SEPTEMBER 25 - OCTOBER 1, 1999
OCTOBER 1, 1999
The Episode
Good morning. It is 39. 3 degrees at 6:08 A.M.
I want to thank all of you (a couple of hundred!) who took the time to e-mail me your
good wishes and remember me in your prayers regarding my hospitalization earlier in the
week. That was the reason I was not on line writing new columns.
It really began early Monday morning when I first sat down to write. I used Tom Clark's
column that day and then I went in and laid down on the bed. Sharyn asked me if I felt
okay and I said no. Still, I had been run down for the past six months and haven't been at
the top of my form so I felt that it wasn't any big thing.
I was at work early that day. I have been working on a budget for the county that would
propose that there be no new taxes or increases in existing county taxes in 2000. Others
don't share my sentiments on that subject. That was evidenced by the way they all ganged
up on me in last Saturday's Era. Their "empires" are more important to
them than your pocketbooks. And, you had better believe that in itself bothered me to no
end.
About 9 A.M.. I began to get an uncomfortable twinge in my chest. It turned into a pain
and then it spread across my chest. By 9:45 I was deciding if I could make it through the
Commissioners Meeting or not. I had a brief statement that I wanted to read so I could
clarify the position I had taken on Friday. You see, once more, The Era and Jim
Buck had purposely twisted what I was saying. Of course that's nothing new, but it was
obvious that with just about 38 days left until the election, they were out to discredit
me much the way they are trying to discredit Dick Cavallero. I hung in there.
During the meeting the pains increased. I read my statement and as the meeting ended, I
went to my office. George Petrisek came in and asked for a copy of my statement. I gave
him the original hand written copy. I never read George's version for Port Allegany, but I
did read Jim Buck's. Once more he failed to report all of what I said.
For whatever reason, The Era and Mr. Buck failed to report the last
sentence. It was a summary of why I was refusing to sign new purchase orders. It said:
"I will continue to take such measures because I oppose and will continue to
oppose increasing County Taxes!"
Why wasn't that reported?
Is it because the other two commissioners are in favor of raising county taxes by as
much as 50%? Is it because Al Pingie hasn't a clue about what we need? You tell me.
Anyway, I called Sharyn and told her I was having chest pains. She insisted I see Dr.
Kirsch and she told me she would call. As they increased I decided I had better get
started to Bradford before I wasn't able. Being the genius that I am sometimes, I drove
myself there.
Sharyn called me on my cell phone and said that Dr. Kirsch wanted to see me in the
Emergency Room. I drove there and was taken into one of their rooms.
It seemed odd being in the hospital only days after I wrote an article saying what a
fine facility it was and how wonderful the people who worked there really were. I had my
opportunity to find out how really good it was and how close I hit the target on that
story. No one had ever better try to tell me anything different!
From the moment I walked in the front door until the time I left three days
later my care was nothing but the finest anyone could ever hope for.We all are very lucky
to live close to a facility like Bradford Regional Medical Center.
With blood pressure 150 something over 110 or so, you should expect to be admitted.
With blood enzymes showing something happened, you would think it would be in the best
interest of all concerned that immediate treatement and tests be given. It seemed that
everyone except my insurance company thought that. It seemed that Blue Cross / Blue Shield
didn't think my condition was serious enough to have me admitted to a Cardiac Telemetry
Unit (CTU) so that my vital signs could be monitored. They wanted me stabilized in a room
for the afternoon and sent home with follow up visits to the doctor's office. Thanks for
caring BC/BS!
Hats off to Doctor Kirsch! He took them on, fought with them, and won. He stuck up for
my rights and saw to it that I got the treatment he felt I needed. Say what you want about
Doctor Kirsch. When the chips are down or when the insurance company thinks they can save
a few bucks with half baked treatment, you want someone just like him on your side. He
prevailed and I went upstairs.
