Newsprint

The blog post (posted on my blog here) began like this:

This morning, on Facebook - today's substandard substitute for a morning newspaper on your doorstep - these words appeared on a glowing screen, such a far cry from the crackling newsprint of old.

"Smile on, good friends, smile on in spite of it all, for your smile is a sign to others, a life not beaten down, a hope still resilient, a love at work, your smile speaks all that and more, so smile on, in your courage and conviction, smile today that others may smile tomorrow." -- from the writing of Bishop Steven Charleston

But then, my months of writing practice took me here:

Newsprint - does anyone even know about newsprint anymore?

Newsprint, not quite white, not tan, more on the yellowy side, the color of the wood from whence it came. I wonder if there's a Sherwin Williams color swatch named newsprint?

Newsprint, hefty enough to accept ink on both sides but flimsy too. 

Olfactory like so many memories, it's dry, dusty, absorbing not just the ink but the smokiness of the print shop. Cigarette smoke, the lead pots, and the gritty stuff that sat next to the sink to clean inkstained hands.

Newsprint in heavy rolls arrived in the alley that ran next to rambling old newspaper building on a big truck, likely from Hammermill or International Paper, but all who could remember that are gone now.

Those days the newspaper was printed in house, the huge machine taking up much of that rambling building. When there wasn't enough paper on the roll to handle the press run, the end rolls were pulled off and used for other purposes.

Of course, in a print shop, every scrap of paper was used in some way. It was recycling before it was a thing. Trimmings from printing jobs made into notepads, sold at the counter for a dime. Jobs that were mis-printed still had one good side for copy paper or in-house notepads.

And so it was with the newsprint end rolls, cut into 8 1/2 x 11 size for copy paper, used by the reporters who fed it into trusty Underwood typewriters on their scarred desktops.

Cut to size for the proof press - for those long strips delivered to the proofreader to read and mark up for correction.

End rolls were also offered up for sale, popular with churches for table coverings, and with Scout leaders for paper crafts. Sometimes our bulky Christmas gifts were wrapped in newsprint. 

And the old man who sat at the big rolltop desk wrote copy in his distinctive script with a thick-leaded pencil on newsprint.

Some of those pages, brittle, yellowed, some chewed by silverfish or mice, are with me now. And I've set my computer to the typewriter font  - Courier - as words, his words, glow on the screen.

 

 

Loose Boards

This morning, on Facebook - today's substandard substitute for a morning newspaper on your doorstep - these words appeared on a glowing screen, such a far cry from the crackling newsprint of old.

"Smile on, good friends, smile on in spite of it all, for your smile is a sign to others, a life not beaten down, a hope still resilient, a love at work, your smile speaks all that and more, so smile on, in your courage and conviction, smile today that others may smile tomorrow."* 

And there it was again, what wise writer friend Jeannette Buck described as the loose board of grief. Cue Bugs Bunny warning his fellow Looney Tunes compatriots of that board only to make one mis-step - SMACK!!!

I miss her.

Above is the post I intended to write - the post that came to mind when I read Steven Charleston's morning inspiration, celebrating the smile that defined my mother. 

And I began and finished but here's where my wild mind took off - that writing mind that I've been training in years (gulp!!) of writing practice.

This morning, on Facebook - today's substandard substitute for a morning newspaper on your doorstep - these words appeared on a glowing screen, such a far cry from the crackling newsprint of old.

Newsprint - does anyone even know about newsprint anymore?

.... you're going to have to wait a bit to read where my wild mind went!

Hands Off!

I stood by the side of busy Historic Route 66, raising my Hands Off Public Lands sign, and watched as a Hummer lumbered by, a hand raised with the middle finger out the open window. The crowd flashed peace signs back. The woman leaning on her walker next to me muttered "That man flipped us off. First I've seen today. What an asshole!" And the cars streamed by, horns blaring, people cheering, flags of all stripes and colors waving in the breeze. And I felt hope.

Did a double take when I saw this guy
and then asked him for a photo capture!

