Memories of Tannery Row

Aerial view of the Keystone Tanning & Glue Company tannery in the East End of Clearfield, PA circa 1950. For most of its existence, the Clearfield tannery was known as the Elk Tanning Company, a subsidiary of the gigantic United States Leather Company, which at one time produced more than half of the nation's shoe leather and was a charter member of the Dow Jones Industrial Average on the New York Stock Exchange.

- Keystone Tanning & Glue Company photo provided by Dan Mollura, Clearfield, PA

By Dennis Mollura

I believe that as young people we all lived pretty much in our own little worlds. And those worlds were about as exciting as we made them. On Tannery Row in the East End of Clearfield, PA, we were sheltered, self-contained and self-entertained. Some would say socially retarded.

We were hemmed in on all sides - by the busy Pennsylvania Railroad tracks and the Keystone Tanning and Glue Company to the north; up the steep Elk Avenue or East Fourth Street to Bigler Avenue to the south: by the huge Harbison-Walker Refractories complex to the east, and the old Clearfield Gas Works, Clearfield Furs and Johnson Machine Co. to the west.

We didn't often climb above or beyond Bigler Avenue except to attend a double feature at the Lyric Theater on Saturday afternoons. Or go to the grocery stores of Jimmy Lischerelli (now Legends Bar), Mrs. Pio DiSalvo grocery store (visits to Buster's Bar would come later) and Fama's Grocery on Daisy Street a few blocks from our homes. Dick Spingola, Jim Dietzel, George Wise and the Halfords (Tom, Gary and Sally) lived a stone's throw away but we associated with them hardly at all - or they with us.

In our Fourth Ward school days, we did what most kid did. We rode wagons, scooters, tricycles and later bicycles; played Hide and Seek, Kick-the-Can, Red Rover and Flashlight Tag - later the basketball versions of Horse and Twenty-One and, even later, Wiffle Ball. Wiffle ball was a great way to while away a lazy summer day. The best bats for Wiffle Ball were old window shade rollers with their spring-loaded inserts. With one of those babies, you could stroke the ball a far piece. Problem was, the balls took a beating and soon split at the slots.

We also flew kites and generally "jinked" around. Except for Denny Howell, who had a paper route. it never occured to us to get a job. Water guns were great fun, too. If you didn't have a water gun, an old pHisoHex bottle was a good substitute. Actually, it was better than a water gun - an early version of the Super Soaker.

Baseball – the great Tannery Row pastime

Kites, Wiffle Ball and water guns were, for the most part, pleasant diversions. Our hearts and minds were focused on baseball - the Pittsburgh Pirates and our own pick-up games on a small makeshift field at the tannery, a field we mowed and groomed ourselves. We seldom fielded more than 6, 7 or 8 players at a time but we could play. Our best players - Terry and Denny Howell, Glenn Myers and Don McGarvey - weren't Little League stars, but they (along with some others such as Paul and Betty Mae Killian, Peggy Duncan and my sister Mona) consistently beat any group that dared cross Bigler Avenue and come down Elk Avenue to challenge us. Call it home field advantage. The opposition never could get the hang of negotiating our "boney dump" outfield. Actually, our "boney" was hair scraped off cattle hides and dumped at the end of "our" ball field many years before, courtesy of the Keystone Tanning and Glue Company and the Elk Tanning Company before it.

One of the best things about Tannery Row baseball was that we compensated for strengths and weaknesses. Today they would call it "leveling the playing field." We just wanted a more competitive game. Jack Diehl got easy pitches and four strikes. I got slow but somewhat faster pitches and a pinch runner at home plate. All the others played full bore. Although Denny Howell was one of the better players, you had to go easy on him and humor him in certain situations. He never could accept being out, usually claiming you "missed the tag," even if you jammed the ball into his foot, back or stomach. Being that his was the only ball and bat available, we didn't argue much.

