Uncle John's Bathroom Reader Plunges into Pennsylvania

by Bathroom Readers' Institute

  Did You Know?

  Boulder Field is a geological curiosity located in the Pocono Mountains’ Hickory Run State Park. It’s exactly what the name implies: a field of boulders, ranging from basketball-sized to massive—some are more than 25 feet across. The field of rocks is approximately 400 feet wide by 1,800 feet long, the rock layer is about 12 feet deep, and though it’s surrounded by hardwood forests, there is virtually no vegetation among the rocks. The strange geological formation was caused, geologists say, by the retreat of glaciers during the last Ice Age . . . about 15,000 years ago.

  Pennsylvania Odds

  Odd numbers, we mean. (Evens are on page 63.)

  Pennsylvania has 1 . . . Ivy League university (Penn) and one college that belongs to the Seven Sisters (Bryn Mawr).

  Pennsylvania has 3 . . . major rivers: the Delaware, the Susquehanna, and the Ohio.

  Pennsylvania has 17 . . . threatened or endangered native plant and animal species, including the bald eagle, the Indiana bat, and the leafy northeastern bulrush (a tall, leafy plant with brown flowers).

  Pennsylvania has 33 . . . counties (out of 67) that sit atop bituminous coal beds. The coal beds comprise more than one-fourth of the state’s entire area.

  Pennsylvania has 2,567 . . . municipalities. That includes all incorporated cities, towns, townships, and boroughs.

  Pennsylvania has 44,645 . . . steps (on 712 stairways) in Pittsburgh alone. That’s the most of any city in the United States, and more than San Francisco and Cincinnati (which rank second and third) combined. Because of the large number of steps, Ernie Pyle, a famous war correspondent, once joked that Pittsburgh “must have been laid out by a mountain goat.”

  The Johnstown Flood

  The Johnstown flood was one of the greatest disasters in American history, but it made heroes of ordinary Pennsylvanians and was the Red Cross’s first attempt at peacetime relief.

  Johnstown, Pennsylvania, in the western Appalachian Mountains not far from Pittsburgh, was a thriving steel town in the 1880s. The city had a population of about 30,000 and sat in a narrow valley at the fork of the Little Conemaugh and Stony Creek rivers. The townspeople knew that they lived in a flood-plain; it was obvious every spring when heavy rains poured down the mountain, overran the rivers’ banks, and seeped into nearby buildings and homes. Fourteen miles upriver—and 450 feet higher in elevation—was the manmade Lake Conemaugh. Situated on the side of a mountain and held in place by the South Fork Dam, the lake was two miles long and home to the exclusive South Fork Fishing and Hunting Club, where successful Pittsburgh businessmen vacationed. No one in Johnstown gave much thought to the lake’s old, earthen dam—except to joke about it collapsing someday.

  The Deluge

  During the night of May 30, 1889, one of the worst rainstorms in American history dumped 10 inches of rain on Johnstown. By noon the next day, the South Fork club’s engineer took a nervous look at the rising lake waters and sent a messenger to telegraph a warning of possible flooding to the Johnstown authorities. He and the club’s president also gathered a work group and desperately tried to bolster the dam.

  They lost the battle. By the afternoon, the lake started to seep over the dam; then, with a roar, the entire dam collapsed. Within 45 minutes, the lake was completely empty, its contents on a disastrous journey downhill. Twenty million tons of water gushed through the narrow valley toward Johnstown at 40 miles an hour, tearing up, crushing, and carrying along everything in its path.

  Water, Water Everywhere

  The whistles at Johnstown’s steel mill sounded just after 4:00 p.m., but people didn’t know why (though most historians believe it wouldn’t have done any good if they had because it all happened so fast). The first sign of disaster was a deafening roar that grew louder with each second. Some said it sounded like hail, a cyclone, or thunder. One man remembered the crunching sounds of houses torn apart by the water.

  At 4:07 p.m., a 60-foot-high wall of water slammed into Johnstown. People on the streets were swept away. Some residents climbed to their rooftops only to be carried off when their houses splintered beneath them. Others floated on rafts of debris and were dashed into buildings or bridges or sucked underwater by whirlpools.

  The water moved through the city as one mass until it came to a railroad bridge, where most of the debris started piling up. That slowed the wave down a bit, but the water continued to move through the valley. Survivors who’d been swept toward the bridge clung there or became trapped in the wreckage, which was piled 40 feet high. As night fell, the huge pile of rubble caught fire, and 80 Johnstowners died in the fire.

  Triumph Over Tragedy

  Amazingly, many Johnstown residents survived the disaster. One was 16-year-old Victor Heiser, who climbed onto the roof of his family’s stable. As he watched the wall of water rush toward him, he saw it splinter other structures and expected the same. But instead, the stable was lifted off its foundation and began to roll like a barrel in the water, crashing into other houses in its path. Victor jumped from one piece of house to another, finally landing on a barn roof. He rode it, eventually jumping onto the roof of a brick building. Heiser had looked at his watch when the wild ride began and remembered that it had said 4:20; it wasn’t quite 4:30 when it ended. He lost his family in the flood but eventually went on to medical school and developed the first drugs to effectively treat leprosy.