During all that time ( I was in the ER from 10:45 A.M. until 3:50 P.M.) I was checked
regularly by Ellen, a great nurse and Sherry, another great nurse, too. Deena (the one
time bartender I wanted to run for Mayor - and had she done it and won, Bradford would be
1000% better off today) came in (and was it ever great to see her friendly face, too) and
took my blood. I hate that!
Once in the room the tests began almost immediately. A brand new unit that took and
echo-cardiogram of my heart (an ultra sound that showed a picture of my heart
working and pumping blood through my body ( yes, I really have one) was wheeled in,
used, and attended by a cardiologist from Hammot Hospital in Erie. (BRMC has a working
relationship with Hammot which is really a shot in the arm for everyone of us who need
that sort of treatement.) More blood was taken - ech! -and I was treated to one friendly
face after another.
Teresa who is going to New York with Cathy, and Cathy, Ernie, Mickey, and on and on and
on, everyone was great! Every single person on that floor (3 East) did everything possible
to make me feel comfortable. They were just great! And I guess the wonderful treatment I
that I did receive, serves to dull the only bad part of my stay in the hospital. That
would be Tuesday evening when my privacy was invaded by The Bradford Era and Jim
Buck.
Marie Costello of WESB came by about 3 that afternoon, but it wasn't in relation to a
news story. Marie came by, and when she saw that I was asleep, allowed me to stay sleeping
and left me a note.
"Thought I'd stop by and see how your were feeling. Get well soon. We all care
about you. Marie Costello"
Jim Buck, on the other hand, wanted to make it a news story. He wanted a live comment
from me from my hospital bed! He called me to get my opinion of what was happening with
that disgusting letter that was arriving everywhere in the county that day.
At that point, I hadn't a clue. Everyone was keeping it from me. They didn't want me
upset. They didn't want me to know that the slander, the libel, and the lies (that
incidently The Era, Pat Cercone, and Paul Reichart all had a key part in
starting) were surfacing once more. The people close to me, the people who cared about me,
kept me shieded from that trash. But Jim Buck wanted to know! He had to know and he made a
front page story about me being in the hospital. That was not only stupid, but it shows
how truly unprofessional The Era and Jim Buck really are.
I hung up on him. I didn't decline comment as he said I did. I hung up on him! And, if
I wasn't sure that John Cleland would gladly put me in the county jail for thirty days for
doing it, I would punch him in the nose and make him cry, too.
The next day I had to temporarilly shut my phone off to incoming calls because they
never stopped. I needed to rest and so did the poor man in the bed next to me. With the
phone ringing constantly, how could that happen?
I was taken down for a stress test. The topic of conversation was the letter. Everyone
was talking about it and even though Sharyn and Tom hadn't told me about it, everyone else
did. I guess all the conversation about a despicable act like that got me up for the
treadmill. I did my ten minutes like I was in the kind of shape I imagine I am. I did it
without much problem and fortunately, as it turned out, Melanie and Doctor Kirsch said I
was fine.
Melanie, the attending RN in the stress lab, was shocked at the letter. "As a
Christian, it makes me mad," she said. I agreed. I agreed and I pointed out how
everyone has sat back and accepted how The Era and the former Highland
Gazette have and had made a regular practice of doing that to me.
"But to hurt families," she said. Once more I agreeed. "What do you
think they have done to my family in the past? And, what do you think this is now
doing to my family today?" I asked. I readilly pointed out how everyone sat on the
sideline while it was going on with me. "What do you expect?" I asked.
At that point I still hadn't seen the letter. That evening Greg Henry read it to me. I
shrugged my shoulders. What could I say? It was ugly and uncalled for. It was as ugly and
as uncalled for in exactly the same way The Era has misrepresented what I have
said and done. But that's life. I've accepted it as going with the job. Now,
unfortunately, everyone else has to wake up to the same reality.
I was discharged from Bradford Regional Medical Center at 7 P.M. on Wednesday evening.
