valley connections: In case you missed it
From the Observer-Reporter
Because this didn't happen in McKeesport, West Mifflin or White Oak, it may not matter to our "local" paper. It does, however, matter to us. Please check out this LINK to get the full details.
valley connections: charleroi's roads
Drive at your own risk ... literally!
Driving through Charleroi these days is like being perpetually stuck on Evergreen Drive in Monessen, where even the potholes have potholes! To say that the roads in the Magic City are treacherous would be an understatement because it's downright dangerous, and that's not even taking into consideration the unbearable wear and tear on vehicles.
Please check out this piece from KDKA that features both Charleroi Borough Manager Joe Manning, as well as CFD Chief Bob Whiten, whose vehicles are taking an absolute pounding on an almost daily basis. LINK
valley connections: social disease
Social Media? Social Poison
You’ve been warned before but haven’t yielded anyone’s advice. You know that you’re filling your head with gibberish & nonsense, yet you still believe 99% of what you read because, well, it’s in print. You feel sick to your stomach when you read a majority of posts and can’t understand why you feel the need to react to every single one of them.
Stop, in the name of sanity!
This “social media” thing is a farce, an unfunny joke with no punchline. It’s a disease that’s spread by uncaring, unthinking dupes who feel they’re doing the world a favor by disseminating misinformation.
It’s all smoke and mirrors.
Way back in 2021, when I abandoned my plans to run for Mayor of Monessen and throw my support behind Ron Mozer, I started a “podcast”, a weekly Facebook rant that tackled everything - and everyone - that had a hand in dragging our city down since 1996.
I conducted a lot of research, scouring the pages of old newspapers to gather facts that proved the points I was making. I was meticulous in my quest for the truth, which I shared in abundance on the podcast, as well as on my personal FB page. To say that the information opened eyes would be an understatement: What we were able to provide the voters of Monessen was a blueprint, a guide to show why what we had tried for 25 years definitively wasn’t working.
During that time period I was fed “facts” by many Facebook “friends”, most of whom were looking to smear others, not to provide factual information. I vehemently vetted everything that came my way, discarding the majority of it and questioning the motives of those who shared with me.
Because I know the definitions of both libel and slander, I wasn’t about to get caught in a lawsuit because some bored housewife on Center Drive doesn’t like her neighbor.
Social media, however, is not vetted. It’s private individuals who feel the need to share every thought they have every minute they have it. It’s mostly venting, nothing more or less. When you really review pages like Facebook’s “Charleroi Rambler”, you’ll find a lot of homophobia, misogyny and racism, much of which is both applauded and encouraged.
Look at the slow adult who accosted Augusta “Queenie” Goll in Walmart just before Christmas. This blowhard was so proud of his accomplishment that he chose to post his video on social media, with the hopes of getting a lot of positive reinforcement from the MAGA community (which he’s gotten by the way). His fellow MAGAts on the Rambler are probably ready to get him back on Council, post haste!
Do yourself a favor and quit social media today. You won’t miss anything other than the constant headache you get every time you check your account to see who’s giving you the attention you crave.
Social media isn’t life, it’s poison. Stop feeding the beast before it swallows you whole.
UPDATE: Story featured on WTAE. LINK
UPDATE: In case you'd forgotten about Michael Todora's sketchy background, here's a refresher. LINK
public service announcement: stray cats & rabies
WUO - Wound of Unknown Origin
After a visit from the Department of Agriculture eight years ago, my family & I became familiar with three letters - WUO - that have left indelible marks with us. A Wound of Unknown Origin is defined pretty much as it sounds: An animal has a open flesh wound, with no explanation of how it became that way. In our particular case, the PA DOA was responding to our having taken in a stray with a WUO.
Lucy
Way back in November 2017, friends of ours had found a stray kitten - cutest little thang - in the woods near a soccer field. They pleaded on Facebook for someone to take the little one in because she had a nasty "cut" on her back left paw. Because we had been wanting to start to rescue cats, MB & I decided we should start with Lucy. Thus, the Cat Whisperers were born.
Little did we know, however, what Lucy had in store for us.
Getting her wound treated
Even the DOA representative confirmed that we did everything properly to try and have Lucy treated. Two days after taking her in, we had Lucy vetted at Monongahela Animal Hospital, where the amazing Dr. Sara Ripepi took careful care of her. We were sent home with an oral medication for Lucy, along with a saline-type solution for her wounded foot. Within hours of getting her back to our place and beginning the at home treatment, Lucy started to display all the signs of heading for a full recovery.
