The Philadelphia Evening Post - Volume 1: Issue 3 by The Philadelphia Evening Post

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holiday 2015 // volume 1.111

the philadelphia evening post

Do you enjoy The Philadelphia Evening Post? Do you think what we’re doing is important? Then help us by considering giving a financial gift so we can continue to share your stories + pictures as well as the incredible history of our great city. We will publish the names of all who contributed this holiday season in our upcoming Winter edition. Go to PhillyEveningPost.com to pledge a donation and SHOP at our online store for subscriptions, back issues and great vintage Philly themed gifts. You can also mail us your financial gift. Checks should be made out to “Infinity News Network” for “The Philly Evening Post” – 2008 S. 8th St. Apt. 2A, Philadelphia, PA, 19148

Employment Opportunities Sales Managers Seeking connected neighborhood sales managers to sell advertising (print + online) in various Philadelphia neighborhoods. These territory protected 1099 positions can be full or part time, responsible for activating neighborhood advertising and being the primary connection for our magazine to the neighborhood. This is especially great for people who have relationships with businesses. Email: Sales@PhillyEveningPost.com

Contributors Seeking neighborhood writers to assist in promoting the history and heritage of Philadelphia neighborhoods, submitting or uncovering personal local stories, photos, histories and memories. Note that these are freelance opportunities. Email: Editor@PhillyEveningPost.com

Interns Looking for resume experience or an internship for college credit? We’re seeking editorial, photo, social media and graphic design interns to join our creative team. Highly motivated self-starters should email editor@phillyeveningpost.com for editorial, photo and or social media inquiries. For graphic design, email creative@phillyeveningpost.com. Perks include free coffee at meetings, press access to various events, and the fun-loving presence of creative, trail-blazing entrepreneurial warriors.

Social Media Interested in taking over our Instagram account for a week? We’d love to have you. Here’s a creative way to showcase your work and share your photos through The Post. Send us a DM on Instagram @PhillyEveningPost

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staff editor + publisher josh kinney editor@phillyeveningpost.com creative director juliann gates creative@phillyeveningpost.com print ad + web designer mark walz, jr. sales david rose sales@phillyeveningpost.com

The Philadelphia Evening Post (c) 2015 is Philly’s original nostalgic bi-monthly magazine published by Infinity News Network, Inc. Contributing writers, photographers and artists: Loren Berckey, Tony Santore, Kelly Murphy, Chris Kuncio, Ben Franklin, Scott Becker, Johnny Goodtimes, Anthony Moat, Tacticus, Margaret Darby, Mickey Coburn, Drew Panckeri, Kerri Sullivan, Amy Cohen, Meredith Edlow, Lexy Pierce, Steve York, Kristen Humbert, Nick Petryszyn, Jill Schmehl, Patrick Crofton, Carissa Hudson, Beau Merlini, Michael Kern, Emily Schwarting, Joseph Brin, Chris Wagner, Dominic Laing, Jack Wilcox, Lily Meier “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment or religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances” – 1st Amendment of the Constitution of the U.S.A., Philadelphia, 1787 The Philadelphia Evening Post is a free bi-monthly, vintage magazine where yesterday and today meet in the city of Brotherly Love. It’s a retro throwback covering Philly history, nostalgia, memories and personal stories from the birth of the nation to the present. It exists to promote and serve the city and its family of advertisers, inspiring, encouraging and uplifting readers with a sense of Philly pride. The Post seeks to re-tell Philadelphia’s history from a variety of personal perspectives.

issue 1.3

editor says

events

send us your stories + photos

ads of the past

10-11

a christmas to remember

posts from ben franklin

autumn posts

why we mum

then + now

sports history

sons of liberty

bomb bomb

christmas in the valley

26-27

christmas at wanamaker’s

the jewish santa of philadelphia

hidden philly cartoon

30-31

falling in + out of love at the troc

33-34

boycotting christmas

featured instagrammer

music

past post

food

my philadelphia

art

poetry

a winter story

dear post

6-7

center city

22-23 south philly

rittenhouse

queen village

old city

fairmount

16-17 fishtown

west philly

northwest phila.

northern liberties

follow us facebook.com/phillyeveningpost @phillyeveningpost phillyeveningpost.com 2008 S. 8th Street, #2A, Philadelphia, PA, 19148 484-557-1601

Cover image by Juliann Gates three

We can learn a lot about ourselves by looking to the past. History not only provides us with a nostalgic glimpse at how things used to be – like the classic childhood toys in the old Gimbels ad on page 9 - but its lessons can still teach us and shape our perspectives today. Many refer to “the good old days” when times were purer and life was simpler. Even millennials reminisce over a time when they developed photos, used AOL Instant Messenger, bought CDs, knew channel 28 was always Nickelodeon, or more recently (although it seems like decades ago) texted Cha Cha questions on T-mobile flip phones. With the rapid pace at which this world is changing, it’s refreshing to revert back to personal handcrafted skills and talents. It’s become the difference between shopping at WalMart or supporting your local mom and pop corner grocery store. Today, everything that has a personal touch is becoming more valued, unique and sought after than ever before, and it’s actually due to the overpowering advance of technology. It’s why we rather eat out at a place like Bomb Bomb BBQ in South Philly (see page 24) than the local chain restaurant Applebee’s and why hand drawn ads of the past are framed works of art today, reminding us that there’s something special about what can’t be replicated, coded or generated on a computer. Here you hold in your hands what we consider to be our homemade Christmas gift to Philly. It’s filled with memories, photos, quotes, postcards and the personal stories of people who call or have called our city home. Your story matters because it’s part of our city’s rich history, and we’re here to provide a place for it to be published. Not in a blog, text or Facebook post, but in a printed magazine we hope you collect and treasure, read at night before bed, reread in the morning and save for many years to come. Whether you’re a writer or not, take some time to celebrate your story this holiday season by sending it to The Post. + Josh Kinney editor & publisher

the philadelphia evening post

events

holiday MACY’S CHRISTMAS LIGHT SHOW – NOV. 27-DEC. 31. THE COMCAST HOLIDAY SPECTACULAR – NOV. 24-JAN. 3, 2016. FRANKLIN SQUARE HOLIDAY FEST + LIGHT SHOW – NOV. 12-DEC.31.

DECK THE ALLEY AT ELFRETH’S ALLEY – DEC. 5

WINTERFEST AT THE BLUE CROSS RIVERRINK – NOV. 27-MARCH 6, 2016.

SOUTH ST. TREE LIGHTING – DEC. 6

THE ROTHMAN ICE RINK AT DILWORTH PARK – NOV. 13-FEB. 28, 2016. CHRISTMAS VILLAGE AT LOVE PARK – NOV. 21-DEC. 27. READING TERMINAL MARKET HOLIDAY RAILROAD – NOV. 27-DEC. 31. CHRISTMAS TREE LIGHTING IN RITTENHOUSE SQUARE – DEC. 1

HOLIDAY TOURS AT THE HISTORIC HOMES OF FAIRMOUNT PARK – THURSDAYS THROUGH SUNDAYS, DEC. 3-20. HOLIDAY CRAFTY BALBOA AND LIVE ICE SCULPTING IN EAST PASSYUNK – DEC. 12. SEAPORT PARADE OF LIGHTS, DELAWARE RIVER WATERFRONT – DEC. 12. KRAMPUS PARADE, NORTHERN LIBERTIES – DEC. 12.

