Almost twenty years ago in these pages, I eulogized my father. He was a great man, loved by many, and feared by many others (primarily, his children and the boys who dared date his daughter).
When we lose such great people, a good number of great people are left behind to carry on. These people do not get the credit for their on-going efforts until their untimely passing, which is sad. My father died of cancer at the ripe old age of 59, only eight months after he retired from 37 years of service to the Pennsylvania State Police and 29 years of marriage to my mother.
This story starts with my mother. Well, my mother and all of the women left behind by the passing of a “good man.”
My mother (along with my father) raised two kids and helped raise dozens others. Following the death of my father, Mom put our house up for sale and, two years later when it actually sold, she moved to be closer to her family. Her family included her 91-year-old mother who had lost her husband a decade earlier.
These two widows starting me thinking about all of the widows that I know, and all of the children who miss their fathers.
Of my Bedford friends alone, we have lost Dr. Charles Griffiths, Donald Anderson, Rodrick Himmler, David Koury, Blaine Barron, and Martin McGowan. All of them left behind a great woman or five. Sure, there were guys left behind, but as “men” we’re not really allowed to grieve or even really notice the passing of loved ones. So it’s the women who are left to pick up the pieces, take care of everyone, and move on with their lives.
Each of these men played a prominent role in my life and yet I don’t think I ever really took stock of what I lost. I played the male role of making sure that the people directly related to the lost loved one had their needs filled and that the family knew that they could count on me if they needed anything further.
As “men,” we assume that everyone near and dear to us knows how important they are. We don’t tell them that we love them or that we appreciate what they’ve done for us, and then they’re gone. All that’s left for us to do after that is to hug the remaining family, ask “is there anything I can do for you,” make an appearance at the funeral, and return to life as normal.
But no more. The recent passing of James Petrarca was the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back. Karen Petrarca, her four children, their spouses, their children, and anyone else who knew Jim are on notice that his passing is a loss to all of us.
Jim and Karen made me feel like family. He provided a truck for me to move to college. He bought a car from me during my brief and unsuccessful attempt as a car salesman. He proudly showed off his post-retirement project cars when I’d come to visit. He and Karen even graciously provided my wife and me with a place to stay last year even though Jim was sick. They’ve been more than friends…they’ve been extended family.
Why should you care to read about the loss of this one man? Because you should take up the same cause as I have. You should make sure that everyone in your life…family, friends, anyone of significance to you…knows just how you feel. Little things like a heartfelt hug the next time you see them. Let your loved ones actually know that you love them…in so many words. You’ll never know when that will be the last time you speak.
I can still recall the September evening when I walked out of Bedford County Memorial Hospital in 1992 when the last words spoken from my father were “I love you.” And I know I never properly said goodbye to any of the other men mentioned here. That ends now. Join me in letting the “good men” and “great women” in our lives understand what they mean to us! When they’re gone, you’ll wish you had.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Saturday, June 26, 2010
A Transplant in Bedford
I was about 4 when my family moved to Bedford; far too young to have a sense of a “hometown” for myself. Because of this, my suburban Harrisburg first home has become a footnote in my life and Bedford became my adopted hometown. It’s where my memories begin, where my personality developed, where I learned all of the basics that have become the man that I am today.
In many ways, Bedford is every bit the stereotypical small town, but I have only learned this from others. To me, Bedford combines everything I wanted to get away from as a child and almost everything I desire as an adult and a parent. Others, however, gave me a different image of this town.
The crowd with which my parents socialized were, for the most part, transients. The men usually were mid- to high-level executives with Hedstrom or Kennametal or Standard Register who brought their families to Bedford from other corporate offices across the country. Sometimes they stayed for a few months or a few years. I never got close with any of their children because you just never knew when they’d leave town. I never treated them like strangers, but I didn’t embrace them either.
As a transplant, I was never made to feel like an outsider by anyone. My best friend’s mother once told me that, because she moved into town as an adult, she felt like a foreigner. Even though she lived in Bedford for more than 20 years and raised her kids there, she never quite thought of herself as begin at home.
Maybe it was the fact that my father was part of the social network of town as soon as we moved to Bedford because of his job. Maybe it was because my parents were outgoing and social people who attended dances and joined bridge clubs and met some very friendly and connected people.
My friend’s mother, once the kids were grown with families of their own, moved away. It seemed sad that she never felt like she fit in but would be better off had she returned to her “hometown.”
Until the day my mother moved from Bedford nearly 23 years after moving to town, I was a resident of Bedford. Oh, I might have “lived” in Camp Hill or Manayunk or Norristown, but my driver’s license said “Bedford, Pennsylvania.” My mechanic was at East End Texaco. My job references had “623” phone numbers. My dentist, the woman who cut my hair, and my insurance agent all lived in Bedford. I had taken to Bedford and felt that Bedford had taken to me.
A few years after she left, Bedford accepted my friend’s mother back to town. It should have happened three decades earlier, but I’m glad it finally happened at all. You can take the person out of Bedford, but, like the saying goes, you can’t take the Bedford out the person.
In many ways, Bedford is every bit the stereotypical small town, but I have only learned this from others. To me, Bedford combines everything I wanted to get away from as a child and almost everything I desire as an adult and a parent. Others, however, gave me a different image of this town.
The crowd with which my parents socialized were, for the most part, transients. The men usually were mid- to high-level executives with Hedstrom or Kennametal or Standard Register who brought their families to Bedford from other corporate offices across the country. Sometimes they stayed for a few months or a few years. I never got close with any of their children because you just never knew when they’d leave town. I never treated them like strangers, but I didn’t embrace them either.
As a transplant, I was never made to feel like an outsider by anyone. My best friend’s mother once told me that, because she moved into town as an adult, she felt like a foreigner. Even though she lived in Bedford for more than 20 years and raised her kids there, she never quite thought of herself as begin at home.
