I didn't realize until I saw the front page of yesterday's Courier that William "Mugsy" Moore had died Aug. 6. He was 81 and had lived with diabetes for years.
Best known as Pittsburgh's first black police chief and credited with "blazing a trail" for other African-American patrol officers in the 1950s, I knew him later, after he retired from the Pittsburgh force and served as chief of the Braddock police department in the 1990s.
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Frankly, there would be more pleasant ways to spend your retirement --- like working as the target in a knife-throwing act.
The Braddock police force had been disbanded several years before Moore was hired, and standards and procedures were almost non-existent. So was the budget for police gear and salaries.
The borough's leadership was almost dysfunctional --- state troopers had to break up one council meeting when members started throwing chairs at one another --- and micromanaged the police department's every move.
Moore struggled valiantly and with some success, I thought, to instill a sense of pride, professionalism and responsibility in his colleagues, and to insulate them from interference.
When he retired for a second time, Braddock brought in a police chief from Joliet, Ill., who had blue-ribbon credentials but lacked Moore's diplomatic skills, and the borough council soon fired him. Chief Moore came out of retirement to serve Braddock again for a few months, but his health was failing and I don't think his heart was in it. He didn't last long.
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There were controversies during his tenure, to be sure. Once he was charged with DUI by police in a neighboring borough, but Moore said he wasn't drunk, that his sugar was low, and there were whispers around town the chief in the other community was jealous of the attention Moore got.
And despite his political finesse, Moore still tangled with Braddock council regularly; he tried to get one councilman removed from office on the grounds that the man was a convicted arsonist (he had done time in federal prison) and thus ineligible to serve under Article II, Section 7 of the state Constitution.
I was more disturbed by the fact that the volunteer fire department had elected the guy fire chief.
No, I am not kidding. Only in the Mon Valley do we make a convicted arsonist the fire chief.
The state attorney general's office and the Allegheny County district attorney's office chickened out, and refused to remove the guy; the councilman swore revenge against Moore. A few years later, he wound up being convicted of skimming money from the fire department's bingo.
Chief Moore, on the other hand, was buried last week with a full police honor guard, including Pittsburgh police Chief Nate Harper and Assistant Chief Maurita Bryant.
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The website Freedom Corner lists him as one of the "legends" of Pittsburgh's civil-rights movement; it notes that as riots tore American cities apart after Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s assassination, Moore joined a peace march from the Hill District.
Besides fighting for equal rights for African-Americans, Moore also stood up for the right of women to take leadership roles. Before Moore became a supervisor, Pittsburgh's female officers weren't allowed to drive police cars. He changed that insane policy, and as chief he appointed the city's first woman police commander.
As a peace officer, wrote Moustafa Ayad in an obituary for the Post-Gazette, Moore had an "old-school ethos of policing that combined compassion and kick-in-the-pants discipline."
I can't say I knew him well, and I had lost touch with him several years ago, but I admired and respected and liked William H. Moore.
And I looked up to him. That's probably why I never felt comfortable calling him "Mugsy." It's a diminutive, and for whatever his flaws, there was nothing small about him. He was a giant of a man.
Requiescat in pace.
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To Do This Weekend: Did you eat too much at International Village? Here's your chance to dance away the calories. CountryFest will be held tonight, Saturday and Sunday at Stephen Barry Field in Renziehausen Park.
Dallas Marks headlines a full slate of local and national performers who also include Lois Scott & The Plum Loco Band, Girlz in Black Hats, T.J. Houston, Cranky Yankee, Jerry Schickling, Bryan Cole, Buc Wyld, Southern Discomfort, Blind Date and Whiskey Grin.
There will also be games, craft displays and food, and fireworks tomorrow night starting at 10:30 p.m. A portion of all proceeds benefits the American Cancer Society; admission is only $5. Visit countryfest.8m.com for details.
The state Department of Transportation has released its list of "structurally-deficient" bridges, and if you live in the Elizabeth-Forward School District, you might want to make sure your life insurance is paid up. By my count, a total of 30 bridges in Elizabeth Borough and Elizabeth and Forward townships are ranked "structurally deficient."