CITY HALL TREE LIGHTING – DEC. 3 STAG + DOE NIGHTS IN CHESTNUT HILL – WEDNESDAYS IN DECEMBER. EAST PASSYUNK TREE LIGHTING – DEC. 3

MADE IN PHILA. HOLIDAY MARKET AT DILWORTH PARK – NOV. 21-DEC. 27. HOLIDAY SHOPPING AT PHILA. FLEA MARKETS – NOV. 21-DEC. 19. PUNK ROCK FLEA MARKET – DEC. 11-13. THE MUMMERS PARADE – JAN. 1, 2016

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send us your stories + photos Julia Reiss with her grandchildren on their family house boat, Essington, 1970

our stories, photos and memories are the heartbeat of our publication. We want to publish your submissions and share your stories with all of Philadelphia. The Philadelphia Evening Post is your chance to have your voice heard. Don’t let your memories slip away or rely upon retelling oral histories when you can turn your story into a magazine feature in Philly’s only nostalgic publication. Here’s what we’re looking for: Family Stories Does your family have deep roots in or around our city? Have they lived here their whole lives or emigrated from another country? Maybe you simply have a great family tale that deserves some ink and an audience.

triumphs, the failures and successes. Maybe your business or your favorite restaurant has been around for decades with rich history worthy of a feature story. If so, we want to hear about it. Love Stories They’re all over the city. Whether you

met at college, a coffee shop, bar, school or Rittenhouse Square, The Philly Evening Post wants to publish and post your story. Perhaps your grandparents have been married for 55+ years and hail from Kensington or South Philly, or you yourself are those grandparents. If so, send us the story. Living Through Philly History

anymore, we want to hear about your favorite place and why you love(d) it. What you love most about Philly Food? Sports? History? Matchless location smack-dab in the middle of northeast madness, sandwiched between New York City and Washington, D.C.? Confess your love for that one thing that you believe makes Philly so great. Then vs. Now Our publication likes to reflect and compare what once was to what now is, in the city of Brotherly Love. From the neighborhoods, establishments, politics, buildings, music, fashion and culture, what stands out the most to you?

Do you have memories of the Pope’s last visit to Philadelphia in 1979? Maybe someone you know happened to be at Shibe Park during the 1929 World Series when President Hoover attended. Did you live through the MOVE bombing era; the South Philly mafia wars, or camp out during the more recent Occupy movement? Let’s hear about it.

History Features

Neighborhood Stories

(Historical) Fiction and Poetry

Do you have a distinct Philly memory that you’ll never forget? Was it at Veteran Stadium or growing up in a certain neighborhood? Share your favorite Philly memories with us.

Not only are we proud of our city as a whole, we have deep connections and roots to the neighborhoods we grew up in or now call home. What made or makes your neighborhood unique? Share your stories and memories of your personal corner of Philly.

Calling all of Philadelphia’s creative writers and poets. You deserve an outlet to share your masterpieces. We always accept Philly-centric fiction and poetry submissions. Send them to us for a chance to be published both in our print and online magazine.

Business Stories

Favorite Places

Photo Albums We’ll print your old photos and post them to our Facebook and Instagram pages along with captions and the stories behind them. Whether it’s just one photo or a whole book of them, send copies our way. Memories

Did you, your family, or someone you know start a business in the past or the present? Let’s hear your story. We want to know all about the struggles and

Did you grow up going to a park, restaurant, school or baseball field that became or has become your favorite place in the city? Even if it doesn’t exist

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Are you intrigued by our city’s incredible wealth of history? Do you want to write a story about the American Revolution, Betsy Ross, Edgar Allan Poe’s house, or the construction of the Ben Franklin Bridge? (It was originally called the Delaware River Bridge). If so, The Post is your niche.

editor@phillyeveningpost.com

the philadelphia evening post

center city

Center City, 1976. Pedestrians cross Market Street + the John Wanamaker sign reads clear at 13th Street. Find out more about the history of Wanamakerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s on page 26. This photo was su itte y ost re er te te ens

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For less than $5 a day you can advertise your business in The Post! Email Sales@PhillyEveningPost.com

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the philadelphia evening post

“Safe? Who said anything about safe? Of course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the king, I tell you” – The Lion, The Witch & The Wardrobe, by C.S. Lewis

rittenhouse

+ graduate hospital

@photolope

Here’s a great story... this postcard, or as we like to call them “past post” was mailed in 1930 and was “missent to Marion Station, Pa.” The card is from a father to his young daughter:

“Dear Jane - How are you this week? I wish you were down here with me this way, we would hunt some place to play golf, it is too nice to stay in. Will see you in a few days. Daddy.”

The Benjamin Franklin is advertised on the postcard as being Philadelphia’s newest hotel with its 1220 rooms strictly fireproof. What a great view back in time!

Thanks to @blainecollectsoldthings on Instagram for this submission.

215-309-3727

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www.mightywriters.org eight

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Company: Gimbels Location: 8th + Market Streets, Philadelphia, Pa. Year: 1934

Image: A Holiday shopping ad featuring various toys for children.

cowboy suit for $1.99, streamlined electric train for $6.95, baby doll by Horsman for $2.99 and a siren police car for just $1.31. Late Shoppers! Gimbels open nights till 9!

Content: Gimbels is Toyland. Just 500 Doll Bathinettes for 69 cents, Doll Coach for $7.98, complete 9-piece

ads of the past hey just don’t make them like they used to. There’s something unique and appealing to vintage advertisements. We’re immediately drawn to the nostalgic look and flavor of something, so much so that we’ll read over it instead of just skim. What if all modern advertising took a turn toward the past? Would you be excited and interested to view and read what our modern companies would look like under an antiquated lens? Gimbels was an American department store corporation from

1887-1987. Known for creating the oldest parade in the country, the Gimbels Thanksgiving Day Parade. At one point it was the largest department store chain in the U.S. In 1894, Gimbel acquired the Granville Haines store on Market Street in Philadelphia. By WWII, Gimbels profits rose to a net worth of $500 million (over $8 billion in today’s money). Gaining more publicity from its appearance in the 1947 film Miracle of 34th Street and the 1967 film Fitzwilly, Gimbels was once a household name.

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Do you have or know of an old advertisement that deserves a comeback and should be reprinted? Email us at Editor@ PhillyEveningPost.com, subject: Old Ad. We’ll be sure to print it and credit you for the discovery.

the philadelphia evening post

a christmas to remember

he year was 1957; the place was Greater Kensington, a bluecollar neighborhood in North Philadelphia. I was waiting for my mother outside the post office on Kensington Avenue when she came running out saying, “Look at this!” She had picked up a letter from Santa Claus that was written by a sightless child at the Philadelphia School of the Blind. An eight-year-old girl living with her family in the city wrote the letter. In it she asked nothing for herself, but wanted a swing set for her backyard so children would come play with her. She also asked for gifts for her mother, father, brother and sister. Mom was struck by the letter and was determined to do something about it. Now, I have to tell you we were not

living in a project, but we were far from wealthy, and by no means capable of making this child’s wishes come true,

Well, the letter passed around the neighborhood, and all were ready to do something. For instance, our next-

at least not alone. When we got home, mom shared the letter with my dad. The words brought a tear to his eye as he said, “What could we do?” Mom’s answer was to share the letter with the neighbors. In 1957, you could so this because you knew most of your neighbors. You had knock once and walk in privileges with many. The people who lived on “E” Street were almost like extended family.

door neighbor drove a truck for a large laundry company so he asked if he could take the shirts that no one claimed in order to provide gifts for the father and brother. My Uncle Dominic, who was handy with electrical repair, fixed a forty-five RPM record player to be given as a gift. Others bought toys, games and clothes. Our living room looked like a toy store.

