Sanders Meanders

Sentimental Journey, Part 2 (Electric Boogaloo)

When last we met, we were in Milford, Pennsylvania, basking in the glow of the early morning neon while on our way to my wife’s ancestral home in the Catskills. Still traveling the back roads into the town of Matamoras, we crossed the Delaware in to New York. The bridge to the town of Port Jervis is one of those steel grate jobs, the older kind that makes you change lanes against your will. By the time we landed in New York we both needed dramamines but we soldiered on, undeterred.

I could have continued on US 209, which would have been longer, but decided to get on NY 42, which was more direct. I was convinced we wouldn’t see anything along this section, but I comforted myself with the knowledge that I had gotten some good stuff in Milford. And almost immediately as I started to think that, something came into view that made my poor heart beat.

“Oh, my…” Laura said.

A beat-up motel. One of those places that seems to only exist for long-term clients. But a nice old sign at the top, rusting at the edges:

alexander-motel-wide

Laura gets excited as she stares it down, but I see something else as I look around for some place to pull over: the motel is not alone. Up on the hill sits another building, a large, three-story faded beauty that looks more like an old plantation than something you’d see in upstate New York. And topping it, another neon sign, which has the matching Alexander name:

alexander-hotel

From the little I can gather on the interwebs, this was originally called the Raymar Hotel, and it opened in the late 1800’s. It’s in the town of Sparrowbush, and it was an antique shop for a time, but it has since closed and remains vacant.

The motel, however, is still going, and really looks like the motels of yesteryear:

office-at-room-1

We moved on, and here’s the good news: we made it up to the house where Laura was born. We took some shots outside (pardon me for not sharing, but we wanted to keep this part private) and saw that no one seemed to be home. Laura was quietly devastated. She wanted to go inside the old house in the worst way. So we decided to go next door to see if anyone there knew anything about who lived there now and if they would be back. As we did, a couple with a baby came walking down the old country road. Laura asked them about the house, showed them the yellowing pictures she had.

“You mean, this house?” the woman said, and pointed at it. We nodded. “That’s the house we’re renting this weekend!”

So the upshot is this: not only did we get to go inside, but we discovered that we can rent the house for a weekend if we want to. Laura was shaking her head in disbelief the whole weekend.

The bad news: there was some festival going on in the town of Liberty on July 4th (go figure) and the sign shots I planned to take didn’t materialize. But, I’ve added those signs to my new section: Scott’s Online To-Do List. If you see anything on there, or better yet, if you don’t see anything on there that you think I should get, please leave a comment!

More signs to come from this trip, when I crossed off my first sign from the to-do list…

Sentimental Journey

My wife grew up on a farm in Central Pennsylvania, but before her family moved there, they lived in the Catskill region of New York. She was born in a hospital in Monticello, and for the first two years of her life she lived in an old house that sat along the banks of the Neversink River. She had never been back since the day they moved, and she only knew her first house from a set of yellowing photographs that her father kept.

“We’re so close,” she said one day. “We really should go. On the way up to your parents. It’s not that far out of the way, is it?”

No, it wasn’t. Only a half-hour or so. Her old house was only 80 miles from where I was born. Funny that we had to meet in Chattanooga, 900 miles away. “Fourth of July,” I said. “We’ll have a little more time.”

There’s no real direct route to the Catskills from Allentown. Just a bunch of back roads, which suited me just fine. I did some research and came up with a few signs in nearby Liberty, New York that looked interesting. We’d have to travel up US 209, and although I knew most of the way from Stroudsburg to Milford was mostly parkland, I knew good things awaited in Milford.

It was the morning of July 4^th and it was getting hot. Brutally hot. Insanely brutally hot. We got to Milford with the air conditioner going full blast at 9am. We made a wrong turn, righted ourselves and continued along US 6 and 209. Laura spots something: “Did you see that?”

I hadn’t. It was nice and picturesque, but not quite what I was looking for. She insists that she saw something and it would be foolish of me to argue. I trip down a side street, around a corner, and then I see:

milford-theater

The Milford Theatre lay dormant for a number of years until a casting director who was originally from the area came in and restored it. Literally, there was no way we would have seen it had we not gone around through the back roads. It’s now home to the Black Bear Film Festival and hosts theatre productions and the occasional stand-up act. The original structure was put up in 1911! The fact that such a place could exist down a back street in a historic little town like Milford makes me smile.

