The Brotherhood of the Rusty Ice Cream Sign

Let’s face it. We all love and feel nostalgia for the local ice cream stand. That wonderful building with a lot of glass in the front, a sliding window, a towering swirl on a sugar cone, and usually, an old sign on top, lighting up the night, welcoming in your poor, huddled masses, yearning to breathe soft serve. For many, the opening of the ice cream stand is the sign that spring is here, with the promise of many summer days ahead.

My local was the Jones’ Humdinger on the north side of Binghamton. They open in late March, so the ice cream season is just as likely as not to coincide with the end of winter. Yet people are willing to stand outside for their ice cream then, in the hopes to capture a bit of sunshine.

Jones Humdinger

The Humdinger still has the old sign that was there forty years ago.

Here in Allentown, the Ritz Barbecue has an ice cream stand with some of the best I’ve ever had. Plus, they have a terrific old sign.

Ritz Ice Cream

This sign, in part, led me to start the hashtag on Instagram #rustyicecream, dedicated to these seasonal paradises. There are quite a few still going in the Northeast, due to the fact that we never get tired of ice cream in the summer, so any chance I get to visit another local parlor, I get on over there.

Needless to say, when I discovered there was a beauty I missed in the Scranton area, I slapped my forehead a multitude of times. Credit Leah Frances of @americansquares for alerting me to the existence of Carter’s Dairy Freeze in Exeter, PA. Her picture a few weeks ago, coupled with the fact that I was going to be in the area in late March, sealed the deal. I was going.

Carter’s is on a stretch of US 11 which I had somehow missed, in between Scranton proper and Kingston. It doesn’t disappoint, containing all the requisite ingredients for summer nostalgia: glass, ice cream, outdoor space, sign at the top.

Carter's Dairy Freeze, Exeter, PA

Only problem was, I was there too early. They weren’t open for the season. I consoled myself with a few shots. At the back door, there was a man doing some cleaning in the building. I didn’t know if he was working for some cleaning service or if he worked there, but he glanced over at me from time to time as I cast my camera skyward to get just the right angle for the sign. After a while, he realized what I was after and he walked over. “Admiring the sign?” he asked me.

Always great when I don’t have to explain what I’m doing. This guy knew that I was after the history, and he had the appreciation of it, too.

Turns out this was the owner of the place, Louis Venetz. He bought the old ice cream stand more than ten years ago. “I get called Mr. Carter all the time,” he mentions to me, with a laugh. “Probably be on my obituary.”

Carter's Detail

The neon is gone from the sign, and he’s looked into getting it restored. He told me what the quote was that he got, and I can readily understand why he hasn’t done it. That’s a lot of scoops.

On the way home, I wondered if it’s possible to set up a GoFundMe or some such for somebody else. Just a thought.

You could clearly tell that he loves this place and understands what it means to the community. In short, he’s exactly the kind of guy you want to run the local ice cream place. I don’t often do it, but I asked to take his picture. Honestly I don’t think I could have taken a better one.

Louis Venetz

Carter’s Dairy Freeze opens up this weekend!

Anybody have any memories of Carter’s (or your own home town ice cream stand)? Feel free to comment!

Summers by the Lake: Remembering John Margolies

Last week, I saw an innocent little item Mod Betty had put on her Facebook page concerning the John Margolies collection that the Library of Congress put out recently. John Margolies passed away last year, and the LOC was providing those interested with a look at over 11,000 images he had taken over the years of roadside architecture and signage. The name seemed somewhat familiar, so I did what we all do, I went to Google with a bunch of questions about John Margolies, and they provided the necessary information on who he was, and examples of his work. The picture Google put next to the name stopped me dead in my tracks.

It was 1989. I saw an ad in the newspaper for a waiter position for a resort called Scott’s Oquaga Lake House. My only previous work experience had been a summer at McDonald’s, and I wasn’t prepared to go back to that, so I called the number on the ad and set up an interview. The place I was going was in Deposit, which was over 20 miles from my house, but this was truly a case of beggars not being able to be choosers. I needed a job, any job.