A passionate American veteran

Some even pulled familiar
hats out of the mothballs!

... and there's this plaintive one
that really hits home for me

There were quite a few of
these signs ... and I thought of
my mother and her memories of 1939 Germany
as a cautionary tale for 2024

Denton Hill State Park

from 2021

From Potter Enterprise, 1959

The magnificent lodge that served skiers  during the heyday of Denton Hill State Park will be the setting for Potter County Creative Council's first concert of 2025. 

Denton Hill State Park was a big deal for Potter County from its inception until it was shuttered in 2014. W.D. Fish shared this in his weekly newspaper column in 1960:

Times change – and how!

The song of the cross-cut saw and the singing sound of the axe in the hands of the lumbermen may still echo very faintly in the Nine Mile Valley.

If they do, they were lost entirely over the weekend by the laughter and happy shouts of the gaily clad skiers who came to Denton Hill State Park.

Golly wonders what may have been the reaction of the late Harve Root, Bill Hart and Bill Phelps could they have seen in their lumbering days what is transpiring in the Nine Mile in 1960.

The lumber camps are gone. There are left but slight traces of the log railroad that took the hemlock logs out of the valley to the huge sawmills at Galeton. Where lumbermen left only barren mountains, burned and blackened over after the timber was removed, the mountainsides have reforested themselves.

Deer in numbers and occasionally a black bear are at home in the woods once more; song birds are plentiful in season and bees hum and gather honey from the flowers. Newcomers to the deep valley amid the lofty hills are beavers and wild turkeys and the not-overly-welcome opossum.

Instead of crews peeling bark, cutting logs, and men with teams hauling them to the landings, Gobbler's Knob now looks down upon a joyous scene of gaiety. A ribbon of concrete replaces the old dirt trail, traveled only by horses or men on food in the days before the advent of the 'horseless carriage' or the 'benzine buggy'.

Progress – How dreary life would be without progress.

And here we are in 2025 sharing the vision of the folks breathing new life into the old park (Denton Go LLC). This from their website.

At Denton Go, we envision transforming Denton Hill State Park into a premier year-round destination for outdoor enthusiasts. By enhancing multi-use trail development and access, improving the lodge, and revitalizing the downhill skiing infrastructure, we aim to offer diverse recreational opportunities that cater to both residents and visitors. Our commitment to fostering four-season activities is designed to not only enrich the park's natural beauty but also to stimulate the local economy, supporting nearby communities and businesses in the Pennsylvania Wilds region. Our team, deeply rooted in the local area, brings extensive expertise in business, mountain recreation, and hospitality to ensure a vibrant and sustainable future for Denton Hill State Park.

My grandfather and I share more about Denton Hill State Park in this blog post from 2021.

April Fool

The First of April

What, Spring! With a day like this?
With air so damp, so cold, so raw;
With snow in sight, and ice
On ponds so slow to thaw?

It snows, it blows, it rains.
What garden can be made?
Yet I sit and wait, perchance,
With seed and hoe and spade.

A robin in the cherry tree
Just sits with drooping wing,
He stares at me and chirps
In plaintive tones for spring.

So with the ground too wet
And with the air so cool,
We know that it's not spring
It's only, only– April Fool.

by Eli Bartoo, published in The Potter Enterprise, 1964

Slim Croyle & His Deer

This from W.D. Fish's Golly column in 1960:

Preston Croyle came in from Laurel Bottom Friday to the capital city of the Black Forest, and while here he dropped in at the Enterprise sanctum.

Laurel Bottom? You don't know the location of Laurel Bottom?

O.K. It is midway between Ole Bull State Park and Cross Fork on picturesque Kettle Creek.

Mr. Croyle is a nature lover. He is feeding a herd of deer as Golly feeds the birds, and just about as many. It might be said, however, that a deer eats more than the most ravenous Grosbeak.

