Old Chester, PA: Dave Komarnicki's Korner

Birney’s Birch Beer & Pool Room was packed. All six of the high-backed oak chairs that lined the wall by the front table had been claimed by seasoned regulars watching the featured nine-ball game.

Sitting next to each other were Danny Clemons with his stained-ribbon Stetson pulled low on his forehead, Lem Casto tapping his finger stubs on the arm of his chair, and Bill Brazell, arms folded, leaning forward in his seat, a grand master of the game who could methodically move through nine balls in rotation as easily as Joe Louis moved around the boxing ring. Next to them was Sol Weinberg, wealthiest merchant in town, decked out in a double-breasted suit that bespoke fineries the shipyard crowd would never know. He was waiting for an open table on which to lose his money to his shadow, sleight-of-hand MacAdue who was riveted in the chair beside him. And to complete the lineup, there was Yum Yum Hughes, the most astute oddsmaker since William Penn set foot in Chester 265 years before. The brass spittoons, positioned at each end of the row of chairs, were splattered with Mail Pouch juice.

I stepped to the table, lowered my chin to the cue, stroked my customary four, crushed the rack, then watched three balls disappear. I stood smiling at the layout, sizing up my strategy to run the remaining six. Three dropped in seconds as I methodically went to work, and just as I focused the seven ball in the crosshairs of my aim, Sharky, my opponent, pulled one of his cheap antics, attempting to break my concentration by slapping five crumpled dollar bills on the rail directly in line with my shot, as if to say he'd given up. Sharky would try any ploy to unnerve me; he’d cough up an asthmatic wheeze, drop his cue, whistle a shrill non-tune, groan after miscuing, or hurl a string of expletives after missing a shot. Despite all his worst intentions, Sharky’s grab bag of tricks only forced my focus to deadly accuracy and always worked against him. He kept trying, though.

But the real test of focus surfaced just as I called out “nine ball, corner pocket.”

Pop walked in.

My peripheral vision caught him handing out gospel tracts in the near corner along the wall. He moved into view just as the nine ball rolled into the corner pocket to end the game. “He had to have seen me,” I groaned inwardly, my stomach lurching. I quickly grabbed Sharky’s contribution off the rail, stuffed it in my left front pocket, hung the cue stick in the wall rack, turned, and then headed for the front entrance. Then I suddenly remembered my jacket, turned quickly, darted back, and snatched it from the coat hook as I caught a view of Pop methodically walking along the opposite wall dispensing the gospel to every patron in the place. The men respectfully took his offering, knowing full well his prodigal son was about to cross the black-and-white, mosaic-tiled entry way to vanish into the night.

My front pocket bulged with crumpled bills (ill-gotten gain, Pop would say), but the bulge felt good as I stood curbside. Looking both ways, I slanted across Edgmont, wedged my way between parked cars, and leaned on the historic marker that stood before the former Quaker graveyard in which many city fathers had been buried. “How quickly those who follow view things differently,” I said to myself. The city council had broken faith with their founding fathers, trading sacred space for money in the form of the Lincoln Clothing Store directly in front of me. “Am I doing the same with my father?” I mused, as my left hand touched down on the wad in my pocket. A scripture passage urged on my memory years ago for Sunday school suddenly surfaced:

Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth,

While the evil days come not, nor the years draw near

When thou shalt say, I have no pleasure in them.

“That’s just it, Pop,” I thought. “I AM HAVING PLEASURE RIGHT NOW. It’s a real pleasure to step to a pool table and run a rack with an audience of guys who played pool for years and know I can beat them, pocket their money and use it to buy stuff…tailor-made suits at Albie Ingerman’s, a six-button benny from Crass Brothers, blue suede shoes at Florsheim, Christmas presents for Mom and you, Evening In Paris cologne for Mary and Vicky. My right-now pleasure outweighs worrying about when they plant my grave marker. And, Pop, I don’t really forget God, honest. I just don’t think He cares too much about me transferring money from Sharky’s pocket to mine.

These thoughts whispered me along as I proceeded past Slater’s Shoe Store where, upon rare occasion, I’d take Mom to get her Enna Jetticks, then Buten Paints, Kinney’s Shoe Store, and finally a jaywalk spurt across 7^th to the YMCA, my chosen sanctuary to ponder the brewing storm facing me at home.

I climbed the granite steps two at a time, entered, and crossed the lobby without looking around, fearing I might get hung up in conversation with Luke Howard, who was ensconced on the worn leather couch by the far wall. Luke’s greeting was normally followed by a non- punctuated monologue that would age the most respectful listener waiting for the pause that never came. Grabbing the mahogany stair rail, I vaulted the twenty wide steps to the second floor, entered the game room, and gave the ping pong table a knuckle rap as I walked to the window overlooking Edgmont and 7^th, a perfect checkpoint to catch all action in both directions.

I sat waiting and watching in the very room where I’d learned how to rack and shoot and chalk four years before, the first step on my path to degradation. And, sure enough, there was Pop – emerging from Birney’s and setting off with his plodding gait, pausing just long enough to check the Murray’s Men & Boys Clothing Store window display. It seemed a hundred years since Pop had held my hand as we crossed Welsh Street to buy my first suit with long pants in Murray’s basement. Now, unfazed by the rain drizzling onto his Stetson, he continued his unhurried pace past Speare Brothers Department Store, waited for the Welsh Street traffic light to change (Pop never jaywalked), and then crossed with weary steps and headed for home a block away.

As Pop vanished in the misty drizzle, I wondered why my dad couldn’t be like every other dad. What drives him to hand out gospel tracts wherever he goes, on street corners, buses, in taprooms, hospitals, everywhere? He preaches at 3^rd and Market on Friday evenings with the full Salvation Army band behind him. He cooks ten hours a day at Roser’s Restaurant, brings home every penny except the money spent to buy the gospel tracts he hands to people. He hands them out with a smile I’ve yet to see on any other man’s face … a smile with a muted joy coming from a source inside I’ve yet to discover. Last Friday he came home with splattered egg on his suit. I was in the kitchen with Mom, and there’s this smile on his face as he’s telling us about preaching at Market Square with Mr. Bartkow and Mr. Yashincyk when some mocker in the crowd barraged them with eggs. BOY, if brother John was there to witness that scene I’m sure the culprit’s body would be on display in Stotter’s window…but if that happened Pop would just walk over, hand the miscreant a gospel tract, apologize for son John’s overt act of hostility, pray for the man’s soul, and then offer him money to buy a dozen eggs to cart home to his family.

Pop’s handouts were powerful. Every once in a while I’d pick one up from the bureau next to his reading sofa when he wasn’t around. The titles were enough to make a grown man take note of his mortality:

Flee from the Wrath to Come

Prepare to Meet Thy GOD

Only One Life, ’twill Soon Be Past

Only What’s Done for Christ Shall Last

And even though I’d feel a twinge of conscience after glancing at them, I’d say to myself, “I’m not ready to deal with that yet. I got a lot of livin’ to do.”

I plunged my fingers into my pocket and felt the luxury of an uncounted wad. After looking around for watching eyes, I decided to uncrumple and count, so I laid the money on the window sill, arranged the faces so they were heads up, licked my thumbs, and counted three fives and fifteen ones. I took a deep breath, folded my winnings, and stuffed them from whence they came. To think, thirty bucks from finessing a cue ball into position for my next shot, then running a rack of nine balls.

Suddenly Pop appeared on my mental marquee…sweaty-browed from pushing potatoes across the grill and flipping steaks and burgers as specks of grease seared his wrist. I saw him shuffling across the slippery floor to slice a pie while a waitress worrying about her tip yelled, “Hey, Joe, Charlie’s got to get back to work. Where’s his blue plate special?”

Clearing dirty dishes and wiping down tables last summer at the restaurant had taught me a lot. I learned I didn’t want to sweat it out like Pop, serving food ten hours a day six days a week and all the while nursing ulcers from customer complaints.

Ah, but Davey, my friend, you don’t have all those hungry mouths to feed and you’re one of the seven still on the docket of Pop’s care. And think about this, you smart aleck, your dad catching sight of you in Birney’s tonight probably gave him an ulcer in the heart Doc Gallagher won’t be able to treat.

Suddenly the thought of the thirty bucks in my pocket equated with the thirty silver coins Judas had walked away with in betrayal.

Slanting rain pellets pounded the huge window of the game room that had given me my start in the world of pool four years before. I hear the murmur and clatter of 14-year-old kids learning the game as I sat searching my soul for dry ground to stand on, some justification for my being, and I found none. My older brothers paraded before my closed eyes. They stood like tall oaks lining the entrance to Chester Park, and I grew in protective shade among them, a stunted, fruitless fig tree.

