pennsylvania Archives - Page 4 of 6

Cruisin’

ritz-ice-cream The Ritz Barbecue, Allentown, PA

Lately, I’ve been reading a book a friend of mine recommended. It’s by the author of The Legend of Bagger Vance, Steven Pressfield, entitled The War of Art, and it’s been coloring everything I see. The main focus of the book is crashing though the barriers to creative achievement, which he personifies as “Resistance.” Far too often we give in to Resistance and don’t do the things we need to do start and complete creative projects, whether it be a book, a painting, or a business.

It’s Sunday night. Usually, we do nothing on Sunday nights, because I’m going to have to get up in the morning to take the long journey in to work. In case I haven’t mentioned it before, this requires a two-hour one-way trip in the car. But a small voice in my head whispered the words “Ice Cream,” and it wouldn’t stop. The closest place to procure such delicacies is The Ritz Barbecue, just to the side of the Allentown Fairgrounds. And The Ritz has neon signs. And it was getting close to neon magic hour.

Laura was all on board for the ice cream, so we got ready. On the way out the door, she says, “Aren’t you going to take the camera?”

Some part of my brain, no doubt the part that doesn’t work properly, said that I shouldn’t. I’m not sure why. Some weird form of guilt that has no basis in fact or logic. Resistance. I shook it off and scooped up the camera bag.

We pull into the parking lot of the Fairgrounds, and what I saw blew my mind. Unbeknownst to either of us, the Blue Mountain Classics Car Club was having a Cruise Night in the parking lot of the Ritz. There were about thirty or forty classics lined up, shining in the waning sun.

“And this is why I should take the camera,” I said.

Super Deluxe 8

Galaxie

Lesson learned. If I’d stuck to the normal pattern, I would have missed out on this whole thing. If I had listened to my own foolish notions, I would have been flailing around trying to capture this on my iPhone. But I cast all those things aside and got this great shots, got to see some great cars, and oh, by the way, got some Peanut Butter Cookie Dough ice cream.

Which sort of brings me to dreams and aspirations, and how they are available when you make the effort to announce your intentions. We get so beaten down in life that we naturally suspect that we can’t get what we want. I think we get upset at those that are successful because they act as if they can get anything that they want and then do just that. Donald Trump, for instance, annoys the crap out of me. But you know, the man has made his money because he believes he can. And secretly, I admire those convictions.

Bel Air at the Ritz Barbecue

The Apostle Paul says in the book of Romans that God “calls into being things that were not,” and honestly I don’t mean to sound like I just stepped behind a pulpit, but I believe this. I also believe that we, as mere mortals, can do the same thing, to call into being things that are not.

So I say this, just to release this dream into the air: I want to drive the length of US 1 from Maine to Key West. Driving in one of these classics. Taking shots of all the great signs I see along the way. In my head, this seems impossible. But once I say it, it not only sounds possible, but likely.

What’s your dream?

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Instameet

About a month ago, I was checking through my news feed on Instagram and found out that there was going to be an Instameet at the Bethlehem SteelStacks on August 3rd. In case you’re not hip to the jam (as the kids are saying these days), and Instameet is, well, people meeting together and Instagramming. Self explanatory, really.

Anyway.

There was even word that a few of the steelworkers would be on hand to tell stories of the days when “The Steel” was in operation. So, lured in with this opportunity, and being the good IGer that I am, I planned to attend.

“The Steel”

In the meantime, Laura and I were trying to work out a good time to go to the optometrist, because we hadn’t been in a while. My work schedule is wacky. Zany, in fact. A good time during the week to go to the eye doctor does not exist, so we booked our appointment for noon on August 3rd. The Instameet was to be at 3. That would give us plenty of time.

Not thinking, of course, that one of the things that they do to you at the eye doctor is put drops in your eyes to make your pupils dilate to 43 times their normal size. We got out of there at 1:30 all right, more than enough to get to the other side of Bethlehem in time, but our eyes looked like black marbles. They assured us that we would be fine in an hour. So we walked out, and our reaction to the harsh sunlight was not unlike Quasimodo’s. I checked my phone. I couldn’t see my phone. I couldn’t see anything inside of ten feet, in fact. Past ten feet was fine, so I could see well enough to drive. So we drove home until this blew over.

2:30 rolled around and we continued to look like cartoon characters. We sat still in our chairs. I stood up and room did a quarter turn and I sat back down again. We weren’t going anywhere. In fact, it wasn’t until the next day that we were back to normal. One hour and we’d be completely normal. Suuuuuuure.

So, apologies to all who did attend and did have their pupils at normal size. In honor of the Instameet at The Steel, here’s a few shots I took in May when we were down there:

steel-1 steel-2 steel-buildings

And, since, this is all about signs, here’s a few of my favorites from Bethlehem:

fritch-1-june12

The Fritch sign, although technically well into the city, is the sign that welcomes you in to town along PA 378. This has been a landmark for years. This was taken last year, when I got the gumption to take the long walk up to the bridge to get these.

fritch

hotel-bethlehem

Along the oldest part of town is the other great landmark, the Hotel Bethlehem. I really need to talk to somebody about getting up on the roof and getting this sign properly.

