Fourth Of July Victory Celebration!

In the year 1946, Coudersport planned a huge celebration for the July 4 holiday. With the long World War II just ended, there were even more reasons to celebrate. The newspaper headline related: 

Plan For Crowd of 7,000 At Fourth Of July
Victory Celebration; Arrangements Complete

The newspaper story on June 27 went on to describe all the preparations: 

High school bands, American Legion units and firemen from ten nearby towns are expected to compete for $150 in cash prizes at the Fourth of July Victory Celebration here.

With arrangements nearly complete, the celebration committee devoted itself Monday to combing a list of eligibles for workers to staff stands and ticket booths. It is expected that 150 men and women will volunteer for four- and six-hour shifts.

Athletic events for children will be directed by Harold B. VonNieda, a local merchant and former high school coach. Cash prizes will be awarded winners.

Edward D. Fisher is general chairman of the event.

With more than 1,000 veterans back in civilian clothes in Potter County and ready for a long-deferred good time on native soil, sie of the crowd has at no time been a question mark. The big 'if' has been in the corraling of enought wieners, sugar, rolls and bead, soft drinks, ham, butter and other hard-to-get foodstuffs to meet the anticipated demand. Nearly one half ton of frankfurters has bee contracted for. hundreds of cases of soda pop are already warehoused here with more arriving almost daily. Receipts of candy, crackerjack and chewing gum for the celebration already exceed the limit set by the committee.

Prizes purchased for distribution at the affair total nearly $2,500. Given away at night will be an electric washer, electric mixer, toaster, butter, cartridges, nylon hosiery and two bicycles. According to present plans, more than 250 pairs of nylons will be distributed.

A troupe of performing monkeys is expected to be an outstanding attraction. 

Are you wondering how it went, that big celebration 80 summers ago in Mitchell Park? Here's how it was reported the next week:

A record throng, observing the first peacetime Independence Day  infive years last Thursday, attended the victory celebration at Coudersport.

Held under the auspices of the Coudersport Community Association Inc., the celebration marked not only the independence of the nation, but a big stride toward the civic group's declared goal  sufficient funds to erect a recreation hall and pavilion for the use of Potter Countians.*

Ideal weather helped attract the crowd which by early afternoon overflowed the park. Those who came later found queues at the refreshment stands and at the three rides. Food ran low as the day wore on. Cold cuts were served in hot dog buns after the supply of wieners was exhausted. But these troubles did not dampen the enthusiasum of the celebrants.

Winners of the various contests and prizes were detailed here:

* The Coudersport Community Association was successful in its fund raising goal though it took several more years to raise the $15,000 necessary to construct the Coudersport Community Building which opened in 1950. That building continues to serve the community as the Coudersport Public Library.

R-O-T-A-R-Y, That Spells Rotary!

This photograph was in my mother's collection, slightly yellowed and no writing on the back to tell the story. I recognized my grandfather on the right, and it's noticeable that he's wearing a hat that says Coudersport. Was it taken at a Consistory Reunion? Or perhaps one of the Newspaper Publishing Association conventions? 

I filed it away in the thick blue file where I have saved other photos of this man - this W.D. Fish - father of my mother.

When Coudersport Rotary celebrated its centennial in 2024, I came across a personal history my grandfather wrote to tell the story of the local club's founding. That story was written in 1967 when he was 91 and while he was an honored guest at the Rotary meeting when his story was told, he tapped family friend, Rev. Robert Merten, himself a Rotarian, to read it to the group.

Hidden in that newspaper account, came the clue I needed to solve the mystery behind this photo!

And today I was the one who had the privilege of sharing my grandfather's story with the Coudersport Rotary Club, still going strong 102 years later!

Here's a portion of his story: 

A Rotary seed found fertile soil in Coudersport in the summer of 1923. It fell but did not germinate until early in 1924. It then took root and quickly became a healthy plant, become more sturdy all the 43 years since. It has produced many splendid blossoms and much valuable fruit, and it is still in production to this day. 

The Yellow Bowl Tea Room stood on Main Street (where Citizens and Northern Bank is today).  This writer visited the tea room for lunch on a Thursday noon, publication day for the Enterprise. A stranger was seated at a table. 

A copy of the Potter Enterprise, hot off the printing press, was handed to the man and it resulted in a conversation. Always ready to give the town a bit of a boost, I told, among other interesting points, that the town was famous for its prominence in Masonic fraternal circles over a very wide area.

My newly-found friend stated he was not a Mason but he was a Rotarian. Never having heard of such an organization, I asked questions. He told of what Rotary did, especially for crippled children and I was much impressed.