During Golly's sojourn at Cross Fork – 1902-1906 – Ira Kinney, a Civil War soldier, resided in a small house at Laurel Bottom. Ira had gathered such metal as roofing and steel ceiling from the ruins of a fire at Cross Fork and covered the abode. He dubbed his house – or someone else did – 'The Tin House'. The name, Laurel Bottom, came from the dense growth of Mountain Laurel that grew in the narrow valley.

Quite naturally, the scene has changed in a half century... 

Friendly Deer In Potter County
Visitors to Potter County who can't find deer just haven't been looking in the right place!
Each day a few miles above Cross Fork between 80 and 100 deer turn out for their rations
of corn from sportsman Preston "Slim" Croyle. The deer come when Croyle
blows a whistle announcing feeding time. Some will take the corn right out of his hands;
others stand back and let it be tossed to them. But one, Teeny,
doesn't mind giving Croyle a smooch for an ear of the good golden stuff.
Croyle reports that Teeny has shown up year after year– nine times with a set of twins.
From Potter Enterprise, 1964

How many of us made the trip down the Pike to watch Mr. Croyle feed his deer in the 1960s? Locals and tourists alike lined the sides of the road (Rt. 144) night after night to watch the spectacle. And, of course, the pages of The Potter Enterprise were filled with stories of the deer and the watchers and Mr. and Mrs. Croyle and their Laurel Bottom deer feeding project. 

From May 1964:

Television cameras from the Lancaster station were here Sunday night to photograph deer feeding at Slim Croyle's place in Cross Fork. The pictures and accompanying sound track taken here are for a Saturday evening sports program mc'd by Harry Adelman.

Mr. Croyle said one of the scenes taken was that of Dolly, one of last year's fawns, who places a hoof in Slim's hand when asked, before she is fed.

August 1964,  from the Mills (Pa.) Correspondent

Twelve members of the Mills Youth Choir, accompanied by Miss Gladys Swetland, director, Mrs. Beverly Hess, Miss Kay Cole and Miss Edna Nelson, enjoyed a picnic at Ole Bull State Park Wednesday. After swimming and picnicking the group visited the Preston Croyle farm and watched the feeding of the wild deer. A climb to the top of the fire tower near Cherry Springs completed the day's outing.

Golly, January 1964:

Deer pictures– The Enterprise has published scores of 'em in the last few weeks but most of them were of dead deer. But last week there was a deer picture liked best of all by Golly – live deer!

More than 30 of the animals were shown in a picture with Slim Croyle, who makes it his business to feed and pamper the herd, three or four miles above Cross Fork on Kettle Creek. The count each day runs from 75 to 100 of the fleet-footed quadrupeds. Wonderful is the Black Forest!

From Del Kerr's pen, 1969

If anyone travels through Potter County and fails to visit Slim Croyle's deer feeding station, located between Ole Bull State Park and Cross Fork on Rt. 44, they have missed a real experience. Near six o'clock each evening, at the sound of a whistle, wild deer come down from the hills to frolic around Slim like calves in a barnyard.

We stopped to talk with the famous deer man Sunday evening. More than 20 deer were already milling around the grounds awaiting the nightly handout. Several deer were standing at the long line of tourists taking corn from the hands of children.

These are not tame deer. They will flee from the sight of man anywhere except the feeding station grounds.

It all started many years ago when Slim rescued several deer which had been stranded in deep snow and were near death. He placed the animals in his barn and brought them back to good health through careful feeding. After release to the wild, the deer scampered off, only to return at feeding time.

Each evening the deer would return. One day two fawns appeared with the does and quickly joined in for feed. Before long, Slim was feeding a whole herd of deer. He has had as many as 150 deer at one time.

Slim has the uncanny ability to walk among the animals. Some even take bread from his mouth. A few of the animals stand on their hind legs at his command, some reward him with a kiss. Most, however, depart for the woods as soon as the grain is finished.

The deer man has names for most of the animals and can tell them apart at a fair distance. "That's ol' Red's youngest" Slim said pointing to a yearling. "He's coming along in good shape." He walked over, waited for the animal to stand its full length in salute, then gave it a piece of bread.