Scott’s Oquaga Lake House sounded like the perfect place for me to work, and in a lot of ways, it was. It was minimum wage, no tips, and I could stay in a room on the campus (for a fee) and eat my meals in the kitchen (for another fee). I could start right away, so I started right away. My first paycheck was upwards of 50 bucks all tolled.

Scott's Dining Room
Scott’s Dining Room, John Margolies

It was still early on in the season, so the dining room was about half-full at mealtime. Most of the early season visitors were elderly folks who had come down from Canada in a bus. Only one person really stood out, the man sitting alone near the salad bar. From first glance, you could tell there was something different about this guy. At the age I am now, I would recognize him as someone who is consistently observing, but then I couldn’t tell you anything about him.

Well, not completely true. I knew he always came alone, always came to stay for weeks at a time, and was very infrequently seen outside of mealtime. It’s possible that someone said that his name was John Margolies, but I didn’t remember. Someone said he was a photographer. One of the maids told me that he always taped the drapes shut when he came. Maybe he was using his room as an impromptu dark room? I thought at the time.

I never knew what kind of a photographer he was. I was 18 and lost in my own self too much to care about anyone else, so in all the times I waited on him, I never asked him.

Scott's Casino Interior
Scott’s Casino Interior, 1978, John Margolies

Scott’s was a throwback. Actually, that’s not necessarily true, Scott’s just hadn’t changed. The picture above was taken in 1978, but it could have been 1989, because it honestly looked the same. I was there for two seasons, and I left with more stories than I could possibly relate in the space of one blog post.


It’s fairly evident from the Library of Congress collection that during the summers of 1977 and 1978, John Margolies went to great number of Catskill resorts. Most of the pictures look like they may have been taken for brochures, with men and women seated around pools in bathing suits, lobby shots, pictures of the owners.  There are quite a few people in these shots, but when I read his New York Times obituary, this was what was said:

Shooting in color with a 35-millimeter Canon FT, he strove to capture his subjects in consistent attitude: unsentimentally, against a cloudless blue sky (for which he often had to wait), devoid of the visual irritants like people and cars.

Visual irritants such as people. The phrase stuck in my head. Certainly this wasn’t true for these pictures, but over the years, especially in the 1980’s, the New York Times description was dead on. Very consistently a blue sky, no people, all taken with the same camera, with the same transparency film.

Dutch Mill Motor Court
Dutch Mill Motor Court, Malta, NY, John Margolies

That was, until I kept looking at the Scott’s collection. Yes, there were plenty of shots of the lake, of various buildings, but then there was this one, of owner Ray Scott in his old car, taken during one of the summers I worked there:

Ray Scott
Ray Scott, by John Margolies

Scott’s meant something for John. It seems fairly evident, from the frequency he stayed there and the amount of pictures he took, that the place was a refuge for him. As I looked through this massive catalog, I felt bad that I never asked him about it when I had the chance.

The second year I was there, I got to be the staff photographer for the month or so before the actual staff photographer came in from California. I had no training at all. Ray basically handed me the camera and said the film goes in there and you press the little button to make the pictures happen. I could do that. The day before the tour buses were to go, I would drive in to Binghamton to get the pictures developed, hang around for a few hours and come back. Then they would tack the pictures to a billboard and the groups would come through and order as they saw fit.

The first group of pictures I took didn’t go over so well. Not that they weren’t good pictures, but in my training session, the question of what I should take pictures of never came up. Ray saw them, curled his lip, and growled something to the effect that I had taken pictures of nothing. That wasn’t especially true, but pictures of woods and flowers around the Scott’s Campus would hardly sell to people who were buying pictures of themselves. So I shrugged my shoulders and took pictures of the Canadians as they stood in large groups, and life continued.

