SEPTEMBER 11 - SEPTEMBER 17, 1999
SEPTEMBER 17, 1999
More about the Mayor's race
Good morning at 5:25 A.M. It is 43.5 degrees outside and it seems that the rain has
moved on. Good bye Floyd!
Really, for those of us who depend on wells for our water, Floyd was a welcome guest
yesterday. It started raining about eight yesterday morning and kept it up into the
evening. It has been a long time since we've had an all day rain. I kind of enjoyed it.
On to the stupidity that seems to be running rampant, this Bradford Mayor thing just
won't go away. For those of you who are confused, join the club! Tom Clark, not Tom Shay,
wrote to clarify his platform.
OK, perhaps my Gorilla Suit idea is a little extreme. But the rampant ignorance of
the 12 Items Or Less law is something that I would adamantly address if I were Mayor. If
we allow the people to continually ignore this law, what is next? The No Shirt, No Shoes,
No Service ordinance will certainly be treated with indifference, as will the No Canadian
Quarters in pop machines law. Give them an inch, they'll take a mile, and I'm going to nip
it in the bud (not you, Bud) before it gets out of hand. If I am elected over Gizmo, I
plan on appointing him as the Minister Of Noogies.
Now Gizmo is not taking kindly to this person he has referred to as an
"interloper" entering the campaign. I found him at the Bradford Hotel last night
and he had a few choice words for Mr. Clark.
"Tom Clark. Tom Shay. They're both the same to me. More about nothing! They
don't stand for anything. More rules. More regulations. What happened to the American
Dream? Who says you have to work? The Federal Government depends on people like me who sit
around all day and think of great ideas. Where would the soap operas be without us out
here watching them? Look at the industries we support with our lack of activity. It's time
that we were represented by one of our own. I've been preparing for this all my life. Now
is the time."
I asked him about the back lash from the working voters.
"Back lash my rear end!" he said. "Those people don't have time to
worry about politics. They're too busy working to earn the money to pay the taxes that
support people like me. They vote for familiar names that the newspapers support. That's
why this country is in the state that it is. They aren't informed. In fact," he said.
"They are ignorant about the qualifications of the people they elect."
Billy Peckham, the great Irish tenor, and the finest Police Chief in the history of
Bradford, PA, if not the entire Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, tended to agree with Gizmo.
"I'm telling you, Brother Beck," he told me. "This Gizmo movement
has real potential. I see the welfare people uniting behind him. They are a powerful
political block. There's no telling where this could lead."
"What about TC?" I asked him.
"Tommy's a good enough guy," he said. "He has potential as a mayor. But
this isn't his year. The people will get behind Gizmo just like they did Connie four years
ago."
"And Tom Shay?" I asked.
"That's that Lee Ann, woman's doing," he said. "She's jealous that
Michelle can get away with wearing her hair short. It's a woman thing. Nip, nip, nip.
Really, she should get over it. Backing Tom Shay will be a joke. She should be supporting
Michelle, building the bridges back that she burned, and uniting against this Gizmo guy.
He poses a real threat."
I was able to reach a former Mayor at home. Arvid "Boss" Nelson made a few
comments about the situation that was developing.
"Personally, Harold," he told me. "I don't see why anyone would ever
want to be Mayor. You can't get anything done. As long as Ray McMahon has that lifetime
contract with the city, he is the true Mayor. He calls all the shots." He went on and
elaborated further:
"Gizmo, on the other hand, is an unknown quantity. He has that base appeal
that voters go for. It's a new message. He may be the ticket to finally break the strangle
hold that McMahon has on the city and the entire Tuna Valley. If he comes out and hits at
McMahon head on, that may be the issue that he needs to propel him into City Hall. I don't
think the $5,000 he will make as Mayor will knock him off the welfare roles. It isn't
considered a full time job. Why would it be?" he asked.
Then a local political analyst had a comment on the matter. Toothless Tim cornered Tom
Clark on the street and had a few choice words.
"That all sounds great, Tom," he said.
"But why would you want to be king of Slum Town USA? Why not move back to the good
state. If you want to be mayor lets go to LIMESTONE the finest town in the USA. Any way
any where, I'm with ya Tommy, just like on Sundays at the ball field I never made a call
against you and never will. Keep up the good work with the Bud Beck, the greatest commish
ever to serve McKean County."