All feed is paid through donations. "It cost $15 a week to keep the squirrels going last winter when the mast crop failed," he said. Then there is Elmer the chipmunk, the family of young raccoons, and a host of other animals that have found a friend in Slim. And all come for dinner!

Slim Croyle lost his wife in 1961 and ran into some legal difficulties as a bold hunter attempted to hunt near his property, which bordered State Forest, and fisticuffs ensued. Mr. Croyle died in 1974 after a long illness. Snippets from the Cross Fork news column penned by Harry Kinney give a glimpse of his sad final months.

June 1974: I stopped to see old Bill (Lehman) at the Black Forest Trading Post and Deer Park. He sure is making a mint with his crackers that he sells to tourists to feed the deer. Slim Croyle should have taken a lesson from Bill and sold crackers to feed his deer.  Poor old Slim. He is broke and sick int eh Veterans Hospital at Altoona and his deer miss him bad.

July 1974: I was up to see Slim Croyle tonight and I would say he needs help and quick. There are people that don't like Slim and there are people that don't like me too. You can't please everybody and don't try it. Slim has made a lot of little kids happy with his deer feeding and there have been thousands of pictures taken of him and kids. If Slim doesn't get help soon it will be too late. Let's see what the public will do for old Slim. Slim is feeding two dogs and I don't think he is feeding himself.

From the obituary ...

"Slim Croyle made friends of the deer in the woods near his home, and they would respond when he called them by name and come out into the fields to greet him. His fame as a deer caller attracted thousands of visitors to the area. A registry book he kept contained the names of visitors from most states and many foreign countries.

A few years ago he received an award from the Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Animals as Pennsylvania Humanitarian of the Year."

Appreciating Public Lands

From 1923

I grew up in a family that appreciated the outdoors. From my grandfather's beloved 'Golly's Folly' to spur-of-the-moment family picnics at Patterson Park to hiking, fishing and even hunting, we were outdoors often. And because we made do with few resources, the state parks and state forest land - free for all - were a haven.

In Potter County, we are fortunate to have many acres of public land to enjoy. Here are a few old newspaper clippings that detail how some of that happened.

From The Potter Enterprise, 1929
Attributed to State Senator Frank Baldwin*:

"The State should purchase all desirable cutover and waste lands for forestry purposes ... I believe that the waste lands of Pennsylvania will become reforested if fires are kept out, and I am strongly in favor of the department planting forest seedlings where natural reproduction is impossible. The state should lead the way in forest tree planting.

"There is another subject I would like to emphasize, the building of more forest forest roads and trails. While it is possible for the people of Pennsylvania to enjoy the beauties of scenic spots which are visible along the state highways, it is difficult for them to get off the beaten path and see the wonderful views that have not been made available due to lack of access. Foest roads and trails will bring more people into the forest and get them acquainted with the purposes of forestry. They will also be of great value for fire protection."

From The Potter Enterprise, 1930

The people of Pennsylvania now own approximately 1,500,000 acres of State Forest Land administered in their interests by the Commonwealth through the Department of Forests and Waters. In addition to the idea of building up thrifty forests on these once lumbered and burned-over lands, and thereby perpetuating a timber supply and protecting the streams of the Commonwealth, the intention was that they would serve the people as health-promoting environments and centers of outdoor recreation. From the very beginning of the forestry movement in Pennsylvania, wholesome recreation was recognized as a major objective in a well- balanced program of administration. 

The marked trend toward enjoyment of the open spaces has been significant since the development of the automobile, and with cars at the disposal of practically everyone today, the number of forest visitors has increased rapidly. That the State-owned forests alone should be the objects of more than a million and a half visits annually attests to their wide appeal, assert officials of the department.

from Senator Baldwin in 1929 concluding:

"I may say that the state forests of Pennsylvania are one of the best investments the state has ever made, and will be more so as time goes on..."

*Senator Baldwin, who claimed Austin as his home, served in the Pennsylvania Senate for 20 years and was Pennsylvania Auditor General for four years.

From the 1920s photo collection of W.D. "Golly" Fish