Oquaga Lake
Oquaga Lake, John Margolies

I was relieved of my photographer duties in late May of that year and resumed the life of a lowly waiter. John Margolies continued to show up for weeks at a time, sitting at his solitary table, and socially, this is the extent of where our paths crossed.

A few months ago, I got a book to read for our trip to Japan, but I decided it would be more interesting if I spent the flight hurling into a bag. Long story. At any rate, the book, which I eventually read after gastric distress had passed, was Geoff Dyer’s The Ongoing Moment. One of the points of this book is the intersection of themes and subjects within photography, that some photographers, although they have never met in person, meet in their pictures. So as I went through the huge catalog of images, I wondered which ones we had in common.

The answer was: surprisingly few. Although he spent a great deal of time in the Northeast, as have I, the subjects he chose were, thankfully, recordings of signs and locations that are no longer with us. But some remain.

Red Robin Diner, 1988
Red Robin Diner, 1988, John Margolies

The Red Robin Diner is still in Johnson City. When I visited it in 2012, the white panels had yellowed considerably.

Red Robin

The Clam Box in Ipswich, Massachusetts has been one of my favorites for years. My parents have visited there as long as I have memory, so whenever I’m in the area, most likely you’ll find me there. John Margolies took this shot in the 80’s:

Clam Box
Clam Box, Ipswich, MA, John Margolies

The New York Times’ statement about devoid of the visual irritants like people and cars came to mind when I saw this. However, the shot I took in 2011, is more representative of what the experience is like:

Clam Box of IpswichSchell’s in Temple, PA, north of Reading, has been a mainstay. When I saw his shot, I was sad and a little disappointed that the extra features on the sign no longer exist.

Schell's
Schell’s, 2013
Schell's
Schell’s, John Margolies

Finally, I checked the collection for Wildwood, but one of the only ones to come up was Laura’s Fudge. Again, I thought it was a cool sign now, but back then, even cooler.

Laura's Fudge, Wildwood, NJ
Laura’s Fudge, 2014
Laura's Fudge, 1978, John Margolies
Laura’s Fudge, 1978, John Margolies

I’ll be going through some more in the coming weeks, I’m sure, but if you’re curious, here’s the link to the archive: loc.gov

I got to see a time on my life I never thought I would see again. All the pictures I took at Scott’s that spring of 1990 (I’m sure) made their way to the trash-heap just as soon as the Canadians pictured made it back to Canada. I’m so grateful to be able to remember these summers once more.

Scott's Show Boat, John Margolies
Scott’s Show Boat, John Margolies
Scott's Barn, John Margolies
Scott’s Barn, John Margolies

 

 

From Japan to Sweden without Leaving New Jersey

I kid New Jersey. We all kid New Jersey. After all, it’s hard not to kid New Jersey when they present you with things like this:

Cannonball Loop(Those of you not from New Jersey, this is the Cannonball Loop from Action Park, a ride so unsafe they shut it down after a month. Reportedly they sent dummies down it to test it, and after one came down with all its limbs intact, it was declared safe.)

But say what you will about New Jersey, they do pull a Springsteen out of their hat every once in a while.

Laura’s sister Hannah contacted us a few weeks ago from Japan. She read up somewhere about a Japanese market called Mitsuwa which had all the comforts of home, provided your home is in Japan. There were several in California, one in Hawaii, one in Texas, and one—you guessed right—in Edgewater, New Jersey, directly across the Hudson from Manhattan. She asked if we were willing to check it out and we said Oh, gee, if we have to.

Since our Tokyo trip, there were many delicacies we were craving. We made a list. I made another list, or at least, I already had a list. This part of New Jersey was uncharted waters for me, and there were many, many signs I wished to capture.

I talked Laura in to going to Clam Broth House in Hoboken before we went to Mitsuwa, owing to the fact that a) it was technically on the way, and b) this is one sign I have been after for years. Clam Broth House closed a while back, but they kept their wonderful hand-pointing sign on top of a neighboring building.