(Personally, I liked that part about me being the greatest commish ever to serve McKean
County. That's why it made it here.)
Then he added: "There isn't any projects in Limestone."
With less than 50 days to go until the election,
everyone is pretty quiet. With the exception of Gizmo and Tommy Clark, no one is saying
anything. What's up?
Your comments are welcome at rdhedbud@penn.com.
SEPTEMBER 16, 1999
More than a barrel of monkeys
Who has more fun than us? Good morning. It is 51.4 degrees at 5:28 A.M. And
really? Who has more fun than we do? I can't think of anyone. Look at what's going on over
at Bradford on-line. It started for me when Tom Clark, our weekend guest columnist
recently turned permanent staff writer, sent me this e-mail:
Check how my campaign is coming along. I introduced my slogan and announced my
platform tonight. Tom
I was at a loss. I thought that Tom was going to back Gizmo, one of the Y2k'ers who
came for the MutantBeach Fest and decided to stay. Evidently not. When I got on the local
message board http://bradford-online.com/forum/default.asp.
I found this:
I have officially launched my campaign for Mayor of the City of Bradford and chose
this forum to discuss the issues with my
constituents. I am still developing a platform but have a few ideas of how I would like to
improve our lives in Bradford. Please, I want and need your feedback. You are my people,
my homies, my blood. Yo...'sup? Here are my three major platform points;
1) Hold empty storefront landlords accountable for the unrented real estate on Main
Street. Monthly fines would encourage these
people to go out and find tenants. And not just another stinkin' Family Dollar General
store. Something that sells cool stuff. If the fine thing doesn't work, I will appoint a
Special Liaison to call landlords every morning at 3:00am and sing "It's A Small
World" in his best Chipmunk voice to these bastards.
2) Enforce the 12 Items Or Less lines at local grocery stores. This is a crime that is
under policed and growing like a weed.
Rewards will be offered to those who turn in offenders to the store manager. Punishment
will be expulsion from the line and the manager will be permitted to, in front of the
whole store, grab the offender by the neck and give him a good, hard noogie.
3) Make all people who are on Welfare wear gorilla suits in public. Give the town a little
"Planet Of The Apes" look.
My friends, the floor is yours.
Gorilla suits? Where did that come from? Really, I liked Tom's brother, Jerry's idea
better. It was the one where he wanted people on welfare to dress in black Amish garb and
drive horse drawn buggies so we could steal from Lancaster County as a tourist attraction.
But Gorilla suits? Would there be pockets in those suits? Where would they keep the bar
chips?
Anyway, there were responses to Tom's announcement.
Subject : "Out of the Dark with Clark" Author : Tracy Date : 09/15/99
8:51:27 PM Ok Tom, Since you answered the first question tonite with the appropriate
answer thus scoring 3 points, the next question is "who are you going to appoint to
give all these noogies??? That could be a full time job.."....
See what happens around here! Right away, just like the Alliance, there are those
people who want to get in on the action and are looking for jobs. Everyone wants a job
that pays a lot and has little if any responsibility. Then came the next one.
Subject : OUT OF THE DARK Author : Margie Date : 09/15/99 9:23:35 PM This
sounds suspiciously like amateur night at the Comedy Club ROFLMAO.
Now that's more like it. You can't take anything this guy says seriously. Can you? And
then she thought about it and said this:
Subject : OUT OF THE DARK Author : Margie Date : 09/15/99 9:27:12 PM Hey Tracy,
maybe when Tom wins{Yeah right} he can hire the " hardheaded Italian" to be
Captain Noogie??? Whatcha think??
That gave it away to me that this was a joke. (I hope.) We've already started printing
the Gizmo for Mayor signs.
Greg Henry is already figuring out a way to challenge Gizmo's residency as he feels
that Gizmo is a transient because he lives at the Bradford Hotel. (Little does Mr. Henry
realize that the Bradford Hotel is soon to become one of the finest addresses in town.
(Once the Bradford River Walk becomes a reality.) Dave Sheffer is already receiving calls
for room reservations from all over the nation. They are inquiring about the next Zippo
Swap Meet as well as MutantBeach Fest II.