Asked if a town of 3,000, like Coudersport, could have such a club, he admitted he did not know but the information would be available from the secretary of Rotary International in Chicago. A letter was written to Chicago and quickly came a reply with printed information, and a promise I would hear soon from Rock Boyce, secretary of the Wellsville Rotary Club, within 32 miles of Coudersport.

Action came quickly. Within two or three days in breezed a bright, keen young man with the announcement, “I am Rock Boyce, secretary of the Wellsville Rotary Club.”

It was reported in the newspaper under the headline “A Live Wire Visitor”

Rock Boyce of the Boyce Hardware Company of Wellsville was a business visitor in town Tuesday. Rock is not only a live wire in his business but he finds time to boost all projects that benefit his town and community. For instance, he is secretary of the Wellsville Rotary Club and while in Coudersport, he scattered a quantity of Rotary Germs that may mean such an institution for Coudersport.

There was a winter slack in progress but by the last of March, 1924, with the Rotary year then ending April 1, the Wellsville Rotary Officers were anxious to form the new club during their term of office. A dozen or more members of the club came to Coudersport and Coudersport Club was established on the last day of March. But what a trip that was! The hard-surfaced road from Wellsville came only as far as Stannards and the macadam from Coudersport extended only four miles north. The 25 miles between was a sea of mud. 

The convention of Rotary International was held in Toronto that year, 1924. Probably because of my activity in the organization in the local club, I was selected delegate. I joined the Wellsville delegation at Toronto. The charter for the Coudersport Club had just been granted and this made me the delegate youngest among the thousands.

The official photographer captured a picture of the oldest and the youngest delegates. The picture appeared in The Rotarian Magazine, giving Coudersport considerable publicity.

There's the answer behind this photo of my jaunty-looking grandfather! Today, thanks to the miracle of the internet, I was able to locate a digital copy of the August 1924 Rotarian with this very picture and explanation.

Blooming and Burning

The world is both burning and blooming. That was part of the prompt for a recent session of Voices Rising, an online community where I gather with a small group to explore with my words the anger, grief and fire of these urgent times. In those 12 minutes, I composed much of this and later refined my thoughts as a Baltimore oriole perched on a dead branch at the top of the birch tree, catching the sun and sending his song out into the world.

The world is on fire and I feel chilled. That kind of chill that brings shivers from deep within, I struggle to find warmth. The world is on fire and I'm cold. Freezing cold, chilled to the bone, cold in my soul, cold to my community, cold to myself.

They call it dissociation, those wise people who can sometimes help the rest of us find our way. Defined as experiencing a loss of connection between thoughts, memories, feelings, surroundings, behavior, identity - that's dissociation.

Dissociation – closing my eyes and ears and singing "La, la, la, la" at the top of my lungs. But still I can't wish it away. Dissociation – the world is on fire and we avoid the fire, avoid learning of the latest assault on humanity unleashed by that sad excuse for a human who was handed the Presidency through a well-planned and executed campaign of lies, deceit and fraud. And then, it happened again, the campaign for the hearts and minds of Americans even more carefully planned and executed so he could grab and amass even more power, in ever more sinister and corrupt ways.

The man who called President Biden "Sleepy Joe" now nods off soon after his ample rear end is lowered thunderously into the gilded chair in the gilded office. Surrounded by his yes-men, and yes-women who court favor by praising his name (like some evangelical Christians praising the name of Jesus). Those people opening their mouths to repeat the best-selling, well-rehearsed talking points. It's at a point where it would be a comedy skit if it weren't frighteningly and chillingly real.

The man who called into question President Biden's mental acuity, himself not able to put together a coherent string of thoughts. Instead of focusing on how he can govern and lead the country with its three branches of government, he instead focuses on revenge and retribution. He's said he doesn't care about inflation, about the prices we all have to pay to fund his wars - but didn't he promise no more wars? Meanwhile, his family coffers grow and grow as nations and corporations and the worst among us "pay to play" with Donny and his blood-sucking minions.

The world is on fire and we're coerced into joining the celebration of this corpse of a human's birthday. What a celebration - watching people beating one another to pulp in a bizarre structure erected amid the marble and granite memorials in our nation's capital expressly to remind us of the accomplishments and sacrifices of the best of us. This man, this President, is the worst of us.

The United States of America is our nation, belonging to each of us, we were told as schoolchildren. We, the bright-eyed youngsters, dressed in our new clothes for the first day of school, pledging allegiance to the flag for the first time in first grade, so proud? And the lucky kid who held the flag as we said those words, turning to reverently replace it on the little hook at the corner of the blackboard.