Clam Broth House

This was what I was after. Everything else was gravy under the bridge. Or whatever.

(Again, non-New Jersey-type folk, you may have a predisposed notion of what a place named Hoboken may be like. Well, nothing could be further from the truth. Hoboken is one of the nicest places to go in New Jersey: historic and well-worth a visit.)

On to Mitsuwa, which didn’t disappoint, either. They have everything you’d see in Japan, from ingredients to onigiri (rice balls) to rice crackers to sake to…well, my favorite…

Pokypockypocky

All this, and a food court complete with a ramen shop, a sushi shop and a bakery. We could have stayed all day, but there were things to see, places to go.

I wanted to get a few authentic Jersey diners under my belt, because honestly, other than Olga’s in Marlton, which was closed, and the Tick Tock in Clifton, I had missed out on some of these beauties. First stop was the Arlington Diner, in the shadow of a drawbridge on the Passaic River. Their sign had some work done to it lately, but it was still majestic with its twin signs, one parallel with the road and one along the front.

Arlington Diner Arlington Diner

The plan was to go along River Road to the Lyndhurst Diner, but I wasn’t expecting a stop in between. Along the way, there was this old Auto Parts store, long abandoned, with gorgeous old neon along the top.

Riverside Auto Supply

I’m guessing the word “Auto” was in the space between “Riverside” and “Supply”.

As I got out and started snapping away like mad, a guy in a pickup truck stopped at a stop light called out to me. “Hey, you gonna buy this place?”

I don’t know what makes people assume that. I’ve been asked this several, several times in at least four states. “No, sir,” I said, “but I’d buy the sign.”

He laughed. “I can’t help you there,” he said, and drove off.

Once I had my fill, it was off to the Lyndhurst. I had forgotten that this is one of the few signs I’ve seen that has neon on the side of the sign, as well as on each face. The sun had gone away, but that was still cool, because the black-and-white sign looked like it was in a black-and-white picture, despite the fact that it was in color.

Lyndhurst Diner

“So how far away is IKEA?” Laura asked me when I got back in the car. There was one in Paramus we had been to before.

I checked my phone. “Only eight miles.”

“Well, then…”

Off we went to Sweden-by-the-Passaic. We took NJ 21 up through Clifton, when a thought occurred.

(Those of you who are from New Jersey know what’s in Clifton, but for the benefit of you poor, Jersey-starved individuals, it is the home of Rutt’s Hut, commonly referred to in my house as The Happy World of Hot Dogs. Those of you familiar with the comedy of the late John Pinette know that I must have heard the voice of the angels singing…ah-ah-AHHHHHH)

Three rippers from Rutt's Hut
Yes, please

So after lunch, we got back on the road to IKEA. Honestly, I thought I was done for the day, but as we passed by a 70s plastic sign for Parkway Lanes, I suddenly had a spark of memory: back in behind that thicket of trees by the overpass was a neon bowling beauty, an animation of three pins being hit with a bowling ball. Broad daylight, I thought, but who cares? It may not even be there.

We soldiered on to IKEA and picked up a few things. Eating there was not in our future, seeing as we had eaten enough for three lifetimes already, although Swedish meatballs, onigiri and deep-fried hot dogs are a trifecta like no other.

On our way out, we retraced our steps to Parkway Lanes. Easier said than done, because the exit only went west on US 46 and we needed to go east, but we managed to find a place to turn around and head in the right direction prior to reaching the Pennsylvania border, so that was a positive. In the rush to find this sign, I had forgotten to tell Laura what the main sign looked like, so the whole time she thought I was after the yellowing old plastic monster we had seen from the highway.

Parkway LanesOH, she said, once we pulled in to the parking lot.

Pins Animation at Parkway LanesAs I looked closer, I noticed there was some broken neon in some of the pins, so the animation looks like it’s a thing of the past.

I admired the bowling pin out front. It looked to me like some large bird might hatch out of it!