Although not a star on the tannery field, Don McGarvey later proved to be the best athlete among us. He lettered in football and basketball in high school and later enjoyed success as first baseman and player-manager for the JC League Clearfield Indians. I believe two or three of his teams won the league championship. Before we came of "age," Tannery Row produced two state high school wrestling champions - Jumpin' Joe Quethera and Charles "Red" McMullen. Tom Halford joined the state champion brigade in our time, but we couldn't claim him since he lived a little ways up the hill across Bigler Avenue, on Daisy Street.

Smoke-belching, spark-spewing steam locomotives

We loved the sights, sounds and smells of the steam locomotives and freight cars rumbling by on the Pennsylvania Railroad tracks near our homes - long trains with large plumes of acrid black smoke, sparks, and cinders showering the neighborhood from their stacks. We even were treated to the occasional grass fire, which distressed us not at all. Ever vigilant to eliminating dust and dirt and the possible house fire, our mothers were quick to sweep the hot cinders from our porches and sidewalks immediately after the trains passed.

On rare occasion, we barely escaped rolling under a moving train after losing control of our bicycle, wagon or sled speeding down Elk Avenue, or the unnamed alley between the two rows of houses, or East Fourth Street. We also dodged the trains on the New York Central and B&O tracks along the backside of the tannery. Surprisingly, none of us ever suffered a serious or even minor injury.

As contradictory as it may seem, a tannery is at once one of the worst smelling and best smelling places on earth. The worst smells were at the west end of our tannery, where raw cattle hides were shipped in on railroad cars and unloaded into a holding shed and ultimately carried into the "Beam House." The hides were then scraped by a large mechanical "beam" or scraper and the discarded flesh and fat then expelled out of the beam house and into other railroad cars for shipment to glue and soap factories. Stink? You bet! Tannery odors were similar to but not nearly so foul as those of the Tyrone paper mill. But unlike Tyrone, the smell of our tannery did not permeate the entire town - only our neighborhood and somewhat beyond - and even then mostly on dank, dark days when the discarded flesh and fat were being expelled into railroad hopper cars.

At the other or east end of our tannery, the smell of large sheets of drying, curing and rolling leather was ecstasy, pure ecstasy, much like the smell of new shoes or new car interiors. Unfortunately, you had to be inside the rolling house and curing barn to experience that ecstasy. Thus, rotting flesh and fat easily trumped curing leather.

Watch out for snakes…and black snowmen!

Near the curing barns were huge, long stacks of tree bark, mostly Hemlock, which was ground and mixed into a solution to tan the hides. Those stacks, beautifully piled and stacked by true artisans, were a great place to poke a stick and maybe roust a rattlesnake enjoying the warmth of the decaying bark. I don't recall any of us brave enough or stupid enough to try that trick - but there were tales.

The tannery even gained notoriety in the school. Our First Grade teacher Mrs. Ida Cowder once gave us water colors to paint snowmen. Some got red. Some got blue. I got black. At the PTA meeting, the paintings were on display. Several parents just howled when they caught sight of mine. They just couldn't fathom a black snowman. Until Cloyd Myers informed them that black snowmen were a specie common to Tannery Row.

During World War II, the tannery sometimes ran around the clock producing shoe and boot leather for the troops. I recall bringing "lunch" to my father at 10:00 in the morning or 10:00 at night. We would eat together in the small Guard House near the East Fourth Street entrance to the tannery, where we shared a large egg sandwich on my mother's homemade bread and a pint of cold, white milk from a cylindrical glass bottle with a narrow neck, paper cap and heavy cream at the top. Those were the days before homogenized milk in paper cartons, days when you had to shake the bottle vigorously before drinking. Milk always seemed a lot colder and better tasting from glass bottles than from today's waxed or plastic cartons or jugs..

Someone has to be at the bottom – why not us?

Like most neighborhoods, Tannery Row had its caste system. At the bottom were my father, Dominic "Meege" Mollura; grandfather, Andrew "Red" Mollura; John Wargo, Sam Hosko, Tom Kupka and Cloyd Myers and a few others. They had the toughest and stinkiest jobs in the joint, pitching, dunking and scraping hides in and around the Beam House. A little higher up the ladder, old "Keppy" Kephart piloted the little "dinky" locomotive which shuttled rail cars to and from various parts of the plant. Phil Moore tended the boiler room, and Phil McMullen was the watchman.