Finding her a home
Our second order of business, after nursing her back to health, was to find a furever home for Lucy. Having worked with a rescue at that point, we knew the process we needed to go through to properly vet applicants who wanted to adopt. Fortunately for us, a very good friend decided to take Lucy in.
Unfortunately for everyone involved, that's when the trouble started.
Recognizing the rabidity
Lucy's erratic behavior began just a few short days after our friend adopted her; she became restless easily, and seemed to be downright angry at times. Then she began to pose in very aggressive ways, with her fur often standing on end all over her body.
Long story short, the emergency vet who initially saw Lucy suspected rabies because of the erratic behavior. That vet decided to put Lucy down, which turned out to be the sad, correct decision.
Dr. Lusk called me on my drive back from Detroit to let me know that Lucy - who was actually a boy! - had been "tested" and confirmed to have had the disease. If you don't know the particulars of how cats are confirmed to have rabies, please ask me in private, as the specific details are gruesome at best.
In addition to the three of us in our household, thirteen others were impacted and encouraged to seek medical care. MB, Roman & I went through a series of shots that none of us want to repeat although the experience certainly taught us a valuable lesson.
Our current stray
The picture that accompanies this piece is of our current stray - Petaluma - who may or may not belong to someone in the Kopko's neighborhoods of Monessen. We are currently working to have the cat trapped and vetted by a No Kill shelter in Greene County, with our next step to call an Animal Control Officer.
If you have a big heart and try to care for stray animals, thank you. The world needs more empathy like yours.
However, please be smart about the care you try to give. If you see an animal with a wound like this, do not pet them or make physical contact with them. If you feed them, wash their bowl(s) and your hands immediately after. Call Animal Control or your local Humane Society if you need assistance or have questions.
Please be careful if you see Petaluma in your neighborhood, particularly if you have animals that go outdoors from time to time. Thank you.
valley connections: The streets of philadelphia
There Go I
This year's trip, our first in six, was essentially the same as we'd remembered although the names and faces certainly have changed.
Between the years 2012 and 2019, our family traveled by train from Greensburg to Philadelphia, where we’d spend less than 48 hours in the City of Brotherly Love, relishing every minute.
Roman was eleven when we first began the journeys and had begun his fascination with trains years before. When he was three, we took him on a “real” Thomas the Tank Engine ride, courtesy of the Strasburg Railroad. Roman started to collect Lionel trains shortly after, and his love for train travel began when we experienced Altoona’s famous Horse Shoe Curve for the first time.
We began to love the vacation because it provided both regimen and uncertainty. All Amtrak trains from Greensburg to Philly leave the station at 8:12 a.m. (not 8:13 mind you) and arrive across the state nearly seven hours later. Once we got to Philly, however, the agenda always changed.
The first time that we took a cab from Philly’s 30th Street Station to our hotel in Center City, Roman was amazed, not only because of how LOUD our driver was, but also because of the creative ways he weaved in and out of the City’s narrow, elderly streets.
That first trip, back in December 2012, was more than a little bit mind boggling since we knew next to nothing about Philadelphia, other than we wanted to explore Reading Terminal Market. We ate at Maggiano’s on Friday night, and found ourselves Saturday evening at the Melting Pot, where we struck up a sort of friendship with the owner, who remembered us well the next year when we returned.
For the years that followed we changed up our itinerary, choosing more of downtown Philly’s less commercialized establishments for local eateries, like El Vez, which serves some of the best guacamole I’ve ever eaten, and which is located in the heart of Philly’s famed Gayborhood. We would entertain Roman’s love for great steak by taking him to some primo chop houses: Del Frisco’s, The Capital Grille, and the Palm.
Other than the first year we went - when we spent much of the day exploring Constitution Hall and the Liberty Bell area - our Saturdays were usually occupied shopping in Center City, mostly up and down “tree streets” like Chestnut & Walnut. Those first years, we wandered aimlessly, dashing in and out of places like FYE, Rally House and any number of chic, kitschy Philly-owned stores. We would talk about the places we’d gone the year before and remind ourselves of the places we’d forgotten to go.
In December 2017, our good friends the Thomases joined us, mostly because we’d talked so much about the sojourn in years past! We thoroughly enjoyed showing them around to the places we loved to frequent, and we know they loved the train ride to and from. In December 2018, our dear friend Robbie Battipaglia asked if he could join us for dinner with his girlfriend Samantha … and propose to her. Needless to say, it was one of those magical life moments that no picture or video could do justice.
