The Four Tops' "Same Old Song" blared from the jukebox in the corner while the four of us puffed away on Old Golds, blowing smoke so thick you could have cut it with a knife pawned at Richie Wallace's. We were nursing our bottles of Coke, about 15 cents a bottle and deposit- worthy those days, when suddenly Lou Melhorn swept his arm from his side toward the exit. "All you boys do is come here to smoke behind your mothers' backs," he cried in that reedy voice of his. "Now get the Hell out of here."
Hell was a smokey place we had heard, perhaps not so smokey as the ledge upon which we were now smoking outside Melhorn's overlooking the sidewalk. We were somewhat critical of Lou's entrepreneurial skills. How could any T-town businessman risk losing such big and influential spenders to perhaps Happy's up the other side of the block or even to Rudy's near the high school. Crossing over the north end boundary of Cleveland Street was akin to scaling the Berlin Wall because a few north end toughies always seemed to materialized out of the Ohio Valley pollution and participate in their favorite pastime: rearranging your face simply because they didn't like your looks.
Me, Tim Maple and the two Jocko twins would take our 27 cents elsewhere and tell Lou where to stick his Popsicle sticks.
Back then tobacco companies like Lucky Strikes, Marlboro, Winston and Old Gold advertised on television how relaxing, soothing and James Dean cool cigarette smoking was. The only side affects that we knew of was that smoking stunted your growth. So whenever a faintly familiar car would approach along Trenton Street, we would deftly cup our mouldering smokes inside the palms of our hands because we did not want the Red Knight coaches thinking the next Don Sutherins and George Deideriches were going to develop into some puny weaklings good for only practice dummies.
Coming from the direction of Lenny's Sunoco down our side of Trenton was Doughnuts, stooped over as though looking for money, hands folded behind his back. Occasionally, he stopped inside Melhorn's to drink tea from a saucer.
A cocker spaniel yapped along the white picket fence two lawns above us. Doughnuts slipped a hand into a pocket of the baggy hobo jacket he always wore--even in the dog days of summer as was this day--and stuck his hand inside the fence, the dog licking the treat from his hand and Doughnuts's face.
One of us, probably a Jocko, would have asked Doughnuts how he was doing, but Doughnuts would have most likely told us "None of our God-damned business" as he did the day before. We watched Doughnuts shuffle down Trenton Street onto the overhead bridge, only seeing his blue ball-capped head appear as he ascended the summit of the bridge.
We knew any moment Lou would beg us to go back inside to spend the 27 cents remaining amongst us. Five, six…15 minutes later we were still awaiting the apology when Bill Jaco came lumbering toward us toting a black umbrella with a wooden hook despite the cloudless sky. Bill was making his early evening rounds and we could tell by the pizza sauce and chocolate on his white sleeveless T-shirt he had already made his stops at Johnny's Pizza and the Dairy Aisle.
"How's it hanging, Bill?" one of the Jockos asked. I couldn't tell which Jocko; they both looked the same that day.
Bill stuck out that footlong pointer finger of his and poked Jocko right in the stomach. "Whoops!" Bill said. His voice sounded as though it trumpeted through an elephant trunk. To us, his shoulders were as broad as an elephant's.
A white Ford Fairlane rolled to a stop at the corner. "Ford junk," Bill tooted as though he were reading a fact from the Encyclopedia Britannica. "Ford junk. Hit a bump and the seat falls down."
The driver rolled his window down, asked Bill, "Can you tell me where Clarke's Funeral is?"
The man was obviously from out of town. Only out-of-towners got lost in this town of 7,000 residents or stopped for the stop sign at the bottom of the overhead bridge.
"Up bay," Bill trumpeted, "Up bay." Toot fix Fords. Fix junk. Clarkie's goosey. Clarkie's full of stiffs."
Bill was talking talk only T-towners could interpret while the out-of-towner just shook his head from side to side. Bill must have seen the guy's wife in the car and said, "Man marries woman something loose--something loose."