Parkway Lanes PinWe headed back on US 46, because, as I’ve learned from experience, the best old signs are on the old U.S. highways. Sure enough, a few miles down the road, we spot a motel:

Pine Brook Motor LodgeNormally with motels, I will ask first before shooting, but there was nobody parked out front, and I made the assumption that this place was no longer in operation. It wasn’t until I took this shot of breezeway bricks that I suddenly noticed something:

Pine BrookUm…those bushes didn’t grow that way naturally. As I hopped in the car and started off, we passed the office, and sure enough, there was somebody in there. So, please forgive me, good folks at the Pine Brook Motor Lodge. Next time I’ll check in at the desk.

And then, one last one for the road, the Parsippany Shopping Plaza. Laura saw this one in person and thought it was interesting, but later she commented that the pictures came out better than most of the others. It has two major things in its favor: a) it’s higher up, and b) it’s in a relatively quiet area. What this means is, it’s very easy to isolate the sign against the sky, like so:

Parsippany Shopping Plaza

Parsippany Detail

A perfect end to a perfect day. Thanks again, New Jersey. You don’t disappoint.

When the Circus Left Town

Our life had been on hold for a few months while we prepared for our trip to Japan, so a lot of the things we had planned to do suddenly became available to us. First and foremost for me was the Circus Drive-In in Wall Township, New Jersey, very near the shore. This location had been on my to-do list for quite a while, and when I heard they had closed for good after the season last year, I had been cursing myself ever since.

In January, the word had spread that the Circus was about to be sold to developers, and therefore, demolished just as soon as it took to get a bulldozer or two out there. By the following months, community efforts had blocked that from happening, if only temporarily. I read up to see what was going on over there, but no word since the beginning of March. As we got in the car and headed west, I couldn’t help thinking they wouldn’t tear the place down and not tell anyone, would they?

Fortunately, the building and the sign still stand, so I don’t have to bore you with pictures of a vacant lot.

Circus Drive-In, Wall Township, NJ

The weather people had predicted a terrible day for New Jersey, so of course I knew that would change. The clouds persisted across the state, which was fine by me. Bright and cheerful and sunny didn’t seem to fit the mood.

The Circus Drive-In sits next to a Jiffy Lube, which means that it will not be torn down in favor of a Jiffy Lube, so that’s at least something. We parked in the empty parking lot in front of our audience of workers, along with the car owners waiting while their oil was being changed. No one seemed particularly interested in what I was doing. Perhaps this was a daily occurrence.

Curb Service

I cursed myself once again for not making it out here while it was still running. So many questions: what was it like to eat here? How was the soft-shell crab they were known for?

Circus Drive-In, top

Did that carousel on top of the building spin around?

Circus Drive-In

There were paper hearts on the sign, which I later found out was part of a campaign around Valentine’s Day to show support for the Circus Drive-In’s preservation. Even in April, some of the hearts had remained.

I stayed for about a half and hour taking pictures. It made me sad to think of this landmark going away. Then I thought of all those other communities with all of their landmarks, places from my own childhood that I’ve taken for granted. How many signs have I taken pictures of that weren’t there the next time I drove by?

If you have a place like this in your life, visit it, show your support, enjoy it while you can. Maybe the Circus Drive-In will find a buyer who will restore it, but maybe it won’t. Let’s hang on to these great old places we hold so dear, before it ever gets to this point.


While were at it on this trip, we went over to see the ocean. The sun came out, and stayed out most of the rest of the day.

Ocean, Belmar BeachHeading north towards Asbury Park, we spotted a ghost sign on a building to our right. It was an old Thom McAn back in the day, but the building apparently has some music history connected to it. Apparently Springsteen and Southside Johnny used this place as rehearsal space back in the 70s.

Thom McAnA little farther down and we got a view of the second sign I could cross off my list that day, Home Drugs in Asbury Park.

