OK, I'm a little late on this. Mea culpa. But it took me a while to pull this together, which is a major reason that Almanac production has been even thinner than usual.
May 21 marked the 30th anniversary of a devastating day in McKeesport history --- the day that a massive fire ripped through Downtown.
Just before 4 p.m. that Friday afternoon, sparks from a cutting torch set the roof of The Famous Department Store ablaze. Winds quickly whipped the flames into an inferno that spread uptown, wiping out seven buildings and damaging two dozen others.
The final damages were estimated at $5 million, or about $17 million in today's dollars. And the state and federal government both told McKeesport --- which was already facing a big budget deficit --- to go pound sand.
It wasn't the blow that wiped out the Downtown business district, but it certainly didn't help. Indeed, several of the lots that burned that day are still empty.
In preparing this new section of Tube City Online, I was especially fortunate that a friend, who has asked to remain anonymous, donated several color photos taken during the fire and the following morning.
(Also, if you were around on May 21, 1976, feel free to leave your comments below, or email them to me at jt three y at dementia dot org. Naturally, you'll need to replace that spelled-out "three" with the numeral "3.")
Otherwise, and without further ado ... return with me now to May 21, 1976. We pick up our story in the office of McKeesport Fire Chief David Fowler ....
WHEN IN THE COURSE OF HUMAN EVENTS, it becomes necessary for me to work on a holiday, and I have to be in the office at 5:30 a.m., a decent course would be to expect that I would get to bed early.
And if the neighbors go out of town, and their children decide to throw a pool party, a decent respect for the rest of the neighborhood would dictate that said children not shoot off fireworks from 12 to 1 a.m.
Such has been my patient sufferance that I did not, to wit, produce a baseball bat, storm outside, and threaten to clobber every last 15- and 16-year-old. Prudence, indeed, would dictate that such activity would be unlawful, and very, very uncool.
Therefore, we hold these truths to be self-evident: If it ever happens again, than it shall become necessary for me to dissolve the bands of friendship that prevented me from calling the cops on their sorry asses.
And for the support of this declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine providence and the Pennsylvania Crimes Code, Title 18, Section 5503, we pledge to talk to their dad as soon as he gets back into town.
. . .
Damn, but I hate fireworks.
Peter Leo writes in the Post-Gazette about wacky police reports. I've spent a fair amount of time around police officers (and a few times, I wasn't even in custody), and contrary to popular belief, they are human, and many of them have wicked senses of humor. From what I've seen, you have to develop one to do that job without losing your mind.
In fact, you find the same types of personalities among cops, in my experience, that you find in just about any profession: There are some real great people, some crumbs, and a lot of us that have our good days and our bad days.
When I was a beat reporter, I got along well with practically all of the cops I dealt with on a regular basis ... which was tricky at times, since one of the departments was under federal investigation.
There are ethical boundaries that have to be respected, to be sure, and I knew more than one police reporter who didn't know where they were. One was on the police softball team and would hang out with them after work. Another would frequently take privileges extended to cops, like parking in their parking spaces. These may seem like little things, but I tended to think they blurred the lines between "friendly professional acquaintance" and "going native."
On the other hand, there was no excuse, in my opinion, for not being courteous and friendly. Some of the reporters I worked with were astonished that I would shoot the breeze with police dispatchers and desk sergeants even when they didn't have any newsworthy information to tell me.
"Who were you talking to for all that time?" someone would say when I'd get off the phone.
"Sgt. Jones up at the barracks," I'd say. "His daughter just got into Penn State."
"How can you talk to those cops like that?" they'd ask.
"I don't know, I put up with you," I'd reply.
This attitude problem could explain my exit from the newspaper business.
Anyway, my point (and I do have one) is that behind the wheel of that black and white Crown Victoria, wearing the mirrored shades, may be a guy or gal who's worrying about making the mortgage payment this month, nursing a sore back, wondering why the Pirates stink so badly again this year, and hoping they get home in time to watch "The Simpsons."
Or, they could just be a jerk. But don't assume that.
. . .
When I was at the Daily News, Jeff Vavro compiled a package about wacky police reports, "and I helped," with a few choice selections from my archives.
One of my favorites came from Troop A state police in Greensburg ... I still have it somewhere:
Found Property: Assorted marital-type aids discovered along SR xxxx, xxx township. Owner may contact PSP Greensburg.
The suspected narcotics were recovered by state police and transported for analysis. The suspect was arraigned and remanded to Washington County Jail in lieu of bond. PSP Washington would like to remind residents that it always gets its man in the end.
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