I am feeling better and I thank everyone one for the fine treatment I received. It was
great to get home and sleep in my own bed. I thank everyone who cared enough to send
cards, flowers, e-mails, and remember me in their prayers. You don't realize how much that
all meant and means to me.
Your comments are welcome at rdhedbud@penn.com.
SEPTEMBER 30, 1999
THANKS JOE!
I want to thank Joe Warner, Warner-Burgess Computer Services, located on the corner of
Main and Mechanic Streets in lovely downtown Bradford, PA for keeping this site open while
I was briefly and unexpectedly hospitalized. (More about that tomorrow.) In the meantime,
it is 47.7 degrees at 5:56 A.M. on a rainy Thursday morning in the mountains.
I was up earlier and I looked out my front door. In the rain, standing in a very regal
manner, as if he owned the whole darn place, was a very large buck. It was too dark to
count his points, but the rack was silhouetted by the lighter foliage behind him. The rack
was enormous! It had to be a ten or twelve pointer. (Maybe larger!) It was a great sight
to behold.
Seeing a buck like that in my front yard takes me back a few years. It reminds me of an
obsession I had with a particular deer of the male gender who seemed to taunt me each and
every hunting season. Not only did he play with me, he also did exactly the same thing to
my buddy Butch. That is today's story.
The boys go deer hunting! (Part One)
Star was a puppy that spring. I was in the process of acquainting her with the forest.
I had hopes of making her into a champion bird dog and I would fill my freezer with my
annual limit of local grouse.
We were also recovering from a fire that wiped out our business. Fortunately, I had a
good deer season and our freezer was full of venison. When the income from the Rainbow Inn
went to zero following the fire, suddenly the fruits of the hunt along with the fall
canning became our sole diet. Many times during those final winter and early spring months
Sharyn remarked that we were fortunate that I was such a good shot. Now a days I laugh
when I remember her saying that.
As I walked the forest behind my home and beyond on the top of that particular hill, I
began to recognize that there were three distinct herds of deer. Each one was mastered by
one buck and several smaller ones.
In the winter while the snows remained on the ground they stayed together for
protection. The does were all pregnant and the buck would stay close with the herd. As
spring arrived the herds all broke up, but they still stayed in their own area, never
straying too far from where they were born. The timbering had continued all winter and the
tops the lumbermen left behind provided excellent feed.
Early in June I saw a particularly large deer. His horns were out and they were in
velvet. It was one of the largest racks I had seen on a deer in these woods in recent
times. It was a rack that would win any big buck contest and then become a trophy mount
that any hunter would immediately be proud to have taken. I wanted it.
A new acquaintance who would later become on of my good and trusted friends was a man
named Butch. Butch came across the same big guy, too. Butch felt pretty much the same as I
did. He wanted him.
I spent all summer and the early fall trying to figure him out. I tracked him and at
times I watched him. He knew I was there. He watched me, too. Several times before he
would bolt off into the brush, he would turn his rear end to me and let loose the results
of a day of grazing. I would believe at that time, as I still do now, that was his way of
telling me what I had to expect from him regarding my plans for him.
Deer Season began. On the first day I drove for our family and their friends. Something
told me that this guy would make himself pretty scarce with the woods filled with flat
landers and the hard heads from Pittsburgh. I was right. There were reports of deer shot,
but none with a rack the size of his. I entertained the family until the camp broke up on
Wednesday morning. That afternoon I went out on my own.
I hunted from one until about four. I saw several gut piles. They were from the young
bucks that would travel with him as the rut began. No doubt he had them well out in front
of him for the purpose that they eventually served. But now it seemed pretty obvious to me
that he was probably all alone. Now he was most vulnerable.
Big bucks are big bucks by heredity. There was one scrawny one out there that year with
long horns that were two feet high with two points on each one. He was a ridiculous sight
as he moved through the woods, trying to keep his head down and running into trees and
getting tangled in thickets wherever he went. That, I was told, was a deformity. I had
several shots at him but I did not want to waste my tag. I knew the guy I wanted and I was
sure I knew where he was.The next afternoon I proved myself right
I was just off a clear cut inside the tree line behind a row of pines. I had been there
for a little over an hour. It was about to begin to snow. A flurry or two would drift down
and the clouds to the west were very threatening. I knew the light would begin to fade
soon and I would be getting back in the dark. It was a good 30 minute walk back to the
Rainbow. Still, I decided to hang in for another five minutes.