“And some seeds fell upon stony ground

Springing up quickly only to wither and die”

The war had ended two years ago, and I could hardly believe all my brothers had come home. Brother Mickey had met his call to arms head on, enlisting in the army before the draft board called his number. Brother John had tap-danced into the Navy recruiting center, ready to swim to Japan if they’d let him. Brother Joe had earned his Air Force wings, detoured home long enough to marry his sweetheart, Doris, and then, like Smiling Jack, my comic-book hero, had flown off to face the flak of war. Brother Dan had felt the patriotic pull, too, but he couldn’t picture walking all over Europe and followed John into the Navy. (Seemed like yesterday, watching Dan plow through the Media High defensive line in the Thanksgiving football game at the PMC field.) My remaining older brother, George, had been too young to join up, but he’d gone quietly about his daily round, working all night at the diner and still making it to school, playing football with a vengeance, never losing his cool, and bearing a face that stopped fights before they started. All five of these guys were worthy of Mount Rushmore status in my kid-brother perceptions, and I was pretty sure my younger brothers, Paul and Jim, felt the same way about them.

Crack! I heard the unmistakable sound of breaking pool balls behind me. Turning, I watched a white ball roll across the room toward my seat by the window. Two kids were playing on the middle table thirty feet away, and one of them walked toward me to retrieve the cue ball that had hopped the table rail. I recognized him as young Lou Tancredi. I scooped it up and handed him both the ball and a piece of advice: “When you break, hit the cue ball low of center, and it will stay on the table. Break as hard as you can but low of center.” He thanked me, turned, then walked back to the table, and chalked his cue. He leaned forward as he sat waiting his turn. I saw the intensity on his face, and knew he was infected with the same energy I had. He was learning the game. Was it worth all the hours spent, hours that could be spent in the library boning up on math, history, English?

Lou, forget about the cue ball, crushing the break, running the rack in rotation. Get to know your dad. Get him to take you to Shibe Park for a Sunday doubleheader. Get there early to watch batting practice … maybe even get Eddie Joost, Pete Suder, and Hank Majeski to autograph your program. Brownbag it if you can’t afford the hot dogs. Just go – laugh your way through the games. Maybe the fun you share will be the glue that holds you together. There’s not much glue sticking me and my pop together, Lou. It’s not his fault. He gets up at 5:30, gets home when it’s dark. He never saw a ballgame with any of his eight sons, never even been to a ballgame – that is, not until he saw me sink the nine ball today. No, Lou, put your energy into reading books and picking heroes from a different game – Mickey Vernon, Danny Murtaugh, or Sam Chapman instead of Willy Mosconi, Jimmy Caras, or Ralph Greenleaf.

I sat nursing the wounds of a troubled conscience until Mr. Nelson, the recreation room manager, tapped my shoulder and said, “Time to go, Dave. We close in five minutes.”

Swallowing hard as I looked into his face, I nodded, “Yes, sir, Mr. Nelson, time to go.”

“Something wrong Davey? It's not like you to sit silently for so long.”

“No, sir, Mr. Nelson – just looking out the window at the rain, thinking about Christmas and all. Good night.”

I headed for the game room exit, then slowly descended the stairs, clicking my cleated heels on the wide, steel-edged steps all the way down to the lobby. I pushed through the outer doors, then paused. Shielded from the rain by the overarch of the building, I drank in the beautiful Christmas lights hung on every garland-wrapped street pole. A shimmering silver “Noel” was spelled out on each one, echoing a silent praise along the avenue as far as my eye could see.

Stepping lively to the pavement, I turned up my collar and felt the crisp rain toss my hair as I strode off toward the Boyd Diner. I felt the need for coffee and apple pie before heading home to face the music.

One counter seat was empty in the far corner. I took it, then called out my order. As the counterman wrote the tab, I surveyed the room for familiar faces. Tony Minetti, John Samara, and Bones Orobono were gesticulating their way through a tempered discussion in a booth on the far side of the room. I had no desire to join them in my present mood, so I fed a nickel into the countertop jukebox.

When my coffee and pie came, I asked, “Could you bury the pie under two dips of chocolate?” The counterman gave me an angled stare, which, translated, said, “Come on, kid, make up your mind. It’s Friday night, the place is jumpin’, and you don’t have the look of a big tipper.” Little did he know what was stuffed in my left front pocket.

In tandem with my first forked entry of pie, my chosen song graced the room: “Far away places with strange-sounding names, far away over the sea, those far away places with the strange-sounding names are callin’, callin’ me …” I was ready for a long trip anywhere but home.

I fed the jukebox a quarter, pushed five random choices (my excuse to malinger), then held my coffee cup eye level, signaling for a refill.

Then glancing at the patron’s full plate beside me, I felt my stomach churn. I had forgotten supper, played right through it. When I can hook a fish in a nine-ball game on Birney’s front table, hunger vanishes.

I then blurted out, “Would you duplicate this gentlemen’s order for me?” I pointed to the patron's dish piled with home fries and a western omelet. “And could the cook make it loose and runny?”

The short-order cook overheard me. Looking my way while he flipped eggs, he said, “Loose and runny, eh, kid? You want it loose and runny? You can order it that way in here, kid, but don’t order it fast and loose outside that door. It won’t get you far.”

I grinned, and so did the counter crowd within earshot, but inside my gut I felt that the cook had spoken my father's thoughts, a warning from the Ten Commandments:

Honor thy father and thy mother,

That your days may be long upon the land

Which the Lord your God is giving you…

Hemmed in by juked music, I focused on the delivered omelet, savoring every bite with pleasure until Woody Herman’s rendition of Woodchoppers Ball ended the music I’d selected.

Sliding a liberal tip under the plate, I spun a 180 on the counter stool, and waived to the counterman on my way to paying at the cash register. “When he pockets my tip he won’t give me that side-glance next time,” I thought.

“How’s your Dad?” Mr. Boyd asked, as the register opened, stopped short by his apron-covered paunch.

“Fine, Mr. Boyd,” I fibbed. “Last I saw him he looked fine. I’ll tell him you were asking about him.”

”Oh, by the way, Davey, George can work here this weekend if he’s free. Need him Saturday and Sunday. Would you tell him for me?”

“Thanks, Mr. Boyd, I’ll tell him. And I’ll be sure to tell Pop you were asking about him.” Under my breath I added, “As late as I can.”

The rain relented while I walked along the storefronts on 7th Street – Staskins, the State Theater, Henry's Clothing. Reaching the YMCA, I cut diagonally across to Speare Brothers, glanced over to check the town clock centered on the overhang of Smith’s News Stand: seven minutes past ten, two hours since I’d left Birney’s.

Five minutes later I reached home and lifted the front door to avoid the squeak, hoping for the best. The lights were out in all but the hallway as I edged up the stairs. Entering mom’s room I gave her my nightly kiss. Mom was always so inviting, so ready to listen. She seldom went anywhere and so would always listen intently to my reports about Chester. All my paperboy stories, my shoeshine exploits, all that happened at school – first Larkin, then Smedley, now Chester High, all those years of growing into what I had become, a pool hustler and a jitterbug. And now a new chapter begins, I thought. But how can I tell her about pop catching me in a pool hall? She doesn’t even know what a pool hall is.

Mom gave me no look of concern to indicate that Pop was upset with me, so I didn't bring up the matter that was on my mind. I just sat there on the edge of her bed, telling her about Mr. Boyd wanting George to work tomorrow and Sunday. Smiling, she said, “That’s good. I’ll tell him tomorrow morning.”

“How's Pop?” I whispered.

“He went to bed as soon as he got home,” Mom said. “He seemed a little more tired than usual. He works so hard. He fell down the cellar steps at the restaurant last week, bruised his arm and hip. But worst of all, son, the doctor discovered that he’s got diabetes and must take an insulin shot every day. He has to give himself a needle shot every morning.”

I listened intently, bit my tongue, and felt the gnawing sense of having added more weight to my dad’s heavy burden, a burden he always bore with a smile.

“I'm worn out, too, Mom. I think I'll call it a night.” “I'm worn out from worry Mom, but not from work,” I thought to myself.

I walked down the hallway to the bathroom to complete my nightly ablutions. While brushing my teeth, I stared into the cabinet mirror, focusing to reflect eye-to-eye until self-hypnosis floated my head smack up against the mirror. My inner voice whispered, “Dave, you are too young to shave, yet too old to be scolded.”

