to take advantage of a higher vantage. So, with the cooperation of Albert’s weather, I humped my lard ass and 20 pounds of photo kit up to the top of Wheat Street. I had no idea! I got to witness dozens of fireworks displays in a 180 degree arc, from small, personal shows to the official programs from Westmont and Johnstown; some at my feet, some directly in front of me, to all the way down the length of the valley. What a show! There were at least several sources from each neighborhood and municipality I could see: Ferndale, Lorain, Yoder, Hornerstown, Kernville, Oakland, Daisytown, behind Yoder Hill from Brownstown and/or Cambria City; and even flashes from the West End; and ALL OVER Moxham. No, it wasn’t a BETTER show than the Boston Pops, it was just different, and at least as satisfying and far more comfortable. Next year I’ll have to load up some Tchaikovsky on the iPod before I head out, or, better yet, Exile on Main Street. Now THERE’s some fireworks music.

(It’s a long article, so just a reminder that the gallery, as always, can be found at the end of the post.)

Sandyvale Cemetery, in Johnstown’s Hornerstown neighborhood, is one dreary place in early April. Grey clouds cover the early spring sky; winds lurch down the Stonycreek valley from the top of the Allegheny Front, and the place is acres and acres of little beyond acres and acres.

Prompted by a thread in a local forum, I lurched my own self down to the city’s oldest burial ground to see what I could see. After three major floods, there isn’t much left. A couple or few dozen worn headstones, some broken, a few illegible; line Sandyvale’s only discernable avenue: a barely paved former drive stretching from the Hickory Street entrance to the cemetery’s far end near Messenger Street. Beyond the far end, on land that, at one time, was the original St. Joseph’s Cemetery, sit scores of blue and white porta-potties, adding to the dismal ambience.

Drifting along the lane, the visitor discovers a litany of names that should be familiar to most Johnstowners: Horner, Bheam, Benshoff, Strayer and more. In the center of the tract, and afforded the most consideration, is a veteran’s memorial. Sandyvale is or was the final resting place for veterans who served in all of our nation’s wars from the Revolution through World War II. A flagpole stands in the middle of a circle. Ringing the the circle are 21 flat stones commemorating the service of 20 Civil War vets. The lone standout is the white stone of Pvt. Cleveland Emerick, who served in World War I.

At the end of the lane, in another ring and offended by the porta-potties beyond, stands the statue of a young girl with the name “Jacoby” carved in the base. The statue is surrounded by additional broken and eroded markers. The remainder of the landscape is dotted with derelict streetlamps, a couple of daffodil beds and the occasional ornamental fruit tree.

Frankly, the place looks like Sodom & Gomorrah on the day after judgement, and that’s no way to memorialize the departed. Apparently the official name is now SANDYVALE MEMORIAL BOTANICAL GARDENS & ARBORETUM. A few years back an overly-ambitious plan was floated to redefine the cemetery. Immediately a few of the few surviving descendants took arms against this sea of trouble and demanded the interrees be left alone. I can’t say where the plan stands today, but certainly a bit of landscaping and a few walking paths to encourage visitors and meditation would certainly be a more fitting memorial to Johnstown’s founders than the barren plain that sits there now.

It should be pointed out that the plan posted here contains no specific reference for memorializing those currently interred in Sandyvale.

Rolled out early early last Saturday looking for some mood pictures in the morning fog. I was hoping for one of those pre-dawn shots where the sky is just starting to lighten and the fog doesn’t quite reach the hilltops?

Problem with the Highlands and Johnstown, though: it’s tough to find a vantage point high enough and the fog low enough to get the photo right.

First, I headed up the MoxhamVu overlook on Belmont Hill. Nothing but a sea of white. So I dropped down a bit and grabbed a few shots of under the fog from the top of Wheat Street in Moxham. From there, a change of tactics, and I headed up to Grandview to try and capture a mood instead of an atmosphere.

They’ve got a saying in New England: “Don’t like the weather? Wait a minute.” Well, Johnstown weather doesn’t change that quickly, but the sky and the light certainly do. I barely got a handful of shots around the cemetery entrance when the fog appeared to lift. Before packing up, I took a quick run over to the Incline Plane to see what was up there. Pleanty of fog in the valley and a brief glimpse of Cover Hill across the way. Then, a minute after I snapped the shot of the Yoder Hill, the entire hilltop socked in.

And that’s when I realized I was trespassing. I had no idea they could pop me for trespassing for taking pictures from the observation platform. Welcome to the Friendly City. Anyway, short story longer, it being after my normal 8am starting time, I packed up and headed for a beer. I’ve been in a fog ever since. Enjoy the photos.

• Franklin VFW’s Sgt. Michael Strank page
• Wikipedia’s Franklin page
• Rootsweb’s Franklin Boro HS page

Another cold Allegheny day, so I shot photos till my fingers froze off and headed home. I’ve spent a bit of time in the Franklin-Conemaugh area the last couple of months, and have been pleasantly surprised at how photogenic the valley is. Hope you like the results as well.

On a side note, there are 2 photos below of a Grandview statue that I refer to as the Lady in White (not to be confused with the White Lady of Beulah, or the White Lady of Ghost Town Trail, or the White Lady of Wapsononock Mountain). I know of 4 other identical statues across the Northeast and Midwest: one in the suburbs north of Boston, another in upstate New York, a third in Wisconsin or Michigan (everything was a blur) and, the one I’m most familiar with, a fourth in Lancaster, PA. As the statue in Lancaster is somewhat sheltered from the elements by trees and an urban setting, and not placed out in the open on top of a mountain; and, since she comes with a real, if not necessarily true ghost story, I’ve added a post and gallery on Lancaster’s Lady in White to illustrate the poignancy and craft of 19th century memorial sculptors.