OK, I'm exaggerating the danger. PennDOT is quick to say that bridges deemed "structurally deficit" are safe, but need "costly repairs" to come up to modern-day standards. I'm interpreting that to mean that the bridge might not be falling apart --- it might just be too narrow or rated for smaller loads than modern traffic requires.
Still, the list is fairly sobering. Besides the EF bridges, 20 are "structurally deficient" in neighboring Rostraver, and 10 in North Huntingdon.
Five of North Huntingdon's "structurally deficient bridges" are along Route 993 near Ardara and Larimer.
I regularly drive Route 993 and Route 136, which has five "structurally deficient" spans in Westmoreland and several in central Washington County. So I'm not too surprised to hear that the bridges on those highways are narrow or otherwise in poor condition.
But secondary highways like 993 are hardly major arteries. It's more disturbing to read that nine bridges on the Parkway East are rated "structurally deficient," including the bridges that cross Old William Penn Highway and Haymaker Road.
Or that seven bridges on Interstate 70 near New Stanton and Belle Vernon are "structurally deficient."
In general, the PennDOT chart is a little bit confusing, because it doesn't list the common names for roads --- just the state's four-digit highway numbers. If I get any time this weekend, I'll try and identify some of the offenders, but here are the raw numbers, as best as my calculations allow.
(Editor's note: As a public service to the thousands of people who will be attending International Village today, tomorrow and Thursday, as well as the tens of dozens who read the Almanac, we are reprinting last year's handy guide to attending the area's premier food and music festival. It's been updated slightly. Feel free to clip and save it, or if you can't clip things from the screen, just carry your computer with you.
You may also enjoy this 1972 look at the Village, reprinted from Ford Times.)
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Every year, tens of thousands of Pennsylvanians descend on Our Fair City's Renziehausen Park for the ethnic food, dancing, food, music and food festival known as "International Village." Though other communities have imitated it (and I'm looking at you, Picksberg), they have not been able to duplicate the experience.
For months ahead of time, churches, ethnic clubs and other associations prepare foods and crafts for sale, while performance groups prepare traditional costumes and practice folk songs and dances.
Did I mention food? I did? Good.
Well, that time is here again! Today, tomorrow and Thursday, the balalaikas, tamburas and bass guitars will be plunking, the dancers will be twirling, and thousands of Westinghouse electric roasters have emerged from pantries and basements and been pressed into service to keep pierogies, pirohis, perogis, pirozhkis and pirogies warm. Some people will even be making piroghies.
In the past, International Village was mostly made up of those "nations" that stretched from, oh, say, Dublin to Minsk, and south to Palermo. But over the years, as different ethnic groups have settled in Western Pennsylvania, more and more traditions of Latin America, the Caribbean and Africa are being represented at the "Village." For those of us who enjoy eating sweet and sour pork, cheese ravioli and halushki while listening to Slovenian music, this is a definite plus.
Lifelong residents of the Mon-Yough area know that the Village represents a great time and a chance to get in touch with your ethnic roots. But for those Almanac visitors who aren't in WEDO's coverage area, here's an insider's guide to International Village, telling you the kinds of things that you don't get in the free souvenir program.
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International Village is held at Stephen Barry Field in McKeesport's Renziehausen Park for three days every August.
Contrary to popular belief, you can reach McKeesport quickly and easily, and we do have paved roads. Renzie Park is particularly easy to get to --- from Westmoreland County, take Route 30 west to Route 48 south. Take Route 48 south to Route 148 north. Follow Route 148 north about three blocks to Eden Park Boulevard.
From Pittsburgh, you may take the Parkway East to Forest Hills, then take Route 30 east to East McKeesport. Turn right onto Route 148 south and follow Route 148 to Hartman Street, then turn left.
Unlike what you may have seen reported on the Pittsburgh TV news, we are largely friendly and harmless, and we do have such conveniences as electricity, telephones and indoor toilets. No Starbucks yet, but we're hopeful. (We'll probably get one just as that trend finally dies.)
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Parking is at a premium during International Village. Some of the local churches offer paid parking in their lots, but any free parking near Stephen Barry Field tends to fill up quickly.