The spell shattered when a German roach darted across the wall, leaving its refuge, a crack in the plaster housing the cabinet. I watched it angle downward toward the woodwork molding, waiting to see where this brazen roach would hide. Ordinarily I'd smash it, but my mood was merciful, perhaps because Dad hadn’t pounced on me as I’d slanted out of Birney’s. But he might just be waiting to pounce on me when I pass his bedroom for violation of the Fifth Commandment:

Honor thy father and mother,

That your days may be long upon the land

The roach disappeared, so I fingered the light-button, and then, tiptoeing along the hallway to my narrow stairwell, I paused to peer into my father's bedroom and saw he was kneeling in prayer at his bedside.

I swallowed hard as I mounted the twelve narrow steps to my room, shed my clothes in the dark, slid beneath the quilt-covered sheets, and lay motionless, watching shifting wall shadows dance across patterned wallpaper in tandem with passing traffic. As my eyelids began to droop, I wondered why Pop had decided to treat my prodigal action with mercy rather than immediate justice. Sleep came, but only after random flashbacks, mingled with questions for which I had no answers. I felt my brain was being squeezed, like toothpaste from a tube, by the tightening fist of conscience.

Pop seldom talked about his life. Insight came in bits and pieces, mostly from Mom and sister Mary. Pop was nurtured through his youth among the foothills of the Carpathian Mountains in southwest Ukraine, coming to America for reasons never explained to me. He met Mom at a wedding reception at Saint Mary’s Roman Catholic Church on 4^th Street in South Philadelphia. As a young man seeking to find his way, he worked in a steel mill in Steubenville, Ohio, also as a lumberjack in the forests of Pennsylvania His lumberjack stint involved a life-and-death incident. His coworker, who had chosen the direction the tree should be felled, directed Pop to circle around. Pop circled and lived, but the falling tree crushed his friend.

Pop had related this tragedy to me as we stood in our narrow bathroom one day, his face lathered, suspenders off-shouldered, a white gauze jersey covering his chest, his muscular arm poised to shave away stubble. Just before the razor touched his face, he turned, looked directly at me with that far-off look of eternity in his eyes, then said, “When I leave this earth, son, I'd like to go the way Elijah the Prophet went.” Pop paused, reflecting on the words about to follow. And the words came, aided by waiving his razor as a pointer:

And it came to pass, when they were gone over, that Elijah said unto Elisha, “Ask what I shall do for thee, before I am taken away from thee, And Elisha said, “I pray thee Elijah, let a double portion of thy spirit be upon me. And Elijah said, “Thou hast asked a hard thing, nevertheless, if thou see me when I am taken from thee, it shall be so unto thee; but if not, it shall not be so.” And it came to pass, as they still went on, and talked, that, behold, there appeared a chariot of fire, and horses of fire, and Elijah went up by a whirlwind into heaven.

The street noise outside abated long enough for serious reflection upon Elisha’s request: “I pray thee Elijah, let a double portion of thy spirit fall upon me.”

My thoughts mulled on this as I drifted off, for in my heart I knew a double portion of Pop's blessing would never pass to me.

The next day passed without a summons to the court of Pop's judgment seat. In fact, days passed into weeks until the Birney’s Pool Room incident was happily forgotten.

And years passed, and the rigors of a 60-hour work week chiseled away Pops immunities, but neither passing time nor failing health dampened his daily mission to share the Good News of God's love, expressed as it was in the birth, life, death, resurrection, and ascension of Jesus Christ.

I was at school when I received word about Pop’s sudden death.

It happened in our living room when Mr. Bartkow, his lifetime friend, dropped in for an unannounced visit and was about to say goodbye. Pop’s custom was to say a prayer, to invoke God’s blessing till they met again. They both knelt, and then as Pop prayed, caught up in the spirit of praise, he paused and during that prolonged silence my father eased forward, face down, and the Spirit of God transported him to his heavenly home:

And Pop was not, for God took him.

Pop’s memorial service was held at Bleyler’s Funeral Home on 22^nd Street. Many who came to honor his memory were strangers whose lives Pop touched somewhere along the way. One of them said to me, “You don't know me, but your dad once handed me a gospel tract on a bus in Chester. “I laughed at your Dad then,” he said with a pause and a choke, “but I’m not laughing anymore… I’ve come to believe his words and look forward to seeing Joe again in heaven.”

P. S. Thanks pop for never faltering with your flock.

Thanks for joining Mom in praying all ten of your children into faith.

Thanks for kneeling on the linoleum floor for this prodigal.

And thanks for the lesson you taught me in Birney's Pool Room on that drizzly Friday night at Christmastime. Although I’ve always retained my pleasure in the art and science of the game, your act of loving kindness caused me to cancel my license for the pursuit of “ill-gotten gain.”

David Komarnicki
Christmas 2006

Name: Helena Reed Ashwell
Email: ashwelldh@embarqmail.com
Date: Saturday, January 05, 2008
Time: 11:56:51 AM

Comments

dear dave, I remember so well, seeing your father walk down Elsinore Pl. from the Morton Ave. bus stop to your home. If we children were playing outside, he would hand us a tract & speak to us. some of the girls would make fun of him behind his back. I listened quietly, took his tract and usually, but not always, read them. I didn't know then how much impact his faith and that of you and your brothers would influence my spiritual life & growth in my teen years &beyond. even today, Kim & Paul continue to help me grow. Your Elsinore sister in the faith, Helena

Name: donna
Email: artdecodonna@aol.com
Date: Thursday, September 06, 2007
Time: 01:44:48 AM

Comments

hi, i just wanted to let you know how much i enjoy your site..great memories!! so sad how everything has changed but yet so comforting to know i experienced chester in its glory..my favorites were the cream puffs at prospect park bakery..hamburgers at laura's restaurant & johns doggie shop..my girlfriend and i used to have hotdog eating contests there & it was great..i was about 13 then..my one son is now 36 and he is really good friends with one of george's sons (the owner) small world huh? thnx again for all the memories

Name: Bill Hartman
Email: bdahartman@cox.net
Date: Sunday, August 19, 2007
Time: 10:18:07 AM

Comments

Enjoyed reading through your captured memories. In-turn, your stories brought back many memories of my own as a child visiting my Grandparents (Grace and Morton Schlagel). My grandfather like many who lived in Chester worked in the Sun Shipyard. My mother, one of five siblings all were born and raised in Chester (Grace, Alice (my mother), Elsie, Sarah, and Beatrice). My grandfather loved to listen to the Phillies ball games on the radio all the while smoking his cigars. Across the street from their house wich I think was on Walnut, was a penny candy store. My Grandmother would hand me .25 cents and I'd come back with a bag full of gum and taffy!

Name: Ken MacIntyre
Email: kmacintyre@verizon.net
Date: Friday, July 13, 2007
Time: 11:17:31 AM

Comments

Loved Stotter's Dept. Store. In the 50's as a young boy, I would go up the old wood stairs and they would show Bugs Bunny, Tweety, and other kids cartoons. For free! Remember?

Name: Billy Lykens
Email: 68Mustang@fbconnectu.net
Date: Sunday, January 21, 2007
Time: 03:33:30 PM

Comments

Hi Davy, We just got back home from Florida and it was good to read the story about your father on the Old Chester web site-good job. I'll be in touch. The reference to mustang in my e-mail address has nothing to do with a car but is in regard to the status of what some of us Marines were. I explained what that was to someone in Florida recently when they saw my e-mail address and told me that they had owned a Mustang also. I never owned a Mustang. I was a Mustang.

Name: Wayne Roser
Email: RsrLng@aol.com
Date: Saturday, December 30, 2006
Time: 03:24:45 PM

Comments

Hi Dave: Another great story. I always thought that Danny Clemens was the best nine-ball player in Chester. I remember the "Dummy" racking up the balls for Sol and Mac. I too spent some summers washing dishes for my Dad. Keep the stories coming. Wayne

Name: Wayne Roser
Email: RsrLng@aol.com
Date: Saturday, December 30, 2006
Time: 03:07:51 PM

Comments

I also saw Yum Yum roll a couple of drunks in the alley behind Birney's. God bless brother Joe. He practiced what he preached. Keep the stories coming.