Home Drugs, Asbury Park, NJThe next one on my list was Eatontown Televsion. I had seen pictures others had posted, and they all looked the same. I understood why when I went out there. There’s no good place to stand and get a shot of this unless a) you have a drone, or b) you’re really good at dodging heavy traffic while taking shots with a long lens. The best shot was from a restaurant parking lot a good 1500 feet away. Good thing I packed my 75-300 zoom…

Eatontown Television, Eatontown, NJFinally, one that should have been on my list was Shore Lanes. By the looks of the rusty, crusty sign, it doesn’t look like it’s still in operation, but it most certainly was.

Shore Lanes, Ocean, NJ

Shore Lanes, Ocean, NJ


It’s still not too late for the Circus, so if you know anybody or know anybody who knows anybody who can do something about this, please get involved now. Here are a couple of pages:

Petition

Facebook: I’m with the Clown

Boy’s Night Out

“Where are you?” Laura said on the phone, through the car’s speakers.

Busted. So, so busted.

Well, there was no denying it. In these days of Find My iPhone, she really didn’t even need to ask. “Philadelphia,” I said. I was just about to get off on the Broad Street exit of 95. The sun was rapidly declining, and neon magic hour was already in full swing. I was after the Boot and Saddle Bar, which I had photographed previously three years ago:

Boot and Saddle Sign, July 2014

The sign had been restored to its former glory.

Laura laughed. She had spent the day shopping with her sisters all the way up in Williamsport, so she had already guessed what I was up to. “I told everybody, ‘I’ll lay odds he’s driving somewhere to take a picture of a sign, and then he’ll come home and watch Mystery Science Theater.'”

“Wow, that’s spooky. You left out the part about me going to John’s in South Philly for a cheesesteak, but the rest is dead on.”

I got off at the Broad Street exit. It was a gloomy night and it was getting darker. I’ve learned from experience that neon in complete darkness somehow loses its power, so I had to get there before nightfall.

I don’t know if you’ve ever driven up Broad Street in Philadelphia when you’re in a hurry from 95 practically to the middle of the city. I don’t recommend it. Words fly out of your mouth that you don’t even know. I was speaking conversational Bulgarian for a time, and not the nice kind of conversation.

But the night held off, and I was there. Amazingly, I found parking, which was something I found most difficult three years earlier. And there it was:

Boot and Saddle Neon SignQuite the restoration job by Len Davidson, who also restored the Reading Terminal Market sign in 2006. Here’s a before and after from my shots in 2014 and 2017:

Fortunately for me, the night, or rather the daylight, wasn’t quite over. On my way through on Broad Street, I caught a glimpse of the Melrose Diner. I had caught this during the day, but I couldn’t resist a neon diner at night. I worked my way back to Snyder Avenue, just in time.

Melrose Diner SignMelrose Diner at NightAs it so happens, John’s Roast Pork is also on Snyder Avenue, so all I had to do was turn around. This turned out to be one of the more difficult feats of the evening, as the entire city of Philadelphia seemed to choose that moment to drive their respective cars on Snyder Avenue going west. But eventually, the masses went on their way, and I was headed in the direction of cheesesteak goodness.

Mind you, even though I live pretty close to the city, my only experience with a real-live honest-to-goodness Philly cheesesteak was when my father took me to Pat’s…or maybe Geno’s…when I was barely old enough to know what the fuss was all about. John’s came highly recommended, and the day I got my initial shots of the Boot and Saddle, I planned a stop off there, but unlucky me, they just happened to be closed that day.

John’s is a tiny little building wedged into a corner close enough to the docks you can see the SS United States if you look hard enough. It’s a truly no-nonsense place. Order, get out of the way. You’ll be rewarded with tin-foil wrapped loveliness eventually. They called my name, handed me my parcel, I handed them my money. I unwrapped it in the car.

John's Philly Cheesesteak
Last Known Photograph

I only had time to take a quick cell phone picture of it before it magically got devoured by the person driving his car back home. It didn’t make it past Spring Garden Street.