If Tom is serious, I hope he addresses other issues besides people who are on
welfare. In the Year 2000 Census, they will become the Mayor's best friends. They, and
they alone, will be the difference between being The City of Bradford or Bradford
Borough.
That difference is significant!
A borough does not receive the various federal perks for police and fire
departments. A third class city does. The Y2K'ers are an important segment of the
population. Without them, Tom, you will be the Mayor of no city, just a borough. Think
about that the next time you want these fine additions to our population singled out and
dressed up in Gorilla suits! Think about it Tom! Think of the legal ramifications.
What if a prominent lawyer takes up his family member's cause and sues you? What
are you going to do then? What if Judge Cleland refuses to recuse himself from the case?
You'll be done for certain then. You need to think all these things through, Tom. Politics
is no place for "Loose Cannons." Heck, Tom. Even I know that!
Your comments are welcome at rdhedbud@penn.com.
SEPTEMBER 15, 1999
The Phone Call
Good morning. We are at that time of year when it becomes important to give you the
morning temperature. I will when it is significant. Today it is 39.7 degrees at 6:06 A.M.
Fall is on its way.
And as I write that our furnace came on. I've never written about my furnace before.
Maybe I should have. Maybe I should have paid it more attention. You see, on Sunday, it
nearly killed us.
I had been lethargic most of last week. Usually on cold mornings and they were about
half of the entire week. Saturday night the temperature dropped and the furnace ran more
than at any other time since May. We got up early and watched television. Sharyn started a
big pot of sauce from fresh picked tomatoes.
Then she started feeling sick. She laid down on the couch and asked me to cover her up.
I went in an took a shower and noticed that I was feeling dizzy. As I turned the water off
I could hear the furnace running. Sharyn sick plus me feeling dizzy equaled Carbon
Monoxide poisoning? It wasn't worth the chance.
I came out of the shower and began opening doors and windows. Sharyn wanted to know
what I was doing. I told her to get up and go to Value Home Center and buy Carbon Monoxide
detectors. (We had one several years ago but it malfunctioned and I never replaced it.)
Like most wives, she argued with me; but there was something in my voice that convinced
her that I might be on to something. In fact, I was.
A visual inspection of the furnace showed nothing. However, when I pulled of the vent
pipe I found what I feared.
This is a newer model furnace. It vents with PVC pipe. When we installed the furnace we
used an abandoned dryer vent to the outside. It seems a mouse found it and liked it well
enough to crawl inside and build itself a nest.
The nest was inside the pipe back in about two to three feet. The mouse did a good job.
The condensation from the furnace was held by the nest, turned into water and filled the
pipe. Nothing was escaping. When I pulled the pipe off, water, the nest, and the dead
mouse came out. (It was the Carbon Monoxide's first,and fortunately, the only victim.)
When Sharyn came home, she was feeling better already. I plugged in one of the two
detectors - an electric model that plugs into any electrical outlet - and it went into
alarm. Even after a full hour of venting, there was still enough (57 parts) to put the
detector into alarm. (200 parts is very serious and that is probably where we were.)
I left that one plugged in and I took the battery operated model and put it down by the
furnace. I want the earliest possible warning should this ever happen again.
I needed new parts for the vent so I went to town. Sean, one of the drivers on the
Harold T. Beck Racing Team, was working at Value and turned out to be a great help.
Thanks, Sean!
I ran into Dale and Tina Phillips there. I told them what happened. Dale, in an attempt
to put some levity into the situation, joked with me.
"I can see the headlines in The Bradford Era now," he said.
"County Commissioner Harold Beck murders family, then commits suicide."
As funny as it was, unfortunately, it wasn't. That's the kind of reporting I usually
get. They say I deserve it. I don't know.
Anyway, the furnace is working. We are warm on this chilly morning and the Carbon
Monoxide detectors are silent. No news is good news!
I've had a lot of fun writing about my Indian friends, Cornplanter and Red Jacket,
along with their welfare buddies who have come to town to help out the city for the year
2000 census. While it has been fun, apparently some people did not like what I said. Here
is some of the mail I got.
-Mr. Beck. Your portrayal of Native Americans as gamblers and drunks is
offensive. I also believe you are tarnishing the good names of heroes of the Iroquois
Peoples. I enjoy your Cornplanter Chronicles as far fetched as they are, but this new line
of writing is disgusting. Please stop.