Luckily, Renzie Park is a large, regional park, so there are spaces available, but they're not necessarily adjacent to Stephen Barry Field. If you can walk, simply plan to wear comfortable shoes, and give yourself plenty of time. You will enjoy the stroll. Renzie is lovely on a summer evening.
If you are elderly or disabled, I hope you can find a space close to the entrances.
But if you're able-bodied, and you insist on circling the parking lots near the tennis courts endlessly for hours hoping that a space opens up, I reserve the right to mock your wardrobe, grooming and parentage.
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In a related matter, have some common courtesy --- for crying out loud, don't park on the end of the aisle and block other people in. Your legs aren't broken. But maybe they should be. At the very least, someone should steal your hubcaps.
Also, there is no valet parking at International Village. I don't know who you gave the car keys to, but I sure hope you have a bus schedule handy.
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Other Activities: McKeesport Heritage Center, located on Arboretum Drive, will have special extended hours during International Village. If you haven't purchased a copy of Images of America: McKeesport, this is an ideal time to do so.
The Heritage Center also has copies of a recent documentary on the life of pioneer aviator Helen Richey and other memorabilia on sale, as well as exhibits documenting life around the Mon-Yough area and McKeesport's first school house. It's well worth a visit, and I say that not just because the Center supplied about 30 of the photos for the upcoming Murphy book.
Also, the Renzie Park Arboretum, which is surprisingly also located on Arboretum Drive, is open until sunset. It's one of only about 100 nationally recognized rose gardens in the United States, so take a break from the Village and stop to smell the roses. (Rimshot.)
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Do: Wear your "Kiss Me, I'm Irish," "Treat Me, I'm Dutch," "Proud to Be Italian," etc., T-shirt.
Don't: Tell Polish jokes, or say something like, "Wow! Look at all the hunkies!" And speaking in an exaggerated, "Mamma-mia! That's-a speecy-spicy meatsaballa!" accent around the Italian booth is considered bad form.
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If you are over the age of 10, and are eating hot dogs at the "American" booth, you should be ashamed of yourself. You probably think burritos heated in the microwave at Uni-Mart are "authentic Mexican cuisine."
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The food prices at the Village are set by the individual groups doing the vending. You may find $5 for a kolbassi sandwich too much to pay, and decide to eat somewhere else. That is your prerogative.
But for some of the groups exhibiting at International Village, this is the one big fundraising event they have each year. They will no doubt invest the profits from your $5 kolbassi sandwich into silly, frivolous extras like the water bill, the gas bill, the light bill, and educational and cultural programs.
Choose instead to stop for a 99-cent "extra value" cheeseburger on the way home, and contemplate all of the ethnic and social programs the Wendy's Corporation has funded in your community over the last year. I hope the mustard and pickles cover up the taste of regret, you cheapskate.
Or, buy something at the Village to eat. It's your choice. There's no pressure.
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Admission: There is a small admission charge to enter International Village. For a long time, it was 50 cents, and before that, it was free. It's $2 this year.
There are still people who think it should be free, and mark the city's "decline" to the year that they started charging people four bits to walk around International Village. Many of these people are also still upset that CBS cancelled "Ed Sullivan."
If you're one of the people, I'm wondering how you made it onto the Internet to read the Almanac, so please write to me.
A postcard to P.O. Box 94, McKeesport, PA 15134 is acceptable. Feel free to steam a stamp off of a Christmas card, or just send Bob Cratchit over to deliver it.
"Hmm, that stage looks familiar," I thought last week as I read Justin Hopper's profile of Clairton singer Chuck Corby in Pittsburgh City Paper.
Sure enough, it's the Valley Hotel, which I wrote about in July with help from John Barna.
My enjoyment of an otherwise fine story was somewhat marred by the opening paragraph:
Under the harsh stage lights, Chuck Corby's face is strained, reddened as he crouches and begs over the end of a musical phrase: "Honey, let me stay." It's a plea he's been making for over 40 years, and yet tonight, in the confines of Clairton's small, worn Valley Hotel -- a dusty roadhouse between disused Mon Valley mills -- his "Honey, Let Me Stay" means something new. It's as though Corby, the definitive music-world veteran, is begging for one more shot at salvation: one more roadhouse gig, one more aging audience, one more dismissive woman to sing for.
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