I wasn't chilly then. Then, looking up to the office of President. "I Like Ike" we said and my people did like Ike, especially my father who flew bombing missions as a tailgunner in World War II. And later, my people voted for Nixon, though I wonder if my mother quietly filled in the square next to the name of John Fitzgerald Kennedy. Looking up to and trusting the rest of the Presidents who came later, some good, some bad, some who earned our votes and others who did not. But, in my lifetime, none like this man elected on the strength of hate, grabbing power by manipulating emotions.

I need more reminders of the blooming, not the burning. I see the oriole in the tree, and images of my faraway grandchildren exploring their 21st century worlds with delight, and this morning the sound of Arthur singing and playing the piano downstairs. And with those reminders, I can believe there will be an end to this man's madness, his cruelty, his utter lack of regard for anything that is true and good. And I can believe that once more, we will claim that truth and goodness.

The World Is Both Burning and Blooming

by Karen Salmonsohn

You get the bad news

and the sunrise in the same day.

You cry over the headlines,

then you laugh at a baby

wearing a hat shaped like a bear.

This is the dual citizenship

of being alive.

Rage and reverence,

Grief and grace.

You are allowed to feel both.

You are allowed to scream,

and still notice how good the soup is.

You don’t have to choose.

Let it all in.

Founder's Day

It was in 1876 on this date that a baby was born in Coudersport who would change the fortune of Potter County for generations to come. He was Charles Cole, benefactor of the fine hospital that still bears a shadow of his name, today known UPMC Cole.

My newspaperman grandfather wrote of his friend and contemporary Mr. Cole: "Charlie Cole, a Coudersport boy not so many years ago, made a fabulous fortune. He left it to the town and county where he first saw the light of day. Golly is delighted that Charles Cole hung onto his pennies, nickels and dimes until at the time of his passing, his fortune was maybe ten million dollars. He had seen much in his life but always he loved his home town and county. He proved it when he left his great wealth to restore health and preserve the lives of Potter Countians."

There are many stories told about this Potter County hero - Charles Cole. He made his fortune at IBM and accumulated enough wealth to retire back to Potter County in the 1920s, still a young man.

Mary Domaleski wrote in a biography of Mr. Cole, published in The Potter Enterprise for the new hospital's dedication: "Charles Cole was a retiring man, a mystery man, reluctant to reveal to the public his many philanthropic deeds to indigent friends or strangers. He loved to fish and to hunt and spent any hours in his camp near the Wingerter farm at Cross Fork. He named it Daniel Boone Camp for it was presumed that it was constructed on a trail that Daniel Boone once traveled. It was on his many trips through the Potter County countryside that he became keenly aware of the destitute, the desolate, andt he distance they had to travel for medical aid and comfort. He felt this neglect must be overcome." 

Mr. Cole's will made provisions for the bulk of his estate (some estimates say as much as $9 million) to fund the construction of a hospital upon the death of his widow. Mrs. Cole was persuaded that the community deserved the hospital her husband had endowed sooner rather than later and the fine, sprawling Charles Cole Memorial Hospital opened in the fall of 1967.

Mrs. Cole remarked during the dedication: "It is a joy seeing the fulfillment of the dream of my late husband. Today Charlie's dream is a reality, a reality that demonstrates one man's concern for the welfare of his brothers, and is a reminder of those words of grace, 'May God bless us and make us mindful of the needs of others'." 

A former co-worker at Charles Cole Memorial Hospital messaged me this morning to remind me that today is the day we annually celebrated as Founder's Day. Mr. Cole's birthday celebration included refreshments, prepared by the Hospital's Dietary Department and served by volunteers from the active Hospital Auxiliary. Mr. Cole's widow, Edith Pinney Cole Leonard Irwin, would be front and center as special guest, greeted by Hospital Administrators and staff and the community.

I stopped by UPMC Cole this afternoon, wondering if perhaps I would happen upon a Founder's Day celebration in progress but the only sign of Charles Cole was a large oil portrait hanging in the lobby of the hospital and its predecessor, a smaller version of the painting, unearthed a few years ago, and hung in the hallway where donors are recognized. And this plaque, hung during my time as Public Relations Director at our fine community hospital. 

The Golly's Folly Sign

Writing practice - a la Natalie Goldberg - harnesses stream of consciousness and when in practice, I'm letting my brain travel where it will, finding the words and then moving them through the mechanics of handwriting onto the notebook page. It's then I remember some random snippets from a long-ago childhood. And such it is with "Snuffy" Smith and the Shirey family and the Golly's Folly sign.