The funny thing is, the Milford Theatre was not what she saw that made me turn off the main road. What she saw was the Tom Quick Inn, one of those grand places that’s been around since north of whatever (1880’s, actually). The sun’s against me, but I make a game attempt at that one too:

There was only one that I remembered for certain, the Village Diner. I had seen it from I-84 many moons ago and knew I had to swing by there eventually. As the old US routes came parallel with the slightly newer interstate, I knew it was coming up soon. I had never seen a really good shot of it, but as I pulled off and snapped off a few, I had to wonder why:

village-diner-medium village-diner-closeup

The Village Diner has been standing since 1956, and judging by the considerable traffic at 10am on July 4th, it’s still going strong. Unfortunately, we already had breakfast, but I filled up on pictures.

Around the corner, we hit some old motels, one right across from the other. I pulled off next to a garden center and wandered over to the one on our side of the road. The garden center was adorned with the name Myer, and so was was the motel.

A man was out front spraying down some plants with a hose. He saw my hasty parking job and smiled a bit, then watched as I crossed the road to get the Milford Motel:

milford-motel-wide

In the immortal words of Bob Ross: Happy trees, happy trees.

As I crossed back over to get back in the car. The smiling man at the garden center caught my eye. “Do you like motels or neon?” he asked.

“Both,” I replied.

But it made me feel good. There’s nothing worse than when someone gives you that what-the-heck-do-you-think-you’re-doing look. The people who understand immediately are few and far between. And even though I’m sure this spot has been photographed many many many times due to the presence of a) motels and b) neon motel signs, it felt good that someone appreciated what I was doing. Thank you, sir.

But there was more to come and probably too much to put into one blog post. More later!

Bringing Back the Ghosts

Originally, when I got into this whole taking-pictures-of-signs nonsense, my interest was solely in the classic neon signs. Somewhere along the line I branched out into ghost signs, which are about as non-neon as it gets. Perhaps it was the fascination with something from the past that is very slowly fading into oblivion, but most likely it was because I ran into the websites of Dr. Ken Jones and Frank Jump, who specialize in these disappearing pieces of history. Visit these places, and I’m sure you’ll be inspired.

But, as much as I enjoy a good ghost, I really appreciate those gallant few who have started a movement to restore these classics. Certainly, we can all appreciate the impact of a ghost sign and its visual manifestation of a building’s age. For instance, here’s a great one I found in Mt. Carmel, PA just recently:

Not only is it historical, it makes for a fun game! Guess what it says?

The King Midas Flour portion, visible (only just) at the right side is fantastic, but can you imagine if it was restored? Here’s what it most likely looked like:

This was taken in Shenandoah, PA last year. This whole building was covered in old advertisements, repainted to look just like they did at the turn of the last century.

Recently, we went through Pottstown, PA, which has become a center of these restorations. An artist named Tim Riegel was commissioned to recreate the ghost signs in the center of town. He restored five of these, four of which I was able to spot and get reasonably good pictures of:

That’s an awful creepy mascot you got there, sir…

Much though I love the ghosts, there’s something terrific about these restorations, just knowing that these historic advertisements will live on for at least another hundred years. Terrific work, Mr. Riegel, and thanks to Pottstown for recognizing the significance of this art.

More from Main Street

joss-rice-2

The Joseph S. Rice Building

I’ll give my friend Denise the credit for finding this one. She spotted this one first and was so happy she found this ghost that she bounced up and down for a few minutes.

So who was Joseph S. Rice? I found this in a history of Wilkes-Barre, written in the twenties:

From the time he was nine years of age Joseph S. Rice has been making his own way in life, and the more than a half century of independent activity which has been his has brought achievements in varied lines. Not many successful business men are the possessors of world records in a field entirely outside the general business world, but Mr. Rice held the world championship as a long distance bicycle rider back in 1896, and for some years he was also a long distance roller skater. He is engaged in business at No. 138 South Main Street, Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, as a designer and manufacturer of lighting fixtures, and is also the owner of a prosperous and highly attractive gift shop, located at the same address, and has associated with him in business his wife and his son, J. Granville Rice.