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As Christmas drew near, the question was, “How do we deliver them?” All agreed that it had to be Santa Claus. Dad was elected. We rented a Santa Claus costume, wig and beard and fitted dad out. Christmas Eve came and so did the snow. There was probably five inches on the ground as we marched back and forth across “E” Street loading dad’s car. When we were finished, the trunk and the back seat were filled with toys and gifts, so much so that my mother, brother-in-law and sister had to drive separately. I don’t know why but all along we thought the little girl’s family knew about the letter. That wasn’t the case! When they got to the house, dad knocked on the door. The little girl’s sister opened it. Astonished she exclaimed “It’s Santa Claus!” Running for the door, the young girl cried out, “I knew you would come, I knew you would come!” Dad got down on his knees and scooped the child up in his arms. As he held her, she kept repeating, “I knew you would come” as she ran her hands over his face and beard. All the toys and gifts were unloaded and placed under the small tree in the family’s living room. Mother, father, sister and brother could not believe their eyes. As dad drove off in his 53 Plymouth with my brother-inlaw following in the 47 Ford, you could hear dad say “Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!” Oh, by the way, we could not afford the $38 to buy the swing set, but mom did figure out a way to come up with the money and it was delivered a few weeks after Christmas. For years after, my dad played Santa to many more children, family, friends and neighbors and almost anyone who

let him in the door. He was so much the “Old Man” himself that one summer my 8-year-old niece and I were looking for something in a closet when dads jingle bells fell out of a box. I was aghast, thinking I had blown his cover. Then my niece pulled me down to her and whispered in my ear, “Don’t tell anyone Grand Pop is Santa Claus.” Santa passed away many years ago

and mom more recently. Although they’re both gone now the sweet memories remain with us, especially the Christmas of 1957 when these two people pulled the whole neighborhood together to help a sightless girl see the light of Christmas.

+ Tony Santore

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the philadelphia evening post

olde city

“How many observe Christ’s birthday! How few, His precepts!” – Ben Franklin

@photolope

THE PHILADELPHIA HISTORY MUSEUM at the

ATWATER KENT

ALBERT SCHOENHUT Philadelphia’s Own Santa Claus e c i i es, i c c o ce and ciooc nd a e a c o nd o c i oca e o e c ndc eo ec o oa e ai ndc c o o i es, c ecca ndo e and a ac i c o aos. Wanamaker Grand Court, 1931 Philadelphia History Museum Collection.

cico c

Christmas Tree, c.1920s, Gift of Norman Bowers, Philadelphia History Museum Collection.

15 S. 7TH ST. BETWEEN MARKET + CHESTNUT STREETS TUESDAY TO SATURDAY 10:30 A.M. - 4:30 P.M.

Over 12,000 copies per issue, distributed to over 350+ locations inside the city, reaching every neighborhood and parts of the suburbs. From coffee shops, bars, restaurants, schools, libraries, student centers, senior centers, waiting rooms, shops, and boutiques, pick up a copy for your home’s coffee table, bookshelf or nightstand.

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POSTS FROM BEN

Dearest Adventurous Readers, have found, in my travels through your MEDIA, a peculiar DICHOTOMY amongst those in our COUNTRY, my child. It would appear that on one side of the “AISLE” are those who would proclaim our country to be a HEAVEN ON EARTH: a symbol of virtue and harmony; while the other side would decry it for being nothing more than a FALSE IDOL: a sickly, decrepit, old woman veiled in a shroud of satin. This is, of course, an OVERSIMPLIFICATION of the matter, but for sake of space and your time, I must deal in such generalizations (imagine if politicians were guilty of such!?). So how do I address this matter of PATRIOTISM?. To begin, I must address my own feelings of PRIDE as I observe the standing of MY COUNTRY in this global community. Like a PROUD FATHER, I witnessed my infant CHILD persevere past the disease, which slew many infants before her, POLITICAL INSTABILITY. She matured and became SELF-RELIANT. However, she was born with a POISON inside her. With agony, I, along with her other FATHERS, helplessly observed her destroy herself from her severe ADDICTION to the institution of SLAVERY, a DEMON that we passed down to her. Her recovery was NOT brief, nor was it PAINLESS or will it ever be COMPLETE. However, she was able to PROGRESS financially through solid economic values instilled in her by her fathers. Like any young successful ENTREPRENEUR, she made choices that earned

RECOGNITION and RESPECT in the larger POLITICAL COMMUNITY. She then ascended to her present position of political superiority, when she saved the community in a time of CRISIS. Her ASCENSION has been very SIMILAR to MY OWN. While some may argue that this statement proves me to be a zealous “Patriot”, I would rebut and claim that I am merely loyal and loving. I would worry if I had become a zealot, for one’s “ZEAL” can be easily SYNONYMOUS with their own PRIDE, INTEREST, and ILL-NATURE. When people are too proud, they set themselves above anyone who differs in opinion with them. Understandably, you can attribute this faux-Patriotism to the centuries of global conflict. No, I will never profess myself a “zealot”. This zeal is what marks the dangerous and subtle difference between Patriotism and NATIONALISM. My patriotism leads to a simple loyalty and sense of duty to my country. However, many who I have seen proudly professing patriotism seem to place their loyalty towards a particular RACE. Nationalism is the GATEWAY DRUG to our country’s relapse, and we must be ever vigilant for this sentiment. Those who seethe with this hostile nationalism can be identified by their decrying the infestation of immigration, which I find amusing, as it has been one of the most recycled political issues in our history. But what is PATRIOTISM if not nationalism? Webster defines “Patriotism” as the “love or devotion to one’s country”. However, this definition is insufficient. For when love is involved, DESCRIPTION is superior to DEFINITION. To distinguish it further, one should consult Webster, himself. You see, Mr. NOAH WEBSTER was an active Patriot in the early American republic. The level of VITRIOL, which simmered and boiled in the 1790s, thirteen

should have destroyed our fragile country. Mr. Webster was questioned for his patriotism as often as he questioned others for theirs. Yet, the country survived where so many other countries had failed. Mr. Webster provided a beautiful insight into this success. He wasn’t asked to define patriotism, but rather to describe “AMERICA”. His response? She sees a thousand discordant opinions live in the strictest harmony. Idealistic and a bit naïve, yet the sentiment still stands. This “harmony” may often be perceived as a cacophonous clamor, yet it is harmonious that our country never silences such noise. Webster celebrated the FORUM, created to constantly question and check our country’s motives and direction. Prior to its establishment, such questioning could be considered treason. I feel that that is progress. In this time of ANGER and DIVISION, it is important to keep this perspective. Is this child PERFECT? Not nearly. Like any scarred addict, she still struggles and suffers with subconscious ailments that she must constantly suppress. She suffers from RELAPSES of racial and political tension, which threaten to cause her to self-destruct. This is not something that time will heal, but hopefully TIME will at least ameliorate the tension. Considering how other countries fare in their struggle of diversity and harmony, I am proud of my child. She is imperfect and needs to continue to evolve, but I will continue to support her, as a loving father is expected to.

Until next time, I shall forever remain your B.F, + B.F.

the philadelphia evening post

@jimfkenney: South Philly native Jim Kenney was elected Mayor of Philadelphia.

@theJKinz: The Philadelphia Zombie community hosted its annual Zombie Prom at the Trocadero on October 24th.

@terroratesp: Eastern State Penitentiary became the annual Halloween haunt - Terror Behind the Walls.

@tonylukejr: Tony Luke Jr. and FOX 29’s Alex Holley enjoyed our city’s first annual cheesesteak festival.

@saintly_heart: In September, Pope Francis visited Philadelphia for the World Meeting of Families.

@setyourself0nfire: Chestnut Hill hosted its annual Harry Potter fest. This young wizard loved his butter beer.

