The Path Walker Evans Took

Walker Evans and I were not formally introduced. It had something to do with the fact that I was four years old when he died and we didn’t run in the same circles, something like that. He was a photographer who is most known for documenting the south during the height of the Depression. I ate paste.

The Flour Mill, Milton, PAWhen I first started doing Instagram, I posted a picture of the Flour Mill above. One of my friends, who is an architect and knows about stuff, complimented me and said it reminded him of Walker Evans. I thanked him, then promptly Googled ‘Walker Evans.’ Pretty quickly, I realized how much of a compliment it was, even though I had no intention of taking this or any other picture in anybody’s style.

Then, a few months later, I crossed over the Free Bridge from Easton, PA to Phillipsburg, New Jersey. There were a couple of neons in Phillipsburg I was after, including Eddie’s Drive-In, right along the river. A friend had mentioned Jimmy’s Hot Dogs was a good place to eat, and it was within walking distance of where I was, so I toddled on over and got a couple of their finest. Along the walls they had pictures, old, historic. They were by Walker Evans. He had been to this spot back in the 30’s, had taken a picture of Jimmy’s original location.

It was odd to me, that he had some connection to the area. Most of the pictures I had seen of his were all in the South. I made the natural assumption that he was from the South, but he wasn’t, he was a New Yorker. He took a lot of pictures of buildings. Small houses, churches. Usually face-on, full sun, just like the picture I took of the flour mill.

And signs. Not often the neons that I favor, but hand-painted and crude ones. Recently, I came across this one I took at a farm stand in 2009, which fits in with his style:

Sho Fly Pie, Blandon, PA

Two weeks ago I purchased a copy of Walker Evans’ American Photographs from 1938. Sure enough, four of the images in the second section of the book were taken in Easton, Phillipsburg, and Bethlehem. The image of Phillipsburg was not one I had seen in Jimmy’s, but I recognized it right away. It was taken from the Easton side, with the Free Bridge on the left. Eddie’s Drive-In was not visible, but in its place, was a large building that says, prominently, Pennsylvania Railroad.

Walker Evans, Phillipsburg, 1935
Walker Evans, Phillipsburg, 1935

Off to Easton we went. Laura was dying to go to the Easton Farmer’s Market, anyway, and it was a beautiful day.

I knew where the above shot was taken, but I didn’t want to take the same shot, although it was tempting. So I crossed the bridge, and parked in the lot where the train car at the bottom right sits in the picture above. I got out, and took a picture from the other side. It seemed appropriate.

Free BridgeAlso, look back at Evans’ picture, at the buildings visible just to the right of the railroad building and just to the left of the bridge. Believe it or not, those buildings still stand, restored.

Main Street We came back over the Free Bridge and parked, and along the way to the Farmer’s Market, I saw a shop that seemed to step right out of the 1930’s in every single way. I figured, why not? If I’m going to do an hommage, I might as well go the whole hommage.

Singer-WhiteAnd off we went, figuring we had done a day’s work. The Farmer’s Market was terrific, and we loaded up on fresh produce and bread and kombucha.

We drove home and that was it.

Well, not quite.

So, when I was looking at American Photographs, I saw something. There were two pictures of Bethlehem, back-to-back. Both were taken from the top of a hill, looking down. Both had a line of homes off to the right. Same angle, same everything, and I thought, These look like they were taken in the same spot, same day, same everything. I looked closer and I noticed a spire off in the distance. That’s the same spire. These were taken maybe a block away from each other. I filed that away.

4th Street Bethlehem

Back to our car. I got on 78 and went west, and around the exit for Bethlehem, traffic came to a screeching halt. Laura looked at me with her try-the-scenic-route eyes. Sure, just go through Bethlehem, I thought. And find where those pictures were taken.


One day in November 1935, Walker Evans was traveling with the photographer Peter Sekaer and his wife as part of a project of the Farm Security Administration. They ended up on 4th Street in South Bethlehem, where the second of the two Bethlehem pictures in American Photographs was taken.