Only another hunter who has felt the same thing knows what I am talking about. Only
another hunter can understand. There is something that happens. There is that one moment
just before he appears when you hear absolutely nothing but you hear everything. It is
like you are in a vacuum and a wind tunnel at the same time. Time stands still and it
speeds up at the same time. Out of nowhere he appears and you are frozen in that moment
with him. That is what happened.
He was there! He was standing behind and under the same apple tree where I first saw
him. His head was high and the rack, twelve or fourteen points on easily a twenty four
inch spread, seemed to gleam as the snow began to fall faster. This was it. This was what
I had waited for.
I moved ever so slowly. I had been in the same position for a very long time and my
circulation was slow getting started once more. I tired to move my body so that I
was perpendicular to him and I had to be careful not to make a sound. As I did I could
hear the leaves crack ever so softly under my feet. Why hadn't I brushed them away? Still,
he hadn't heard me. He was more interested in whether any of those frozen apples still
high in the tree had fallen that day.
I wished he had come out in front of the tree instead of behind it. There were branches
hanging down on the front side and there was no real clear shot. All I could do is wait
for him to move into the open. I had to wait for the perfect shot.
I raised my rifle and followed him. He would take a step or two and then stop and look
around. It was as if he knew I was there but couldn't figure out exactly where. He was
wary. He was very wary and I was afraid he would turn and bolt out of my line of sight.
Still, I didn't want to rush the shot. I followed him in my sights and waited for him to
move out of the protection of the front branches. All I needed was a clear shot at his
neck.
Just like that moment before he appears, there is another moment just before he
disappears. You can feel it. It is as if you are joined with him in some mental state and
you can anticipate what he is about to do. Several hundred yards away from across the
clear cut to my right a pick up truck came up the road. It was a noisy one and apparently
some one in the truck saw him, too. It came to a sudden, noisy stop. Hunters were about to
jump out. He knew it and I knew it. I had no choice. I fired into the tree at him.
Once that bullet leaves the barrel of your rifle it takes on a life of its own. You
were in control until that instant that you squeezed the trigger. You were the boss. But
now it was on its own and the forces of fate and nature take control. The most innocent
looking twig or branch, or even a blade of grass, can and will adjust the trajectory of
the shot ever so slightly that it will miss its mark. The wind can change suddenly and as
fast as the bullet travels, that little wisp will blow it away from its mark.
The sound of the 7mm echoed and re-echoed throughout the forest. Everything stopped.
Everything except me. I reloaded and tried to fire again. The hunters to my right several
hundred yards away were frozen by the sound of my rifle. They watched as the buck wheeled
to his left, and in doing so, slipped on the leaves. He fell on his left side making me
believe that my shot had hit its mark. As I relaxed he jumped up and ran off into the
forest never giving me a chance to fire the second shot.
"Damn!" I heard one of the hunters from the truck exclaim. "Did you see
that!"
I ran out of my place and went to where the buck had been. I could see where he fell
and I could also see there was no blood. I walked into the forest in the direction where
he had gone, but there was no sign of him. He was gone. I had missed.
I could hear the men from the truck start across the clear cut. I wasn't in the mood to
talk to them so I went in the opposite direction into the forest and back to the Rainbow.
The snow continued and began to fall faster and harder. By the time I arrived the ground
was already becoming covered. I unloaded my rifle outside and went in. After storing my
gun in a closet I calmly walked out into the bar. Butch was there with my father-in-law,
George. Very deliberately I pulling my flannel shirt out of my pants. I asked the
bartender for some scissors.