@kassandra_fit: On November 22nd, runners participated in the annual Philadelphia marathon.

@chuckseye: Some traditions never get old. The 6abc Philadelphia Thanksgiving Day Parade made its way through Center City to the Art Museum.

@adam_englehart: Liberty One’s observation deck “Philly From the Top” opened in November.

autumn posts fourteen

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why we mum

ome people spend New Year’s Day nursing a hangover or watching football while others spend it watching or participating in the Mummers parade. The oldest continuous folk parade in the United States finds its roots in the 17th century. A ‘mummer’ is a costumed entertainer who welcomes in the New Year, usually doing some sort of performance. Mummers have a European heritage dating back to places such as England, Germany, and France. At times in the 17th and 18th centuries, people were allowed to use firearms during the parade with the occasional pop of celebratory gunfire. (This practice was later deemed dangerous and firearms are no longer permitted). The use of blackface was another now banned tradition in the early history of the parade. ‘Oh Dem Golden Slippers’ was a song composed by an African-American Philadelphia resident named James Bland in 1879 and serves as the parade’s unofficial theme song. The first official Mummers parade recognized and sponsored by the city took place on January 1, 1901. With over 10,000 marchers featuring five divisions, each group that participates in the parade has a ‘theme’ that they are “trying” to portray. The divisions are Comic, Fancy, Fancy

Brigade, String Band, and Wench Brigade and the performances in each division are judged. The Comic division acts are usually spoofs of local and national politics or other current events. Groups in the Fancy and Fancy Brigade divisions wear large extravagant costumes and perform with floats and other props. The String Band divisions also wear lavish costumes, but play musical

instruments while performing. Participants are not allowed to use brass instruments but rather saxophones, banjos, accordions, violins, bass violins, and percussion instruments. The newest division added to the parade is the Wench Brigade, and they are very similar to the Comics except the Wench Brigades can have live bands. A wench is basically a guy in a dress. Women were not allowed to perform until 1983. Most people watch the parade for fifteen

the costumes and the mere spectacle of the event. Glitter, sequins, and feathers make up these bright, detailed costumes with each group making their own, some costing as much as $10,000. Philadelphians sometimes have a hard time explaining to outsiders and the rest of the country what the Mummers Parade is, and understandably so. Some of us may not quite understand it ourselves, but we sure love it and can’t imagine starting a New Year without it. And boasting a heritage of chaotic fun, our city’s parade certainly rivals New Orleans Mardi Gras. Philadelphia is also home to the Mummer Museum on South 2nd Street in South Philly. The museum is open year round to visitors. Displays include some of the old costumes from the early parades as well as the previous year winners. This year on New Year’s Day, be sure to take some time to either watch the parade on television or go in person to become part of this incredible Philadelphia tradition. And of course, don’t forget to end the night on Two Street. That should go without saying.

+ Scott Becker

the philadelphia evening post

fishtown

Dee: “Why would grown men throw rocks at trains?” Mac: “Why wouldn’t we throw rocks at trains?” Charlie: “Yeah, it’s awesome. It’s what you do on Christmas morning, we have been doing it since we were kids.” – Its Always Sunny in Philadelphia

@photolope

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Known as “probably the funniest grad in the Class of ‘76” from St. Joe’s Prep, this Irish-Catholic Mummer from South Philly has grown up to be our city’s next Mayor. The proud son of a firefighter, Jim Kenney was born in 1958 and graduated form La Salle in 1980.

On Nov. 3rd of this year, Jim Kenney was elected to be the next mayor of Philadelphia. According to his Facebook, Kenney enjoys hot yoga, running, biking, and golfing. Politics, reading and Philadelphia sports dominate his interests and he’s also a fan of U2, Coldplay, Barry White and Disco. He will take office in January 2016 as the city’s 99th mayor.

Philadelphia’s Academy of Music held an inaugural ball in January 1857. The New York Times descried the theater as “magnificently gorgeous, brilliantly lighted, solidly constructed, finely located, and beautifully ornamented.” Even back then, Philadelphia was always a musically orientated city.

In 2015, Philadelphia was named No. 1 music city in America, surpassing Music City (Nashville) itself. VividSeats.com compiled the list of 20 best North American cities for live music and ours came out on top, remaking history.

In April 1964, the very first Wawa store opened on MacDade Blvd in Folsom, Delaware Co. (Delco), Pa. *Editors note: I grew up just down the street from this Wawa and still miss the old pickle barrels. We all have one, but this one will always be known as “My Wawa.”

Just in time for the Pope’s visit, Wawa opened its flagship store last September at the corner of Broad and Walnut Streets in Center City. With more than 4,000 square feet of space, this one-of-a-kind Wawa is the first-ever to have bar seating.

then & now

Philadelphia is remaking the past, building upon what once was and transforming into something new. Now more so than ever, Philadelphia is becoming an internationally known, global destination with a thriving business, music, art, heritage and restaurant scene drawing not only tourists and visitors but entrepreneurs, college graduates, and people from other cities that are relocating to Philly, making the city of Brotherly Love their home.

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Jack Kelly

the season eagles fans booed santa SPORTS HISTORY

he 1968 Eagles are famous for one game, the game in which Santa Claus got booed. That was the final game of the season, on December 15th against the Vikings. But you’ll have to forgive Eagles fans if they weren’t really in a festive spirit. The season could not have possibly gone worse. It started with the coach. “Joe Kuharich couldn’t sell iced tea to a Tasmanian at a dried up water hole,” wrote Sandy Grady in the Philadelphia Bulletin. He had been hired in 1964, and even at the time it was a poorly received choice. He traded fan favorite Tommy McDonald for two guys only their mothers could recognize. He traded Hall of Famer-in-the-making Sonny Jurgenson to the Redskins for a steady but unspectacular Norm Snead. The team opened the 1968 season with a 30-13 loss to the Packers. The Cowboys would humiliate them twice in 3 weeks, 45-13 and 34-14. In a battle between pitiful Pennsylvania teams, they lost to the Steelers 6-3. Philadelphia let out its frustration on Kuharich, wearing “Joe Must Go” buttons and even hiring a plane to fly a “Joe Must Go” banner over the Franklin Field. By Thanksgiving Day, the team stood at 0-11 and coming off a 47-13 loss to the Browns, looked like they were headed for an 0-14 season. There would be quite a silver lining in doing so: they would therefore have the number one pick in the draft, and acquire the electric

OJ Simpson out of USC. Needless to say, they botched this opportunity too. It poured nonstop for two days before their Thanksgiving Day game against the Lions, and the teams played in a mess that came to be known as the Mud Bowl. In the end it was Eagle kicker Sam Hall booting 4 field goals to lead the Birds to a 12-0 win. Buoyed by their success, the team then came back to Philly and knocked off the Saints, 2917, led by Tom Woodeshick’s 122 yards. It was a disaster. Needing only to lose their final three games, they had instead won two. With the Bills already having finished their regular season at 1-121, the Eagles had cost themselves OJ Simpson before they even took the field for the infamous Santa game. Say what you will about Eagles fans, they are nothing if not loyal. Almost 55,000 of them came out to Franklin Field on a snowy 28-degree day to cheer on a team so pathetic it couldn’t even lose when it needed to. After a listless first half that ended in a 7-7 tie, the halftime Christmas pageant was set to begin. But the field had turned to muck, and the float Santa was supposed to ride on got stuck in the mud. To make matters worse, no one could find Santa (rumor had it that he got drunk). Whereas in Miracle on 34th Street, the real Santa took over for the drunk Santa, in this case the real Santa had decided not to attend this game (hard to blame him). The Eagles brass, desperate for a Santa, picked 20-year old Frank Olivo out of the crowd. Despite his 5’6, 170 pound nineteen

frame, he had decided to wear a Santa outfit that day. As this meager, skinny Santa ran around the field waving at fans, they began to boo. Olivo described it years later, “At first I was scared because it was so loud. But then I figured, hey, it was just good-natured teasing. I’m a Philadelphia fan, I knew what was what. I thought it was funny.” The booing soon turned into snowballs, as fans pelted him from the upper deck. Olivo took it all in stride, saying that he laughed it off. Nonetheless, when the Eagles asked him if he’d do it again the next year, he answered, “No way. If it doesn’t snow, they’ll probably throw beer bottles.” The Eagles went on to lose the game 24-17 and finish the season 2-12. Kuharich was fired in the offseason when Wolman sold the team to Leonard Tose.

