My mother, Mary, was 19 in the spring of 1945 and had a war-related job in downtown Pittsburgh working for the American Bureau of Shipping. The Bureau was located on the 32nd floor of the Grant Building, the 2nd tallest building in Pittsburgh (it had been the tallest until the 44-story Gulf Building opened in 1933). Mom's job, her first out of high school, was as a typist who prepared shipping certificates that were attached to crates of munitions being shipped to various European destinations (she was under strict orders not to discuss her work). In smoky Pittsburgh of the 1940's this was a great place to be working, and the Grant Building was one of the city's premiere business addresses.
April 12 was Thursday and she and her friend/co-worker Willa left work and walked down to Joseph Horne department store where they got on the streetcar for the 20-30 minute trip to their neighborhood of Chartiers City. Shortly after arriving at their stop they bumped into a neighbor, Mrs. Frankel, who told them the news that President Roosevelt had died a short time ago. FDR died of a stroke in the middle of the afternoon while having his portrait painted in Warms Springs, Georgia.
The president was only 63 and just three months into his unprecedented 4th term. Shortly after the news was reported on the radio paperboys were on the streets selling an "extra" edition of the paper with the breaking news. Mom said it was difficult to imagine life without him; after all, her formative years had been lived entirely under FDR's presidency. And Harry Truman's countrified persona couldn't have been more different from that of the more worldly FDR with his trademark monocle and cigarette holder.
One month later the war ended in Europe and Mom was without a job. However, she said it was all done in a very nice way and everyone who was let go was given a bonus. With part of hers Mom bought a pair of earrings she had been admiring for some time at a jewelry store in the lobby of the Grant Building. They had three small clusters, each with a different colored gemstone surrounded by rhinestones. They cost $5 (about $65 in today's dollars). And she still has them.
(To further immerse yourself in FDR's legacy you may want to consider the book FDR or the PBS video American Experience: FDR).
Ours was one of the first families in the neighborhood to get a color TV. It was a Magnavox and it was delivered at the beginning of the week. Today was Thursday, April 4, 1968 and I had just come in from playing in the backyard where I'd been having fun rolling around inside the TV's shipping box. (I was 10 years old at the time.) Now I was lying on the living room floor ready to watch The Flying Nun in living color for the first time.
However, shortly after it came on a news bulletin interrupted to report that civil rights leader Martin Luther King, Jr. had been shot and killed while standing on the balcony of his motel room in Memphis. He was just 39 years old.
The next day, looking from our side porch, we could see smoke rising in the distance (about 10 miles away). It was from rioting in a predominantly black neighborhood in Pittsburgh known as the Hill District. (Riots had broken out across the country as a result of MLK's assassination.) Since we lived in a predominantly white community I didn't realize Pittsburgh had many black residents, at least not enough to have their own neighborhood.
Tuesday, April 9, was King's funeral in Atlanta and our schools were closed because of concerns that there might be trouble. I didn't watch the funeral but occasionally would catch a glimpse of the funeral procession on TV when I'd walk through the living room. For the most part I spent the day outside playing because the weather was nice & warm. This was my first exposure to the tumult of 1968 that was just getting underway.
(There are countless books and videos about the accomplishments of and controversies surrounding King, including an autobiography, the 1978 NBC mini-series King and the acclaimed PBS documentary from 2004 Citizen King.)
After I graduated from Penn State at the beginning of the month I spent the rest of March 1979 going on job interviews in New York City. I stayed with my older brother, Darrell, who lived in Bayonne, New Jersey, which was conveniently located just across New York Harbor from Manhattan. In the months preceding my graduation I had set up meetings at ad agencies such as J. Walter Thompson, Dancer Fitzgerald Sample and Grey Advertising and once in NYC I arranged appointments with a number of personnel agencies.