"Here," I said to them. "Here. Cut this damn thing off!" I was
holding out my shirt tail. "Cut it off," I said.
After they did and after we hung it on the wall for everyone to see, I told the story.
I described him in great detail. As I did I watched Butch shake his head. He got up off
the bar stool and pulled his shirt out of his pants.
"Here, my friend," he said. "I missed him first. Cut mine off, too. We
belong up there together."
We told and retold our stories that night. No one saw him the rest of the season. There
were no reports of anyone getting a deer as big as he was. We were sure he had survived.
In fact he had and he wasn't through with us yet.
Your comments on this new and true series are welcome at rdhedbud@penn.com.
SEPTEMBER 29, 1999
Mlrmag.com's Publisher, Harold Beck, is taking a few days off. Until he returns we
will be revisiting some of his past columns. He still is interested in your feedback and
comments. You can reach him by e-mail at rdhedbud@penn.com.
SEPTEMBER 29, 1999
This column originally appeared on September 30, 1998
Where I live
I talk about the e-mail I get. Contrary to what I may have led you to believe, not all
are political in nature. Many of the messages come from people who wonder more about this
place than the people I write about. The people speak for themselves in the stories I
write. The places need no one to speak for them as long as you have seen them. For those
who have not, it is difficult to describe the peace of the forest on a chilly morning like
this one. It is more than millions of trees cluttering hills and valleys. It is more than
a place where so many animals live. The Forest is alive and has a entity unto itself. It
is there, and it is magnificent.
A lady wrote and said: "I looked the Allegheny National Forest up on a road atlas.
I was under the impression you were in eastern Pennsylvania. It was to my surprise that
you are where you are and the forest which you write so lovingly about is as large as it
actually is. I have not been to Pennsylvania since I was a small girl and we drove through
it on the Pennsylvania Turnpike on our way to New York. Is that, what I remember seeing,
representative of the state?"
Another lady who said she was from Arizona asked: "What is different between your
Allegheny National Forest and our Coconino National Forest?" She also has not been to
Pennsylvania.
I have been to the Coconino National Forest. It has a charm of its own and I
enjoyed it. However, it is vastly different from the Allegheny National Forest immediately
just by the types of trees that make up the forest. In the fall Coconino will turn yellow.
It will be a sea of yellow leaves. Our trees are turning and we have a variety of colors
that are just like the pictures on the post cards. Very few places in the world have such
a display.
To the lady who looked up the Allegheny National Forest in the road atlas, the
Pennsylvania Turnpike is representative of the state. It follows the railroad Andrew
Carnegie was building to compete with the old Pennsylvania Railroad. It winds through the
heart of Pennsylvania. The Allegheny National Forest and its watersheds comprise the soul
of the state.
People think of cities like Philadelphia and Pittsburgh. Pennsylvania is more than
cities. It has the largest rural population in the United States. The Allegheny National
Forest and its 500,000 plus acres spans four counties: Elk, Forest, Warren, and McKean.
Less than 110,000 people live in those four counties. You will find that across the state
with nearly two thirds of the counties being classified as rural in nature.
Bisecting the Allegheny National Forest from east to west is US 6, The Grand Army of
the Republic Highway. Route 6 begins on Cape Cod and ends only miles from the Pacific
Ocean in California. The 410 miles that are in Pennsylvania are some of the most wonderful
in the entire nation. The part that winds through the forest is especially beautiful.
Fall, in particular, gives patient travelers a wealth of lovely and serene sights as
they travel a two lane highway through forests and picturesque towns.
I can go on and on over the places to visit and sights to see. There is the Kinzua
Bridge, located just outside of Mt. Jewett. It was once one of the seven manmade wonders
of the world. It is a steel railroad bridge (originally wood and the highest in the world
at that time) standing 301 feet high, and was constructed in 1882 in just over 90 days.
The Knox, Kane, and Kinzua Railroad still crosses the bridge daily giving a breathtaking
view of the valley below.