So why there? I wondered.

I drove up 4th Street in South Bethlehem. The road comes to a rise in the middle and then drops down into the city, so I felt sure that one of the pictures was taken on this road. As I got to the top, sure enough, I saw it, To the left was the cemetery, to the right, a row of old brick homes, standing much as they did in 1935. I cut left at the next block for two reasons: one, to get back to where the first shot was taken and two, to find where the second shot was taken.

Bethlehem
Walker Evans, Two-Family Houses in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania

This was the second shot in the book. I came right around this corner, down where the car is in front of the church, and I saw the severe angle up the street, culminating in…that same cemetery. I got halfway up the hill and couldn’t resist. I got out, and tried to remember how the above picture looked. In all, not quite, but in the ballpark.

Bethlehem TodayThe cemetery, though. Not a coincidence. When I got to the top of the hill, I knew exactly why Evans and Sekaer had chosen it.

The SteelThere was Bethlehem Steel, right there in the background. My complete ignorance really worked in my favor here. I really hadn’t studied Walker Evans and I only knew a few of his photographs, so I hadn’t seen this one:

Cross/Steel
Walker Evans, Graveyard, Bethlehem, Pennsylvania

…which I would have tried to recreate. First of all, I would have been frustrated, because that cross no longer exists, and second, I had already done so with the street picture a few minutes ago, and that picture already felt like I was encroaching on his territory. But since I didn’t know, I had the freedom to explore. I took this shot of the church, using a high f-stop to get everything in focus, very much like some of Evans’ shots.

Limbers

…with the added bonus of some hand-written signage on the pole.

The first shot from American Photographs was now impossible, because trees have been planted along the cemetery, blocking that view. So, again, I was saved from the temptation of recreation. I stood at the corner, high above the sidewalk, and spotted an elaborate grave. It was cool and old, so I shrugged, and took the shot.

Castellucci Grave

Not knowing that Walker Evans, in fact, took the same shot. From straight on, of course, which I should have guessed.

Castellucci Grave
Walker Evans, Castellucci Grave, Bethlehem, Pennsylvania

Later, when I saw the above picture, I was pretty startled. When I saw the next picture, I was floored. Since Peter Sekaer, another great photographer in his own right, was along for the ride, he must have been taking pictures. And so, a picture exists of Walker Evans taking the very picture directly above.

Walker EvansAs I saw the gigantic view camera on the tripod, I was amazed how easy it is for me to go around getting shots of everything. During the last years of his life, he took photographs specifically with a Polaroid, because due to ill health, it was much easier on him not lugging around all that equipment.

So, this was the question that rolled around in my mind as I trudged back through the old cemetery: what would Walker Evans take photographs of today? You’d think that could be the subject of another blog post. And you’d be right.

 

No Good Story Starts in the Suburbs

Laura and I both grew up in the country. I was in upstate New York and she was in central Pennsylvania. We both went to Tennessee for college and ended up in Chattanooga. We got married, and moved to Pennsylvania.

Short version.

In all of that time, we never lived “in the city.” Outside the city, on a mountain overlooking the city, at arm’s length of the city, we specialized in these places. When we first got to Chattanooga, the reputation of the city was less than stellar. Back in the day they used to test the air quality by putting a mason jar outside, and if a quarter-inch of soot had gathered in it by evening, it was considered a good day. By the time we left, Chattanooga was thriving, a tourist destination, and one of the best places to live in the country.

We arrived in Allentown in 2008. The city is of a similar size, both were built on rivers, both had pretty much ignored the potential of their riverfront areas. It all changed for Chattanooga when it built the Tennessee Aquarium on the river. We hoped the same would happen for Allentown.

Allentown Riverfront, March 2009

Allentown Riverfront, March 2009

In the meantime, going to downtown Allentown was not exactly the nicest of experiences. There wasn’t much to see, old buildings were decaying, landmarks like Hess’s department store had faded from memory, and about all that was left was the statue in the center of 7th and Hamilton in the middle of the square.