I went home and put on the Rifftrax version of Plan 9 from Outer Space. You can’t beat the classics, I say.

Another Time, Another Place

As I mentioned before, it’s been really difficult to get out there and get some sign pictures. Vacations always allow me some roaming time, but this year, with our schedule being crazy and Hurricane Matthew and the election and the sun was in my eyes and my dog ate it, well, almost zero planning time went in to this year’s trip. Which meant my annual research into signs we might see did not happen.

We booked it on down to Daytona, and the plan was to book it on back. We got up at 4am, so by the time it was light enough for a breakfast place to be open, we were already in South Carolina. I got off in Walterboro to get gas, and what did I see next door? The ever-present fireworks stand. Only this one was equipped with neon.

FireworksI should say, this side was equipped with neon. The other side, the side where the sun was shining, was not. The neon side, however, faces the highway, which makes the most sense.

Still, good fortune. It had been so long since I had grabbed a shot of a halfway-decent sign. It got my blood going.

We passed into North Carolina, then into Virginia. Since we left earlier than most years, the trip through the Shenandoah Valley was in total daylight. Normally, we’d lose the sun before Staunton (as it did when we made our crazy ride to Wright’s Dairy-Rite), but this time we got to see a lot more.

And something passed through my mind from research past…wasn’t there a drive-in theater around here?

I had seen it from the road a few times. It was on Route 11, parallel to I-81, on a flat stretch. On the way down, since it was daylight, we could see it, but only after the exit. Normally on the way back, it was too late to take a picture. But now…

I knew what it looked like. I knew what the terrain looked like. I just didn’t know the exact location. And then, the road started to even out a bit, the landscape began to flatten out, and US 11 was visible to the west. We watched and waited, and then, there it was. I got off the highway. Stephens City, VA.

Family Drive-In, Stephens City, VA

The Family Drive-In, much to my surprise, was still in operation. Not only that, but they were showing movies that night, and people were filing in. I would have loved to have stayed for the Monster-Rama, but unfortunately time and Cat waited for no man.

But as long as we were on US 11…

I decided to stay on the old highway to see what I could see. After all, some of the best signs are found on the US roads, so I figured my chances were pretty good to stumble upon something. We rolled through Stephens City, and on the edge of town, our stumbling paid off.

Redwood Budget Motel, Stephens City, VAThe motel itself was closed. I pulled the car over and got out. A man was walking along the road. He looked at me with my camera and he asked, “Are you an engineer?”

I smiled. “Photographer.”

He motioned his head at the sign. “Can you make that thing look any better?”

I said I would do my best.

Soon we were in West Virginia and sun went down. It was a good day, one that I didn’t expect. And it never would have happened if we had left at the same old time and did the same old thing.

While I Was Away

Quite honestly, I didn’t expect it would take this long for me to begin posting again. I had grand plans of getting together a lot of my summertime signs and posting, but that somehow never materialized. I could come up with some excuses, but as we all know, excuses are tiresome and never matter much in the end, so moving on from there, I might as well share where I’ve been over the summer and fall.

The short answer: not that many places. But, wherever I could, I tried to make the effort to find some new things and new spots. For instance, this fall, we were summoned to the wedding of my cousin in the North Shore of Massachusetts. Due to time constraints, any Boston sign-gathering was out of the question, but we had time enough on the return trip to hit up some places I had researched. My eye fell upon a stretch of U.S. 5 just west of Hartford in the town on Newington. There were several classics along this stretch, the first of which (the Siesta Motel) I couldn’t get to because of construction. I was a bit disappointed, but there was no reason to look back, as I came upon a bowling alley that had a sign I didn’t even know about.