Finally, the man poked his head out the window and shouted, "Man, you are completely nuts!"
Bill merely eyed the man as if adding another nut to a town already full of nuts and then said," "Not lost."
The man peeled rubber onto Trenton, smoke fountaining from his wheels still crossing Findlay. Bill philosophically said, "Town's full of nuts" and then lumbered his way toward downtown.
The four of us figured we would let Lou off easy and returned inside, lit up four Old Golds while we listened to "The Same Old Song."
History articles about Toronto, Ohio and baby boomer nostalgia by Bob Petras Sr. Take a journey into the past of Toronto, Ohio in Bob's latest novel, River Rats! Order your own copy on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/RIVER-RATS-ROBERT-PETRAS/dp/B0BB9LGN96
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Wednesday, February 18, 2015
Sunday, February 8, 2015
THE BEST THERE NEVER WAS--THE LEGEND OF HAROLD "OINK" COULTER
You see, a classmate of mine, Harold "Oink" Coulter, played basketball only his freshman year. Had he continued to play--that includes any sport--I am certain he would have been crowned the best.
Oink possessed the hand-eye coordination of a magician. He wasn't the tallest, fastest or strongest athlete in our class, although he was gifted in all these attributes. What he possessed was way above what everybody had and that was coordination.
Playing Little League for Cattrell's during the early 60s, I had heard all about the legend way before I encountered him He was rumored to throw the only curve ball in the entire league, and to an 11-year-old batter during those days to face that kind of skill was akin to confronting someone with supernatural powers.
I recall the fateful day when we were finally going to face Oink on the mound. We were undefeated, with Oink posing as our last obstacle to remain unblemished for the 20-game season in a league consisting of twelve teams. Our strategy was to step up in the batter's box when Oink started hurling curves, an approach enabling the hitter a good shot at the slower pitch before it broke. Oink recognized this plan immediately and reared back and blew his lively fastball by us. So--we moved back in the box and he curved us simple. The game was our only loss of the season.
I recall another time when we were in seventh grade playing pick-up football at S.C. Dennis School. Oink was passing by on his bicycle and stopped. I never saw him play football before, or even hold one in his hands for that matter, but he asked for the ball and promptly punted a perfect spiral 45 yards. "Let's see you do that again," everyone said, knowing football was our rare chance to embarrass Oink. He duplicated more kicks, all going 40 to 50 yards--all perfect spirals.
Another time I recall sitting in sixth grade at St. Francis School. For some reason the public schools were off that day and we weren't. I was daydreaming out the window when I saw Oink approaching on his bicycle. At the corner of Grant and Euclid, he popped a wheelie and pedaled right by the sixth grade windows, the seventh grade windows, the eighth grade windows and continued, reared back in the banana seat, hands braced on the handlebars, churning the pedals until turning the corner on Daniels Street, two blocks away, out of sight. The first flight by the Wright Brothers could not have covered the same distance.
Basketball was by far his best game. He could do anything with a round ball except make it talk. Oink was the only ball handler I had ever seen being guarded by defenders with their legs crossed. Nobody wanted embarrassed by having the ball dribbled between their legs by anybody. And Oink could turn an opponent's face redder than a Red Knights jersey.
The best way to defend Oink was to stand under the basket and bet him he couldn't make a shot from half court, and maybe his heel would accidentally touch the mid-court line so that you could get him on and over-and-back violation. Oink was the only kid I knew who practiced shots from half court, and he made a good percentage of them.
He was the last guy you wanted to challenge in a game of H-O-R-S-E. Besides being able to rainbow shots from various distances, he could bank a ball off both walls on the northwest corners of the Franklin School building and swish it through the hoop.
As I mentioned, Oink played only one season at the high school level, most of which was on junior varsity, although everyone in school and in the stands knew Oink was the best player on the varsity. A few times the coach would put Oink in the varsity game. I remember one time Oink was dribbling about 20 feet from Toronto's basket, an opponent between him an the hoop, arms raised high, knees bent in defending position. Oink nonchalantly dribbled behind his own back and then around the defender, a complete 360-degree sweep and then swished the ball through the net.