Around the corner from us, the J.P. O’Malley Pub, a local landmark that had fallen on bad times, closed. Pretty soon after, there was speculation that it would open again. It didn’t.

I was working for a television station at the time, and I went downtown to get some stock footage of the city. I set up my camera to get a shot of the statue and almost as soon as I started the tape (we used tape in 2008), a guy got out of his car just to the right of me. He saw the camera, put on his best gangsta pose, and howled into the camera “Whassup, New Yoooooork?”

He cracked himself up. I smiled politely. I couldn’t help thinking, New York? How about ‘Whassup, Allentown?’

Are we just a suburb, albeit a distant one, of New York? It wasn’t the first time I had heard that estimation of Allentown. A couple of native New Yorkers had once, in a conversation with me, referred to Allentown as “the country.” No, you’d be wrong about that, I wanted to say, but instead, smiled politely. Trenton, Georgia, is the country. Center Lisle, New York is the country. Not Allentown. Never Allentown.

Coca-Cola Park, April 2009

Coca-Cola Park, April 2009

Hope was alive in Allentown when the Iron Pigs AAA baseball hit town. Coca-Cola Park opened up on a hill overlooking the city, shouting distance away, but even though the new location was inside the city limits, the team was called the Lehigh Valley Iron Pigs. Access to the park was much easier from the east side of town, or Bethlehem, or even Easton for that matter. No real easy connection to downtown Allentown.

And so it continued over time. The hopes we had of a Chattanooga-like resurgence looked like just that: hopes.

Around the corner, the J.P. O’Malley Pub remained boarded up.

It wasn’t until the PPL Arena, the new venue for AHL hockey, was announced. The proposed spot would be along Hamilton Street, in between 7th and 8th, and there would be restaurants and shops and plenty of speculation that just one big thing couldn’t possibly change things for an entire downtown, could it? We remembered the Tennessee Aquarium’s arrival in Chattanooga, and we thought oh, yes it could.


We brought friends of ours to Roar Social House, a restaurant across from the PPL Arena. It was our third visit to Roar, but for them, it was their first, and their first trip to downtown Allentown in quite a while. Across the street, a crowd was piling in to see the Phantoms game. Our friends’ eyes were wide. This couldn’t be the same place, could it? There were shops and restaurants and you could walk the streets without a care in the world. We know, we said, we know. We could hardly believe it ourselves.

Union and Finch

After much planning and work, the old J.P. O’Malley’s Pub was reborn as Union and Finch. It’s not right along the main strip where all the revival has taken place in Allentown, but it is a revival unto itself. If you haven’t been there, you should, and shame on you, because the food and atmosphere is excellent.

Union and Finch

The final piece to this puzzle took place this last weekend. We were looking for things to do on a Saturday, and have you read this blog before? Because when we look for things to do on a Saturday, we don’t stick around the local area too often. This time, we did, and it happened to be the day for the Blues, Brews, and Barbecue Festival in downtown Allentown.

Shame on us, but this was the 10th Annual Blues, Brews and Barbecue Festival, and we had never gone. Let’s do it, we said. Sounds fun. Think anybody will be there?

Yeah, a few.

Blues, Brews, and BBQ

Free to get in, three bucks to park, blues in the air, and the scent of grilled meat wherever you go? Sign me up. And again, that moment, as Laura and I walked hand in hand up the alley, through the Artswalk, and on to the surface of a closed off Hamilton Street, the recurring thought, this is Allentown? Why, yes. Yes, it is.

Of course, I took pictures all along the way. Barbecued meat tempted me at every turn. We walked in the shade along the south side of the street, back behind the vendors, when I saw a great stack of wood about to go into a smoker. I snapped off a couple shots.

Wood

Then I heard a voice, “Hey, come and see this.”