It's at the top of mind this month because Mrs. Shirey (I simply cannot bring myself to call her by her first name - Edith or even Edie) is soon to be celebrating her 100th birthday and the family is planning a card shower as part of the celebration. It's the Shireys' oldest son, Thomas Tucker Shirey, who went all through school with me and just a few years ago sat on my back porch and reminisced about all things childhood - as we tend to do when celebrating the 55 years since high school graduation.

Tommy Shirey could spin a good story, a story good enough to keep his classmates entertained and enthralled. Even the teachers were tolerant of his storytelling. Tommy's stories were long and sometimes convoluted and often involved tales of his little brother, Herbie, and someone called Snuffy Smith. 

For the longest time, I thought Tom's Snuffy was the person, the cartoon character on the comics page of my parents' Buffalo Evening News. But it turns out that "Snuffy" was the nickname of Mr. Shirey's childhood chum and he and his family were frequent visitors to the Shirey home.

But it all became somewhat more clear to me when this sign appeared on the back porch of our family camp. To this eight-year-old, it was bright and cheerful hanging over the flagstone porch, painted by "Snuffy" Smith.

From an article in The Potter Enterprise, September 1958

Bill Smith ("Snuffy), Freedom, Pa., paid a call to Golly Saturday afternoon. He was accompanied by his brother, Jack, and Bob Butcher, Conway, Pa. The trio was guided by "Buzz" Shirey.

What a quartet that made!

"Snuffy" is an Enterprise reader and a Golly fan. And what do you know –

He brought to Golly a sign to be erected at Folly in the Nine Mile. It is a work of art!

Now he has Golly away out in deep water. How is Golly going to even scores? The answer to that one is going to cause this old timer to do some thinking – and doing.

Golly tried in his feeble way to express to "Snuffy" his thanks. Since the donor had never even seen Folly, we took a run over to get a quick look at the little woods abode, a glance at the tiny lake and a snort from the gushing spring of pure cold water, regretful that time was so limited. "Snuffy" pointed to the exact spot where the splendid sign should be erected and that is where it will be.

Wonder what better we could do than broil a thick juicy steak over charcoal and serve plenty of good coffee brewed in an old tin can, to "Snuffy!" –

And his brother, his friend and even to "Buzz" Shirey. 

From 1959 - 

"Snuffy" Smith of Freedom, Pa., accompanied by our own Buzz Shirey - they were boyhood friends – invaded the Nine Mile wilds Friday to extend a greeting.

"Snuffy" is an artist in the making of signs, and late last summer he brought a unique sign to be erected at Golly's Folly. We were so choice of it that we waited until this summer to erect it. That saved a long hard winter's toll of rain, sleet, snow and ice. He may have been checking up to learn if it was erected in the proper place and was plumb, level and square – or words to that effect.

However, we like to think he came to extend a friendly greeting, and right welcome were both callers.

The hired girl served coffee and Golly served sparkling spring water without sulphur flavor, and as a trio, we smoked the pipe of peace on the cottage porch.

That's the story of the Golly's Folly sign as I know it. Here's a printed piece of paper I unearthed from among my mother's things. That's my grandfather on the back porch, watching over the antics of two boys at the pond. I assume they're my cousins, Bill Fish III and Fred for it was likely a photo taken by Uncle Bill Fish but look closely to observe the sign in its "proper place."

A Shelter In The Woods

I've come across so many, many evocative stories my grandfather told about his 'shack in the woods' along the Nine Mile in Potter County. It was this piece, written in 1965 just after the camp had been sold, that sent me, again last week to that spot he so loved. And he sent me a couple of messengers to welcome my arrival on that sunny Sunday afternoon - two little chipmunks scampered in front of me as I made my way down the path, a special something tucked under my arm. (Read about his chipmunks here.)

Golly's Folly, aged 35 years, passed away Saturday. During its existence there were many joyous events, many happy gatherings of family and friends, some petty annoyances and one tragic conflagration that destroyed the original hideaway in the Nine Mile woodland, too the lives of two keen young men, and seriously burned two others. The fire occurred April 15, 1954.

Golly has striven for 11 years to erase that sad tragedy from his mind and Time has mercifully given its assistance.

The date of the lease of the land on which the original building was erected was April 23, 1930. That was a joyous day and every hour that could be spent away from duties of producing the Enterprise each week, was spent in clearing a spot in the woods, near a marvelous gushing spring of pure and almost ice-cold water, to erect a shelter.