+ Johnny Goodtimes Local pub quizmaster, Johnny Goodtimes is the editor of PhillySportsHistory.com and owner of Shibe Vintage Sports retail store in Center City, home of the “Santa Had It Coming!” shirt.

(Sources: Pro-Football-Reference.com and the excellent Ray Didinger and Bob Lyons book, The Eagles Encyclopedia)

the philadelphia evening post

northern liberties “Discipline is the bridge between goals and accomplishments” – Jim Rohn

@lexypierce

Tag your pics on Instagram #PhillyEveningPost for a chance to be featured, promoted + published.

Schmidt’s beer of philadelphia ad, 1968

Share your Philadelphia stories + pictures with us. We will turn them into magazine features. Email editor@phillyeveningpost.com

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“Hamilton said in the Federalist, in his speeches, and a hundred times to me that factions would ruin us and our Government had not sufficient energy and balance to resist the propensity to them and to control their tyranny and their profligacy.” Chancellor Kent to Daniel Webster, Letter in New York, January 21st 1830

SONS OF LIBERTY

To the People of the Tri-State, t every place in history, if we take a macro-view, each era has certain cultural products born out from the prevailing scientific and philosophic discoveries of the time. Classical antiquity was the birthplace of philosophy, geometry, and democracy; their art reflects idealism, perfect proportion, and virtuous heroes undermined by a tragic flaw. The Renaissance rediscovered the classics which allowed for Leonardo da Vinci, the Tragedies of Shakespeare, and Naturalism in aesthetics. The 18th century bears heavily the mark of Newton whose ordered universe gave rise to the Enlightenment and refined man, placing the emphasis once again on science and reason. Man left behind the divine right of kings and its cultural products were the Declaration

of Independence, the United States Constitution, and the Bill of Rights. Who are today’s tragically flawed heroes? The millions of youths growing up in ignorance of these achievements who suffer under the cultural products of 20th century philosophy. Heroes because they still believe in equality and justice, and are willing to fight for it, but tragically flawed in relying on Industrial Age notions of class struggle and central planning to achieve it. It wasn’t until the late 19th century that progress in the social sciences began to diverge from that of the physical sciences. As the two struck off down very different paths, what was philosophically responsible for modernity was left behind while the physical sciences continued in the tradition that built Western Civilization. The relationship between philosophy and culture is reciprocal. Take a look around you, examine today’s cultural products and ask yourself what kind of philosophy could be responsible for it. I will leave it to the reader to evaluate the major themes of today’s popular culture and to draw your own conclusions. twenty-one

In a modern state, surrounded by the incredible progress of technology, our political aims should be all the more achievable. The channels of communication have never been wider, disseminating information over fiber optic cables, connected at the speed of light— yet our protests fail to speak. From Occupy Wall Street to the hordes of politically correct, we use the language of universal rights but fail to see how our messages contradict the concept of rights. A modern government is defined by its impersonal institutions. When we ask to be recognized as groups politically we undermine the integrity of that system—opening the flood to any mob that can effectively exercise pull. We are all individuals and must remember that artificially drawn lines around groups of people refer to no one in particular and thus can be no benefit to anyone. Most can agree with the separation of Church and State, and by the same reasoning we should advocate for a separation of personal identity and the State. Before we can fix our political problems, of which there are many, we need to get our philosophic houses in order. It is only ideas that have ever roused the human spirit to unite and only to the extent in which those ideas were common to all. No matter how great our means of communication, the medium is not the message. We cannot allow for the dogmas of either party to frame the debate, concealing fundamental principles by only arguing their effects. We stand at the center of history and tragedy; we must realize the causes of our past success and live up to our technological progress. In the 21st century our chief value is no longer physical labor but ideas, and the time it takes for an idea to take hold is wholly dependent on the substance of its content. What we need now is not a cultural revolution but a renaissance.

+ Tacitus @nwsonsofliberty

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south philly @photolope

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Dear Readers, thank you so much for supporting our publication. We hope you enjoy our collective and ask that you please patronize our advertisers. They have been working hard to bring you the very best Philly has to offer. Be sure to tell them you saw their ad in The Evening Post.

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the philadelphia evening post

the story of the bomb bomb Clip from the April 6, 1936 edition of The Philadelphia Evening Bulletin reads: “Mystery Shrouds S. Phila. Bombing; Police Question 3.”

rriving with only a briefcase and a story, a mysterious woman seated herself inside Bomb Bomb BBQ Grill & Italian Restaurant in South Philly. She took in the cozy throwback surroundings, the photos of longtime customers on the wall, the warm, savory scent drifting from the kitchen. Owners Frank and Deb Barbato sat and listened to her story as she clicked opened the briefcase… At the time, the couple had recently renovated their labor of love, the restaurant purchased by Frank’s father, Frank Sr. in 1951. Having returned from the army to work for PTC (Philadelphia Transportation Company) Frank Sr. knew his neighborhood well. He remembered the older Italian people saying, ‘let’s go down to the boom, boom’, the corner tavern on Wolf & Warnock. It was called “boom boom” because it had been bombed, twice. Vincent Margarite opened the taproom in the 1930s, becoming the enemy of local racketeers who saw his new business as a threat to neighboring establishments, especially after a chef from a nearby bar had left to join him. A month later a second bomb, much bigger and louder ripped through the front of the building in the early morning, throwing one neighbor’s daughter from her crib. Margarite succumbed to pressure and sold the property to Jimmy Cataldi who named it after himself. After many years of peaceful business, Jimmy sold to Frank Barbato Sr. who renamed the place after its popular nickname and origins, “Bomb Bomb.” Just like Vincent in the 1930s, Frank Sr., his wife Regina, and two sons, Frank Jr. and Marc lived on top of the bar until 1957. The family tradition continued with Frank Jr. and his wife Debbie who took over in 1990, turning the place into a full-fledged restaurant and bar which boasts many awards and takes pride in

using old, old recipes you’ll never get on Walnut Street. 80-year-old men often tell Deb and Frank that the food tastes just like their mothers. Now Frank and Deb found themselves sitting with a woman who supposedly had some information she wanted to share in exchange for something of her own. The two listened carefully as she removed an old Philadelphia Public Ledger from her briefcase… A family vacation to Virginia introduced the Barbato’s to making the very best BBQ for the already big BBQ fans. It was then that they decided to