A guy wearing a bandana adorned with flames motioned me over to the smoker. He was just opening up to have a look. “Get a load of that,” he said, as he pulled up the door with a smile.

Grumpy's Ribs

Well, I’ll have some of that, then. I also took a picture of this guy, just to give credit where credit was due.

This GuySince I had walked around the back, I didn’t know that this was Grumpy’s BBQ. They have a place out north of town, and the ribs are terrific. Dry rub, falling off the bone, just like God intended when he designed the pig. We had a half-rack, and if there was one regret we have, it is this: once we ate our fill, there were all these other wonderful vendors out there. I wanted to sample them all, but in order to do that, the term “meat sweats” would have to be used at some point, and no one needs that.

So next year, then.

Artswalk

And as we listened, and digested, and watched all the people walk by, we thought, this is Allentown.

There’s a billboard on the way out of town, and I pass by it every day on my way to work. It says, “No Good Story Starts in the Suburbs. #downtownallentown” We couldn’t agree more.

As of this writing, Roar Social House is temporarily closed as the owner has retired, but Josh Palmer, the owner of Sette Luna and the excellent Maxim’s 22, has reportedly taken over.

Union and Finch is located at 1528 Union Street in Allentown.

Grumpy’s is located at 3000 Mauch Chunk Road in Allentown.

 

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.

After the Storm

We passed by the Queen City Diner this morning. It was packed to the gills with customers. “I’ve always wanted to get a shot of this place,” I said to Laura. “But not like this. At night. After it rains. I think that would be perfect.”

“Well, you should,” she said.

Again, it was just another one of those things that I haven’t done and I don’t understand why. I just haven’t. Well, I should.

And then I looked at the weather report for the day. Thunderstorms, in the afternoon. In February. The weather in eastern Pennsylvania this year has been strange to say the least. But no matter, and opportunity was presenting itself.

At 4:30, the storm raged through, sending garbage cans and cats and dogs flying, but in twenty minutes it was mostly over. We scrambled together all my camera gear and shot out the door.

It was still raining when we got to the Queen City, but not so much to be a bother. I took my tripod because the light was low and I wanted a shot as still as I could get.

Queen City DinerI’m happy with the result, but I’m happier that we got out and did it.

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

Knowing When to Leave

Overall, I’ve had pretty good success as far as getting shots of old signs and not having anyone complain. I probably have more positive stories than negative, because most people recognize the fact that the more pictures are taken of their sign, the greater the publicity. I’ve been given the raised eyebrow twice, and told to outright leave the premises one other time, and two times total I’ve felt the need to get in my car and get driving immediately. The first time was at the Nor-Pole Drive-In in Orangeburg, during which I’m reasonably sure my license plate number was noted.

Motel Deska, Wernersville, PA

This was the second. I was on my way back from Lebanon County when I spotted this old rusty devil along US 422. I did a U-Turn and pulled off to the side of the road. There’s a hill below, from which I took some shots. The field was open before me, and I couldn’t resist getting some closer shots, including the one above. I took five pictures in all, and suddenly I began to hear this odd snapping noise. I look over at the motel and out of the corner of my eye I see a man bursting out of the motel, his arm raised, his fingers snapping wildly. He didn’t say anything, but he had conveyed his message. I dipped back down the hill, got in my car, and drove off.

Later I discovered perhaps why the reaction. A quick internet search of this place revealed a cadre of bad reviews. Oh, well, such things happen.

Let me know if you have had some similar interesting entanglements!

The Philadelphia Food and Sign Festival

Reading Terminal Market, Philadelphia, PA

First off, in answer to someone’s question when I had four posts entitled “The San Antonio Food and Sign Festival,” this is not actually a thing. But it should be. All I’m sayin’.

Second, there’s also no such thing as the Philadelphia Food and Sign Festival (but there should be), other than the one Laura and I created one morning last week when we had the idea to take full advantage of an extra day off during the Columbus Day weekend. There are two places that spring to mind where food and neon intermingle, the first being the Reading Terminal Market, a foodie paradise unparalleled. Truly, if you cannot find it in the Reading Terminal, it’s probably not worth eating.