This wasn't exactly the type of tactic coaches in those days had in mind regarding fundamental basketball and was probably the main reason Oink spent most of his varsity tenure on the bench. The coach tried to make Oink play basketball the way the coach thought basketball should be played. Oink could achieve greatness and lead the Red Knights to the state title someday, only via the way of the head coach.
But sports was not about titles, the state and the greatest--certainly not about pressure. If he could not have fun, he wasn't going to play. He never shot his majestic arching set shot in a Red Knights uniform again.
Looking back, Oink was right all along. If anything motivates you in sports other than having fun, you are participating for all the wrong reasons. Coaches and athletes work themselves to the brink of exhaustion. Heck, Oink was good at what came natural to him. He was the best that never was.
Harold Coulter, shown on THS 1967 squad, was the only guy who could have wore a name like Oink gracefully |
Saturday, September 29, 2012
THE MYSTERIOUS INDIAN ROCKS OF BROWNS ISLAND
THE PETROGLYPHS OF THE UPPER OHIO VALLEY
The
age-old adage regarding art says that every picture tells a story, but
regarding the Indian Rock art of the Upper Ohio Valley, every picture portrays
a mystery.
The
native American representations are called petroglyphs, which are crude images
of wildlife, humans and symbols scratched or pecked into the surface of large
flat sandstones lining the shores of the Ohio River and other sites across the
country. Some of the more renowned
local petroglyph sites include Smith’s Ferry, Babb’s Island, old Dam Number Eight
and the head of Brown’s Island, although evidence suggests, the two-mile
mid-water flood plain could have centered four different petroglyph sites.
“Rock
Art chronicles the long histories, the hunting ceremonies, and the religions of
diverse native peoples, “wrote James D. Keyser and Michael Klasser in Plains
Indian Rock Art. “They reveal their relationships with the
spirit world and record their interaction with traditional enemies and the
earliest Europeans.”
Native
Americans considered boulders prominent features of the landscape, and the
Ohio, itself a Native American name, meaning river with whitecaps, or just
simply beautiful stream, was a major route of transportation and trade
centuries before the first Europeans arrived.
Archaeologists
have often calculated the time periods when the Native Americans etched their
work in rock, ancient peoples ranging from Hopewell, Adenas, woodland and
modern Indians, but often have been left with only educated guesses of the true
artists as in the case of the late James L. Swauger of Ohio State University,
who studied the local petroglyph sites in 1969.
“Babb’s
Island is the only site investigated in Ohio which holds water bird figures,”
Swauger wrote in Petroglyphs of
Ohio. “It’s affinities are
with Brown’s Island in W.V. and Smith’s Ferry in Pa. The generally more sophisticated artistry of the carvings on
these sites, as well as their common possession of water bird figures suggest a
‘school’ of petroglyph artists working along this 30-mile stretch of river.”
Swauger also theorized that the local
rock art could be attributed to Mongahela Man, also called proto-Shawnees from
1200 a.d. to 1750 a.d.
Work by Charles Whittlesley suggests
otherwise. Or perhaps he knew of a
site other than the Brown’s Island one, recorded in the archaeological ledgers
as site 46HK8. Whittlesley noted
in the American Antiquarian and Oriental Journal that Newburgh founding father
Michael Myers “saw from the south shore of the river, opposite the head of
Brown’s Island, an Indian at work on the flat rocks. He shot the Indian, and, getting to the island on a raft, he
saw effigies of animals, among them that of a deer which the Indian had partly
executed.”
Using the Deer Rock incident as
conclusive evidence, Whittlesley went on to write. “It is nearly demonstrated that they are not the work of the
Mound Builders unless that race and the historical Indian are one.”
Indeed, on the last page of Dr. E. R.