Name: joe
Email: BMXer42@verizon.net
Date: Saturday, December 16, 2006
Time: 05:19:39 PM

Comments

it was the best,best,best,best,best,best,best,best,best, story

Name: gary rosenberg
Email: grosenberg@tds.net
Date: Saturday, November 25, 2006
Time: 10:05:06 AM

Comments

Hi Dave, I wrote to you in 03 as well. Your stories are wonderful and heart warming. I remember everything and all the times I walked through the streets of Chester late at night after working while in school at the Colony Hotel where my mom and dad worked for awhile. I would walk and window shop from Chester on up to Parkside where we lived. It was a great time and a great place to grow up and call home. By the way, I visited last week in Alabama with Pete and Helen Prox (Helen Taylor). Helen mentioned she was reading your stories. Keep it up my friend; they are far reaching.. Gary Rosenberg

Name: Floyd Truitt
Email: floydcarves@msn.com
Date: Friday, October 20, 2006
Time: 08:00:19 PM

Comments

Dave, I tried to send you an email w/pics. It didn't go through. Do you have a new email addy?

Name: Lou Calvarese
Email: loucalvarese@comcast.net
Date: Sunday, October 15, 2006
Time: 12:04:15 PM

Comments

Hi Dave I so much enjoy your articles. My family grew up on Lamokin St in Chester. My concern is the lack of info on the Columbus Center on Pusey St. The " Center " was one of the most unique buildings ang location of so many banquets , shows, and weddings. It was built by hand by members of the Italian community. It was the largest hall in Delaware county , prior to the construction of Sun Center. Maybe we can get some stories of the Columbus Center and the Lodge 12 October, Sons of Italy, that was based there. Thank You Lou Calvarese

Name: Florence Knott
Email: buffyk@fast.net
Date: Thursday, July 06, 2006
Time: 03:29:36 PM

Comments

I thoroughly enjoyed this story of a part of your life. It reminded me that when I was working at the old Chester Cambridge Bank in trhe early 50's. They sent myself, Harry Shank, and William Dill to Banking school in Phila. One night when Mario Lanza was in his first movie roll and it was playing in Phila., instead of going to school, we went to the movie. I think It was the Toast of New Orlens. When we got on the train to go home, the prof. was on there and did not say a word, but next class, he let us all know that if we didn't pass, we would have to pay for the class ourselves. We never cut again.

Name: Judy Burnett Myers
Email: judytaos@hotmail.com
Date: Monday, February 06, 2006
Time: 05:11:08 PM

Comments

I love your stories, Dave. I haven't been home to Chester in 35 years, but you take me home again. I count on your memories to flesh out my fading ones. So imagine my horror at finding a couple of errors in your Ash Wed. story. First, Curtis Inst. is on Rittenhouse Square, so you wouldn't have seen it on your walk on the Parkway. I know, I went to Curtis. Second, the chicken pot pie at Horn & Hardart cost five nickles, not seven. All through Curtis I practically lived on those pot pies mainly because they only cost a quarter. I had very little money and was hungry most of the time which caused me to be a shockingly skinny soprano but it did make me a convincing consumptive in La Boheme. Third, (but I'm not certain about this one) I think the Errol was on West Market, pretty much across Market St. from Philly's Suburban Station. That means you wouldn't have gone through City Hall from the station to get to the theater. And just in case you forgot, 14th Street is usually called Broad Street. Not that any of this matters. I'm telling you simply because you cherish your memories and I think you'd like to be accurate in your remembering and your writing. I always miss home when I read your essays. I lived down on 8th and McDowell Ave. It was a good place to grow up. Thank you for reminding me. Love and Blessings, Judy (Burnett) Myers (505) 758-1398

Name: jo
Email: holymojo@aol.com
Date: Thursday, December 01, 2005
Time: 02:06:56 AM

Comments

hi, i loved your story about willy mosconi he was the best pool player in the world. i was wondering if you no what willys high run was and if he is in the book of world records for 426 with out missing.

Name: Bob Linneman
Email: rlinnema@comcast.net
Date: Monday, November 07, 2005
Time: 06:15:37 PM

Comments

Wow! Dave--you do have a talent. "Ash Wednesday" is great. Looking forward to seeing it in print. And, you on Wednesday. Best regards, Bob

Name: Wayne Roser
Email: rsrlng@aol.com
Date: Sunday, September 04, 2005
Time: 07:28:20 PM

Comments

Hi Dave: I just read your Ash Wednesday article. Just beautiful. You brought back a flood of memories. I am familiar with all of the places and things you mentioned. I worked at Strawbridge's in Philly for awhile and I took the local up and back every day. I also spent many lunchbreaks at Aliinger's and I was fortunate enough to see Willy Mosconi play several times. Keep the stories coming. Wayne

Name: Sarah Campbell
Email: scampb1032@aol.com
Date: Thursday, September 01, 2005
Time: 10:09:51 PM

Comments

Dear Dave, I am writing to tell you that my brother, David Smedley is very ill and I would like to ask if you would pass along his name and address to any friends who may like to send him a card. I know it would make him very happy. He has such fond memories of all of his Chester buddies. I have been mailing your columns to him and he enjoys them. His address is David B. Smedley, 40 Cortes Ct. Palm Coast, FL 32137 Phone (386) 445-0547

Name: Robin Fries
Email: tennesseeatwoodboysen@yahoo.com
Date: Monday, August 15, 2005
Time: 04:23:15 PM

Comments

I was hoping that u might be able to help me. I am trying to locate Henry Fries He lived in Marcus Hook in 1960. And was in the paper Chester Times in 1960, I am trying to find a photo of him he is now dead . Died in 1980's.

Name: Caroline
Email:
Date: Sunday, August 07, 2005
Time: 10:55:47 AM

Comments

Dave: Have missed you...God Willing, will see you on October 1.

Name:
Email:
Date: Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Time: 06:46:16 AM

Comments

Name: Patricia McFadden
Email: capricorn24@ev1.net
Date: Wednesday, March 30, 2005
Time: 09:52:33 PM

Comments

David: When are you going to write another article? Dare you to write about the dances in Chester that were the very best in the country, in any year. You have to admit, Dave, Chester had rhythm and I wouldn't be a bit surprised if good ole' Dick Clark in his televised broadcast from Philly didn't get the idea from watching the Chester dancers in the mid to late 40's. Come on, Dave, you were one of the best, let's not give Philly the credit for everything. (That's right, folks, David Komarnicki was one of the best dancers in Chester during Chester's "hay day." (Chester was never a "square" city (a term used in our day for those who were "dull") and, that was during the time when the best music ever written was danced to. Dave, write about it and make your children and grandchildren even more proud of you than they are already. Someone should write about the changes made in dancing - now, the lack of.

Name: Peg Boyll
Email: olepeg2@wmconnect.com
Date: Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Time: 11:20:59 AM

Comments

You have a real talent for writing ...and what a memory. Wish I could remember more of my childhood. Very enjoyable and yes I did laugh. So good to hear from you and Lord willing hope to see you the end of Sept. in Philly.

Name: Patricia McFadden
Email:
Date: Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Time: 12:37:58 AM

Comments

Correction: "The pen is mightier than the sword." In the day this was "penned", apparently, they used only the pen. Now we have not only the "old fashioned" typewriter, but the key board on a computer. So, in today's language, it could read: The computer is mightier than the sword (or whatever weapon available today, as the "gun", for example: So, "The computer is mightier than the gun." As a matter of fact, it is. But, the meaning is the same: "Words are mightier than any weapon."

Name: Patricia McFadden
Email: capricorn24@ev1.net
Date: Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Time: 12:28:25 AM

Comments

David - I highly respect you and your writing. I write as well, but in an amature fashion. I am now the editor of a small, local newsletter. Although I have been told by many people that it's the best newsletter they have ever had, I am being surpressed and criticized by the manager of the premises for which I write the newsletter. I feel he feels threatened by the written word, although I write only benevolently. How do you suggest I handle this situation and still keep my position of writing articles for the residents which they find interesting and enjoyable? How does that saying go? The pen is more powerful than the sword? Your reply would be helpful. Thank you.