Maybe it was the fact that my father was part of the social network of town as soon as we moved to Bedford because of his job. Maybe it was because my parents were outgoing and social people who attended dances and joined bridge clubs and met some very friendly and connected people.
My friend’s mother, once the kids were grown with families of their own, moved away. It seemed sad that she never felt like she fit in but would be better off had she returned to her “hometown.”
Until the day my mother moved from Bedford nearly 23 years after moving to town, I was a resident of Bedford. Oh, I might have “lived” in Camp Hill or Manayunk or Norristown, but my driver’s license said “Bedford, Pennsylvania.” My mechanic was at East End Texaco. My job references had “623” phone numbers. My dentist, the woman who cut my hair, and my insurance agent all lived in Bedford. I had taken to Bedford and felt that Bedford had taken to me.
A few years after she left, Bedford accepted my friend’s mother back to town. It should have happened three decades earlier, but I’m glad it finally happened at all. You can take the person out of Bedford, but, like the saying goes, you can’t take the Bedford out the person.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Background
I spent 20 years trying to get out of this place
I was looking for something I couldn't replace
I was running away from the only thing I've ever known
Like a blind dog without a bone
Bon Jovi’s “Who Says You Can’t Go Home” sums up the idea for many of us ex-Bedfordians. From early on, we all decided that there had to be something outside the borders of Bedford County. Like most of my classmates, we couldn’t wait to graduate and get out of town.
Those of us who “escaped” usually felt bad for the ones we left behind. It felt like we were getting out of jail but our buddies hadn’t received the same pardon. Sure, we could go back and visit but it was still like returning out of pity. That’s the way it looked initially.
In my case, the seeds of my envy of those “left behind” started when I was in college. While attending Altoona Campus of Penn State (along with 9 or 10 other members of my graduating class), we found Altoona just as boring for the under-21 crowd as we remembered Bedford. So what did we do to entertain ourselves and our new friends? We took road trips…to Bedford.
Yes, car loads of college kids would drive down to Bedford from “the big city” to find entertainment. Whether it was to visit our old teachers during the day or to surreptitiously pop into the Friday night dances at the Roll Arena, we found Bedford more interesting than the much larger city of Altoona.
So after graduation from college, I moved…back home with Mom and Dad. I took a few jobs including selling cars and painting parts for Hedstrom. But I still clamored to get out of town. The final escape would arrive about a year after leaving Penn State. My connections to my hometown were never completely severed. Even with the death of my father. Even with my sister and my mother each moving out of town. Somehow, Bedford has always been “home” for me.
And many of my childhood friends feel similarly. I have classmates who went to great universities and lived in big cities. Most of them have made new homes elsewhere but a substantial number of them have returned. The trappings of 24-hour cities and corporate coffeehouses on every corner appeal to many but many more see the benefits of knowing your neighbor…and your neighbor knowing you.
A famous book was titled “It Takes a Village” and Bedford could have been the model for that village. My parents were the strongest influences on me growing up, but there were dozens of other residents of Bedford who did their part, big and small, to help raise me.
Bedford is small town Pennsylvania. It is small town America. For good and bad. I hope to relay many of my personal stories as well as the stories of others who grew up or raised their family in and around Bedford County. In these stories, we can all see parts of ourselves. The memories may be important, but it’s what we’ve learned and how we’ve passed the lessons on to others that became invaluable.
I was looking for something I couldn't replace
I was running away from the only thing I've ever known
Like a blind dog without a bone
Bon Jovi’s “Who Says You Can’t Go Home” sums up the idea for many of us ex-Bedfordians. From early on, we all decided that there had to be something outside the borders of Bedford County. Like most of my classmates, we couldn’t wait to graduate and get out of town.
Those of us who “escaped” usually felt bad for the ones we left behind. It felt like we were getting out of jail but our buddies hadn’t received the same pardon. Sure, we could go back and visit but it was still like returning out of pity. That’s the way it looked initially.
In my case, the seeds of my envy of those “left behind” started when I was in college. While attending Altoona Campus of Penn State (along with 9 or 10 other members of my graduating class), we found Altoona just as boring for the under-21 crowd as we remembered Bedford. So what did we do to entertain ourselves and our new friends? We took road trips…to Bedford.
Yes, car loads of college kids would drive down to Bedford from “the big city” to find entertainment. Whether it was to visit our old teachers during the day or to surreptitiously pop into the Friday night dances at the Roll Arena, we found Bedford more interesting than the much larger city of Altoona.
So after graduation from college, I moved…back home with Mom and Dad. I took a few jobs including selling cars and painting parts for Hedstrom. But I still clamored to get out of town. The final escape would arrive about a year after leaving Penn State. My connections to my hometown were never completely severed. Even with the death of my father. Even with my sister and my mother each moving out of town. Somehow, Bedford has always been “home” for me.
And many of my childhood friends feel similarly. I have classmates who went to great universities and lived in big cities. Most of them have made new homes elsewhere but a substantial number of them have returned. The trappings of 24-hour cities and corporate coffeehouses on every corner appeal to many but many more see the benefits of knowing your neighbor…and your neighbor knowing you.
A famous book was titled “It Takes a Village” and Bedford could have been the model for that village. My parents were the strongest influences on me growing up, but there were dozens of other residents of Bedford who did their part, big and small, to help raise me.
Bedford is small town Pennsylvania. It is small town America. For good and bad. I hope to relay many of my personal stories as well as the stories of others who grew up or raised their family in and around Bedford County. In these stories, we can all see parts of ourselves. The memories may be important, but it’s what we’ve learned and how we’ve passed the lessons on to others that became invaluable.
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