Frank Barbato Sr. during the second renovation, 1973

make Bomb Bomb something uniquely distinctive from all other Italian restaurants in South Philly. “The one thing we don’t want to ever lose is the feeling of going into your grandmom’s kitchen or living room, where it’s safe, comfortable and you’re known,” said Deb. With the same employees for over 20 years, the restaurant is family both literally and figuratively. Regulars would be confused if someone went missing from the restaurant’s cast of characters. Each of their three chefs, Freddy, G & Jimmy, has a specialty and a forte. “We leave it to them to do what they do twenty-four

best,” said Frank Jr., who along with his lifelong passion for cooking encourages an environment of hard work and encouragement. Frank Jr. and Deb’s boys, Frankie III and Andrew grew up working the restaurant and still see it as home. Today, they’re expanding their catering, updating drink selections and concentrating on making their food as awesome as ever. The woman at the table opened the fragile yellowed copy of the 1936 Ledger that reported the story of the second bombing. She wanted them to have the original articles and to hear her firsthand account as the young girl thrown from her crib the night of the blast. Deb and Frank sat in awe to have been paid a visit by such personal history. In exchange for the articles, she had one simple request: a Bomb Bomb t-shirt. On Oct. 26, 2015, the legendary Frank Barbato Sr., the man who started it all, passed away at 92. Everyone knew him and everyone misses him. But the Barbato’s are still a loving closeknit family that’s all about working and playing hard. Their favorite part of their business is the people they seek to serve, bringing them back to an era of something completely unique and nostalgic in both atmosphere and appetite. With one of the most exceptional histories in Philadelphia, Bomb Bomb’s quality hominess fuses a generation gap between old and new, specializing in turning people into family.

+ Josh Kinney (Reserved parking for Bomb Bomb BBQ Grill + Italian Restaurant is now available Friday + Saturday nights at the Methodist Hospital between Broad & 13th on Wolf St. Stop by the restaurant to pick up your parking voucher)

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christmas in the valley he holiday season is upon us, and while it can be a joyous time for our area, filled with family and friends, it was not always that way in Philadelphia. In the fall of 1777, the British captured our city. George Washington and his troops were unsuccessful at the Battles of Brandywine and Germantown and were unable to reclaim Philly. Washington took his troops to nearby Valley Forge to camp out for the winter, which would allow him to keep an eye on the British in the city. Upon arrival at Valley Forge, the army began to build huts in which the soldiers could reside. Each hut would require 80 logs and would house 12 soldiers. Due to lack of funding from Congress, Washington and his troops had very little food, clothing and supplies. It was Christmas. The troops were going to try their best to celebrate the holiday, even though conditions at the camp were less than ideal. Dinner on Christmas Eve consisted of a meal of rice and vinegar. Most soldiers had only bread and water to live on. A popular dish

among the soldiers was “pepper pot soup,” a mixture of black pepper and broth. Within a few months, some Congressmen came to visit and saw the conditions, including the lack of food. By the end of February 1778, food and supplies were in route. Prior to the arrival of the Congressmen, most of the troops at Valley Forge did not even have a complete uniform. Shoes were at a premium. Soldiers would tie cloth around their feet in an attempt to protect themselves from frostbite. Many didn’t have blankets to keep warm. In total during their stay at Valley Forge, over 2,500 troops died even though there were no battles fought. Most of these men died of cold, starvation and disease. Valley Forge was not a complete disaster. In fact, after the Congressmen’s visit in February, General Washington had another visitor come by the camp. Washington invited Baron von Steuben to help train the troops. He was a former general in the Prussian army. He taught the basics of warfare, including marching in formation. He spent months training the troops and teaching military tactics. twenty-five

Even though the Continental Army lost manpower during their stay, the troops leaving Valley Forge were better soldiers. General Washington also learned that Benjamin Franklin was able to convince the French to join forces with the Americans. By the time the Army left Valley Forge in the spring of 1778, they had better soldiers and the support of the French military. General Sir Henry Clinton of the British Army was ordered to evacuate the city of Philadelphia in order to protect New York City from the Continentals. Washington and his troops were able to get the city back without a fight. Philly, then the capital of the nation, would remain in American hands for the rest of the war.

+ Scott Becker

the philadelphia evening post

christmas at wanamaker’s a tradition that outlived the store Photos are Compliments of the Friends of the Wanamaker Organ

hristmas at Wanamaker’s has been a Philadelphia tradition since the young entrepreneur started hanging garlands all over his store in 1896. The Christmas displays he created, which grew more and more elaborate each year, were also part of the evangelism for which he received letters of thanks and tributes from customers who came to the store to enjoy the warmth and cheer of the season. In 1878, it was estimated that 40,000 people a day came to the store. John Wanamaker started his business in April 1861, just days before the Confederates opened fire on Fort Sumter. The store took in $24.67 on the first disappointing day of business and he showed strong faith by putting $24.00 of it into advertising. It paid off. The business survived the Civil War and continued to overcome many a crisis. John Wanamaker saw opportunity in owning an entire city block beside the future City Hall, so he bought the abandoned and dilapidated freight depot on 13th and Market from the Pennsylvania Railroad at the end of 1875. He opened the doors to his Grand Depot just days before millions of tourists flocked to Philadelphia for the Centennial Exposition of 1876 and received thousands of visitors every day. The store was then firmly established

and John Wanamaker was free to try his hand at politics – serving as Postmaster General from 1889 to 1892. He completed his term as Postmaster General and refocused on commerce, opening a store in New York as well as renovating the Grand Depot. The plans created by Daniel H. Burnham of Chicago were realized in three stages, allowing the store to continue to operate during the nine-year project. Rodman, Wanamaker’s son, urged his father to include art and culture, and to buy the George Ashdown Audsley organ from the 1904 St. Louis Exposition. They also bought the 2,500 pound eagle created by August Gaul. The builders constructed an organ loft in the seven-story sky lit atrium and placed the eagle facing the loft -- on special girders to support the bronze bird. Rodman also hired a fulltime organist for the store – making sure the orchestral organ was more than just decoration. John Wanamaker died in 1922 and Rodman died in 1928, shortly after his father. Professional managers who kept the Wanamaker Christmas grandeur then ran the store. The emphasis gradually shifted away from religious themes and become much more fanciful – with eagles blowing trumpets, teddy bears and even space ships. The Wanamaker monorail was installed in 1946 on the eighth floor and flew around

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the upper walls of the toy department to the delight of children who could careen around the displays and then visit Santa while Mom was enjoying shopping and a visit to the Great Crystal Tea Room. Grand concerts, ballets and other shows were held in the Greek and Egyptian Halls and thousands gathered to sing Christmas carols with organ accompaniment in the Grand Court. Richard C. Bond, who was manager in the 1950s, saw a fountain and light show on a buying trip to Berlin and decided Wanamaker’s would have one for Christmas. He had a fountain installed beside the organ loft in combination with a thrilling light show – causing more thrill than desired when the water spilled into electrical sockets. The organ was protected from the water by a rubber curtain, which, unfortunately, also limited its volume. The Magic Christmas tree with its complex lighting was added to the mix in 1955. David Yost put the light show together and teamed up with local Christmas tree enthusiast Bert Medland to create the famous display. The power used for the organ concerts, the light show and the fountains put quite a strain on the electrical system. The heavy curtains which had been used to protect the organ from the fountains and to hide the decorations out of season were eventually removed and