  Gertrude Quinn Slattery was just six years old when the flood hit Johnstown. She later told of riding the rolling water atop a mattress and crying out for help. Maxwell McAchren, safe on a rooftop, noticed as she passed by and dove into the water to help. He went under and came up . . . and went under and came up . . . several times before finally reaching the little girl. The two floated along together until they saw a group of men safe on top of another building. McAchren threw Gertrude to them, and both survived.

  Helping Hams

  In all, 2,209 people—almost 10 percent of Johnstown’s population—died in the flood. Four square miles of the town were obliterated, and 1,600 homes were destroyed. Hundreds of missing people were never found, and the last victim wasn’t identified until 22 years later.

  Donations of money, food, and clothing poured into Johnstown. The citizens of Cincinnati sent 20,000 hams; prisoners in Pittsburgh baked and sent bread. Standard Oil donated a carload of kerosene for light and heat. Emergency shelters, tents, and prefab houses were erected. More than $3 million in donations poured in from around the world. And the American Red Cross, led by Clara Barton herself, carried out its first major peacetime relief operation.

  Thanks to the outside help and the resilience of the surviving residents, one of the town’s iron companies reopened on June 6, and by July 1, most of the stores on Main Street were open for business as usual. Within just five years, Johnstown’s manufacturing centers had recovered.

  Commemoration

  The South Fork Dam was never replaced, and today, the Johnstown Flood National Memorial preserves the ruins of the dam, part of the old lake bed, and some of the buildings of the South Fork Fishing and Hunting Club. The visitor center regularly shows a film that re-creates the flood. Every May 31, a ceremony is held in remembrance of the victims of the Johns-town flood, and people light 2,209 candles on the remains of the South Fork Dam.

  Did You Know?

  The first piano built in the United States was constructed in Philadelphia in 1775.

  Pretzel City

  Happy reading . . . er, redding, er . . .

  Town: Reading

  Location: Berks County

  Founding: 1748

  Population (2008): 81,000

  Size: 10.1 square miles

  County seat: Yes

  What’s in a Name?

  The town was mapped out in 1743 by Richard and Thomas Penn, sons of Pennsylvania’s founder, William Penn. The Penn brothers named it Reading after their hometown of Reading, England.

  Claims to Fame:

  •The iron industry developed in Reading in the
1750s, and by the time of the American Revolution, local factories produced more iron products than manufacturers in all of England. Reading’s factories were a major supplier of weaponry and ammunition to the Continental Army.

  •Reading is one of the few American cities to have once had a socialist government. Socialist J. Henry Stump was Reading’s mayor from 1927 to 1931, 1935 to 1939, and 1943 to 1947. During Stump’s first term, every elected city official was a socialist.

  •Its nickname is the Pretzel City because in the early 20th century, dozens of pretzel bakeries and packagers made their home in Reading.

  •The Reading Railroad opened here in 1838 and was one of the major railways of the Industrial Revolution, shipping coal from the mining regions of western Pennsylvania throughout the northeastern United States. The railroad has been defunct since the mid-1970s, but it lives on as one of the properties on the Monopoly board game.

  Quote Me

  “Avoid popularity; it has many snares, and no real benefit.”

  “Humility and knowledge in poor clothes excel pride and ignorance in costly attire.”

  “Knowledge is the treasure, but judgment is the treasurer of the one who is wise.”

  “A true friend . . . advises justly, assists readily, adventures boldly, takes all patiently, defends courageously, and continues a friend unchangeably.”

  “Right is right, even if everyone is against it, and wrong is wrong, even if everyone is for it.”

  —William Penn

  Batter Up, Part II

  On page 111, we introduced Carl Stotz and Little League baseball. Here’s the rest of the story.

  Out of the Park

  In 1946, there were still only 12 local Little Leagues in the United States—all in Pennsylvania. But big changes came in 1947. Two years after the end of World War II, America’s fighting men were back home, settled into their new lives, and finally had time to participate with their sons in Little League.

  That year, Little League included 17 independent leagues, and it held its first “World Series.” (The Williamsport team took the first title.) The Associated Press and other wire services covered the event, and when stories and photographs of the game appeared in newspapers, Little League’s headquarters was deluged with letters from all over the country. People wanted to know how to set up their own leagues.

  Making Noise

  With Little League’s growth came a problem: adults were taking the competition more seriously than the children did. In 1947, parents and other spectators began to routinely boo players and officials during games. Stotz wrote:

  Some of them seemed unable to see the games as simply little boys having fun in a structured . . . athletic program. After all, many of the eight- to twelve-year-old boys had played baseball less than a year. There was certainly no valid excuse for such adult criticism. And it was becoming quite discouraging to some of the boys.

  Stotz and other Little League officials complained, and newspaper editorials condemned the conduct. Within a year, the booing faded.

  Little League, Inc.

  By the late 1940s, Little League had grown to more than 300 local leagues all over the United States. By 1951, it had more than doubled in size to 776 leagues; there were even leagues in Panama, the first outside the United States. The organization had grown so much that it could no longer be managed effectively by part-time volunteers. So in 1951, Little League incorporated and hired a paid, full-time staff. Carl Stotz was appointed president and commissioner of the league, but his Little League days were numbered.