-Mr. Beck. Many of us are on welfare not because we want to be, but because we
have to be. We have no choice in what was chosen for us. You should be more respectful. We
vote too and we will remember you on election day. We can forget you, too.
Then there was the phone call.
"Buddy!" the voice said to me as I answered the phone.
"Yes?" I answered.
"Sal here."
"Sal?" I asked not recognizing the voice.
"You wrote about me taking bets from an Indian named Red Jacket, today."
"Oh. Sal!" I said. "How are you?"
"I'm fine," he said. "But you won't be if you write about me again. How
would you like your fingers broke!"
I nearly corrected him. It should have been broken instead of broke, but I realized
that to begin with it wasn't a question. It was more of a statement of fact. I didn't get
a chance to answer one way or the other. I remembered Sal from the days back in
Pittsburgh.
"Don't do it again," he said. Then he asked me about my mother and my
brother. It was like old home week. We talked about high school and this one girl who we
both.....well, that's another story for another morning. Anyway I got the message.
Your comments are welcome at rdhedbud@penn.com.
SEPTEMBER 14, 1999
Monday night football at the Bradford Hotel
I had just finished a complete night of working on the re-election kickoff when I
decided to drop in on the crowd at the Bradford Hotel to see how they were doing. I had
forgotten that this was the first Monday night football game of the season. The place was
packed. I got there in time for the National Anthem.
Cornplanter and Red Jacket were there. They had seats at the bar right in front of the
television. Welfare Wes and Toothless Tim, along with Mattress Margie, Leslie the Leech,
and Gizmo were on either sides of them. Dave Sheffer and Billy Peckham, the great Irish
tenor and the finest Police Chief in the history of Bradford, PA, if not all of the great
northwest territory of Pennsylvania, were there, too, in their usual seats. The newest
residents of Bradford, the Y2K'ers, Gizmo's supporters for the Mayoral race, filled the
available tables.
I started my way to Sheffer and Peckham, stopping only to shake a hand or two, and
answer the usual round of questions. I made it as far as Gizmo. He stopped me when he
wanted to know about the Solid Waste Authority.
"What gives?" he asked. "This county owns its own garbage dump?
That's kind of neat!"
I tried to avoid the conversation. Everytime I talked about the damn place it
seemed that someone twisted my words to make it sound like I said something else. I really
wanted to watch the football game. But, I had to be polite. And who knows, Gizmo just
might pick up some following in Bradford and do something with his planned write in
campaign. Word had it that he was opening a Main Street Election Headquarters.
"It's neat," I said. "Just as long as you can trust the Authority to
manage the place and keep us out of debt. They've proven that they can't. We owe $15
million on the place and now they need to borrow more to stay in business. We run the most
expensive operation in the state and continue to lose money. The place is financially
unsound and the leadership on the Board has no regard for the law that gives them the
right to run the Authority."
I should have stopped there and continued to Sheffer and Peckham, but something
inside me wouldn't let me quit.
"Jim Weaver and I have tried to change the face of the board with people who
understand what it is to run a business. Larry Stratton has sided with the leadership of
the board. What should have been something that was cut and dry, a matter of whether it
works or doesn't, became a political issue. Why wouldn't it? We are at a point when
someone had better start asking the right questions."
"Like what?" Gizmo asked.
"Like where the candidates stand on raising taxes and how the county is going
to finance itself for the next four years."
"John Reetz said something like that."
"He sure did," I admitted. "And look at who fought to get him out of
the race. Including John in any debates among candidates would have thrown a monkey wrench
into the works. John would have raised the question of solvency and where we planned to
get the money to finance the most expensive court system in the state. John was more
dangerous than people realized."
It was at that point that Jose and Judi came in. Jose overheard what I said about
Reetz.
"That's why I signed the old man's petition. I wanted him to ask those
questions. I wanted to hear what the other people had to say. We always know where you
are. We know what you stand for. That's good. We know. We need to know about the
others."
There was a lot I wanted to say, but I didn't. It was at that point George Petrisek
came in. The place was getting pretty crowded and noisy as Miami began a long drive down
the field. Red Jacket was the loudest. He turned around and waved his hand in the air.