Inside the Reading Terminal Market, Philadelphia, PA

It took us a few minutes of wandering before we felt like we could actually settle in anywhere, but eventually we found a place that stopped us dead in our tracks. Being an admitted cheese snob, I gravitated over to a stand in the back owned by the Valley Shepherd Creamery. They had several cheeses on display, but the one that took center stage drew us in like nothing else could:

Ten Eyck CheeseAs it so happens, Laura’s maiden name is Ten Eyck.

So, after the world’s easiest sale and we had procured the cheesy comestibles, we came to find out that this was not one of Valley Shepherd’s cheeses, but from one of their partners, Meadowood Farms in Cazenovia, New York. Unfortunately, they couldn’t tell us why the cheese bears the name Ten Eyck. Nor is the internet a wealth of information on the subject. Needless to say, we’re very curious why they named a sheep’s milk cheese in the family of manchego with a somewhat obscure Dutch name. If anyone knows, please let us know!

Tommy DiNic's, Philadelphia, PA

It was ten in the morning, we already had breakfast, and yet we still found ourselves in front of Tommy DiNic’s. There was a cloud of people already there for lunch. Cheesesteaks, you say? Well, even though that is the most famous export of Philadelphia, the Roast Pork sandwich is gaining steam as the sandwich of choice, and DiNic’s is one the best. Roast pork, provolone and broccoli rabe. We had to indulge, even though we weren’t terrifically hungry.

Roast Pork Sandwich at DiNic'sI regret nothing.

Termini Brothers has a location in the Reading Terminal, and if you remember this previous post, I had a debt to settle with my lovely wife. I went to the main location on 8th Street a few months ago, had a tea biscuit and got an unexpected tour, but unfortunately I was by myself. For that reason, I had held off on the specialty of the house, the cannoli. I wasn’t about to leave Philadelphia without going by the main location for a pair of his-and-hers cannoli.

Now I Know Why He Left the Gun

Termini Brothers, Philadelphia, PA

First off, the sign was lit this time around, God bless them, so I went to town with a whole series of new shots. Then we went inside, and quite possibly the most delicious smell that exists returned to my life with a vengeance. Now unconcerned with leaving anyone behind, I could graze with confidence. A cannoli each, certainly. Then a container of pizzelles which looked impossibly good.

And then the girl who was serving us said “While you’re waiting for your cannoli,” she said, “would you like a tour?” Well, I had already had a tour previously, but Laura hadn’t, so we went through and looked in on where the magic happens.

Cannoli, cannoli, cannoli

Laura is smarter than me. When she is new to a place, she does what I never think to do, which is ask the person serving you what their favorite thing is. So she directed us to her favorite: a biscotti topped by a banana and raspberry, then the whole darn shootin’ match covered in chocolate. You’ll see that off to the right.

termini-tray

In order of deliciousness, and there aren’t any losers on this list, mind you:

  1. The chocolate-banana-raspberry thing, which I’m convinced is used as currency in certain developing countries.
  2. The cannoli, which would win most normal contests. Had I not had the chocolate-banana loveliness, I may have considered this the most delicious thing I had ever thought to eat.
  3. The pizzelles, which are outrageously wonderful in their own right.

We ate these later, of course, because there was plenty more to do and plenty more day ahead.

A pity we were full, because it was time to cross another place off my to-do list. I had missed out on the Melrose Diner on Snyder in my previous trip, but I couldn’t pass up

  1. A neon diner sign
  2. with a clock in it
  3. and the clock is shaped like a coffee cup

So off we went.

Melrose Diner, Philadelphia, PABy the way, in case you’re wondering, it was about 11:30. I think the Melrose has been stuck at 8:14 for a while…

Melrose Diner, Philadelphia, PA

But this was not all for this day. My word, no. For that, there will come another day and another post. Or two.