  And Now, a Word From Our Sponsor

  In 1948, the U.S. Rubber Corporation became Little League’s first national sponsor. In return, the company wanted to help determine the direction of the organization—so U.S. Rubber executives approached Stotz to discuss it. “Essentially,” Stotz wrote, U.S. Rubber “proposed a national body that would have total control of the leagues that evolved from it. That body would own every Little League playing field and every Little Leaguer would be a paying member.”

  U.S. Rubber’s plan was exactly the opposite of Stotz’s vision; he favored autonomous local leagues, joined in a national organization run by representatives elected from the ranks of the local leagues. The discussions broke off without any change in the direction of Little League, and things seemed amicable. But, as Stotz later wrote, “In retrospect, though, I can see that it was the beginning of a deep philosophical conflict.”

  The Little Schism

  By the early 1950s, Little League was doubling in size every couple of years. It was an enormous success, but Stotz was concerned about the increasing commercialism that accompanied its rise. Another concern was the prominence placed on the Little League World Series, which was played every year in Williamsport. U.S. Rubber and the Little League board of directors wanted to maximize the publicity value of the event, but Stotz wanted to de-emphasize the series. He feared that teams trying to “win their way to Williamsport” would encourage cheating at the expense of good sportsmanship and fair play. The lure of the national spotlight, he worried, would encourage teams to recruit players who were ineligible because they were either too old or lived outside their league’s territorial boundaries.

  Yet another controversy erupted when Stotz tried to invite legendary pitcher Cy Young, then in his 80s, to come to the 1951 Little League World Series. Two board members thought Young “was an old man who probably couldn’t control his bladder, and would embarrass Little League.” Stotz invited Young anyway (the event went smoothly), but his differences with Little League, Inc. continued to fester.

  You’re Out!

  In 1952, Stotz stepped down as the president of Little League, but remained as commissioner. A U.S. Rubber executive named Peter McGovern replaced him as president. Then, in 1954, the board of directors adopted a new set of bylaws that stripped the commissioner of much of his power and gave it to McGovern. A year later, McGovern fired Stotz’s secretary while Stotz was out of town and replaced her with one of his own aides.

  In 1956, Stotz resigned as commissioner and filed suit against McGovern, alleging that he was ignoring Little League volunteers. When Stotz lost the suit, he cut all ties to Little League. A few teams left with him to form the unaffiliated Original Little League, which played their games in a field not far from where Stotz had founded Little League in 1939. Stotz boycotted every Little League World Series game until 1989, when, at age 79, he attended a game to honor the 50th anniversary of the founding of Little League. He died in 1992.

  Keep on Swinging

  In the years since Stotz left the league, several of his fears have come true. Many leagues and players have been cited for unsportsmanlike conduct and cheating. One of the most publicized events was the case of Bronx pitcher Danny Almonte, who led his team to a third-place finish in the 2001 Little League World Series before officials discovered that he was actually two years older than the rules allowed.

  But scandals aside, Little League and the Little League World Series have become positive fixtures in the lives of the millions of kids who participate in them. According to one player who went to Williamsport in 2008, “It’s been the best days of my life, pretty much . . . It’s unbelievable.”

  Did You Know?

  At 3,823 feet long, the Rockville Bridge in Harrisburg is the world’s longest stone arch railroad bridge.

  Counter Culture

  The diner industry has taken a hit from the rise of fast food, but diners remain a fixture in Pennsylvania’s culinary culture.

  A Movable Feast

  Diners evolved from early lunch wagons, which first began popping up in New England during the 1800s to offer low-cost meals to urban workers. Restaurant owners set up shop in mobile, retired trolley cars, street cars, or railroad cars and started serving food where workers congregated.

  At the turn of the century, there were so many lunch wagons roaming the streets that cities started requiring operating permits and restricted their hours of business. To bypass t
hese rules, some owners started settling down in permanent locations where rent was cheap.

  Around 1923, people started calling these stationary lunch wagons “diners.” By then, manufacturers had begun building them with restrooms and more counter and table seating. In the 1930s, they got another makeover when longer, sleeker, stainless steel models came on the scene. After World War II, the diner business was booming thanks to postwar prosperity.

  Although the diner business was born in New England, much of the industry had shifted slightly south by the 1940s. Most of the manufacturers were in New York and New Jersey, and Pennsylvania’s close proximity to them was a main reason that diners became so popular there. It’s also why there are a lot more diners in the southeastern part of the state than there are in the west.

  Pennsylvania Diners 101

  There are hundreds of diners in Pennsylvania today. Some things (like food and lingo) are standard from diner to diner, but others depend on the individual establishment.

  Geography: The Philadelphia area is home to the most diners in the state. That doesn’t mean diners don’t exist in western Pennsylvania, however. Most of the area’s diner business is concentrated around Pittsburgh and Erie (which makes sense, since those were industrial hubs and provided a customer base). Although no one seems to know why, diners in and around Erie often use the spelling “dinor” instead of “diner.”