If nothing turned up I planned to return home to Pittsburgh where I'd resume my job search. (However, the Personnel director - it wasn't called Human Resources back then - at the Kenyon & Eckhardt ad agency insisted that if I really wanted to work in advertising it had to be in NYC. It seems he held a grudge against Pittsburgh and its "provincial" mores because a few years earlier the big ad agency there, Ketchum & MacLeod, told him that if he wanted to be hired he'd need to marry the woman he was living with.)
March 28 was a chilly Wednesday and after having meetings at three personnel agencies I walked across town to the Port Authority terminal to catch my bus back to Jersey. Walking along 42nd St. near the Public Library a NY Post headline caught my eye. It screamed (as only a Post headline could) that an accident had occurred at a nuclear reactor in south central Pennsylvania and there was the possibility of a radiation leak.
Residents of the New York metropolitan area were reassured that if a leak occurred we wouldn't be in danger, at least for the next few days, since the wind would be coming out of the north. Still, the accident was of great concern since 30 million persons lived within a 200-mile radius of the reactor. There was also skepticism about how forthright officals were being with the public as they tried to reassure residents in the vicinty of the reactor. (My Aunt Lee and Uncle George lived in York, not far from where the reactor was located.)
A few days later Darrell and I saw the new movie China Syndrome (starring Jane Fonda, Jack Lemmon and Michael Douglas) which, by eerie coincidence, had a plot about a meltdown cover up. Looking back, I don't recall ever feeling panicked over the incident at Three Mile Island despite the fact that it was the most serious accident at a commercial nuclear power plant in U.S. history. Perhaps it was the cockeyed optimism that came with being a recent college grad.
A week later my future looked bright as I was hired by ad agency Scali, McCabe, Sloves to work in its media department. And thousands of residents from south central Pennsylvania began returning to their homes. (Later in the year, however, my future seemed somewhat uncertain when talk of war, and a possible military draft, arose after Americans were taken hostage at the U.S. Embassy in Tehran.)
My grandmother, Margaret Cerovski (nee Revay), arrived in the U.S. from Czechoslovakia in September 1920 (she celebrated her 21st birthday while crossing the Atlantic). After being processed at Ellis Island she continued on to Pittsburgh where her brother Michael lived (their 11 brothers and sisters remained back in the "old country").
After she and my grandfather (from the Croatian region of Yugoslovia) became citizens in the 1930's Grandma thought about visiting her family because her mother was in declining health. She also wanted to take my mother and uncle, who were teenagers, with her. However, Czechoslovakia was being slowly partitioned by Nazi Germany and Slovakia, the eastern region of the country my grandmother was from, was agitating for its independence. For these reasons my grandfather wouldn't allow Grandma to take Mom & Uncle George. And then today in 1939 Czechoslovakia's beleaguered president (pictured with Hitler) signed over the country to Hitler and the thought of Grandma even visiting by herself ended. WWII would begin 6 months later.
Although she never visited her homeland Grandma kept in touch with her brothers and sisters. She was the middle child but managed to outlive all of her siblings and died in 1999 just 6 months shy of her 100th birthday.
February 22, 1987 was an unusually social Sunday for me. I spent the early part of the afternoon at a brunch in the West Village at the apartment of my friend Marc, a fellow I dated briefly the previous year. (We met when he walked up behind me at Uncle Charlie's bar and snapped the back of my suspenders).
After brunch a group of us went to a mid-afternoon tea dance at a club in Chelsea called Tracks. From there I taxied down to SoHo to attend a 5th anniversary celebration for GMHC (Gay Men's Health Crisis) held at the Puck Building. That was followed by dinner at Taste of Tokyo and then a brief visit to the club Palladium on 14th St.
I didn't get home until late and when I sat down to watch the 11:00 news I was shocked to learn of Andy Warhol's death. He died from complications after having simple gallbladder surgery. He was just 58. (Somewhat overlooked was the death on the same day of talk show host David Susskind.)