Bowl-O-Rama, Newington, CT

I’ve shared my frustration with the lack of great old Bowling Alley signs in my area, so I found this one irresistible. I had just bought my Pentax 15mm f/4 and was itching to get good use out of it. I was amazed at the color results of the lens, even more so at my next stop, which was right next door at the Maple Motel:

Maple Motel, Newington, CT

The colors were so vivid, even compared to the shots I took with my other lenses, like so:

Maple Motel, Newington, CT

Mind you, the subject is all that matters. Further down the road, I came upon the USA Motel, which was a much smaller sign than I figured, and had a whole bunch of modern, plastic stuff hanging below it. However, it was very easily accessible, and it wasn’t that hard to get a shot that captured only the good bits:

USA Motel, Newington, CT

But none of these were what I was after in the first place. I had been admiring shots of the Olympia Diner for some time now, and it seemed foolish to let it pass by once again, even though it’s a landmark and not likely to go missing anytime soon. Fortunately, the light was perfect, and all was right with the world:

Olympia Diner, Newington, CT

It was a great little excursion, and a reminder of how fun a little side trip can be.

The Spot, Bethlehem, PA (Cure for the Summertime Blues, Part 1)

One of the great things about taking pictures of old neon signs is getting close to history. Much more than that, these signs represent so much in a community’s collective history. One look at a certain old sign is bound to wake up long-dead memories.

Nothing spurs on great memories like the ice cream stand. I’ve often noted that the best reactions I get from pictures I’ve posted on Instagram come from ice cream stands. It represents so much: summer, vacation, childhood, all the things we remember as good. Nothing beats good ice cream, not even a good ice cream sign!

But here’s my start of a series of summertime pictures, The Spot Drive-In in Bethlehem, PA. I took these last summer in the morning. It was terrifically quiet, but even with the lack of noise and foot traffic, these shots create some memories. Heck, I grew up somewhere else and it brings my back to my local ice cream stand!

The Spot, Bethlehem, PA
The Spot, Bethlehem, PA

The Missing Ghost of Pottstown

A couple of years ago I made a trip to Pottstown, Pennsylvania because they had done a unique thing: they hired a local artist to restore some of the old, faded advertising painted on brick walls. These faded ads are commonly known as ghost signs. These shots served as a previous post of mine titled Bringing Back the Ghosts.

A few days later someone contacted me to let me know that I had missed one. It haunted me. I knew that I had to go back and find it, but I had no idea where to look. There were four that I saw in plain sight, including a marvelous Coca-Cola ad, but the fifth was hiding. This past weekend we drove around Pottstown and I decided to get a shot of The Very Best, which is a bit of a local legend, while I waited to spot the fifth ghost.

The Very Best, Pottstown, PAIf you look carefully, you can spot another ghost. Namely, me.

In order to get back in the direction I waned to go, I had to make a turn around the block and down another side street. As we turned and looked back across the railroad tracks, the ghost suddenly appeared, visible behind some buildings. I wheeled around the block and dipped into an alley, and on the other side I came face to face with the remaining restored ghost.

Merkley's restoed ghost sign, Pottstown, PA

At last, the complete set. And just to the left of this one was the rear entrance to the old Sears store, an actual un-restored ghost sign!

Sears and Markley's, Pottstown, PA

For more about ghost signs in general and specifically the restored versions in Pottstown (and one in Shenandoah), visit the Bringing Back the Ghosts post.

Drexel Hill Style Pizza

One morning on my way to work, I made a detour off the Blue Route (I-476 around the west side of Philadelphia, to the uninitiated), as one often has to do if one has to get anywhere with any sort of speed. Along PA-3 in Broomall, I came across this seasoned campaigner:

Drexel Hill Style Pizza, Broomall, PA

The Chicago Style Pizza and the New York Style Pizza are well-known variants, and in the upper corners of Pennsylvania, the Old Forge Style Pizza is favored. But Drexel Hill Style was a new one for me. Apparently this is a more Greek style, and a quick internet search yielded this info. Looks pretty good. Sadly, it being the morning, I was unable to partake, and it’s not close enough to work for me to hit it up on my lunch break. In the meantime, I’ll enjoy the sign…

Drexel Hill Style Pizza, Broomall, PA