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the fountains were phased out. After Richard Bond left his position, a Grinch of a manager took over. Edwin K. Hoffman became President of the store and instituted a Scrooge-like discipline. He threated to remove the eagle and even cut back on the organ playing. The organists had always played for the employees as well as the public, with famous recitalists giving concerts in the Grand Court. After a year, the Grinch was fired and Richard Drew Harrison, a longtime employee, took the helm and continued to guide the store in the Wanamaker way until even he could not right the ship during the economic vicissitudes that sent shoppers to the suburbs and kept them out of the city. The Wanamaker stores began to be traded between super-corporations from 1978 onward. Successive tenants of the building were not profitable – neither Lord and Taylor’s elegance nor Hecht’s low pricing was capable of saving the ship. When the Wanamaker Building was declared a National Historic Landmark in 1980, the building was saved. Brickstone Realty bought the property in 1987, granting a long term lease of the first five floors to the store and carrying out a total rehabilitation project while keeping as much of the old style and features as possible. They received the 1992 National Preservation Honor Award from the National Trust for Historic Preservation. The Philadelphia location was converted to a Macy’s in 2006. But the store has been committed to the Wanamaker traditions, especially Christmas, which Macy’s has always celebrated in a big way. The organ and the organists have survived and are thriving. Peter Richard Conte has been the Grand Court organist since 1989, serving the store as well as acting as musical ambassador for the Grand Court organ by giving prestigious concerts all over the world. He joined the Philadelphia Orchestra and Rossen Milanov to perform a piece that Rodman Wanamaker had commissioned Joseph Jongen to write for the Grand Court organ in 1926. At the time, they had decided to expand the organ and the work was not complete. Then Rodman died suddenly and the premier was cancelled. The piece was finally performed on the organ for which it was written in 2008 on the occasion of Macy’s 150th anniversary. The Friends of the Wanamaker Organ have worked hard to preserve the organ and document its history. After years of hiding the organ at Christmas, the displays are now much more compact and much easier to install and remove. Wanamaker Organ curator Curt Mangel has spearheaded a

redesign, which allows the grand sound of the organ to come through while the Magic Christmas Tree is being shown. The Macy’s Parade Studio has made the show easier to assemble and did away with the heavy curtains that had covered the organ pipes. It is still an impressive show in the Grand Court between Thanksgiving and Christmas. With 34,500 LED lights on the Magic Christmas Tree and another 65,000 lights which, thanks to LED technology, consume much less power than the original shows, there is a lot to see and now that the organ is unencumbered by heavy panels and curtain, a lot to hear. And you don’t have to wait for Christmas as the organ is played in the Grand Court every day except Sunday. Although the Wanamaker store is gone, the grand building will always be the Wanamaker Building and belong to Philadelphia. Thanks to the National twenty-seven

Historical Landmark designation, to the Friends of the Wanamaker Organ, to dedicated musicians like Peter Richard Conte, to organ curators like Curt Mangel and Macy’s, Christmas in the Grand Court is still accessible to all – singing, light show, and concerts included.

+ Margaret Darby

the philadelphia evening post

the jewish santa of philadelphia Bernard “Bonpapa” with his wife Minnie, holding Philadelphia Evening Post Editor + Publisher, Josh Kinney, when he was 1 year old.

his is apparently an oxymoron; it is also a true tale of a very unusual man. He was my mother’s second husband, after the death of my father. My maternal grandmother, Jennie, had an extensive family in various parts of Europe. The Mednicki part of the family that came to Philadelphia changed their surname to Mednick. Boris Mednick was a photographer; Boris’s brother lived in Belgium where he and his family were when the Nazi’s arrived on the scene. Bernard, Boris’s nephew, had a son and daughter; he and his wife took the children and ran for it. Bernard joined the resistance and hid his family in the countryside. That journey is a book on its own. Suffice it to say that they survived the war, losing too many close relatives. The Philadelphia family located him and brought Bernard, his wife and children to the States. They put them up in an apartment, and there they were. We lived in Brooklyn. My dad’s parents had a great old house in Rockaway Beach where folks from the city would come for weekends or weeks in the summers. Under the house was a candy store. Dad worked the shop to send himself to college. Word reached my parents that Bernard and his family was struggling, so he helped them come out to Rockaway for a summer, promising them a lot of hard work, cramped quarters behind the store, but a profit in cash and goods that would get through the winter.

Dad even helped Bernard locate his nephew and two nieces whose parents were killed in the war, and they brought the youngsters to Rockaway. Dad helped in the shop on weekends and kept his promise. Bernard, whom the family called “Frenchy,” did pretty well, and remained a fond cousin of our family. Four years after my father’s death at 50 years old, and the death of Bernard’s wife, Bernard came to visit my mom and subsequently they were married. They lived a number of years in the Brooklyn house and then sold it and moved to Philadelphia. Bernard was not very tall, but he was broad and had grown a full white beard. I don’t know how it happened exactly, but he was asked by a local school to play Santa for the children. Now, why would an aging Jew decide to be Santa? I believe it was because he loved being the center of attention. He was an extra in some movies and did some print work as well. Playing Santa turned into an annual event, with other organizations joining in. He was given his very own Santa outfit, and was soon riding in parades. We called him Bonpapa. He was my children’s grandpa -- my kids never knew my dad. All the children thought it a hoot that he was Santa Claus. One summer, while he and mom were visiting with us in Beverly, Massachusetts, we went to spend some time on the beach at Lynch Park. Mom sat under an umbrella. Bonpapa had my sons dig a hole in the sand, large enough for him to sit at the edge with his feet in the hole, which the boys filled with

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water to keep him cool. Bonpapa was reading a book; just sitting there with his feet in his little water well, wearing his bathing suit and sunglasses. Mom and I looked up to see a long queue of children very quietly and patiently waiting for “Santa” to see them. I called to him. Discovering the eager flock, he took a pencil from behind his ear and began to write down their Christmas lists as they one at a time related their wishes to him. I regret to say none of us had a camera. He was, as you see from the pictures, very convincing -- even in August, without any costume at all. He was then the age I am now, which simply doesn’t seem possible. He was not a religious man, but his Jewish identity was as important to him as his Belgian/French heritage. But being able to impress the kids at Christmas, to listen to their secret desires, to hear the cheers when he rode into town, to visit the hospitals where he personified all of their Christmas celebration -- well, this was not a contradiction. When my mom passed away, Bonpapa walked out of our lives and stopped being Santa as well. But I dare say that there are several generations of Philadelphians who will not forget the “real” Santa who had a French accent and sang songs to them in Yiddish. Gotta love it! Enjoy the festive season and let your memories keep you warm.

+ Mickey Coburn

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hidden philly holiday gift guide Each issue we invite one of our local “experts” to show you Philadelphia’s best kept secrets. Today we welcome Janine, a professional lifestyle blogger, who resides in the Fairmount neighborhood, along with her dog Fifi and partner Alex.

ye olde pop-up shoppe old city

First American® Betsy Ross style Onesie $85

8oz. Bottle Edgar Allan Poe’s Tears $

Exclusive Condiment Packets from Ben Franklin’s personal collection $140 each * while supplies last

mutt strut rittenhouse square east

Eems® Best Friend Lounge Chair & Ottoman

100% pure Cashmere Pull Toy with four-octave squeaker. $42 5

4,295

Doggy DNA® Mixed Breed Ancestry Test $

gusto kitchen supply northern liberties

365 Days of Dinner Calendar poorly lit photos by Uncle Larry

hard cover $

e-book $

includes one piglet, industrial grinder and stylish gingham butcher’s smock $95

Looking for that perfect nut-free, gluten-free, dairy-free, non-denominational Holiday Cookie? For this recipe and much more, please visit my blog www.JanineTheLifeStyleQueen.com

