The Joy of Snapping Beans and Pittsburgh
I grew up on an Air Force base, so seeing a “real town” was only when we drove to visit relatives who lived in either West Palm Beach or Miami, FL, or Columbus, OH. My Dad was an only child with a difficult childhood so we returned to Lancaster, OH, a suburb of Columbus, very rarely, although I remember a relative had a house on Lake Buckeye. Therefore, I grew up with an appreciation for the Ohio State Marching Band, but we also spent time on Lake Ozark from our time at Whiteman AFB, so I’m not sure which lake porch I’m remembering. The point is, my love of old wicker, rocking chairs and snapping beans was born on a porch by a lake. Also my love of a good drumline.
Years later, I attended Frostburg State College in Frostburg, MD, which is located at the top of a “mountain” at 2,000+ feet above sea level. The valley below could be 55 degrees but Frostburg could still have blizzard conditions. Kids could jump from their second level dorm room onto the snowdrifts below and remain there if they had enough grain alcohol in them, or at least that was the legend. Frostburg had a lovely downtown with a great old theater, a shop that I couldn’t afford, but I gave up meals to buy great sweaters instead. When I had the money, I’d treat myself to the Princess Restaurant, which is still there. Main Street USA at its best. It reminded me of visiting Ohio relatives because my father’s uncles were butchers and they had a great old butcher shop, with a massive brass cash register, and a glass store sign with gold leaf lettering which my brother still has. That’s where I would get the dime and a cold Crush outside from the machine and then walk to the candy store for a edible necklace. Back in Frostburg, for fun, we would go to Dan’s Rock (picture on the lower right) and climb to the top just to look out at the vista or, a few times, scale down on the other side and walk the several miles to the pick-up point. To be able to do that now…goodness.
Frostburg was about three hours from Pittsburgh, PA, so on my 20th birthday, October 11, 1975, my boyfriend (Lord knows who that was) and I drove to Pittsburgh for the day. I shopped at Gimbels and Kaufman’s and every little store on Sixth Avenue, the heart of downtown. A crisp autumn day during the middle of Pittsburgh Steelers football season was all it took. I was now a Steeler fan. Little did I know it but on that day, the Steelers, led by Chuck Noll with Bradshaw, Bleier, Stallworth, Swann, Mean Joe Green, Jack Ham and Lambert, were preparing to play at home that Sunday against the Broncos.
When I got my first job as a legal secretary in Washington, D.C., making $10,250 a year, I met Jerry Zaucha who, in turns out, was born in Uniontown and raised in Washington, PA, just outside of Pittsburgh and himself a diehard fan. I chose Pittsburgh first and Jerry sealed the deal. We would drive five hours from DC to attend games with his parents. His mom would prepare gourmet food for tailgating; no hot dogs for that chick; and chant HERE WE GO STEELERS, HERE WE GO. We would eat a lot of peanuts while trying to stay warm and then listen to Myron Cope’s post radio show on the drive home. I was introduced to Sarris Pretzels and food his mother made. She could make a gourmet meal out of absolutely anything. That’s a post of its own.
Check out those Frye boots and me in my size 4 jeans.
After a great day, we drove back to Frostburg and pulled in about 11 p.m. only to find my housemates huddled around the television waiting for the anticipated new sketch comedy show called “NBC’s Saturday Night” because Howard Cosell already had a show called Saturday Night Live with Howard Cosell. SNL took the name in ‘76 after Cosell’s show closed. Nobody had a clue what to expect or what was about to be unleashed into popular culture. Hosted by George Carlin with musical guest, Billie Preston, the show featured The Not Ready for Prime Time Players, a cast of soon-to-become household names — Aykroyd, Belushi, Chase, Jane Curtin, Garrett Morris, Laraine Newman and Gilda Radner. Life, or at least television, would never quite be the same.
Coming up next…Thanksgiving and how going home to Pittsburgh with Jerry at Thanksgiving only to arrive in time to watch his mother pluck feathers out of the chicken that was {clearing throat} extremely fresh.