OK. Thoroughly cool. Glad there’s still a memory of you around, Mr. Rice.

Everyone moved on ahead as I tried to get some good angles on this one. I’m positive Denise didn’t notice that I managed to fit her into the next shot:

outlet-army-navy

That’s her, at the bottom right. And how could I avoid taking a shot of this sign? Missing letters are just plain fun. It’s undeniable.

engel-building

One of the odder buildings I’ve seen. The top looks like it’s part of another building.

place1

The Hollywood portion of this sign, I’m guessing, has been around awhile. The only information I could get on this business was that it was owned by Irving and Shirley Bellsey for a number of years, and that WNEP weather girl Ann Wideman worked here modeling clothing. The “Place 1 …… at the” part is fascinatingly awful. Place 1 has another store in Scranton, so I’m guessing whenever they bought this place out from the previous owners, that part of the sign was added, perhaps to cover up something.

bell

I didn’t really think this was that great until I processed it. Neon bullet holes, striking blue against a dull brown building. It’s kind of growing on me. Also cool that Bell’s Furniture has been around since 1960.

clothiers

Another unveiling! This ghost just made an appearance on the side of Boscov’s. Can’t quite make it all out, but welcome back, stranger!

boscovs-thebostonstore

I recently saw a conceptual drawing of a department store that was planned in the late 30s, and when I saw the façade of this Boscov’s/The Boston Store, I felt compelled to take a picture of it that looked very much like that drawing. I was very happy with the result. Even the people walking seemed to fit in with the vibe of that concept.

Originally, this was called Fowler, Dick and Walker: The Boston Store. Frank Jump has some interesting stuff on his blog about it.

Down Main Street

So, I’ll throw this question open to the class: is it pronounces Wilkes-Barry, or Wilkes-Bear? Ask anyone within a 75-mile radius of the place, and you get a 50-50 split. I was told by a girl I went to high school with, who was from the city in question, that it was Wilkes-Barry. But I’ve heard commercials on the radio and TV on the local stations who utilize Wilkes-Bear. Personally, I don’t like Wilkes-Bear. But then, I also say creek instead of crick.

Anyway.

Every once in a while, I run into a sign that I had researched previously, but wasn’t looking for at the time. While driving down Main Street in Wilkes-Barre (as part of the excursion that brought us to the Sterling), we spot something in the trees. Laura sees it a second before I do, and I don’t get a real good look, but neon was close, I could smell it. We pull off and take a look:

One of the things that I focus in on when taking pictures of signs is the amount of interference. Are the surroundings distracting? When I parked myself underneath the trees and started shooting, I was very concerned that I wouldn’t get the results I had hoped for. In the shot above, taken with the whole sign, I find it too busy. But then, I hauled out the long lens and got some close-ups, and here, I think the shadows and greenery enhance:

Later, when I started reviewing the pictures on the big screen, one of my favorite things happened. Very often, I catch something in a picture I’ve taken that I didn’t notice when I was standing there. Look at the shot below:

At the time, I noticed that the bottom part of the sign had been redone, in an impossibly sloppy manner. But then I noticed the dear old neon bullet holes, and I started to think, they don’t match. This sign didn’t say Cocktail Lounge originally. And then I saw the faint outlines of what would have been behind the neon, and then it made sense. The top line reads SEA FOOD, and the second line reads STEAKS – CHOPS.

So Donahue’s had been a restaurant, prior to its conversion to a “Cocktail Lounge.” I love finding out stuff like that.

Destruction and Rebirth

Our friends Denise and Lynn have been trying to get us to Wilkes-Barre for at least a year to see the Sterling Hotel, an abandoned building on the Susquehanna that was one of the more opulent places of its day. We got a chance to visit at the beginning of June, and out we went to the city to see it. The sign, of course, is not much to see, but even in these passing glances you can see the magnificence of it.

sterling sterling-fire-escape

In the course of taking these shots I noticed another guy with a point-and-shoot working around the building from the other side. We met in the middle, both of us shaking our heads at how much the place had gone to seed.