At the upper end of the social structure, Superintendent Tony Coledo lived in the big yellow house with a green, shingled roof; large beautiful lawn with majestic spruce trees; and a detached garage. (It's good to be the superintendent.) And in a manner befitting his position, he tended to the house and grounds very well. I still can recall Mr. Coledo liming and rolling his lawn each year. While he and his wife Mary always were friendly and gracious neighbors, we kids knew enough never to play or intrude upon their property except upon invitation.

Assistant Superintendent Jim McDivitt and Supervisor or Foreman H.R. Pearson were on the next rung down . Murray "Chip" Miles (Glenn's grandfather) was the Union Local President. Charlie Howell had the only clean job in the joint - a white-shirt-and-tie gig as bookkeeper in the small office near the Elk Avenue entrance.

All but the Coledos on Tannery Row lived in servicable gray double (duplex) houses with tarpaper roofs with complementary "coal sheds." A few of these sheds were converted into garages. Each home had a tiny lawn, front and back (also well-kept), with flower beds or privet hedges separating the lawns of the two families in a duplex. Every yard along the two rows of homes was a playground. We never asked permission to play, rarely were we chased off, and then only for reason. At Halloween time, which extended over several weeks, we played the usual pranks on our neighbors but never anything malicious.

Each of the row homes had a fairly large plot of ground, perhaps a quarter acre or slightly less, for vegetable gardens and flower beds. Some of the best-tasting tomatoes, scallions, green beans, cabbage, cucumbers and hot peppers I can recall came from those gardens. If our father's garden didn't produce certain desired edibles, we kids simply swiped them from another - under the cover of darkness, of course. I recall Cloyd Myers' garden being a favorite target. Also Grandpap Mollura's. Grandpap Mollura never suffered fools or thieves lightly and was ever vigilant against thievery. Cloyd Myers also knew what we were up to but, ever the quiet, gentle soul, never complained or scolded. That's the way it was in Tannery Row. Neighbors living, sharing, or at least coexisting, together.

A Passel of Excellent Musicians

On an artistic note, we kids had more than our share of good musicians. Claude Kowalski was an excellent trumpet player who went on to play for many years with the U.S. Navy Band in Washington, DC . He later directed the Ringling Brothers Barnum & Bailey Circus World Band in Florida. Although not a native Tannery Rower, Claude was a full and active member for four or five years until his parents went "uptown" in the early Fifties.

Nancy McDivitt was an accomplished concert pianist who performed recitals in college and possibly later. She and her younger brother Johnny, our classmate, moved away after the tannery shut down in 1950. Delores Diehl, Terry Howell, Glenn Myers and his older brother George (we knew him as Eugene) played the clarinet, and Peggy Duncan the trombone. My sisters Mona and Gloria played violin and were majorettes in the junior and high school bands. Many of this large group of musicians also sang in chorus.

The Tannery shuts down, but Tannery Row lives on

For years it was traditional for the tannery to close a week or two at Easter for maintenance and possible retooling. In 1950 it didn't reopen - except to clear the hides already in the tanning process. At first we thought it was nice - an extra week or so to have our fathers home. (There were no women in the tannery not even in the office.) The closure dragged on as we watched most of the heavy machinery being hauled up Elk Avenue and out of town. We sensed that something was terribly wrong, even as there were reassurances that the plant would be reopened or sold to another tanning company.

Finally, a year later, it was over. The tannery officially was closed. Gone. The duplex homes (we called them "double houses") would be sold to the workers on a seniority basis. And, by seniority, you could choose the house you wanted to purchase. As I recall, the houses on East Fourth Street went for $2,100. The homes on Elk Avenue went for somewhat more, $2,300, because they had concrete cellar floors. The East Fourth Street houses had the less desirable wooden cellar floors.