The Kinzua Dam and the Allegheny Reservoir (the largest man made body of water east of
the Mississippi) are on Route 59 which runs from Route 6 in Smethport to Route 6 in
Warren. There is a place called Hearts Content. It is in the forest and is back in the
woods, the original woods, dating back to a fire that ravished the original forest about
1626. The trees in Hearts Content have somehow survived the years of uncontrolled cutting
and remain for our enjoyment and scientific study. They are unique to the forest as they
are hemlocks and white pines, the original trees. The forest now consists of maple, oak,
and black cherry; the successor trees since the end of the last devastating major
uncontrolled cut in the twenties and thirties.
If you want to just meander through the forest, there is the Longhouse National Scenic
Byway. It is a 29 mile drive through the forest on paved roads. If you travel it at the
right time of the day you may see some of the many inhabitants which include the white
tail deer, black bears, turkey, grouse, and maybe even a flat lander from down state or
from over in Ohio.
If you do come to the forest, be sure to stop your car and get out. Driving across the
Pennsylvania Turnpike will show you mountains and trees. Stopping in the Allegheny
National Forest will give you something that you just cannot see. It will be something you
feel.
And in writing these words telling you about the place in which I live, if I write
100,000 more, I will never be able to describe for you how you will feel as you stand in
the hills and the trees. I will never be able to describe to you what it is like off the
road back in the woods sitting on a rock and just looking. Probably you will be like me if
you would do that. Probably you would lose track of time. Probably you would lose your
feeling of importance as you lose yourself in the grandness of all that surrounds you at
that moment. That is what happened to me and that is why I live here.
SEPTEMBER 28, 1999
This column originally appeared May 12, 1998
RIVER WALK FOR BRADFORD?
For those of us who have traveled like Jerry Clark of SIGN
DESIGN, we are sorely aware that we are lacking in the area of River Walks.
San Antonio, Texas, has a River Walk and it is one of the great
tourist attractions for the entire state. Major hotel chains have constructed 400
room hotels along the River Walk and quaint little Mexican Restaurants offer their ethnic
delights to tourists from all over the world. Peddlers offer Mexican hats,
dresses, leather wares and brass wares in stores and on corners as well as
various alcoves along the walk. The people love it!
What's more, the City of San Antonio loves it too! A one percent sales
tax has been levied for the purpose of maintaining the tourist attraction. The River Walk
costs the taxpayers nothing and the city actually comes out ahead on the deal. Local
school taxes are now non-existent because of the excess revenues derived from the walk.
Since 1976, the River Walk has produced a surplus in each and every
year. The cost of maintaining the continuous water flow, picking up papers, running
the little river taxis that carry tourists from restaurant to restaurant, bar to
bar, and back to their hotels has by far been exceeded by the tax collected on all sales
along the walk. The same could be true for Bradford!
Mr. Clark, a noted tourism advocate, envisions the River Walk
beginning at the new Pitt Campus Hyatt Regency Hotel (now currently being negotiated for
with the able help of OECD Director Ray McMahon). Mr. Clark has told The
Mountain Laurel Review that LERTA status for 100 years will be necessary to attract
this major piece in the River Walk puzzle. He has also told us that Mr. McMahon has
staked his reputation on his ability to deliver the 100 year - 100% tax free
status to the Hyatt International Corporation.
We are also told that Kathy Kelly and Cheri O'Mara are firmly behind
this plan even though they have declined comment to the MLR and have denied that any such
plan exists on WESB'S RADIO TALK SHOW, Live Line. Bradford
Mayor Cavallaro was unavailabe for comment, but we are confident that Mr. McMahon will
inform not only her, but the rest of the City Council as to their final decision after
the fact, as has been his practice in the past. Thus the River Walk will go on.
The first lock must be built near Mutant Beach. This is
necessary in order to maintain water level in times of drought. San Antonio, with a
much smaller water supply has found this to be very viable and very manageable. This is
key to the project.