I felt somewhat of a connection to Warhol because, like me, he grew up in Pittsburgh and was of Slovakian parentage (my maternal grandmother was born in Slovakia). 7 years after his death, while I was in Pittsburgh to attend my father's funeral, I visited the newly opened Andy Warhol Museum (pictured, left) with my brother, his fiance and my two young nephews. It was ironic that the museum (at the time the only one in the U.S. devoted to one artist) was here because Warhol apparently was ashamed of his Pittsburgh roots.
(Many books are available about Warhol's life and his body of work. One in particular that got a lot of press when it was published in the early '90's was The Andy Warhol Diaries.)
I was 11 years old at the time and living in Pittsburgh - and greatly annoyed that we got hardly a snowflake from this snowstorm. Meteorology was a new interest of mine and I didn't yet understand the dynamics of weather systems, e.g. East Coast storms often don't affect Western Pennsylvania because the Appalachian Mountains act as a barrier. (As was the case with the post-Christmas blizzard in 2010.) The 15.3" that fell on New York beginning Sunday, February 9, 1969 brought the city to a virtual standstill for a number of days. It was front page news in the Pittsburgh papers, and I eyed the photos enviously. (Like the one to the right showing mostly foot traffic on 2nd Ave. near 45th St.)
It became known as the "Lindsay snowstorm" because New York's mayor John Lindsay (pictured, left) was blamed for not getting streets plowed quickly enough, especially in the boro of Queens. It nearly cost him re-election later that year, but he won running as an independent. (10 years later a series of crippling snowstorms in Chicago was largely responsible for the defeat of its mayor.) At the time it was the City's tenth biggest snowstorm - since then eight subsequent storms have had larger accumulations.
This snowstorm was the inspiration for two episodes of the sitcom That Girl (starring Marlo Thomas). In a two-part storyline Ann and boyfriend Donald were stranded at JFK by the snowstorm after accompanying her parents to the airport. This threatened a Broadway audition Ann had later that day - which she eventually did over the phone. Later, Donald, a writer for the fictional Newsview Magazine, wrote a story about Ann's experience. These episodes aired on ABC on October 30 and November 6, 1969. (They are from the show's fourth season which is available on Amazon.)
Until this year my hometown Pittsburgh Steelers had a long history of losing. This season, however, they finished with a solid winning record (11-3) and made it to the playoffs. On this Saturday afternoon the Oakland Raiders were in Pittsburgh playing the Steelers in the AFC Divisional Playoffs. While the game was being played I was out collecting payment from customers of my morning paper route (the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette). Since it was Christmas, instead of the usual 25-50 cent tips, I was collecting tips in the stratospheric $2 to $5 range.
When I returned home the game was on the radio and it didn't look good as the Raiders had a 7-6 lead late in the game. Then in a flash the tables were turned as a pass by Steelers quarterback Terry Bradshaw bounced off the intended receiver and landed in the hands of Steelers rookie (and NFL Rookie of the Year) Franco Harris just before it reached the ground. He scooped it up and scooted 60 yards for the game winning touchdown with less than 20 seconds remaining. However, it took five minutes before Harris' catch was confirmed by officials as a legitimate reception. It was even more confusing if you weren't watching on TV as was our case since the game was blacked out in Pittsburgh.
Even today it seems unbelievable that this catch happened. And although the Steelers season ended the next week when they lost to the undefeated Miami Dolphins it was the beginning of the Steelers becoming one of the most successful and widely followed teams in the nation. (To immerse yourself fully in "Steelers Nation" lore the book The Good, The Bad & The Ugly Pittsburgh Steelersis a good starting point.)
It was early Saturday afternoon when I brought in the afternoon paper (Pittsburgh Press) from the front porch and saw the headline about a bridge disaster in nearby Point Pleasant, WV the night before. The Silver Bridge fell into the Ohio River during evening rush hour, killing 46. It still ranks as the nation's deadliest bridge collapse.
