Regular readers of the Almanac (those who eat a lot of bran and get daily exercise) and friends of Your Ob'd't Servant know that for the past two years and change, I've been writing a history of the G.C. Murphy Co.
Murphy's was a McKeesport-based retailer that grew from a handful of five-and-10s to a billion-dollar discount store chain with locations in 24 states before becoming a target of corporate raiders and being taken over in 1985.
Many of my friends have said, "I can't wait until your book is done," mostly so I'll shut up about it, and also because I've used it as an excuse over and over again. "Oh, sorry, I can't come over this weekend --- I'm working on the book." "Oh, I can't take on that project --- I'm working on the book." "Oh, I'm sorry I stole your car and crashed it into a swimming pool --- I'm working on the book."
But a few others have said, "I can't wait to read your book," to which I've replied, "Neither can I." The research largely wrapped up over the spring and summer, and then the writing process began --- I'm about one-third of the way done.
Until recently, though, I had no firm deadline to finish, because we didn't have a publisher. Unlike a few of my former cow-orkers who have written boffo manuscripts and thus scored great book deals, I don't have a particularly sexy subject.
I tried to work in some mob connections, but alas, Murphy's founders were teetotalling Methodists whose most gruesome secret might have been their sale of "Murphy Mix" candy in the 1920s. (It was stale and out-of-date bulk candy mixed together, with the rancid pieces plucked out. And it sold like nickel ice cream cones in July.)
A few people on the G.C. Murphy Company Foundation (which has underwritten the research) and some Murphy Company retirees even wondered whether we would find a publisher.
"Look," I said, "people have published hardcover books on American Motors and the Arnold Palmer Regional Airport. I know, because I bought those books. Someone will publish this thing, and if not, I'll have H.B. South print it and sell the damned thing myself."
Well, it looks like I won't be writing any large checks to South (which does a bang-up job, by the way).
I am pleased and a little bit humbled to announce that Penn State University Press has tentatively agreed to publish For The Love of Murphy's: The Behind-The-Counter Story of a Great American Five-and-Dime, with a projected release date of fall 2008. I've just returned from State College, and things seem very promising.
A great deal of credit goes to Dr. Curtiss Porter, chancellor of Penn State McKeesport Campus, who took a personal interest in the project and (before we knew it) pitched it to the university press. Bless his heart, he got us in the door.
An enormous amount of credit goes to the many, many former G.C. Murphy employees and their relatives who have provided information, photos, hours and hours of their time, and several swift kicks-in-the-pants to keep the project moving forward.
And thank you to all of my friends and family who have provided encouragement, advice and (yes) several swift kicks-in-the-pants.
The bad news is that now I have to finish writing this dad-blasted thing, so be prepared for a lot more whining.
The manuscript is still in rough shape, but a number of chapters are shaping up. In celebration of this week's good fortune, I've decided to tease you with a sidebar from one of the chapters --- it's the story of Murphy's largely forgotten sponsorship of a racing team in the Indianapolis 500 from 1965 until 1971. (Download PDF.) Please be gentle.
Remember when you could turn on your faucet and get water? Boy, those were the days.
Proving that no silver lining comes without a cloud, the recent warming trend caused the earth to move under our feet (cue Carole King), snapping water mains and leaving the taps dry.
I guess they're just not making 100-year-old cast iron pipes like they used to. On Saturday, parts of Evans Street and Versailles Avenue looked like the streets of Venice after a 12-inch main between the Centennial and Haler Heights storage tanks broke.
But that was a mere --- if you'll pardon the expression --- drop in the bucket compared to the ongoing adventures in creative toilet use that people on the other side of the river are now going through. Depending on where you live in West Mifflin, Homestead, Munhall or Whitaker, your water pressure has ranged from "pathetic" to "abysmal" to "non-existent" since Sunday.
It's not exactly a secret that the water and sewer infrastructure around most of the Mon-Yough area dates to the early part of the 20th century. While the gas, electric and telephone companies (even the fershlugginer cable TV companies!) have been systematically replacing their lines, our most important utilities are rusting away beneath our feet.
I don't know about you, but I can live without cable TV. Not being able to flush is another story.
I don't blame the local governments, either. In both McKeesport and the Steel Valley, the water systems were privatized years ago; the city's water system was sold to the Municipal Authority of Westmoreland County 20 years ago, while lines in the West Mifflin area have long been owned by Pennsylvania-American Water Company.
MAWC is an independent non-profit body while PAWC is a division of a giant German conglomerate called RWE.
Perhaps the state Public Utility Commission should be insisting that water mains be systematically replaced when they reach a certain age. And if money's an issue, perhaps all of this slot machine revenue that the Governor and the state Legislature say is coming could be diverted into low-interest loans and grants for water line replacement. A carrot-and-stick approach, in other words.
Oh, wait! The slot machine revenue is spoken for. It's going to float millions of dollars in bonds for a new hockey arena for the Pittsburgh Penguins.
In a couple of years, then, a bunch of Canadian and Russian millionaires will have a nice new building to ice-skate in, while people in Homeville and Munhall Gardens will still be hauling water home in buckets to flush their potties the next time a 100-year-old pipe breaks.
I hope that thought comforts those of you who have been running around in the shower for the past couple of days, trying to get wet as the water dribbles out.
. . .
Meanwhile, over in Picksberg, construction is underway on that $435 million transit tunnel under the Allegheny River. (And you thought Port Authority didn't know its you-know-what from a hole in the ground.)
The taxpayer-funded tunnel is designed to allow people to ride Pittsburgh's three-hole, three-stop miniature subway (hat tip: Peter Leo) to the baseball and football stadiums that you're also paying for.
At the same time, PAT is holding workshops to decide what routes it's going to cut next year to stave off a $19.5 million deficit.
How much do you want to bet that the Mon Valley takes it in the shorts again? You had better believe that light-rail service to Upper St. Clair and Mt. Lebanon is not going to be slashed.
. . .
Finally, from the Tube City Almanac's National Affairs Desk, the music goes 'round and 'round, oh-ho, oh-ho, oh-ho, and it comes out here. On the heels of the report issued by the Iraq Study Group, a blue-ribbon panel headed by former Secretary of State James Baker, the White House is writing its own study:
When the White House review began, the interagency group debated whether to try to beat the Iraqi Study Group's report or let it play out and then look "bigger and better" by doing a report later, said an official familiar with the discussions. It was agreed to wait. But the emphasis throughout the month-long process has been to produce a strategy that would be deliberately distinct, the official added.
The White House review does not have the depth or scope of the Iraq Study Group's, according to officials familiar with the deliberations. "There's a lack of thinking on other big issues -- oil, the economy, infrastructure and jobs," said one source who was briefed on the interagency discussions and requested anonymity because talks are ongoing. (The Washington Post)
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