The local residents and major users of Mutant Beach have already begun
the protests. Complaining that Callahan Pool is too far of a walk and citing
the fact that public transportation is unreliable, not to mention their adamant opposition
to the chlorinization of the water in the pool, they have begun circulating
petitions in opposition to the destruction of their historic site.
"Three generations of my family, all of us on welfare and
residents of the Housing Authority, have used this beach," one resident who asked to
remain nameless told us. "This is an outrage!" he insisted. "It is an
absolute outrage."
A second lock will be constructed on the spot where the famous grocery
cart rests just to the east of the Corner Bar and Restaurant. The water level will be
raised to a height just below the outdoor deck. We are told that the parking lot of the
Corner Bar and Restaurant will be eliminated by the Cummins Construction Company and be
replaced by a white sandy beach. While she was unavailable for comment, we
understand that Dianne Cummins, owner of the popular downtown spot, has applied to the
City for a permit to allow outdoor bathing on the new California style beach.
Old City Hall now becomes the keystone of the entire plan! We
have learned that City Clerk Peggy Comilla and OECD Director Ray McMahon are negotiating
with Hilton Hotels to renovate the historic building and open and exclusive Bed and
Breakfast. A year round walking tunnel will be constructed in order to allow patrons easy
access to the shops and other restaurants that will soon line the walk. A roof top
restaurant, Ray's Roost, is scheduled to open in early 2001 and
will offer and an exclusive French cuisine, complete with male wait persons and imported
Champagne.
A final lock will be constructed above the Mill Street Bridge.
There will be an overlook constructed complete with an informational kiosk so
that visitors can observe, first hand, the cleanup operations that have begun and
scheduled to be completed in the year 2347 at the ARG Refinery.
Penny Eddy, Director of the County Redevelopment Authority, has given
her stamp of approval to this plan. She has pledged County Community Development
Block Grant Funds for the next forty-one years to the project. When asked about the
funding for the Super Cupboard Program, the MLR was told by an unnamed and uncooberated
source that she said: "Let the little welfare rats starve! These funds are for
concrete, not food."
Mr. Clark has told us that the new Bradford Area Alliance of
Businesses and Businessmen is firmly behind this plan also. "With that kind of
brain power behind us, how can we fail? After all, these are the men and the leaders that
have made Bradford what it is today."
He has also told us that the noted real estate attorney, Chris Hauser,
is currently spearheading the plan to acquire the property along the famous waterway.
"It is Hauser's expertise that is key to this plan ever coming this far. He has shown
us how to set up deals. He does it so fast, no one hardly knows that the land has even
changed hands. He has made it so that we can overcome every hurdle. Chris is really
important to the River Walk. One of the taxi stops will surely be named after him."
Thank you Jerry Clark. You are The Mountain Laurel Review man of the day, today,
May 12, 1998. Good luck with the Bradford River Walk.
SEPTEMBER 27, 1999
No News Is Better Than The Era
By Tom Clark
The printed word was, is and always will be the most reliable source of information.
Futurists would have us believe that the electronic age
will eventually force newspapers and magazines to go by the way of the dinosaur. However,
we will always rely on hard copy publications for news, at least until someone comes up
with a toilet-top computer.
It's a huge shame that Bradford and McKean County residents must depend on The
Bradford Era for their daily dose of news and events coverage.Twice, this past week,
our morning gazette printed items that should have destroyed what little credibility they
enjoy. The first blunder, the more serious of the two, was a textbook example of newspaper
bias. And the latter, more of a blatant display of stupidity.
Many people, during their morning ritual, take a few moments to scan only the headlines
in the paper before dashing off to start their daily routines. If they see an article that
interests them, they make take a few minutes to read the item, then, later in the day, go
over the paper more thoroughly when time allows them. The Bradford Era knows
their readers' habits and plays it to their advantage.