Although I was just 10 at the time the tragedy resonated for two reasons: 1) It was incongruous to my young brain that such a tragedy could occur at Christmastime and 2) Because of its famed three rivers Pittsburgh was a city of bridges and every Sunday we traveled over one (the Wind Gap Bridge) to pick up my grandmother for church. For some time after the Silver Bridge disaster I'd become nervous whenever we'd be stopped on the bridge because of traffic.
All disasters are unfortunate but those that occur during the Christmas season are particularly tragic. Some of the more high profile in the past 50 years include: 1960 - On 12/16 two planes collided over Staten Island killing 134; 1975 - A bomb exploded in a locker at LaGuardia Airport on 12/29 killing 11 and injuring 75; 1988 - Pan Am flight 103 bound for NYC exploded over Lockerbie, Scotland on 12/21 killing all 259 on board and 11 on the ground; and 2004 - The great Indian Ocean tsunami (pictured) killed 230,000+ the day after Christmas.
Many thanks to my mother for filling in for me to recount her memories of the day Japanese planes attacked Pearl Harbor, an act that drew the U.S. into World War II.
Sunday, December 7 was a mild early winter day in Pittsburgh. After going to morning Mass and having lunch Mom went visiting at a girlfriend's house where their socializing was interrupted by a news bulletin on the radio reporting on Japan's surprise aerial attack of the U.S. Navy base in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii shortly after sunrise. Shortly afterward her friend Ginny's brother-in-law, who was home on military leave, received a call ordering him back to base immediately. (The book At Dawn We Slept is one of many on the subject of this sneak attack.)
Because Pittsburgh was one of the centers of U.S. military production there were fears about it being bombed as well. This led to regular blackout exercises whereby residents were required, upon hearing air-raid sirens, to switch off all lights and pull down window shades. The goal was to make streets and landmarks harder to pinpoint in the event enemy bombers were overhead. Mom's brother, my uncle George, was a senior in high school at the time and after graduating was inducted into the Marines and sent to Paradise Island for training. He then spent the next three years in the Pacific repairing planes. And Mom, then a junior in high school (her "sweet 16" birthday was the following week on December 14), helped with the war effort by distributing ration coupons. After she graduated in 1943 she got a job documenting and tracking supplies of ammunition being put on supply ships sailing to Europe.
Although it was a time of great worry Mom didn't recall feeling fearful but instead there was a sense of purpose and solidarity with neighbors and schoolmates as each made contributions to the war effort.
The day before Thanksgiving 1971 was a snowy one in the hills of Western Pennsylvania (about 4" fell). I was in the 9th grade at the time and my dad had gotten four tickets at work to tonight's Penguins hockey game at Pittsburgh's Civic Arena. I went with my older sister Linda, older brother Darrell (home for the holiday during his freshman year at Indiana University of PA) and a neighbor from down the street. The Penguins lost to Toronto 2-1 but it was an enjoyable outing nonetheless.
Walking home after getting off the bus we were playing around in the snow and throwing an occasional snowball. At one point I jerked my head to avoid one being thrown and my glasses flew off. After looking for them for some time with no luck I ran home to get a flashlight (Mom joined us). Finally, in the midst of our search a neighbor approached in his car and stopped when he saw our search party in the middle of the street. He stayed so we could look in the light cast by his high beams and shortly thereafter we found my glasses. We had been out in the cold for close to an hour.
Meanwhile, while we conducted our search another was about to unfold in the Pacific Northwest. A passenger named DB Cooper had hijacked a plane, demanded parachutes and $200,000 (about $1 million in today's $) and then jumped from the plane during a rainstorm into the wilderness north of Portland, Oregon. Although hijackings had become a hazard of air travel since the late 60's, the way this one was carried out made it unique. And although a bundle of deteriorated twenty-dollar bills was discovered in 1980, and traced back to those given him, Cooper himself was never found.
(The book D.B. Cooper: Dead or Alive? provides the full story of this mysterious man and his curious caper.) The following clip goes into greater detail about Cooper.