As two of the most senior workers at the tannery, my grandfather and father could have had their pick of most any house on the two streets. Grandpap Mollura chose to leave and buy a large brick home on Eighth Street in East End. My family chose not to buy, ultimately renting from absentee-owner Jim McDivitt at 717 Elk Avenue. a house formerly occupied by the Tommy Diehls. For most every family on Tannery Row, it was a game of musical houses.

The Sam Hoshko and Ralph Mullen families stayed put, except that Ralph and family moved to the other side of the house. Herman Killion and Raymond Shaw bought our house. Glenn Myers' family bought Grandpap Mollura's house. Jim McDivitt bought the Charlie Howell/Tommy Diehl house and rented one side to us. Charlie Howell bought the Miles McGarvey/Joseph Kowalski house. Dana and Tommy Diehl bought the Keppy Kephart/Cloyd Myers house. The Tom Kupkas bought the Jim McDivitt/Dana Diehl house. The McDivitts, Wargos, Kepharts and Kowalskis moved out. And so it went. The tannery was gone but Tannery Row lived on.

A different kind of Tannery Row kid

About the time the McDivitts moved out, Mel Lingle's family moved in - in the large, yellow Superintendent's house. Mel was different - with different interests and different talents than the rest of us. He was less interested in baseball and more involved with model airplanes, crystal radios and real bows and arrows. On most days, Mel lived and played outside the usual Tannery Row circles and routines. He was closer to Dick Spingola and others who lived above and beyond Bigler Avenue. A nice kid, to be sure, but not like the rest of us. Nor did he want to be.

Mel's father, Clifford Lingle, owned and operated a fleet of large dump trucks which hauled coal for the various Lingle Coal Company interests. Mel's family was the first in the neighborhood to own a TV set. We sometimes were invited in to watch Dragnet, I Love Lucy and The Life of Riley. The Lingles bought Clearfield Dairy ice cream by the multiple half gallons and in many flavors, which certainly caught our attention. And they were generous in sharing it with the neighborhood kids.

Glenn Myers was the most versatile of our group, participating in athletics, music and the outdoor sports. He wasn't much for baseball although he played it well. Basketball was his game. He also ran track, fished, trapped muskrat and played clarinet in the school bands. His rendition of "Cherry Pink and Apple Blossom White" often pierced the otherwise silent night from his upstairs bedroom. He took lessons from Harry Circolo, one of Clearfield's more celebrated music instructors and band leaders.

One of Glenn's less endearing characteristics (at least to the rest of us) was that he loved to chew on long grass stems pulled from the ground in farmer-like style. More than once, he missed a line drive or thrown ball because he was "chewing on a weed." On the plus side, unlike the rest of us, Glenn was good with the girls. To protect our self-esteem, the rest of us believed it was the girls who chose him. We had our reason.

We never partied in the traditional sense or went to dances, except at "Y", where we stood in the corner or along the wall. Ask a girl to dance? Heaven forefend! We never heard of, let alone play, “Post Office” or “Spin the Bottle.” Worse, we wouldn’t have wanted to. Baseball was our game. The girls in our neighborhood were more like boys. Peggy Duncan hit the ball farther than anyone, even Terry Howell. Sister Mona could hit and field and was a pretty fair football tackler. One exception to the girls-like-boys rule was Peggy's sister, our classmate Carol Duncan. Carol was a real girl, never played baseball, and could dance. I remember her making up a dance skit to Brigadoon.

We listened a lot to radio - music on WKBW in Buffalo, later Cousin Brucie on WABC, New York, and the Pirates on KDKA, Pittsburgh, or WWVA, Wheeling, WV. In the evening, we sat on someone's back porch (usually ours) and guessed baseball player initials. (Example, I'm thinking of a American League first baseman with the initials of BS. Answer: Bill Skowron, New York Yankees.) We literally knew every player at every position on every team - even the back-ups - except at the beginning of the season when the rosters were peppered with rookies. Karl Drew, pitcher for the Philadelphia Phillies, initially was a stumper. How were we to know he spelled his first name with a "K" - as in Karl Nagle? We had never heard of that. (We hadn't known of Karl Marx either.)