Last Tuesday, September 21, The Era ran a front page article about Dick
Cavallero and his candidacy for District Justice. If elected, Cavallero must pass a test
in November to receive certification to be a District Justice. No Biggie. If you read the
whole article, you would realize that the story was non-news. The Era ran the following
headline for the piece, which sent a negative message to those who briefly scanned the
paper that morning; "Chief not certified to be district justice".
The lead paragraph, which addresses him as City Police Chief Cavallero and not by his
full name, states he wouldn't be able to serve as District Justice, if he were elected
today. This statement has the same non-sensible substance as if I were to say the Buffalo
Bills would win the Super Bowl, if it were played today. Is The Era out to put
the screws to Dick Cavallero, the candidate? You can
bet the ranch on it.
Cavallero's opponent in the November election is Chris Hauser, who also happens to be
the Era's attorney and their Letters to the Editor monitor. The article in question was
written entirely for the benefit of Hauser's campaign and for the disqualification, in the
readers' minds, of Cavallero. An unbiased reader would have spotted this tactic by the
third paragraph.
Dick Cavallero would do a great job as District Justice. He is a personable,
hard-working, fair and just man. Cavallero knows the people, the problems that face our
town today and the criminal system. Bradford has been fortunate to have him as Police
Chief and I have the utmost confidence in him to do the job of District Justice.
I've known Hauser since he was a classmate of my brother at BAHS in 1972, and feel that
he, too, could be a good District Justice. I like his ideas on how the office should be
run. His strong alliance, however, with The Era and the Bradford Club politico
are glaring negatives that would keep me from voting for Hauser. It's too scary to have a
District Justice that can manipulate the media and have the ability to grant "country
club favors" to would-be white collar deviants.
The Era has long been a foe of Cavallero, since the Arvid Nelson debacle with
the Chief, when Nelson was Mayor of Bradford. The paper was quick to side with Nelson and
has been anti-Cavallero since. The Era will likely continue their sly little
tricks in a coup attempt to get man, Hauser, in the catbird seat. And they have the Good
'Ol Boy network from the Bradford Club patting them on their butts the whole way.
One can only hope that the voters will see through the smoke screen and elect the
candidate they deem best for the job. The Era is hard pressed to find dirt on
Dick Cavallero, so they resort to persuasive measures through creative headline writing
Please relate this information to your friends and family, it's far too important that the
voters are not swayed by the Era's agenda.
Now, let's address the Era's dubious display of classic stupidity. The
Thursday, September 21, Round The Square started with an item on the change of seasons. It
mentioned the start of the autumnal equinox,
although they were off by two minutes from the official time. The piece ended as such;
"By the way, please don't ask us what an 'equinox' is. We used to be fully aquatinted
with the details, and know it has something to do with the planets, but can't really
recall any
specifics"
O.K...everyone who passed third grade science class, raise your hand. It has nothing to
do with the planets, you morons! Are you guys at Round The Square stoned or just stupid?
Why would anyone, with even half a brain and a supposed professional writer, do a
newspaper article and admit that they don't know jack squat about the subject they are
writing about?
I should write for The Era.
"The unrest in East Timor continued today, but I don't know what's going on there
or, for that matter, where the Hell it is."
Or: "Traffic was backed up on Main Street today. A passing drunk said there was a
car accident, but we're not sure. Who cares, anyway, hand me the Twinkies".
People read the newspaper for information. They want facts. They have no use for a news
source that guesses why things occur. Especially when the writer isn't even in the ball
park, as was the case with the equinox. The saddest part is that, next week, Round The
Square will print a response from some well-meaning corn farmer in Turtlepoint, explaining
to these mental midgets what an equinox is. I really hope he starts his letter with
"Dear Stupid..."
Publisher's note, continued: Thank you, Thomas! In light of what I read in
my stolen Bradford Era on Saturday, I needed some time to check to see if I had any arms,
legs, or fingers left (after the feeding frenzy on my carcass). While the delay in
publishing this fine piece was regrettable, it is still very timely.
Your comments are welcome at rdhedbud@penn.com.
SEPTEMBER 25 - 26, 1999
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