Name: JOE STUMPF
Email: JOSSTUMPF@AOL.COM
Date: Friday, October 29, 2004
Time: 07:44:49 AM

Comments

DAVE , NICE MEETING YOU LAST NIGHT. READ YOUR INDEPENDENCE DAY ARTICLE.HIGHLY ENJOYED IT . KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK, JOE STUMPF

Name: JOE STUMPF
Email: JOSSTUMPF@AOL.COM
Date: Friday, October 29, 2004
Time: 07:44:32 AM

Comments

DAVE , NICE MEETING YOU LAST NIGHT. READ YOUR INDEPENDENCE DAY ARTICLE.HIGHLY ENJOYED IT . KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK, JOE STUMPF

Name: JOE STUMPF
Email: JOSSTUMPF@AOL.COM
Date: Friday, October 29, 2004
Time: 07:43:51 AM

Comments

DAVE , NICE MEETING YOU THE LAST NIGHT. READ YOUR INDEPENDENCE DAY ARTICLE.HIGHLY ENJOYED IT . KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK, JOE STUMPF

Name: Pat McFadden
Email: capricorn24@ev1.net
Date: Wednesday, October 20, 2004
Time: 08:32:52 PM

Comments

Dave, your article on Independence Day has solved another mystery for me. During WW11, my mother was married for a short time to a man by the name of Bennie Green. His real name was Bennie Krantz, but he preferred to be known as Green. His family owned a butcher shop on Market Street and I've never been able to remember the name of the shop, although I knew it was downtown (it was during this time that I learned to appreciate and love Jewish food). Now, of course, I know that the name was Green's Market, thanks to your article. You also mentioned other merchants that I remember so well, yet I have never seen anyone post anything about several of them.

You also bring to mind the fact that I, too, would often wonder down Market Street alone at the age of 5-6-7 - many times the local policeman would take me home. But, it was safe to do that "in our day". I also chuckle at your love of parades - never knew anyone who loved parades as much as you and have the memory of everything and everyone in Chester. You are a true asset to its history and a credit to Chester itself.

Name: Harvey Martin
Email: hsmartin@snip.net
Date: Thursday, July 01, 2004
Time: 09:49:39 PM

Comments

Dave, Thank you for your Independance Day 1944 story. It is always nice to reminisce about growing up in the old neighborhood and remembering those who touched out lives along the way.

Name: Caroline
Email:
Date: Wednesday, June 16, 2004
Time: 04:50:57 PM

Comments

Dave: Your memorial to your brother John is filled with the love only one that is full with God's Blessings could write. We are promised that we will meet our loved ones again in Heaven and I truely believe this to be Gods promise.

Name: Reba Watson (Grange)
Email: rwatso7@tampabay.rr.com
Date: Saturday, May 15, 2004
Time: 05:18:02 PM

Comments

Sure enjoyed your taking me on a trip through old Chester. I'm glad that you made it home safe and sound selling all your papers. Remember me?

Name: fran dougherty
Email: frandoc@rcn.com
Date: Saturday, April 10, 2004
Time: 02:53:26 PM

Comments

truly enjoyable reading!!! you have a gift!!!!

Name: debera tussie
Email: debtus@aol.com
Date: Friday, April 02, 2004
Time: 07:32:49 PM

Comments

mr. dave i enjoyed reading your story, the trip down memory lane. you brought memories of my grandmother that lived across from st. hedwig's church, which was the center of her life. i was wondering if anyone knew her. her name is sophie tussie and her husband was tony. i would appreciate anything anyone can tell me. specifically i'm wondering if the church woul have any pictures of her. thanks for the wonderful story.

Name: Ed Kuhlman
Email: ginedk@innernet.net
Date: Tuesday, February 17, 2004
Time: 09:01:08 AM

Comments

Dave: The Kormarnicki family was the only one in the area with more kids than the Kuhlmans (8) Seems there was one of each in every class in Chester schools. I graduated with Jim. Enjoyed your stories. I lived them. Everything from delivering newspapers to working in a local grocery store. You may not remember but we shared some years at "Kings". I just retired from 40 years in education and 30 years on the faculty at Messiah College. Remember Ken Wilcox? In your next literary effort, talk about the days of DVBS at Bible Pres. All the best EK

Name: Bill Locke
Email: wlocke2@comcast.net
Date: Saturday, February 07, 2004
Time: 01:26:26 PM

Comments

What more can I say another great story.I actually thought I was there with you.Can't wait til next one.Thank you for all the memories.

Name: gary greenip
Email: gary.greenip@ritzcarltonclub.com
Date: Thursday, February 05, 2004
Time: 09:00:41 AM

Comments

Only through a mentor in business in my early years of a career did I hear and received live long objectives from those carefully and artfully crafted words of wisdom to successfully navigate through life. I too now pass along these directional words of wisdom to my childred of integrity, putting your personal signature on everything you do and play to win the race versus simply finishing the race. However, I now realize that these bits of directional influence are not emphasized during the holidays. Thank you and now they will be going forward.

Name: Kent Willson
Email: krw35@charter.net
Date: Tuesday, January 27, 2004
Time: 11:15:04 PM

Comments

Dave, enjoyed your article. It was the first I read and hope to see more. I got here with the help of one of your sister-in-laws, Kim. I knew Paul and Jim from school and Paul married my truly first love. I still communicate with Paul and Kim and find a great deal of friendship with both. Hit them long and far and score well. Kent R. Willson, class of 53.

Name: Jim Beard
Email: jwhiskers@webtv.net
Date: Thursday, January 08, 2004
Time: 11:07:31 PM

Comments

Dave, being from 7th &Potter I can relate to your area growing up. We didn,t have a lot but we always had our family! CHRISTMASs, were bigger in feeling back then, they meant more. I can remember Joe Lapchick sneekers at Kinneys, Converse were too expensive for me at Briggs Sporting Store. I saw a sad sight the other day, The new Chester YMCA is in demolition state, I can remember moving to there in 1960 and meeting Ritchie Ashburn, Robin Roberts, Curt Simmons as they visited to pay tribute to a state of the art facility for the kids of Chester who needed such a facility. But alas the flood of 71! Keep turning out the memories, as you bring them back in all of us who enjoy your writings. You too Dan McGinnis of Milford Del!

Name: Helena Reed Ashwell
Email: ashwell2000@thevillages.nt
Date: Wednesday, December 24, 2003
Time: 06:42:01 PM

Comments

Merry Christmas Dave! And thank you for the uplifting story and inspiring thoughts. Your Elsinore Pl.sister in faith, Helena

Name: Maria
Email:
Date: Sunday, December 14, 2003
Time: 07:50:31 PM

Comments

Enjoyed your last article with pop!

Name: Harry Vercoe
Email: hvercoe@mchsi.com
Date: Tuesday, December 09, 2003
Time: 08:55:47 PM

Comments

Hi Dave, Sure enjoyed your story. I also had that pair of boots. My mom said it was okay to carve with the knife when she or my Grandfather was around. Of course being smarter then mom I wore those boots to Wetherill School without my mom knowing so I could play mumbly peg with other boys. I of course got caught in class when I took my knife out to show Floyd Truitt and I had to give my knife to the principal.I got it back at the end of the day with a note attached to give to my mom.Mom read the note and said no more wearing those boots to school and she gave the knife to my grandfather for safe keeping. I see you are having an open house tour. Weather permiting we may come up.

Name: Caroline
Email:
Date: Sunday, December 07, 2003
Time: 09:34:42 AM

Comments

:) :) loved it as usual...hope to see you on the 14th.

Name: Dan Komarnicki
Email: dkomarnicki@carolina.com

Comments

Thanks David. I am proud to be your brother. We love you. Marsha and Dan

Name: Steve Boyle
Email: steve.boyle@sungard.com

Comments

Are you related to Bill Komarnicki? He was a Nether Providence Grad in 1970.

Name: Caroline
Email:

Comments

Mr. Truitt: In afew days pictures from the reunion should be uploaded to the board. It was a fantastic day. Look for Dave and others you might know in the slideshow when it is added.

Name: Floyd Truitt (CHS '48)
Email: Fljftru@aol.com

Comments

Dave, I've enjoyed all your stories but none more than this. I would have loved to be at the reunion. It's a long drive down from Massachusetts where Ihave resided for the past 47 years. I keep in touch thru Harry Vercoe thanks to IM we "talk" frequently. Sincerely, Floyd

Name: Caroline
Email:

Comments

Its about time Dave. Hope to see you on Saturday.

Name: Kay
Email: kilgorekljlk@aol.com
Date: 09/23/2003
Time: 12:17:24 PM

Comments

Dave, Do you have a brother Danny? Did he marry a girl named Alice Bell from Potter Street? Please let me know. Kay

Name: Gary Rosenberg
Email: kcrosenberg@tds.com
Date: 08/21/2003
Time: 07:07:00 PM

Comments

Dave, Thanks for the memories of childhood and family. You know that I grew up in the 520 Bar that my dad owned. I think everyone knew "Rosie" and he knew everyone. There's no place and there are no memories that compare with what we all knew as home. Thanks for the uplifting and keep it up.