"I have Miami, tonight," he said. "Sonny told me to call Sal out at
the Rivera in Las Vegas. Sal told me Miami would win. I have all that I lost listening to
that bum in The Era bet on tonight's game."
"Which bum is that?" some one asked.
"Andrew Waterman," Red Jacket answered.
George breathed a sigh of relief. I could hear it when someone else added that Waterman
was a lawyer.
"That tells it all," Red Jacket said. "A lawyer! Who can trust a lawyer?
That's why I'm backing Cavallero with an e for District Judge over that cat hating hunter
hating member of the Bradford Area Alliance, Chris Hauser. A lawyer! That explains
it."
George asked me what I thought about the Dave Hickey matter. I professed ignorance.
I hadn't heard what went on at the Authority meeting. Before George could tell me, Gizmo
interrupted.
"Hickey to fight ouster from solid waste authority" should be tomorrow's
headline," Gizmo said. "I went to the meeting. I loved it. It got pretty hot
between Bob Cummins and that Falk guy. Falk is a real jerk."
"He's a school superintendent," someone said.
"That explains it," Welfare Wes said. "Look at Cheri O'Mara. She's a
kindergarten teacher who got her job because she brow beat her old man who was president
of the school board. Poor guy! She's as qualified to be a school superintendent as I am to
be a weight lifter with my bad back."
"That's a phony act," Toothless Tim said to his friend. "Every one
in this bar knows you are trying to collect compensation. Hell! I saw you pick up that
deer you poached the other morning and throw it in the trunk of the car. That had to weigh
at least a hundred pounds. Your bad back my rear end."
"That's right," George said. "He says he's going to file a
mandamus action to force them to have his seat."
"He should have done that a long time ago," I said. "Something has to be
done about Falk, Sees, Tiger, and Chapman, before they put the county into bankruptcy. The
Solid Waste Authority can break the whole county. This is a bad situation."
"Why are they fighting so hard?" George asked.
"Someone's getting paid off somewhere!" someone said from the crowd.
Whenever an argument like this started, someone always said something like that. I knew
it was just a matter of time, except that I had reason to believe that there was something
to it. I said nothing. I kept what I had to myself.
"What are you thinking?" George asked.
I must have smiled or something to give myself away. I didn't answer. I just shook my
head.
About that time Miami scored again and Red Jacket went wild. "That will teach me
to listen to The Era and a damn lawyer!" he screamed. "The boys, they
know!"
I had to leave. I knew where this was going. I never made it to Sheffer and Peckham. I
waved to them as I started back to the door.
Miami beat Denver. Red Jacket won his bad bets back. Maybe he won't scalp Waterman or
even burn him alive. All's well that ends well, or so someone has said.
Comments are welcome at rdhedbud@penn.com.
SEPTEMBER 13, 1999
Local newspapers - loco opinions
I settled in last night to watch the Steelers play the Browns on ESPN. From the
start I had a smile on my face. The real Steelers showed up and all the cab drivers and
nay sayers in Pittsburgh were silenced once more.
It is interesting for me to go back to the 'burgh and hear how ever local expert says
this is the year that they will really fall flat on their face. (Usually, that particular
expert is wearing some sort of Steeler paraphernalia - ball cap, sweat shirt, etc.) Last
year was that year, but it ended in December.
A lack luster pre-season was worth as much as it counted in the standings this morning.
But, the so called experts could not understand. They couldn't see through what was really
happening. They made their predictions and today they are pretending that they never said
a word.
I was asleep in my chair when the familiar banging on the door started. It was
Cornplanter and Red Jacket. Once more I invited them in and once more they insisted
on talking on the porch. Red Jacket was all shook up about something. That was obvious.
"What's the matter?' I asked.
Red Jacket just muttered something in his native tongue and waved Saturday's Bradford
Era Sports section at me.
"He's upset," Cornplanter said. "He used the predictions in the
paper to make his bets."
"Bets?" I asked.
"Oh yes," Cornplanter said. "He likes an occasional wager every now and
then. He met some guy in a downtown bar and he bets with him."
"Really?" I asked.
"Sure," Cornplanter said. "Didn't you know about that guy? He's really
well known. So is his brother."