One time we took the train in the summer, just to spice things up a bit, and one year we actually drove there and back although I don’t remember why.
Throughout all the adventures, I’ve noticed one constant: The unhoused. Homelessness in Philadelphia didn’t start when we began visiting in 2012, and unfortunately it will most likely be a problem long after today. Personally, I’ve been trying to do as much as I possibly can for the unhoused, starting by volunteering at a soup kitchen in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, when I was in the Army.
I’ve never been able to wrap my head around the idea of being unhoused; I look at how much affluence there is in our country and really around the world, and I get frustrated. Homeless veterans hold a special place in my heart because they are the ones who truly shouldn’t have to worry about a place to stay or clothes on their backs or meals in their stomachs. For all the once-a-year praise heaped on veterans, it sure would be nice if folks spent as much time working toward solutions for homelessness as they do posting inane threads to social media.
We’ve given money to the homeless and offered many leftovers to those in need; Roman, when he was thirteen, gave his doggie bag from The Palm - unprompted by MB or me - to a man sitting on a stoop outside the restaurant. We’ve put together goody bags to distribute and even worked with one of Philadelphia’s coalitions to donate used clothing in large quantities. While it always gave us a sense of fulfillment, the unhoused never went away, filling Philly’s streets and sleeping on sidewalks.
This year, however, I noticed something very different and, quite frankly, very disturbing. The unhoused, who seemed to increase in number, appeared almost zombie-like, looking at us without really saying a word, some merely holding out their frigid, shaking hands. The fear in their eyes was palpable. They lifted their tired heads from the cement just long enough to make eye contact, then lay back down as the steam rose from the ground to warm them.
One man, on an early Sunday morning, was lying disheveled on a street grate, the hot air rising from his metal bed underneath him. He rolled over, his eyes locked on mine, and mumbled something as his left hand reached out for me. I noticed dried blood on his index finger, and dirt all over his face. Part of me wept because there’s literally nothing that I can do for him.
Selfish as it may sound, my daily struggle is that I cannot save the world. I know, I know: It’s a pipe dream. How can one person possibly address the needs and wants of everyone? We can’t, none of us.
But we have to care, right? I mean, that’s the least that we can do, care. We have to look into the eyes of others - in this case particularly the unhoused - and see ourselves because, well, they could be any of us. Too easily in fact.
There go I, right? I look at the faces of the homeless and I see me. That could very well be me on the street, looking for my next meal or a pair of shoes that will keep my feet at least moderately warm. Where will I get my next meal? Where will I sleep?
You may not ask yourself those questions, but they do, and you could be one of them in the blink of an eye. So could I.
As we departed our hotel for the 30th Street Station and a return to our “regular” lives, a man approached me and asked if he could bum a smoke. I gave him three and he smiled, then wandered down an alley, seemingly happy that he could enjoy three minutes of a cigarette before he carries on with his day, whatever that may entail. I smiled … and cried a little inside.
Please do whatever you can to remember the unhoused. I’m not saying that you need to donate or volunteer or start a community action group. Just care more. It’s the least that you can do.
valley connections: autism awareness
Movements and such
FULL DISCLOSURE: I feel extremely uncomfortable whenever I see the shortening of “autism” to “‘tism”. That said, I may be in the minority. It would seem that there’s a push - highlighted by the apparel offered at places like Spencer’s Gifts - to normalize autism, to make those afflicted with “the ‘tism” more accepted in society.
I totally get it because I understand how everyone wants to feel “normal”, particularly in the chaotic world in which we live. And I’ve always been a supporter of movements that speak to me, ones that touch my heart & soul.
Maybe my age is just starting to show, or maybe I’ve always been leery of a movement that goes a little too far. Either way, I don’t get some of the messages being conveyed.
Movements, in and of themselves, are a necessary part of our culture as Americans. I mean, the Boston Tea Party was a movement that, 250 years later, had a lasting impact on everyone reading this. The Women’s Suffrage movement has left an indelible mark and continues to remain part of the fabric of our society. Although the Vietnam anti-war movement is not remembered as being particularly “successful”, it certainly spawned other movements that were: Civil rights, gay rights, and the further development of the women’s rights movement.