In the Mid-Fifties - Bicycles, “The Jungle” and daily trips to the “Y”

In the mid-Fifties, we rode our bikes all over town and sometimes as far as Wither Rock, a swimming hole near the SOI picnic ground on Clearfield Creek. We enjoyed the Friday night street dances - but always from the sidewalk. We played a lot along the river and called it "The Jungle," where we built makeshift "camps." Some jungle. The wildest beasts we ever saw were muskrats, real rats, stray dogs, feral cats and the odd green snake or copperhead. We were good at sling shots, makeshift bows and arrows, BB guns and "pea shooters," using green elderberries as peas.

We never complained about being bored, because we never were. If we were to complain, our parents would find something for us to do, like sweeping the porch, shoveling coal or scrubbing the toilet.

In the summer, Glenn Myers, Don McGarvey and I trekked to the "Y" to swim and play ping pong, always stopping for a Clearfield Dairy double or a triple-decker along the way. Chocolate chip was my flavor of choice. Don was more of a butter pecan man. Glenn, I don't recall. We were chagrined when Mrs. Beers jacked the price of a double dip from 10 to 15 cents, but we swallowed hard and anted up anyway.

All fantasy worlds come to an end, and ours eventually did, too. My initial wake-up call was going to Leonard Grade School in the sixth grade and meeting Joyce Shugarts, Sandy Shaw, Sandy Brown, Kay Skinner, Sarah Lyons, Penny Hile, Billy Hipps, Chip Lawhead, Ash Woolridge, Tom O'Day, Guy Graham, Jim Nicholson and others. It was the beginning of the realization that our Tannery Row life was but a sliver of the "real world" and a narrow one at that.

(I know, I know, "sliver" and "narrow" are redundant, but our Tannery Row experience warrants both.) Soon, something even bigger was to undermine our idyllic Tannery Row existence.

An earth-shaking event rocks the neighborhood

About 1954, things were going along pretty much as usual when an earth-shaking event struck Tannery Row, one that was to forever change our social structure and our worldview. Mary Beth Yeager moved in. You have to understand, Mary Beth Yeager was unlike any girl we had ever known – or at least noticed. She was the loveliest, sweetest, gentlest, kindest, most endearing person, and she stirred something in all of us. We didn’t know exactly what to do or how to respond, but we sure liked being around her. I believe it was at this moment that our beloved Tannery Row ball field began to fall into disrepair.

By and by, word got out that Mary Beth “liked” one of us and she wasn’t saying who or whom. All of us shared the same fantasy: “Oh, my God! Could it be? Please, please, let it be me!” The guessing game went on for days, maybe even a week or more. Every once in awhile, she let out a clue. I don’t remember what the clues were but they certainly didn’t reveal much. She just kept us guessing. Maybe we didn’t know how to play the game, but she certainly did.

Finally, it came out. Mary Beth could have had any one of us. But she chose Glenn Myers. Oh, no! Not Glenn Myers! Not that grass-chewing, muskrat trapping, “Cherry Pink and Apple Blossom White” tootin' Glenn Myers! The rest of us were crushed. Truly crushed. After that, the good times and the camaraderie began to dissipate. We each were on our own. The tannery was gone, the steam locomotives were gone, and the grass grew tall on the tannery ball field. Our neighborhood, Tannery Row, would never be the same.

At first, it was sad to see the old neighborhood gang dissipate. For a long time, it was sad. But looking back, I cherish the good times, the good memories, and the good friends and neighbors on Tannery Row.

From today's vantage point, it's clear that our lives were full, happy and carefree. Full, happy and carefree until Mary Beth Yeager. It was a good, long run but it was time to face reality. We needed to get out more. We needed to socialize more. We needed to grow up. And we did. Finally, we did. We had a lot of making up to do. But in the end, we managed to close the gap. Or at least believe we did.