Money was lacking to hire help and it was a case of do-it-yourself. There was the cutting of trees and the digging stumps with pickaxe, shovel and crowbar to clear a spot for the 16 x 24 camp.

A foundation was dug for a fireplace. When eventually a stone mason appeared to build the fireplace he hesitated about erecting one on a foundation he had not built, fearful it might not sustain the tons and tons of stone and brick. It stands today, true and level.

The brick for the chimney was from paving brick. It was at the time of Coudersport building a new bridge over the river on Second Street. The brick pavement was torn up 200 feet or more on either side of the new bridge and there was so much brick the borough did not know what to do with it. It was given away.

Golly paid only for hauling the brick to the cabin site and there it is still in service. It was surely a lucky break and it held down costs.

Lumber, much less expensive than at present, came from the mill of the Gray Chemical Company at Roulette. The late Monta C. Burt headed that industry. He was a good friend of Golly and made prices as low as possible. Cherry lumber was priced the same as hemlock.

Roofing and nails came from Taubert's Hardware, and the late James R. Taubert, another good friend, made prices reasonable as well as extending credit.

It was necessary to hire a carpenter to build door and window frames, but outside of this and mason work, it was amateur building all through.

How happy we were, before winter, to have the place enclosed and useable, and cheering flames heating and lighting it!

Having worked on a close budget, estimated at $500, we were again happy that we had exceeded that amount by only about $20. However for years there was the work of grading the grounds and seeding, planting evergreen trees – that deer destroyed – and scores of other jobs.

There were scores of parties – some mixed and some for men only – all happy gatherings.

Finally came a time when we envisioned a miniature lake. It was but a dream at first, but the dream eventually came true. It adds to the joy of living in the woods, to observc a wood duck or a beaver there, or a deer walking daintily to the small body of water for a drink, or to watch a kingfisher dive for a minnow or listen to a chorus of spring peepers trilling their mating song. The lake cost money and hours and hours of labor but is has been worth all of it.

When that sad day in April 1954 came, much was destroyed but the big chimney marked the spot, the lake was still there, and the wonderful spring was sending forth its ever-flowing cold water.

Golly pondered.

The small insurance was promptly paid but was only a pittance toward erecting a new building. The debris left was an awesome mess and building costs had doubled since 1930.

It was decided to rebuild, and with willing helpers of the family, the work was finally completed. It cost plenty but a much better building resulted.

But old relentless time has taken its toll and Golly is no longer able to spend time at Folly. It was decided to sell.

Saturday the deal was completed. There is no longer a Golly's Folly. Just as we had no further use for the sign, "Golly's Folly," it disappeared. A vandal evidently wanted it to add to his other tokens of thievery.

It was not easy to hand over the key in exchange for the good-sized check, but it was done. Now Golly must be content with the memories – wonderful memories – of 35 years of his folly in building a shelter in the woods.

It was the sign story that caught my eye for whether it was taken by a well-meaning family member or friend or indeed by a thief who had second thoughts about being such a scoundrel, I have no idea. I only know that it's in my possession now, given to me by my brother Tim who had been charged with its safekeeping. The paint's faded and chipping but I carried it with me to the Nine Mile on Sunday afternoon, and for just a brief moment, it rested there on the back porch, just below the spot where it hung for so many years.

And speaking of the sign, I have the story of the sign to tell in a future blog post.

Adams Confectionery

 

Have you ever looked up at the three-story building in the middle of the Main Street block between Second and Third Streets? There in letters long faded by decades of sun and rain, you can read "Adams Confectionery."

A friend who has stood on Main Street in recent weeks holding signs for the various demonstrations against the atrocities being visited upon our nation by the Trump administration. asked me, a long time Couderean, if it had been a candy factory. And so began the quest.

The story begins with one John Adams who is listed here in this story from 1916 as being from the "Greek-American Store."

Here's more about Mr. Adams' Greek-American Store in an advertisement from 1917. And notice the location at the corner of Main and First Streets. I am thinking that would put it at the site of the present-day Coudersport Pharmacy.

Later in the same year, Mr. Adams was adding a metropolitan appearance to his Greek-American store.

In 1923, we're introduced to a new location for the Palace of Sweets.

And finally, here is Adams' Confectionery (late 1923)

Mr. Adams' success was short-lived, however as the following notice appeared in early 1924.

It didn't take long for someone else to re-open Candyland but after this article in 1924, the trail goes cold.

And as for Mr. Adams, here's a mention of him from 1936 though it seems the reporter was not sure if it was the same John P. Adams?