“They’re tearing it down end of July,” he said. “Too far gone to save.”

I re-doubled my effort to get shots. Last chance at this old beauty.

sterling-side

You know there’s a problem when there’s a tree growing on your hotel… sterling-back

Lynn talked to the guy a bit more, told him about what I do. He said he was from Plymouth, which I knew of because I had gotten some shots there last year. “They knocked down an old building across from Fainberg’s,” he said, and my ears perked up. Fainberg’s was the furniture store I went to visit; their neon sign was straight out of the thirties, it appeared. “The building was from 1896, and when they tore it down they uncovered an old tobacco sign from 1892.”

Well, I thought, guess we’re going back to Plymouth.

So, sure enough, as we drove along US 11, we came upon an empty lot, and at the far end, we saw this:

Mail Pouch Alert!

So often, I’m talking about the bad side of the story, like the Sterling: a sign or a building that no one seems to have use for and is deemed “beyond saving.” But this one seemed like a win for history’s sake. Glad to see you again, old man. It’s been a long time…

On a side note, last year Laura and I had taken the road less traveled to Pottsville because I had read about a Mail Pouch sign on the side of a tavern. Look below and you’ll see why I couldn’t resist. But also, note the similarity of the signs. Same artist?

Hooven

G. W. Hooven Mercantile, Pottsville, PA

Urban Renewal

Signs and buildings are always a casualty of urban renewal, and whereas some need/have to go for safety concerns or plain darn ugliness, there’s always one or two gems that caught in the friendly fire. Allentown has been preparing for a brand new hockey stadium downtown which hopes to bring some revitalization to the downtown area, and in the process a good chunk of the area has been flattened. Fortunately, I caught some images in this area before these were removed:

The Linden Bar and Restaurant was on the corner of 7^th and Linden. It was a tricky sign to get to, and quite honestly the only shot I got of it I managed to get with my K20d while stopped at a stop light.

The 7^th Street Delicatessen was just up the road. This was decidedly one of those where I’m glad I got a shot of it, but I wasn’t surprised or dismayed in the least when it came down. Love the raised lettering. This type of sign is a very rare sight these days, although this type of lettering on tile was very common at one point.

Bonus, though: in the process of knocking down some buildings on Hamilton Street, they uncovered a ghost sign that’s already become one of my favorites.

Like Jazz

Last Friday I went to my regularly-scheduled part-time job, video editing the television broadcast for a local church, and discovered as I walked in the door that this was not going to be an ordinary day. Funeral services were going to be held in the main sanctuary, and for somebody well-known, I was told. It turned out to be for jazz pianist Mulgrew Miller, who passed away after a stroke on May 29th.

Did I mention that I was a huge jazz fan?

As I helped out with some of the multimedia support, I saw such jazz luminaries in attendance as Ron Carter, Kenny Garrett, and Russell Malone, among others. Afterwards, I was amazed at how I just happened to be there: sad, of course, that the great man had passed at the age of 57, but glad that I happened to be there at the celebration of his life.

The right place at the right time…so how does that apply to taking pictures of signs? you ask.

I know I constantly preach get the shot anytime, anywhere, no matter what, and that’s true. The “Flats Fixed” service station I had been blessed to photograph last July (if you missed these shots, click here) was the fruit of that, and if I hadn’t stopped that day, I would have been impossibly disappointed later. Like jazz, improvise on the fly. But also like jazz, practiced and experienced enough to make the right decisions, to play the right notes.

For this reason, I’ve started to make a habit of revisiting places I’ve photographed before, just to see if I get some different results. If nothing else, to stay in practice, to learn from previous mistakes and make new ones. Most often, my second time through the shots come out better, and sometimes much better. Recently I made a trip from Harrisburg to Allentown along I-78. There are two great signs in a town appropriately called Midway. First, the Midway Motel:

The Motel has been gone for some time, but the sign still stands in front of a vacant lot. The “TV” speaks to this signs age: after all, it doesn’t even say Color TV. I’ve stopped here before, but now I was used to this stop. I know where to park, I know where to stand, I know which shots look the best. And all of that knowledge frees my mind up to be able to improvise. Maybe I stand a long way off and use my long lens. Maybe I use a filter, or (gasp) the cheap Holga lens with a Pentax mount I got for Christmas. At any rate, I tried the “straight-on” approach to this shot on a sunny day, and I love the results.