Name: Joanna
Email: jo@accesswave.ca
Date: 08/13/2003
Time: 02:13:04 PM

Comments

great site, I love your writing i will book mark it for sure, and will look forward to reading more. In case you dont remember me,I helped you program your phone when you called AT&T :)

Name: Bernie Chazin
Email: bchazin@bellsouth.net
Date: 07/12/2003
Time: 02:31:30 PM

Comments

Just wanted to let you know how much I enjoyed your story. Coming from a large family like yours,with brothers all around you, it brought back many memories of my chidhood. Thanks for your creative style and a very heart warming story.

Name: Caroline
Email:
Date: 06/03/2003
Time: 10:20:31 PM

Comments

Dave: Where are you...need some good reading. I'll send you some sharpened pencils if you need them.

Name: Darel Moe
Email: gresourcegroup@aol.com

Comments

Dear David,

Thank you for sharing this "tale of woe", I really enjoyed it! You have a great style and I felt like I could actually see the places you were describing! Keep up the good work and good luck with your foundation. Sincerely, Darel Moe

Name: Karen German
Email: kgerman@columus.rr.com

Comments

I've enjoyed your childhood stories.

Name: Helena
Email:

Comments

Dave, One of the things I remember about you is your playing the harmonica. In fact, not too long ago, I asked Paul & Kim if you still played it. I'm truly sorry you sffered so much pain before receiving that gift, but I'm happy to remember how beautifully you played. keep playing and writing, please.

Name: Terry Owsiany McHugh
Email:

Comments

Dave, As I wipe the tears from my eyes, I sit hear with a warm and fuzzy feeling all over. To remember that time in your life so well is a blessing, and to be able to tell it so well is a gift. The tooth story was bad enough then you go and get attacked by a dog. Your poor mother! But the very best part was the end, a real tribute to the love between two brothers; how wonderful!

Name: Michael Kormanicki
Email: jacquekorm@aol.com

Comments

Christmas Day is a celebration of love. Of love past, revealed to us through the gift of memory -- rekindled by the neatly assembled words of a verbal craftsman.

Thank you for the memorable gift you gave me this day -- a reverie.

Merry Christmas,

Michael

Name: Kate Komarnicki
Email: www.hepburn06@msn.com

Comments

Hey, Uncle Dave I have been going to your website too much. I gets to be addicting, but it's a good thing to be addicted to not like chocolate. I love what you have wrote about the family it makes me really feel good inside and how I am blessed. One who becomes a regular on your site is very wise. Do not write me back because WE ARE IN THE PROCESS OF GETTING A NEW INTERNET SERVICE AND ARE OTHER ONE IS DONE FOR. I hope everyhting is well. My friend Kate is comming up to the New Year's party hopefully to meet Amy and of course the whole Komarnicki Family.Were practically like a greek family. Well send my love.Love Kate

Name: Rolph Anderson
Email: andersre@drexel.edu

Comments

Dave, I really enjoyed your story. You are a gifted writer who should consider telling about your memories in a book about the 1940s and 50s that many of us remember fondly. My two brothers were in WWII and I also remember the joy of having the bed all to myself instead of having to share. But, I missed my brothers as they were like fathers to me. My dad also burned my comic book collection. Perhaps, this is one reason that I collect "Classics Illustrated" now. Those days were the best and the worst of times but well worth recalling. Thanks for taking me back again. I look forward to reading more of your stories. God bless you and your family always. Rolph

Name: Harry Vercoe
Email: angolahmv@a0l.com

Comments

Hi Dave I read your latest story and once again it brought back many memories. Mary had tears when she read some parts of it. She said she could relate to some of the things that happened in her family. Mary and I are still looking for your visit. Hope your wife is feeling better.

Name: Harvey Martin
Email: hsmartin@snip.net

Comments

Dave, I have liked all of your columns but this one was different. It wasn't so much of a tour of streets and neighborhoods but a capturing of time and place...a glimpse into your world when you were growing up. A feeling of what it was like in that home, on that block, at that time, in good old Chester, Pa.

Name: Ed Bowley
Email: edlbee@aol.com
Date: 10/23/2002
Time: 2:52:44 PM

Comments

Dave..............

Nice job...brings back memories of 1924 till 1940 when we moved to Twin Oaks..

Name: Tom Baldwin, Sr.
Email: baldwin@steuber.com
Date: 10/19/2002
Time: 12:32:10 PM

Comments

Wonderflul! We met yesterday at Mail Boxes, Inc. Have you ever printed that story about Chester?

Name: Harry Vercoe
Email: angolahmv@aol.com
Date: 10/10/2002
Time: 9:48:07 PM

Comments

Hi Dave, Sure enjoyed our visit with you on Sat.Looking forward to your visit. Am writing a few things down so I won't forget them Harry

Name: Gwen Roser Myers
Email: gwennewt@msn.com
Date: 10/10/2002
Time: 8:30:23 PM

Comments

Doubt that you'd remember me, Wayne's little sister the little girl with long red curls. Just the other night I was remembering your Dad (Joe the Cook as I affectionately refered to him) bringing me a bible for my graduation (1953), thinking how the heck did he even know it was my graduation, let alone afford a bible with all those kids. Another time when I was really little, I ran into him coming down the stairs with a huge boiling pot of soup which spilled onto me. He and my Father wrapped me in clean dish towels soaked in "ST 37", never showed any signs of a burn -- guess Joe did some heavy duty praying (I'm sure). Keep the memories coming, enjoy your stories. Gwen Roser Myers

Name: James Mc Kinney
Email: Decardconn@aol.com
Date: 9/28/2002
Time: 4:10:27 PM

Comments

Dave Once again it was pure pleasure reading your story Jawbreaker Your family sounds wonderfull. Its amazing how much detail you can remember after all these years I look forward to meeting you at the Old Chester reunion in Oct Jim

Name: Caroline
Email:
Date: 9/27/2002
Time: 11:18:58 PM

Comments

Dave another...I am laughing and chuckling about another memory brought back to this heart, it is of the mannequins at Weinbergs..When I decided to be a lady, I tried to slink around with the same look the mannequins had...But you know what, the mannequins didn't walk or talk, they just l@@Ked beautiful. I nearly killed my self tripping over my own feet with those skinny 3" heels...Thanks for the memory.....

Name: mike kandravi
Email: mkandravi@aol.com
Date: 9/2/2002
Time: 9:05:41 AM

Comments

Hi Dave- Do you have any more stories about my great-grandfather. Everytime I meet someone who knows our name, they always ask me about him, but I never had the chance to meet him.

Name: Fred Lenczynski
Email: fredal@icdc.com
Date: 8/18/2002
Time: 2:08:48 PM

Comments

Dave, There can only be one Dave Komarnicki from 7th Street in Chester. I happened to be on OldChesterPa.com and came across your column. Do you and any others know the where abouts of several of our St Mike's class of '42? They are John McNulty, Betty Walker, Betty and Billy Hamilton, Ann O'Conner, Jean Johson and Kathline Bignear? If you or anyone else does would you send me an email.

Hope to see you at the OLDCHESTERPA Reunion on Oct 5th. You will be there won't you?

See you then....

Fred Lenczynski fredal@icdc.com Fred @ (610)586-7987

Name: Fred Lenczynski
Email: fredal@icdc.com
Date: 8/18/2002
Time: 2:08:34 PM

Comments

Hope to see you at the OLDCHESTERPA Reunion on Oct 5th. You will be there won't you?

See you then....

Fred Lenczynski fredal@icdc.com Fred @ (610)586-7987

Name: Fred Lenczynski
Email: fredal@icdc.com
Date: 8/18/2002
Time: 2:07:48 PM

Comments

Hope to see you at the OLDCHESTERPA Reunion on Oct 5th. You will be there won't you?

See you then....

Fred Lenczynski fredal@icdc.com Fred @ (610)586-7987

Name: Harold Lloyd
Email: hm1979@gci.net
Date: 8/17/2002
Time: 5:55:01 PM

Comments

Enjoyed your storys..Does anyone remember "brother James" candy store across from Franklin Elememtry in mid 60s? Apparently They were into the nation of Islam there but to me it was just a Candy store. When my little black friends in 2nd grade told me that they were giving away free popcicles if you went in and proclaimed "islam alaka islam brother James" (spelling?)At the time I didnt know why they laughed so hard when I went in did that (I'm white) They gave me the Popcycle though!!