This old music shop is just up the street from the Hotel. I do love me a good ghost sign:

huff-steinway

I absolutely backed my way into this one. I wasn’t looking for this sign, but it seemed to find me. Pretty much all I had to do was follow my nose. The smells coming out of the Vallos Bakery were heavenly. Although I wouldn’t recommend the rusty, peeling doughnut. To eat, at any rate.

Motel Madness

PortMotel-retake
Port Motel, Port Trevorton, PA

One of the things that I noticed right away is that people tend to respond very positively toward my pictures of motel signs. I found this interesting, and somewhat understandable. We all have some weird visceral response to motels, whether it be through experience or because we watched “Psycho” at a young age. Fascinated, horrified, and enthralled all at the same time. And we all have a story of this motel or that motel.

Mine: in college, taking a trip with a team. The guy in the charge of the trip chose it beforehand, (we guess) site unseen. Me and two other guys in a dive to end all dives. Bugs in the bathroom. Suspicious stain on the wall. Switched on the TV and switched it off quickly before we all got an eyeful of porn. Looked out the back window and there was a brick wall literally two inches away from the glass.

And you probably have a motel story similar to this. In honor of this, I’ve put a page together of my favorite motels. Enjoy the grunge!

The Case of the Missing Signs

Probably the heat this week in the Northeast is to be the blame for the following post. In it, Mr. Sanders appears to be under the impression that he is a private detective of some sort. It was believed to have been written during the throes of a fever dream.

The heat was hot. It was a hot heat, warmer than most. Outside, it was hotter than inside, but not by much. That’s the kind of heat it was. I hopped into my late-model foreign job and went for a spin to cool my heels.

The name is Stone. Rocky Stone, just like it says on my gun license. I was on the lookout for a sign, one that I had been after for a good long time. One that avoided the sun like the plague. One that I hoped to catch unawares at magic hour. The Nor-Pole Drive-In in Orangeville, Pennsylvania a rusty ice-cream cone dream that sat in a valley like a bump on a frog.

The shots I had taken of it were either cloudy or far away. But I was determined to bring this one in:

Nor-Pole Drive-In Orangeville, PA

The town of Orangeville slept peacefully even though it was only seven o’clock at night. The sun was disappearing behind the surrounding hills and it wasn’t looking good until I made the final turn at the far side of town. The bloom of the sun was clear, and it was looking like this case was in the bag. And then, whammo, it hit me like the edge of a hot plate: the sign wasn’t there. Not only that, the building wasn’t there. Flattened. To the ground.

I hoisted my heap off the road and turned, blinked. The Nor-Pole was there, in that spot, six months ago. It served as the site of one of my more harrowing incidents while taking pictures of signs. They had a few people in for breakfast, a state police car in the parking lot. I took a few shots from a few angles, including the one you see above. When I had gotten back to my car, a sour-faced guy comes out of the back door and wanders past me, looks at my license plate, takes a mental note, and growls, “What are you doing here?”

I told him I was taking a picture of the sign.

He looked like he might spit. “You mean, the ice cream sign?”

I said, yes, and thought about adding “Why, do you have another one?” but felt it best to be nice. He grumbled off and I got in my car, as it turns out, never to return.

Back to the present: I stumbled back into Orangeville and headed east on old PA 93 in the hopes of finding something new. Hard luck. Nothing and sight, the sun was going down, and I craved some neon, but no dice. The trail took me to Berwick, and Berwick was mostly a dead-end. But US 11 crossed my path, and I knew that would take me to Bloomsburg. There was another old friend waiting for me there, name of the Tennytown Motel. A neon sign with a big plastic candle. That spelled OK in my book. And I had never gotten that one with its neon lit. I hit the open road.

The signs along 11 were shining bright in the waning sun and my hopes were up. And then, just as quick they were dashed. Seems the Tennytown had been bought out in the last few months since I had been by. RELAX INN says the new sign. Out goes the neon, in goes a nasty new plastic lightbox.

Easy, Stone, I told myself. How were they to know? They wouldn’t, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to punch a couple of guys right in the throat. They at least had the good graces to leave the candlestick. I didn’t even take the camera out of the bag. Not even worth it.

My shutter finger was getting itchy. The road led me to Bill Hess’s Tavern, a watering hole serving this burg since 1889. Seemed appropriate. I drowned my sorrows in a handful of shots and called it a night.

In the morning, I would continue the search. Rest in peace, boys. You sleep with the other angels in Vanishing America.

Editor’s Note: So while I was in Berwick, I did get this:

atens
atens-electricservice

Gotta love the little black cat on the side of the wall…

And just for the record, here’s the Tennytown in color:

tennytown-color
tennytown-thelast

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

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.