Next, Trainer’s Midway Diner, and this is where the magic of improvisation comes in. This was my third time getting shots here. It has a lovely long parking lot suitable for trucks that allows a lot of possibilities and angles. But I went “straight-on” with this one, too:

A tremendous sign, but do you notice something? I sure didn’t as I was taking this picture, but I was soon made aware of it. This was the fifth shot I had taken, and in my opinion, the best. I was lining up for shot #6 when I heard something: a hollow metal snap and then the beating of wings. It startled me for a half-second until I figured out the noise came from a bird that had poked his way out of the sign and flown off. I was disappointed because I thought I had missed it.

When I got home later, I told Laura the story as I popped the SD card into the TV to take a look at the shots I had gotten that afternoon. And who do you suppose shows up in the shot?

There’s something intensely cool about a classic sign becoming a bird sanctuary.

Improvisation is good, planning is good, and experience is good, but when all three come together, it becomes something far greater. Sometimes you find something you never expected.

Flats Fixed

Last year, in my never-ending quest to find new ways of getting to the same old places, I happened through Jonestown, Pennsylvania on PA 72. I saw something interesting out of the corner of my eye on the side of the building and so I pulled over and investigated. When I did, I got some of my favorite shots, at an old building that used to be a service station. Uniroyal

flats-fixed-closeup

I turned the corner, and there was more. Much, much more. Had the sun held up, I might have stayed hours, catching every little detail: flats-fixed vulcanizing

I wish there were a happy ending to this story, but there really isn’t. Last week I went by the same location, hoping to get a few more shots, but they were in the process of tearing the building down:

gas-station-demolish

A sad end, but perhaps the old place was beyond repair. Still, I’m so glad I stopped by that day last summer. For more signs and locations that I managed to get to in the nick of time, visit my Vanishing America page.

Busted

Driving along the Southern Tier. I still had the bad taste of Bath in my mouth, and as we passed Corning and Elmira I didn’t want to even think of stopping to go through and do some sign-spotting. Instead, as we skimmed along the Pennsylvania border, the sign-spotting came to us.

Somehow, I had completely forgotten about O’Briens Inn. From the eastbound side of NY 17 (or future I-86, or whatever it’s being called on a Tuesday), you can see some lettering high up on a hill for at least five miles. OBRIENS. We both gazed up at it. I reminded myself every moment that the road needed more attention than the sign. (Here’s a good collection of pictures on TripAdvisor, to give you an idea of the location).

obriens-angle-signsandstories.com

“Can we get to it?” Laura asked me.

“Oh, I’m going to try,” I said.

We got off the US 220 exit and headed slightly toward the town of Waverly, then made a turn left up the hill. Up ahead, the sign was right in front of us, and as we got closer, I mapped out what I had to do to get the shot I wanted. I was going to get as close as I possibly could to those old beauties, letters 15 feet high with the full weight of the afternoon sun beating down on them! It’s Christmas!

I saw a dirt road off to the side and I swung the car into it. All I had to do was climb the hill and I would be on top of it. It was a bit steep but not bad, and when I got to the top, I knew I had found the mother lode:

obriens-2

What can I say? I’m a sucker for big letters.

These were two of the best, but I probably snapped off about fifty all tolled between my iPhone and my K-5. I had just finished getting some shots from the left side and I was halfway down to the car, when I turned and thought about getting a few more. I raised the eye-piece to me eye and was just about to hit the shutter when…

“You’re on private property. Get off!”

I turned. There was a guy on the second floor of the hotel. He wasn’t actually shaking his fist at me, but there was every chance he might. “Okay,” I said, and slid back down the hill, my heart thumping from being startled in the midst of my reverie.

The first time I’ve ever been told to leave. Oh, well. It was bound to happen sometime.

Climbing-down

A rare photograph of the Sanders in the wild.