Name: R. L. Guy
Email: yugnor@yahoo.com
Date: 8/11/2002
Time: 2:56:44 AM

Comments

Dear Mr. Dave, I thank you for the history, I was born in 1961 at Sacred Heart Hosp(S.H.), Chester PA. I left the city in 1978 to join the Air Force and I do remember Pat's Hogie Shop. We moved to the "eastside" when I was 8 (between Madison and Upland) and my Mom was a nurse's aide at S.H.Even though I am a black American and never was part of that generation of crime, I miss the fun days of Chester. I remember when we used to shovel snow for the hogie shop, fun days of the real pinball but he all time high was watching boats launch from Sun Ship Dry Dock, where my Dad worked. The stories are great....

Thanks.... R.L. Guy

Name: Harvey Martin
Email: hsmartin@snip.net
Date: 8/4/2002
Time: 4:11:10 PM

Comments

Your story is a real summer treat. There was a lot I could relate to like winning a Prize Bracelet (awarded to the boosters of Twin Popcicles) when I was 5 years old in 1936. Mr. Miles, the owner of the corner store where I hung out, once accused me of being the "instigator" of all the mischief that took place in the neighborhood. Cutting grass with those old hand mowers was no easy job. My father joined the seabees and I still have my civilan defense messenger armband with the streak of red lightning in the white triangle within the blue circle. My Nanny made a pouch complete with snap for me to keep it in. Thanks, Dave!

Name: Harry Vercoe
Email: angolahmv@mchsi.com
Date: 8/2/2002
Time: 8:23:00 PM

Comments

Hi Dave Keep up the good work It sure is nice to remember the good old days. We sure had alot of fun at Smedley J.H. I am now living in Lewes De

Name: Caroline
Email: carpete@verizon.net
Date: 8/1/2002
Time: 4:43:13 PM

Comments

Don't know whether to put a laughing heart here or just tell you that I can't stop laughing inside and out. I was stung as a kid by those little divebombers when we lived in Holmes. Walked on their nest and I didn't walk right for weeks after. Thanks for a wonderful laugh at a painful memory. You have brought not only a chuckle to my heart, but now a laugh.

Name: John Flanagan
Email: jjfcpo@earthlink.net
Date: 8/1/2002
Time: 3:06:42 AM

Comments

Dave that is some kind of tale, you have to have more willbe waiting to read them. JJ

Name: BILL LOCKE
Email: wlocke2@comcast.net
Date: 7/13/2002
Time: 10:26:12 PM

Comments

I WISH YOU WOULDN'T MAKE US WAIT SO LONG BETWEEN YOUR STORIES.THEY ARE GREAT.KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK.

Name: Robyn Komarnicki Hubbard
Email: jr.mint@attbi.com
Date: 7/12/2002
Time: 3:24:51 PM

Comments

Uncle Dave, What kind of magic do your words possess, that after following you on your "oxblood" adventure, I am as breathless as you were at 13?...on a 105 degree day in Spokane, I could feel the chilly blast from your icebox, taste the cold chocolate of a Tasty cake, and be transfixed by a vision of your Mom, only now with loosely gathered white hair and soft nightgown, turning from an open fridge to hand me a love offering of a pack of Tastycakes...and having never returned a yo yo to my waiting palm more than twice after it's release, why am I able to feel the exquisite rush of a seamless performance in front of a crowd of memorable faces? You still perform magic, David, when every word you write finds its perfect rhythm and groove, and mesmerizes your captive audience. This is truly a story of grace...being caught oxbloodred-handed, experiencing shame and fear of punishment, and seeing the darkness of yourself in light of your father's honorable name, and then finding yourself instead plunged into unexpected joy, forgiveness, and freedom. I love you! Tell us more...Love, Robyn

Name: Jim Mc Kinney
Email: Decardconn@aol.com
Date: 7/10/2002
Time: 4:35:32 PM

Comments

Once again i really enjoyed your story! I love the way you describe everything so perfectly . if you ever write a book id be one of many im sure that would love to read it( after buying it of course) Keep up the great work Its a pleasure to read your words. Thanks JIm

Name: Helena
Email:
Date: 7/10/2002
Time: 3:23:27 PM

Comments

Dave, your stories never fail to captivate me. I laugh,cry,sigh and even gaasped in fear as your YO-Yo hit officer Kandravi! were all those famous or soon to be famous Chesterites really in that crowd?! Please, please, continue to write for us.

Name: Caroline
Email: carpete@verizon.net
Date: 7/9/2002
Time: 8:29:43 PM

Comments

Hi Dave: I feel as thought I should know you but I don't. Your stories always bring a chuckle to my heart. So many of the guys and gals I knew in South Chester could have been you. Your family is beautiful...much like the one I belong to.

I will be looking forward to your next story.

Warmest regards,

Caroline

Name: Marsha Komarnicki
Email: Marsha.D.Komarnicki@marsh.com
Date: 5/30/2002
Time: 4:00:27 PM

Comments

Dear Brother David,

I just found this story of yours by chance. I enjoyed it very much. I'm going to surprise Daniel and read it aloud to him tonight and make him guess who wrote it.

We miss you all and hope all is well.

Hugs and lots of love,

Marsha

Name: Caroline
Email: carpete@bellatlantic.net
Date: 5/28/2002
Time: 6:54:44 PM

Comments

Dear Dave:

Just a note to let you know that I too enjoy your memories. I am of Polish/Ukrainian background and find so many of the things you have said about your Mother and Father similar to my grandparents and parents.

I have read the lovely letters your children have posted here. The love they have for you, their Dad, is beautiful. You are all so Blessed to have one another. God keep you all well.

Warmest regards, Caroline

P.S. My sister Joan went to school with Jimmy.

Name: Dave and Lois Watson
Email: RNETN85@AOL.com
Date: 5/24/2002
Time: 11:16:09 PM

Comments

Your article on Memory Lane really stirred up the emotions. We, too, remember some of those days. Memorial Day is just not the same without the trip to Chester Rural Cemetary after the parades. It is a little too far though since we now live in FL.

Name: Robert Kowalchuk
Email: Robert.m.kowalchuk@Boeing .com
Date: 5/24/2002
Time: 12:35:55 PM

Comments

David, Here is a Website where you can search the ship manifests for your Parents if they came through Ellis Island. You may find it usfull.

www.ellisisland.org

Name: Elwood hicken jr
Email: Elwood.hicken@co.charlotte.fl.us
Date: 5/14/2002
Time: 2:16:09 PM

Comments

I enjoyed reading your story. i grew up in marcus hook and chester, class of 1955. just spent 2 months in chester last year. it sure is not the same as when we grew up. i am living in florida for past 17yrs. i am a cousin to john b. keep up the good work

Name: James Mc Kinney
Email: Decardconn@aol.com
Date: 5/7/2002
Time: 2:40:21 PM

Comments

David you wrote a really good story I loved it I grew up in Mc CafferyVillage in the west end from the age of 6 months till i was 13 and loved every moment My old neighborhood is now gone too but i still am friends with many of the people that grew up there with me. my best friend from first grade at William Penn is still my best friend today. it seems like there is such a bond amongst many of us from our youth that will rem,ain forever Thanks for your story i enjoyed it very much Jim Mc Kinney(53)

Name: Wayne Roser
Email: rsrlng@aol.com
Date: 5/6/2002
Time: 5:44:05 AM

Comments

Dave:

I certainly enjoyed reading your column. I spent a lot of my youth in the area around Larkin School. I'm sure ypu remember Roser's restaurant on Welsh Street where your Dad worked as a cook. He certainly was a nice man. I lived close to your sister and brother-in-law in Brookhaven for about 25 years. Keep up the good work.

Wayne

Name: Dave & Lois Watson
Email: rnetn85@aol.com
Date: 5/4/2002
Time: 11:12:45 PM

Comments

Enjoyed your articles. Your Pop was a great man!

Name: Harvey Martin
Email: hsmartin@snip.net
Date: 4/29/2002
Time: 6:36:38 AM

Comments

Hi, Dave, I have enjoyed reading your columns/stories and was glad to meet you in Chester on Saturday. I felt bad about having to rush off so soon but my wife, Jean, has MS and I had been away (watching the slide show) for a while and was anxious to get home to her. Hope you keep sharing your memories with us. Harvey

Name:
Email:
Date: 4/25/2002
Time: 10:25:08 PM

Comments

Are these comments read by the writer? No response to comments yet.If no reponses to comments are expected you should eliminate this vehicle and just allow people to read w/o comment.