"Okay," I said, afraid to ask.
"He's upset that he followed the sports writer's predictions when he bet. His
two biggest bets went all wrong."
"What were they?" I asked.
"He took Buffalo by five and Cleveland by six."
"Clark made dumb predictions like that?" I asked.
"No, not Clark," Cornplanter said. "Some guy named Andrew
Waterman."
"Never heard of him," I said.
Red Jacket handed me the newspaper. The headline on page two of the sports section
read: "Andy likes Bills, Browns to win openers."
"He blew those," I said.
"He sure did," Cornplanter said. "And our buddy is really on the
warpath. He wants that writer's scalp! He wants to burn him alive."
"Hey," I said. "Who in their right mind believes what they read in The
Era? I never heard of this Waterman guy. I don't have the slightest idea who the
devil he is. He might be one of the husbands of those women who write for the paper for
all we know. You don't take something like that as Gospel and bet the ranch on it. That's
stupid. He has no one to blame but himself."
"I tried telling him that. He won't listen to me. Do you want to try?"
Red Jacket was out in the front yard walking around, waving his arms in the air, and
shaking his head. he didn't look like he was someone who could be reasoned with at that
particular moment.
"No," I said.
"Well, what are we going to do?" Cornplanter asked.
"Do?" I repeated. "Nothing. Not one darn thing."
"What?" Cornplanter asked. "You aren't going to do anything?"
"No," I said. "I'm not."
"Why?" he asked.
"It's none of my business," I said calmly. I handed the newspaper back to the
old chief. "And, it seems to me that there is a whole lot of stupidity running
rampant here."
Cornplanter looked at me in amazement.
"It's obvious this guy Waterman doesn't have a clue about sports. The Bradford
Era refuses to publish the Las Vegas lines on sports, yet it allows boneheads like
this Waterman to make predictions on who will win and by how much. They can label it as an
Opinion, but it is the same as publishing what the line is as it comes down from "the
boys" in Vegas, just the same. It's not only wrong in the sense that this guy doesn't
know any more or less than the rest of us, it is wrong in the sense that it is promoting
gambling. Supposedly, The Era is against that. If they are, then they shouldn't
have Waterman or anyone else holding themselves up as an expert who can predict the
outcomes of games. And besides," I said. "Everyone knows that pro football is
fixed. How can you trust some guy with a last name like Waterman to be an insider and know
what is really going to happen?"
Cornplanter accepted what I said.
"You're right. If he wants to scalp this Andrew Waterman, let him. If he wants
to burn him alive, I'll stand by and watch. He's just another white man to me," he
said.
"And what am I?" I asked him.
He laughed. That scared me.
"You're our friend. Like with you, a friend is sacred with us. We don't turn
on our friends."
That was good to know. Still, I wonder what will happen to Andrew Waterman? And I
wonder what happened to Clarkie? Has Red Jacket already gotten to him on blowing the Penn
State spread with Akron? Oh well. Look out, Andy. Red Jacket is after you.
Your comments are welcome at rdhedbud@penn.com.
The Tom Riel Birthday Party
On Friday night at the Rainbow Inn, Tom Riel celebrated his thirtieth birthday.
Entertainment was provided by The RJ & Lisa Band (Wow! What a dish Lisa is!)
Check out the festivities for yourself.
Happy
Birthday, Tom.
SEPTEMBER 11 &12, 1999
Wanted: Famous Dead People BY TOM CLARK
"Tourists are terrorists with cameras. Terrorists are tourists with guns." -
Anonymous
Until now, I've stayed relatively quiet on this McKean County tourist thing. I hate
tourists. I hate being called a tourist. When I go to Cocoa Beach or Hatteras, I consider
myself a non-resident with temporary resident privileges. Tourists dress funny, smell bad,
are rude and don't spend near the money that the local businesses wish for.
But, alas, McKean County needs tourism dollars for economic support. Our region must
attract vacationers to spend their money here instead of some other destination that is
also trying to attract the same wallets. Therefore, we need unique points of interest that
will make our county more alluring than the other places.
So, what do we have to offer?
Immediately, I cross Pitt-Bradford off the list. For some unclear reason, there are a
powerful few who feel that the small college is a vital piece of landscape in the tourism
picture. Come on...you're not Notre Dame. Once around the loop and those folks are headed
out of town.