Normalizing groups that feel forgotten or marginalized isn’t anything new in our country. We will never exist without a cluster of people feeling left out.
But there’s something that doesn’t feel proper to me about “normalizing” autism, especially in a way that seems humorous or mocking. It’s one thing to wear a shirt that touts Autism Speaks or to believe in wanting those who identify as autistic to be celebrated. It’s another thing entirely to choose to wear a shirt that says, “Please be patient I have autism and a gun in my pocket.”
Seriously?
In the grand scheme of things, I suppose that no one is truly being “hurt” by this current movement. That said, I couldn’t imagine how a family that deals with autism on a daily basis wouldn’t be somehow offended by my references to “the ‘tism” or by my wearing a t-shirt that says “Not flirting just autistic”.
I think that I’ll stay on the sidelines for this current movement, and just choose to treat every individual as another human being. I think I’ll just defer to common decency and decorum and leave my funny t-shirts to other causes.
Like the one I have that says, “You can’t spell c_ck__cker without O-S-U.” Now that’s funny, and it’s 100% truthful … grammatically speaking of course.
valley connections: Stop! (in the name of safety)
Charleroi's mess
While it's a bit histrionic to say that you're taking your life in your hands by driving in Charleroi these days, it's not that far from the truth. In addition to the myriad projects going on downtown - and the trench collapse that closed a major part of McKean Avenue for three months - Charleroi has a genuine problem with drivers completely ignoring stop signs.
And it's not just immigrants who are creating this problem.
Drivers of all types
If you're placing the majority of the blame for hapless, reckless driving on Haitians, you're misguided at best. Of course there will be a major learning curve for anyone new to our country and our traffic laws when they try to navigate our crooked, crowded streets (particularly here in SWPA).
I've personally seen old, White women blow through not only stop signs, but traffic lights that are clearly red; I've watched elderly men of the same race completely ignoring stop signs, blowing through them without any regard for anyone's safety including their own; sadly, I've seen two public officials - one from the Magic City, the other from Monessen - running stops signs as if the rules don't apply to them.
The Hot Spots
In addition to Lincoln Avenue at 3rd and 4th Streets in Charleroi, there are several other exceptionally dangerous intersections throughout the borough that have the potential to cause catastrophic accidents.
- 5th & Lincoln
- 5th & Washington
- 3rd & Meadow (exceptionally dangerous, particularly if you're traveling up 3rd between Crest & Meadow)
- 4th & Meadow, where I've personally almost been hit three times over the past two months
- 2nd & Washington
If I'm being honest, just about every intersection along both Lincoln and Washington Avenues has become dangerous.
Not just Charleroi
For as much of a problem as it is in Charleroi, we have the same issue in Monessen, where some of the same folks have never met a stop sign they couldn't run through!
Kopko's Corner - where 3rd Street Extension, Leeds, Spruce and Nash intersect - is the Bermuda Triangle for potential accidents. If you don't believe me, stand in front of the bar for 30 minutes and I guarantee you'll see a dozen or so drivers completely ignoring the stop signs.
There's a business owner who lives not far from Kopko's that I've personally never seen stop for any of these stop signs. In fact, he runs stop signs all over the City, and I've seen him run the stop signs in Charleroi as well. I'm sure that when he eventually causes an accident, the business owner will blame someone else and cozy up to his blue blood buddies to get him out of it.
Then we've got the Magistrate's wife, who treats these stops signs with more disdain than most people she talks to. Again, I'm waiting until she hits someone to see who she blames and how she uses her husband to get her out of the jam.
Shouldn't these folks be leading by example? I mean, if you're a legitimate business owner, why not just obey the law? Are you above it somehow? (Spoiler alert: You ain't.). If your husband has sworn an oath to enforce & uphold the law, can't you stop for at least one stop sign?
Sad & pathetic on both counts for sure.
What's the solution?
Unless folks who should be leading by example decide that stop signs actually do apply to them, the situation will get worse before it gets better. Careless drivers are nothing new, clearly, but if these traffic signs continue to be ignored, there will be a fatality.
I've often wondered why it's so difficult to stop. I mean, it takes literally less than five seconds to stop, look left-right-left again, and go. You're telling me that your UGE dump truck (with trailer in tow mind you) can't follow the same laws as my Kia? GTFOT!
I'm still convinced it's the epitome of arrogance to simply ignore the rules that so many of the rest of us follow. Then again, given the source(s), arrogance makes a lotta sense.