Name: Otto Greenleaf
Email: ot60@hotmail.com
Date: 4/22/2002
Time: 5:03:56 PM

Comments

Hi Dave, Thank you for your stories. I lived over top of Millers 3rd floor knew of Patsy Logan and her family. I am asking you today if you remember a Mickey Siegle he traveled with Paul Lukes and I believe his first name is Billy Strayhorn. Lukes lived at 619 Crosby St. next to Traub family where my family was located. Siegle lived 607 Crosby St I could be wrong on exact number. I have interest in Mickey was brother to my wife Marlen he was killed on Uss Juneau World War 11 if you know him let me know. Thank you again for your good memories. Take care Otto Greenleaf I have brother name Jake

Name: the eldest Elizabeth
Email: Ekomanicki@cme.org.pl
Date: 4/18/2002
Time: 8:50:00 AM

Comments

IF only i had the ability to TRANSLATE as well as you do write! Right now i would pay any price to print these pages and hand them to any pair of eyes i saw right out here at the Ustroñ Rynek so they can enjoy this style, this quality of words woven together that paints perfect pictures and tastes as good as a good Polish (or Ukrainian) perogie...it's two o'clock here in sunny southern Poland and your eldest Elizabeth is scrolling up and down on this site, swimming through these stories that by the Spirit's power illumine your special spirit for now the WORLD to notice. THANK YOU JOHN for doing your work to bring these gifts to this webpage!!! I, like your Amy and Leslie, are proud of you dad as patriarch of our Komarnicki clan...love can not describe the emotion that pulses through my heart for my father...respect has resulted from years of battling submission to the one who "knows best", awe has awoken in me as i see your great sacrifices for our family...i long to let you know how i truly DO love you...long, loud, laughter at your sweet silliness i KNOW is your favorite gift...so i ill call soon, a phone line connection from my heart here in E.Europe to Eastern U.S. just to share laughter, encouraging words and some more stories! I miss you! Mom, please take care of dad while Amy and i are not there to "keep him in line with the yelling at the TV and the ice cream over NBA." JESUS lives and may we continue to run into our HEAVENLY Father's arms to recieve HIS love, so pure and satisfying...JOHN 3:16. love EA

Name: Amy Komarnicki
Email: Amy_Komarnicki@brown.edu
Date: 4/15/2002
Time: 2:24:21 AM

Comments

You are inspirational and everyone should know who you are and all that you have added to this world. I am so proud that you have this page to share your gift of expression, thoughts that flow so freely onto the page...words that speak to any living, God seeking heart...and beats to the rhythm of God's love and the unmatching value of family. I am thankful and blessed to be a Komarnicki, especially your daughter. I love you!

Name: Jim "Butch" Bailey
Email: paramedic977@comcast.net
Date: 4/7/2002
Time: 11:06:00 AM

Comments

Hi Dave, I was born, and raised at 158 E. 7th Street in 1941. Just up from Pat's Hogie shop. Iam notsure of you date of birth. Hey I noticed in the Bakery section of the directory, they missed the best one. How about George's Bakery on east 7th, across from St. Mikes School, right up from your old stauping grounds. We had a lot of good guys around that area, we all hung out at Pats, 7th. and Crosby. Remember Eddie Teabo's Store on the block between Crosby and Deshongs.

Name: Dominic Pileggi
Email: DPileggi@chestercity.com
Date: 4/5/2002
Time: 5:22:10 PM

Comments

Dave- Nice work Dominic

Name: paula
Email: padryden7@yahoo.com
Date: 4/4/2002
Time: 1:47:21 PM

Comments

What a beautiful story you wrote about your memory of Betty!

Name: Harry Vercoe
Email: hpvmdv@mchsi.com
Date: 4/3/2002
Time: 4:22:56 PM

Comments

Dave, certainly enjoyed your articles' Iremember dating Nancy Bunel who lived in the Village. Had to walk from my home on W.23rd st to the Village go to fri.nite dance at Smedley then home.Keep in touch CHS48

Name: Sally Rounds Smith
Email: ssmith@elllijay.com
Date: 4/3/2002
Time: 4:08:03 PM

Comments

I truley enjoyed your stories Thanks

Name: Quilter (CHS '56)
Email:
Date: 4/3/2002
Time: 1:58:22 PM

Comments

This is really good writing. Thank you for bringing back memories of the Chester many of us knew. I, too, attended Smedley, though some years after you, had Miss Eachus for Geography, and even had my own pair of Joe Lapchiks in the 1950s. The regular Keds with the black dots on the ankles were "OK," but the Lapchicks were special. We girls always had to wear those "tight in the toes" girls' sneakers (gym shoes), but I convinced my mother to let me try on a pair of Joe Lapchiks at Kinney's. The difference in toe room was amazing -- and very comfortable. Do you remember the x-ray machine that we put our feet into to check the fit? It had three viewing ports: one for the shoe wearer to gaze into while wiggling toes and one each on the opposite side for the parent and the salesman. Though present-day worriers will decry the use of x-rays for such a simple task, none of us to this day have had our feet fall off from radiation burns from that machine. The Lapchicks fit wonderfully and I was allowed to have them. Like you, I really loved those sneakers! Unlike you, I have no bittersweet ending to my sneaker story. They simply wore out from use.

Name: John Winfree
Email: jwinfre@nni.com
Date: 3/29/2002
Time: 10:30:03 AM

Comments

Great discriptive stories.I grew up in Chester in the 40's and 50's. I really admire you for moving back. I am a sailor and have often told my wife that Chester could be the next Penn's Landing or Inner Harbor.We live in Bucks Co. and her only experience with Chester was a few years ago when we picked up hot dogs at John's on 7th. She wasn't very comfortable and when she said" these arn't bad once you scrape all the stuff off" I realized we'll probaly never be Chesterites

Name: Pat McFadden
Email: pidipat@earthlink.net
Date: 3/28/2002
Time: 11:49:00 AM

Comments

I tried to send this by email, but was not able to do so, so I am posting this in hopes that I get a response from Mr. Komarnicki.

Hi Dave. Last year sometime I read an article by you on the Delcotimes website regarding a parade down Edgemont Ave. The article brought back memories to me and I was awed at your remembrance of so many details. You're a great writer.

However, since reading that article, I have been very curious, wondering if you are the same Dave Komarnicki I knew as a teenager. I didn't know you from school; I met you at one of the local dances and you were one of the best dancers in town. We spoke briefly before I moved away in 1950 and you gave me your picture, which I still have. You said you were planning on becoming a priest. I thought, "Gosh, what a waste" (he-he). I think we are about the same age too, and your family photo does resemble the Dave I knew. Anyway, now that I have an opportunity to satisfy my curiosity, are you that same Dave? Pat McFadden is my maiden name, and if you are the same - it's so very nice to say "Hi" to you once again. And, your addition to John's site just makes the site get better and better all the time.

Name: Terry Owsiany McHugh
Email: tomch1958@aol.com
Date: 3/21/2002
Time: 12:41:01 PM

Comments

wow, you have captured the essence of family,owning the name and wearing it as a badge has been lost in today's society.............

Name: Dan
Email:
Date: 3/20/2002
Time: 8:35:43 PM

Comments

Dave--Forgot to mention I'm glad to see Paul and Jim in knickers. Now I can show my grandchildren what I used to wear. I hope theirs were corderoy and whistled like mine.

Name: Dan McGinniss
Email: danm@dmv.com
Date: 3/19/2002
Time: 10:26:50 PM

Comments

Dave-Did the editor pass on the e-mail I sent you after your article about your new sneakers? I recognized all of the landmarks you mentioned.Your writngs certainly tweek my memory banks. Looking forward to more.

Name: Helena
Email: ashwell2000@aol.com
Date: 3/17/2002
Time: 11:27:40 PM

Comments

Dave, What can I say? You are as eloquent as ever. I look forward to reading more of your Chester recollections at Komarnicki's Korner.

Name: sissy gatta
Email:
Date: 3/17/2002
Time: 12:10:27 AM

Comments

DAVE, IT WAS GOOD READING YOUR STORY. WE HAD A LOT OF GOOD NEIGHBORS OF 7TH STREET AND A LOT OF WONDERFUL MEMORIES. I WILL ENJOY READING YOUR FORTH COMING COMMENTS.

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Do you also have a flair for writing? If so, and you would like to write about life in Old Chester,
please email your stories to john@oldchesterpa.com

Old Chester, in Delaware County, PA Other Chester Stories \| What's New Page
Komarnicki's Korner
Dave Komarnicki's Recollections of Growing Up in Chester