Giesly’s epic poem about Myers, Stalwart
Auver, is a drawing of a boulder with 1797 on top, and below this date are
several crude drawn images. What
they represent is indistinguishable because of the poor quality of print.
One petroglyph site overlooked by Swauger
was thought by antiquarian James McBride to be situated above the old Half Moon
Farm on the West Virginia side. On
July 4, 1838, McBride crossed the river from Cable’s Eddy, present day Pottery
Addition.
“We found the rock lying on the Virginia
side of the river. It lies about
three feet above low water mark, having a flat surface of about nine feet by
seven inclining a little toward water.
It is of hard stone, and all over the surface are various figures cut
and sunk into the hard rock.
Amongst these figures are rude representations of the human form, tracks
of human feet representing the bare foot and print of toes as if made in soft
mud, tracks of horses, turkeys and a rabbit. Several figures of snakes, a turtle and other figures not
understood.”
During that period existed another
landmark bearing the title “half moon,” a wing dam opposite the head of
present-day Hancock County and perhaps the petroglyph about which McBride wrote
sat farther north than the farm on the big bend of the river.
“One (carving) represents a wild turkey
and is about life size,” wrote Joseph B. Doyle in History of Jefferson County.
“Stretched across its neck, apparently in flight, is a wild goose
with neck extended at full length.
The heart of the goose is indicated by a small circle, with a line
extending to the head.”
Other figures carved into this rock
included a fox, a bear and some outlines of feet. Doyle wrote that the rock bearing these figures stood at the
upper entrance of Holliday’s Cove, now downtown Weirton.
One of the prominent Indian carvings upon
the Brown’s Island site that James L. Swauger had investigated were two sand
hill cranes approximately four meters square. Curiously, like one goose at the Half Moon site, the heart
of one crane is represented by a small circle with three lines running to the
neck.
Petroglyphs at Smith's Ferry, Pennsylvania. These flat rocks abounded on shoreline before submerged by modern dams. |
Sandhill cranes petroglyph of Brown's island. |
Monday, May 7, 2012
THE NATION'S FIRST WORLD WAR I MONUMENT
TORONTO, OHIO LAYS CLAIM TO THIS DISTINCTION
GUIESSEPPI MORETTI |
THE COUNTRY'S FIRST WORLD WAR I MEMORIAL |
Despite
its Canadian name, Toronto, Ohio has always been a city of patriotism and
fierce national pride as currently displayed by its array of American flags
lining its streets. But never was
Toronto’s patriotism more fervid than when it unveiled the nation’s first
monument dedicated to the American soldiers and sailors who had fought in World
War I.
It
was November 11, 1919, Armistice Day, one year after hostilities of the great
war had ended that as many as an estimated 12,000 to 15,000 people amassed in
Toronto streets, which were decorated with patriotic colors from one end of the
river-edged town to the other.
These spectators watched a parade of 3,000 marchers, led by 250
soldiers, sailors and marines, trailed by the Toronto band, various civic
organizations, as well as 800 school children all carrying tiny American flags.
After
the paraded concluded, the soldiers marched to town square where the War
Commission awarded the servicemen bronze medals and made a few speeches, and
then the honored defenders and public dignitaries crossed Market Street to the
First Presbyterian Church where they ate a chicken diner prepared under the direction
of Mrs. Mary Hanna and assisted and sponsored by the Daughters of America.
After
diner, the servicemen stepped outside under mild mid-autumn weather across to
town square as the shadow of the five-ton statue canted eastward under the
two-o’clock sun. A large white
cross now loomed on a platform before the veiled monument and standing before
it were eleven girls clad in white, clasping a red rose, each girl representing
the ten fallen sons and one fallen daughter of the Toronto area.
The
crowd of 3,000, settled and quiet, watched with eager anticipation a Miss
McClean draw the cord encasing the ten-foot high monument that many of them had
personally contributed to financially.
As Miss McClean swept her arm toward the glistening bronze statue, the
crowd erupted into resounding applause.