One of the biggies is the Zippo/Case Museum. Great attraction
with cool parking lot lights. One question, though, why the Hell are you closed on the
Friday after Thanksgiving??? Not only is it the busiest shopping day of the holiday
season, but there are carloads of people home for the holiday who would love to visit the
place. It is just plain ignorant to be closed that day.
That leaves us with our two biggest attractions, the Kinzua Bridge and Allegheny
National Forest; both capable of pumping mucho dinero into the tills of our local
businesses. Unfortunately, the bickering clowns running the tourism
show now are too busy squabbling to notice all of the tourist bucks are driving through
and out of McKean County.
My solution, and I believe it is viable, would be to add a new attraction...we need to
bury a dead guy. Not just an ordinary dead guy, or lady, but a really famous one. The Find
A Grave website (www.findagrave.com) lists 216 famous people buried in Pennsylvania.
Including the likes of John Barrymore, Ben
Frankiln and Andy Warhol. Our state is the final resting place for founding fathers, war
heroes, Presidents, singers, actors and famous criminals.
OK, perhaps you are thinking this is a little morbid. I beg
to differ. Americans are fascinated with dead celebrities. A gruesome demise makes the
dead person's burial site even more appealing. Have you heard of the Grave Line Tours in
Los Angeles? Tourists shell out big bucks to see the hotel where John Belushi died, the
scene where the unknown assailant killed poor O.J. Simpson's old lady and other similar
mortality landmarks.
Pennsylvania towns hold the remains of such notables as Pearl Bailey, Jim Croce, Mary
Jo Kopechne (Teddy's water
baby), Jayne Mansfield and Hugh Rodham, Hillary's dad. With the right marketing and
promotion, imagine what a tourist draw Bala Cynwyd, PA, could create having the grave of
Charles Hires, the root beer guy. Or Feasterville's own Marie Carangi, touted as the first
known woman to die of AIDS. Close to home, Titusville is the burial site of Ida Tarbell, a
journalist who, in the early 1900's, strengthened the movement to outlaw
corporate monopolies.
How do we get a famous person buried here in McKean County? On paper, a perfect plan is
to have one of our local
babes marry into royalty, sleep with a camel salesman, then get waxed in a car wreck. The
funeral and burial phases of this plan are field tested and prove to be an excellent
tourist draw. However, finding a suitable candidate from our stable of eligible women is
highly unlikely.
Moving a pre-existing famous dead guy here would be costly and probably amount to
lengthy court battles. The ideal already dead guy for a Bradford burial would be Franklin
D. Roosevelt, the father of Public Welfare. If we entombed his remains in Veteran's
Square, the cretins could make pilgrimages from South Center Street to his final resting
place.
The feasible alternative would be to line up a few famous living
people who may not be for this world much longer, such as aging actors or hard partying
rock stars. Our tourism people could negotiate contracts with them for burial rights,
leaving ample time before their demise to prepare for their arrival, or departure,
whichever way you look at it. Get Nancy on the phone and see if we can put Bonzo's pal in
the ground right here in McKean County.
Money talks and most celebrities would sell their souls for a buck. We could buy what's
left. They won't care where they are buried (they're dead!) as long as they see the green.
I'm sure if McKean County's tourism folks had a famous dead guy to work with, they
wouldn't waste so much time soiling their panties over petty issues.
We must be extremely careful of who we choose to bury here and the visitors that their
graves would attract. We don't want the genetically-challenged Graceland crowd, nor the
crackhead psychos that visit John Wayne Gacy's grave on a daily basis.
I would suggest the Reagan plan or, perhaps, Mick Jagger. It's a shame we missed out on
Jerry Garcia, I think he would have liked it here.
Bradford and McKean County have been in the wrong place at the wrong time, as far as
tourist attractions go. Dumb luck has prevented us from being another Waco, Southeast L.A.
or Lindenhurst, New Jersey, the site of the Hindenburg crash. Our best hope for tourism
success is to fine tune the dead guy plan and run with it. Has anyone heard how Liz Taylor
has been feeling lately?
BRAVO THOMAS!!!!! Your comments are welcome at rdhedbud@penn.com.
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