Farewell to the Port Motel

Port Motel, Port Trevorton, PA

The news hit me last week that the Port Motel sign has officially disappeared. Built in 1952, the Port was part of a bygone era, before interstate highways, when US routes were the main mode of transportation. This motel was along US 11 and 15 along the Susquehanna in the town of Port Trevorton, PA, and its original design contained an Esso station and the Port Diner. The motel closed a number of years ago and it had been turned into storage units, all the while the motel sign remaining.

From old post cards of the motel, I discovered that the star was added later, perhaps as late as the seventies. If you’ll notice on the wireframe below the sign and to the left, that once housed a bit of neon as well, proudly announcing that they had “TV.”

Port Motel, Port Trevorton, PA

This sign was the subject of at least three photo shoots of mine. This last grouping was from August of last year, and as far as anyone can tell, the sign disappeared over the winter. I had previously shot the sign in the morning, and these were from magic hour, as you can tell from the shadows of me and my Elantra above.

Port Motel sign, Port Trevorton, PA

If anyone has any news about the whereabouts of this sign, it would be greatly appreciated. I would hate to think it’s lying about in a junkyard somewhere.

Farewell, old friend. Visit this and many other lost treasures in my Vanishing America section.

Philadelphia Freedoms, Part 2

For part 1, click here

I continued down Broad Street in the hopes of finding two more landmarks from my to-do list. For some reason, I thought both of them were in North Broad Street, but as I pulled up the information in Google Maps, I discovered that they were both on South Broad Street. The first, the Boot and Saddle Bar, was easier to find, since it is still in existence; the second, Philip’s Restaurant, closed a while ago. Little did I know, these two were less than a block away from each other!

Parking was a challenge, considering the nearby bus station and a few diners nearby. I went around and around blocks and got to know some of the peculiar inner workings of Philadelphia’s one-way streets a little more than I would have preferred. Eventually I came upon a spot on the block where Philip’s was. This spot was no bigger than my fist, but I somehow managed to jam my Elantra into it. IN so doing, I tapped the van behind me, and when I got out of the car, the driver yelled out the window at me, “Whiplash! Whiplash!” As soon as I looked at him and wide grin on his face, I knew he was just yanking my chain. He laughed and I laughed and I went to the task at hand.

Philip's Restaurant, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Philip’s was one of the first places in the city to get air conditioning, thus its placement on the sign. This thing is massive, probably ten to twelve feet tall, which really must have gotten people’s attention back in the day. Notice just below the T in Restaurant? That’s the top of the Boot and Saddle sign!

Boot and Saddle, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

And here’s that sign! This is semi-restored, and as I understand it, actually lights up again. The rest of it could probably use some painting, or not; the bare metal is a bit charming in its own way. So an interesting thing about this sign is that it says “saddle” vertically and “Boot” horizontally, whereas on the other side:

Boot and Saddle, Philadelphia, PA

the opposite is true!

So, what you won’t see in this post is another Philadelphia landmark that is on South Broad Street, the Dolphin Tavern. The reason for this is simple: I didn’t realize it was there until after I got home. But, as these things usually go, it gives me another opportunity to go back!

When I returned to the car, the man in the van was still in the driver’s seat, reclined and dozing. I did my best to extricate my car without disturbing him and moved on to my next sign…


Divine Lorraine Hotel, Philadelphia, PATo finish off a bit of history from the last post, the Divine Lorraine has been vacant for more than a decade. It was originally the Lorraine Apartments when it first opened its doors in 1894, the design of renowned architect Willis G. Hale. In 1900, it was made into a hotel and almost a half-century later, it was purchased by Father Divine, head of the Universal Peace Mission Movement, who renamed it the Divine Lorraine. Bear in mind that Father Divine, although a maverick in the field of racial integration, also claimed to be himself God. This latter seems to have been disproven by his death in 1965.