Present
at the unveiling was Guiesseppe Moretti, whom the Toronto War Board had
commissioned to sculpt the monument, of which the artist stated, “It represents
the glorious liberty with the American soldiers and sailors by her side.”
Moretti,
62 years of age at the ceremonies, was an Italian émigré who had gained fame in
America for his public monuments cast in bronze and marble, most notably his
work “Vulcan” in Birmingham, Alabama, still the largest cast iron statue in the
world. Other important works of
his included the Stephen Collins Foster memorial and the entrance to Highland
Park in Pittsburgh, where he had resided much of his life.
Moretti
was known as an eclectic personality who always wore a green tie. Undoubtedly he was wearing his
trademark color as he stepped off the podium, standing before the towering
five-ton memorial he had completed in just six months.
Next
United States Congressman Benjamin Frank Murphy took the platform. Murphy, a Republican representing the
district, won election for six successive terms. He gave a brief speech of welcome to the crowd and
servicemen and then introduced keynote speaker William D. Upshaw, recently
elected by Georgia voters to Congress.
A
son of a Confederate soldier and a staunch Southern Baptist, Upshaw was a
strong supporter of the temperance movement, so much, in fact, he was known as
the “driest of drys.” Prior to his
election to Congress, Upshaw served as vice president for the Anti-Saloon
League and was instrumental with making prohibition a Georgia law by 1907.
Upshaw,
suffering from a spinal injury that occurred at age 18, and now 52, leaned upon
crutches as he addressed the crowd with his passionate deep Southern
drawl. “I congratulate Toronto,
Ohio on being the first community in America to erect and dedicate a monument
to the glory of the living and the memory of the dead who fought for the safety
of America and for the living of the world.”
After
several minutes of continued praise for the town’s patriotism and for its being
a role model as an American melting pot, Upshaw segued into sermonizing upon
the other war that was threatening the individual’s freedom. “…in order that America may be kept
clean for them—for those who come back to us in buoyant manhood or stagger back
to us maimed or blind, reaching out their hands for encouragement from the
nation for which they offered their all.
We have learned that if it required a sober citizen to live well and
teaching this vital lesson to the nations now new-born in their freedom from
autocracy, but still shackled by the slavery of drink, is America’s new mission
to the peoples who have been set free.”
Ironically,
Upshaw’s visit to the Gem City failed to influence the citizens’ attitude
toward consumption of alcoholic beverages because a little more than 50 years
later in 1970, a poll conducted by “Time Magazine” listed Toronto the city
consuming the most alcohol per capita in the United States.
In
1932, Upshaw ran as presidential candidate for the Prohibition Party against
Franklin D. Roosevelt, who favored the repeal of prohibition, and was
overwhelmingly defeated.
William D. Upshaw |
KAUL FIELD REVISITED
HISTORIC SPORTS VENUE OF TORONTO, OHIO
Hallowed
is the ground where the glinted steel spikes of summer and autumn once trod in
the north end of Toronto.
This small piece
of earth, Kaul Field, where the bowling alley currently sits parallel to the
1100 block of Fifth Street, served as home field for some of Toronto’s most
revered sports heroes, including Pick Nalley, Gabby Kunzler, Clarke and Gordie
Hinkle and Hook Comer.
Soon
after the turn of the Twentieth Century baseball became vogue in the Gem City,
with a semi-pro team, the Toronto Athletic Club, dominating most local
nines. At Kaul Field, the TAC
hosted other semi-pros from the area and sometimes others of higher caliber.
“The
Pittsburgh Pirates came barnstorming into town along with Honus Wagner,” John
Petras said. “I can’t remember who
won, but yes they did play in Toronto.”
Petras,
now resides in Royal Oak, Michigan, is the son of John Petras Sr., who was a
member of the TAC before World War I and played alongside Pick Nalley, Wenzel
Straka and other founding fathers of baseball in the Gem City.