Requiescat in pace.

I stood in the center of the intersection while a small crowd gathered and everywhere we turned our faces were outlined by rockets’ red glare. Every street, it seemed, was putting on it’s own show. And they were all good, and we could see most of them from right there @ Highland and Wheat, and it was all spontaneous. The cops should track all these people down so THEY can program the city’s fireworks from now on.

I love this town!

Anyway, Stackhouse is a very cool place. It fits right in with the Congressman Koontz quote over to your right, and also with the basic concept of Laurelight. I hope you like the shots. I hope Laurie likes the shots. I hope this helps the Park. I can’t wait for the first snowfall.

When you’re finished looking at the photos, head over to the Stackhouse Park website. Check out some of the great things they’re doing with the place, and then become a member. I did, and it feels good.

Love and kisses,
the Balko

The high point of the evening, for me, was meeting Christine. I’m happy to tell anyone I meet that, since Dad rarely spent his free time anywhere else, I pretty much grew up in the place when it was the Stonycreek Hotel. So my jaw dropped when the charming young lady sitting next to me said, “My grandfather used to own this bar.” Rudy Plesnik(sp?)!!?? Dad feared no man, and respected only a few, but he respected Rudy as much as he did anyone. I spent many hours sitting at that bar waiting for Dad: drinking cokes, eating Rolos and Snyder’s chips, and marvelling at the size of the big man’s arms. Rudy was soft-spoken, tall and fit, and had arms the size of most men’s legs, and he put up with no crap. He never verbalized it, but the Southside’s motto “No Jerks Allowed” began with Rudy Plesnik. It was an honor to share a few minutes with his granddaughter.

Anyway, enough about my memory Lane. We’re here to party. If you don’t know, you live under a rock. Tulune’s Southside Saloon is Johnstown’s only import bar. They’ve got over a hundred and fifty import and craft beers listed on the menu. I wouldn’t mind if they’d add Pilsner Urquell, but maybe next time I’ll try the Krusovice Cerne Schwarzbier instead. Who woulda thought Johnstown could support a bar that isn’t sucked in by all that Bud vs. Miller marketing crap, and that only sells imports, and some of them high-end imports at that. Rudy isn’t the only one to be surprised by their success.

And successful they are, especially if you judge by the quality of the staff, the size of the crowd, and the response of the patrons. This place is jumpin’ and everybody gets a buzz off the bounce. Being about the oldest fart in the outhouse, I’m not always at ease hangin’ with the Utes, but I settled right in here. Eleven years in Boston, and 20 years in Amishland and I’ve only found one other bar (Lancaster Dispensing Company) that feels like home. I can’t wait to get back to Tulune’s. What was home once, is home once again.

And the food! Lordy, I have died and gone to heaven and the St. Pauli Girl is offering me horse devours! Oh Mommy please don’t wake me now! (If she hadn’t been so attractive, I would have paid a bit more attention and been able to tell you what the hell’s goin’ on on the TV.) The food was awesome (overused word, I know, but it fits here), and, for this evening, it was free. Awesomer! I think this was some kind of pizza roll, and we had some crab puffy thingies and some keilbassa wrapped in bacon with a hint of maple flavor, and there was some sweet cakie kind of stuff and then some sort of stromboli or calzone or something that blew me away.

I’d provide more details, but I just assumed it was all on the menu. But it wasn’t. They made all that good eats up special just for me and my network (see preceeding photos – can you hear me now?) I was hoping to order that stromboli stuff somewhere down the road, and was disappointed it isn’t on the menu, but someone told me (and don’t hold me or them to this – it was just said in passing) that on a slow night, you can pretty much get anything you want. And the entire staff busted ass all night long. This infectious energy and attitude has gotta come from Sean, the manager, and it gets picked up by the entire crew. The bar was two-deep for most of the night, and no one had to wait more than a couple of minutes for service. These guys know what they’re doing, and they do it well, and it looks like they all enjoy doing it. It’s a real hoot watching them work.

And I guess that’s why everyone is smiling. Everybody picks up on the good-time vibe and passes it on to the next one. I believe we’ve got no excuses. It’s up to each of us to carry the party with us, but, a lot of the time, you’ll walk into a place and they just wanna bring the party right down. The best bars work hard to keep the flame shining bright, and the Southside is one of those bars: great food, great crowd, and blow-you-out-of-the-water service. I wish I could carry this place around in my hip pocket.

On a final note, I mentioned that I fell hard a dozen times on Saturday night. The first 3 times were over Winnie Cooper, the St. Pauli Girl, and Inks-R-Us: all three beautiful, charming and gracious women, with honest smiles and 150 imported beers at their fingertips. Ladies, I love you all, and I hate to do this, but I’ve gotta break your hearts. There’s just no way it would ever work out. I’m always off somewhere shooting photos, or sitting in bars and falling in love. You all deserve something better. But I will be back soon to give you all a chance to change my mind. Till then…

Scroll down for more photos:

No jerks allowed, but they let me in anyway.

On a night when the stars came out.

Tulune’s Southside Saloon official historian.

Love Sucks 2008 @ the Southside Saloon