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From: John Steelfox <>
Subject: Re: [PANORTHU-L] Sunbury Memories of my Mother
Date: Wed, 11 Feb 1998 21:55:17 -0500


Please remove me from your e-mail. Thanks, John Steelfox

Barb McCusker wrote:

> For those who are interested in Sunbury of the past, this is from my
> mothers' time. She (1914-1978) grew up at 1236 Race Street with her 10
> brothers and sisters. Toward the end of her life she was beginning to
> publish historical children's stories, and had made copious notes of her
> childhood which I put together after her death. This incident is
> entitled: THE BLUFF
>
> We had no great acres of land to play on. Only a tiny bit in front of
> the house and a little bigger tiny bit in back. But we had an open field
> across the street and far beyond that we had a series of hills and dales
> called "The Bird Sanctuary." This often became ours, too, when we knew
> there was much work to be done at home. The only trouble was that
> we all knew about the place and the caves along The Bluff, so naturally
> we knew where to look for the culprit when Muzzie sent us out for him.
>
> The Bluff was our sanctuary, our Hide-out, our meeting place for "the
> gang." Looking down from above, the cliff and rocky ledges below looked
> almost like a sheer drop of at least a thousand feet, well, a hundred
> feet, and there was a path very narrow and hard to find at first. Below,
> and running along the base of the cliff, was a small stream named Coal
> Creek. On either side of the "crick" was a narrow piece of flat land.
> It was an eerie spot because the sunlight could barely filter through the
> trees that rose almost as high as the bluff itself, and each Fall sent a
> carpet of leaves and evergreen needles down to cover it so that no
> footfall could ever be heard. Here we spent happy hours in groups or
> alone, depending on our courage. Here, too, we came with our hurts or
> heartbreak of the moment so that we could cry or fight it out alone.
> Here we played Cops and Robbers and Cowboys and Indians; gathered hickory
> nuts in the Fall and Elderberries for jelly. Here was our place to howl
> without disturbing anyone, and sometimes without an audience.
>
> I remember putting on my own performance as a movie actress without an
> audience, playing the part of an Indian Princess, standing on the very
> top of the Bluff and singing with the greatest feeling - and volume -
> "The Indian Love Call."
>
> I'd reached the second chorus and, with gestures, was singing "When I'm
> calling you-oo-oo-ooo-ooo-oo-oooooo!" At that most beautiful moment -
> when I knew that no one would ever turn me down for the leading part in a
> fabulous opera - a young man, nicely dressed and carrying a suitcase,
> came up the path from below - grinning from ear to ear! I stopped right
> in the middle of my "ooooo's", mouth opened in shock, turned, and ran
> as fast as I could back home. I never even tried to find out who he was
> or why he was there - and with a suitcase!
>
> Across the creek was forbidden territory (private property), and was an
> enticingly beautiful spot. To get across the creek was a simple matter,
> as long as you knew how to swing on the monkey vines. We screamed with
> delight if we made it across, or with anguish if we missed and landed in
> the coal-dirt-filled waters. Sympathy and concern were freely given by
> those looking on, mainly for the whaling the culprit would get at home
> when he or she came in with coal dirt in their clothing
>
> "Take it like this," my younger brother Jonnie instructed me on my first
> try. He gripped the vine high-up with one hand and a little lower with
> the other, walked back a short distance, took a running start and exactly
> at the creek's edge, lifted his feet and swung across the water, landing
> on a nice grassy slope on the other side.
>
> "Now," he called, throwing the vine back at me, "you try it."
>
> I gulped, but it had looked easy so I was game. I gripped properly,
> walked back a short distance, took a running start and kept on running -
> right into the water.
>
> "Oh, you dumbbell!" he yelled. "Why didn't ya lift your feet?" Having a
> load of coal dirt and water in both socks and shoes, I felt no need for
> conversation. "Boy, you're gonna get it!" he yelled, adding fuel to the
> - coal dirt. I knew that I was going to "get it", but I wasn't as
> worried about that as about my shoes.
>
> At our house shoes were important. When any of us needed shoes Muzzie
> sent us down to Endicott Johnson's and Mr. Smith, the manager, fitted us
> properly. He knew what we wanted, because Muzzie had told him on the
> 'phone. It did no good whatsoever to try to wrangle another kind of shoe
> of our choice from Mr. Smith. He and Dad and Muzzie had an nderstanding.
> And, too, Dad always paid a huge shoe bill at the beginning of each
> month. Oxfords we got, and Oxfords we wore. Each of us had three pairs:
> one pair for Sunday School, one pair for school, and one pair for play.
> Seldom was there enough left of a pair of shoes to hand down, so each new
> pair must fit properly with "room to grow." And we were expected to take
> care of them, too!
>
> The water-logged, coal-dirtied shoes scrunched accusingly at me as I made
> for the nearest log. True, they were only my play shoes, but they were
> shoes nevertheless. Jonnie glided effortlessly back to my side of the
> creek and, for once, proved smarter than I thought. He kept quiet.
>
> With difficulty I pulled off the Oxfords and the once-pink but now-black
> socks. They were easy enough to wring out and then shake out most of the
> tiny coal flakes, but the color was still almost black. But how to wring
> out shoes?
>
> First I shook them. A few bits of coal dirt flew about, along with some
> drops of water, but that was all. I took two long sticks, put one shoe
> on the end of each, and tried to wave them to and fro to hurry the
> air-drying process, but that was too cumbersome. Johnnie obligingly took
> over one of the sticks. However Jonnie, always the energetic one,
> whooshed the stick so fast that the shoe shot off the end and landed, yes
> of course, in the creek.

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