At the end of the 1918 Pittsburgh Pirates' season, Bill Mekechnie dropped out of baseball and moved his family to little Toronto where he took up a position of sales for Kaul Clay. He also set up a grocery in the Daniels Building. The following year, Mekechnie became player-coach for the Toronto Athletic Club and convinced no retired Pittsburgh Pirates legend Honus Wagner to play games for Toronto on weekends. Both would eventually be inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown.
Honus Wagner |
A
wooden fence enclosed Kaul Field then, but sometime around the 1920s the only
wooden structure remaining was the grandstand framing the home plate area at
the site approximately where the cul-de-sac is today on Fifth Street.
It
was this period that Toronto resident Tom McKelvey remembers well. “Kaul Field was used for baseball in
the summer and football in the fall,” McKelvey said. “We had church leagues five nights a week, Monday through
Friday. Every church had a team. The best team was always St. Francis,
who we called back then the Mickeys”
McKelvey
also has fond memories of the semi-pro football club, the Toronto Tigers, when
professional football was at its infancy and germinating in northeastern Ohio.
“The
Toronto Tigers played their games at home in the fall months in front of good
crowds,” McKelvey said. “The train
pulled in across the field and the opposing players and fans stepped off; then
walked to the field.”
According
to McKelvey, the Toronto Tigers and their opponents played with fierce
competition, locals occasionally being replaced by ringers--college athletes
playing for dough under aliases.
“I
heard two Ohio State players came in playing for 100 or 200 dollars. Fats Henry came in from Washington and
Jefferson. Henry would later play
for the Canton Bulldogs and become inducted in the Hall of Fame”
Some
of the Toronto standouts included the Ferris brothers and Hook Comer. Comer had a short stint at fullback
with the Canton Bulldogs alongside Henry and the great Jim Thorpe.
Toronto
High School also staged its football games at Kaul Field prior to 1930. McKelvey’s father, Tom Sr., took young
Tom to watch his first game, a match-up between Toronto and Warwood.
“There
were no lights back then,” McKelvey said.
“The games were held in the afternoon. There were ropes stretched along the sidelines to keep us
from coming onto the field.”
Kaul
Field was used for other endeavors beside sports during that era. McKelvey said a traditional ox roast
was held at the grounds around Thanksgiving Day.
“I
remember the kids from the north end ice skated in the winter there,” Vince Exterovich,
a 1942 THS graduated said. “There
was a pond, actually a marshy area that froze over during the winter. Mostly north end kids skated there.”
Exterovich
resided at Sixth Street back then, considering himself a south ender. Today, the line separating the two ends
of the Gem City runs east to west along Main Street, making the southern end
larger in area than the older north. All of Sixth Street today is located what is considered the
north end.
“The
south end wasn’t developed in those days,” McKelvey said. “It was mostly farms and Sloane’s.”
During
the Forties and the Fifties, with the emergence of Little League at newly built
Memorial Park and the development of the south end with its new schools, Kaul
Field was reduced to a sandlot until it ceased to exist at all with the
construction of Toronto Lanes around 1960.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
1940s Aerial Photos of Toronto
South end view of Toronto Power Plant where a town once named Calumet sat. At top of picture, barely discernible is Dam Number 9. |
The former Stratton Clay works sat where the present day Lime operations of the W.H. Sammis Plant are. Just left of center is Stratton Heights, minus the park. |
Overhead few from north of old Toronto Power Plant and old Route Seven. |
Monday, December 19, 2011
Farewell to old Clarke Hinkle Field
Clarke Hinkle |
Members of 1970 team, left to right: Joe Chadwick, Bob Petras, Dan Baker, Larry Hughes. |
Pre-game gathering |
Red Knights Forever |
View From South End |
Ron Paris Jr., Ron Paris Sr., Head Coach Ralph Anastasio |
Bob Chadwick, THS Class of 1974 and West Point graduate. |
Chuck Walker, late 60s guard and linebacker. |
Brian Zorbini, running back, early 90s. |
Red Knight mascot leading the final charge. |
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