+ Drew Panckeri @wooden.nickels

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the philadelphia evening post

in and out of love at the trocadero theatre

Jenny Lewis June 8, 2009 As he was breaking up with me over the phone, Mike said, “I’ll still come next month for the Jenny Lewis concert,” as if that was supposed to somehow soften the blow. He didn’t give me a choice. He said, “I’ll still come,” and even though I spent the next month not counting on it, he emailed me a few days before to confirm the plan. I didn’t know whether or not I even wanted to see him, but I knew it had to happen eventually and I figured at least a concert could be a giant distraction. Plus I had already paid for the tickets. We had fun at the show, of course. We stood near the front, off to the left, where we had a good view of everything. We whispered observations to each other between songs and made jokes. It was the first time either of us visited the Troc, so we spent some time marveling over the architecture and the details of the building. I kept staring up at the ceiling and pointing out little things I noticed in the plaster. We fell back into

our familiar, easy rhythm. If not for the horrible feeling in my stomach, it was almost like nothing was even wrong. The thrill of being in a cool venue, listening to my favorite artist sing my favorite songs did prove to be a good distraction from the fact that I was heartbroken. But then Jenny sang “Acid Tongue,” and it kind of destroyed me. When she sang, we were unlucky in love/but I’d do it all again, I cast a pointed glance at Mike, wondering if hearing those words did the same thing to him as it did to me. But he wasn’t paying close enough attention for the lyrics to register. When the concert ended, a mob of people started immediately rushing toward the exit. I tried to keep Mike within my sight as we made our way to the door. His phone was dead and he wouldn’t know how to get back to my dorm if we were separated. He looked at me and I could tell he was having the same thought. He grabbed my hand. Out of habit, out of necessity. I yanked mine away, hard. I didn’t want him to feel like he had this kind of power over me, like he could do whatever he wanted even though he was no longer my boyfriend. thirty

He looked at my face and understood. He apologized. He was just trying to make sure we wouldn’t lose each other. All I could think was, you did lose me. We made it out of the building and walked from 12th and Arch to 34th and Powelton even though a subway or a cab would have been faster. We were broke and I was still getting used to using SEPTA. And I think we both didn’t want the night to end. I was, despite my best efforts, enjoying his company. It hurt me to be around him, yes, but I knew it would hurt even more after he was gone and I wouldn’t know when I would see him again. When we got back to my dorm, Mike came in for a few minutes to have a glass of water before his drive home. We finally talked about some of the subjects we’d avoided all night. He told me that I looked really pretty. He sat on the opposite side of the room from me, on a couch we once made out on. He didn’t try to kiss me. He told me he was sorry but this was how he thought things had to be. I gave him water in a glass that belonged to one of my roommates because I didn’t want his lips to touch anything of mine.

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I didn’t realize Peter was asking me out on a date until he argued with me when I insisted I should pay for my ticket. “I just think this would be something fun to do with you.” At first I wasn’t sure why he would think so. I hadn’t even heard of Wolf Parade. Peter was a new person in my life, but I felt instantly comfortable with him when we met. He had gone to high school with my friend Aislinn, who was in my major and was also from the same part of New Jersey as me. Peter’s childhood home was eight miles from mine. I liked talking to him because he was thoughtful and quietly funny and because if there seemed to be nothing to talk about (though this rarely happened), I could always fall back on things like “where does your family order pizza?” He was a piece of home that I had to move eighty miles away from to meet. When Aislinn told me he liked me, more than just as a friend, I was surprised and excited but I felt a weight come down on me. I liked Peter too, but I wasn’t exactly trying to be in a relationship. I especially didn’t want to be in a relationship with someone who was from the same part of New Jersey as Mike. I thought I knew how that exact long-distance relationship would play out. I had done it before. But when Peter called me and invited me to join him for the Wolf Parade concert at the Troc, I found myself only wanting to say yes. We had dinner at a Chinese restaurant before the show. I paid for the meal because I felt guilty that

he covered the tickets. I didn’t want him to think I was the kind of girl who expected to never have to pay for anything. It was the first time we spent any significant amount of time together without also having Aislinn around, but it wasn’t strange at all. It was nice

to be in Philadelphia with someone who had been to my favorite Chinese restaurants back home. We compared the place with the ones we were used to, deciding we liked the decor but maybe our neighborhood place made better sesame chicken. When we arrived at the Troc, we stood far back, to the right a bit. Peter chose the spot because he said he hated having to be on top of strangers. I always felt a little awkward at concerts because I didn’t know how to stand in a casual way without having something to lean against, I was hopeless at nodding or tapping rhythmically and slightly enough to look into the music, and I didn’t like approaching bars to order overpriced sodas. I attempted to appear comfortable by removing my jacket and holding it with my arms folded. In contrast to me, Peter was relaxed at the show. He was in his element. He was a music business major and his knowledge of music, from popular to

“

everything about him. Late in the evening, Peter said tentatively, “I, like, really had a good time with you tonight.” I told him I did, too, and then he said, “I wanted to hold

The thrill of being in a cool

venue, listening to my favorite artist sing my favorite songs did prove to be

“

Wolf Parade November 4, 2010

a good distraction from the fact that I was heartbroken.

obscure bands, overwhelmed me. I knew my taste in music, by comparison, was a lot less cool. I was mostly still listening to the bands I had liked in high school and I rarely sought out anything new. But after the very first song they played, I knew I was going to like Wolf Parade. And I wondered what other good things Peter knew about, what else he could show me. After the show, we went back to my dorm and Peter and I spent the evening side by side on my school-issued couch, watching videos, talking, and eating candy. He delighted in showing me things, introducing me to music and TV shows and YouTube videos that I hadn’t come across on my own. I liked hearing his take on things and learning about what interested him. He was interesting and different and I wanted to know thirty-one

your hand at the concert but you were holding your jacket.” I didn’t know how to respond to that, exactly, but it turned out I didn’t have to say anything at all. We were kissing and it felt, in addition to exciting and thrilling and really, really nice, like something we agreed on together. Later, I drifted to sleep with words I’d heard at the concert rattling over and over again in my head. It’s getting better all the time/this heart’s on fire.

+ Kerri Sullivan

the philadelphia evening post

queen village + south st. + bella vista “Will you please tell Santa that instead of presents this year, I just want my family back” – Kevin McCallister, Home Alone

@photolope

A 1950s ad for the Yellow Cab Company of Philadelphia.

Anastacia’s Antiques Furniture - Jewelry Lighting - Curiosities & More

617 Bainbridge St. Philadephia, PA 19147 215-928-9111

www.anastaciasantiques.com

A great place to advertise your Queen Village business!

Teaching Philly kids to write since 2009. 15th & Christian, 39th & Lancaster, 18th & Diamond and El Futuro in the Italian Market

www.mightywriters.org thirty-two

boycotting christmas: a failed attempt to oust rizzo + Amy Cohen Director of Education, History Making Productions et their black asses!” Police commissioner Frank Rizzo either did or did not say this to a group of rookie cops brought into Center City to confront several thousand African American high school students peacefully protesting at the Board of Education building. Whether or not Rizzo actually used those four words, the result was the same: black youths beaten by white cops in broad daylight. On November 17, 1967, over 3,000 African American students from high schools throughout the city had taken part in a coordinated walkout and converged on school district headquarters at 21st and the Parkway to demand staffing, dress code, and curriculum changes. They wanted more black teachers and administrators; they wanted to be allowed to wear dashikis and Afro hairstyles in school; they wanted to learn black history. They also wanted improved facilities and funding. School superintendent Mark Shedd agreed to meet with student representatives to discuss their demands. Although the school district had asked that members of the plainclothes civil affairs unit be called in to supervise the students, busloads of uniformed officers arrived on the scene. Accounts differ as to what provoked police to act, however, eyewitnesses recall Police Commissioner Frank Rizzo

giving orders for officers to charge into the crowd. The protest was violently broken up and numerous students and adult organizers were arrested. Scenes of officers beating students, pulling them by the hair, and striking them with bayonets

led to outrage among African Americans and many whites across the city. Several demonstrations were held calling on Mayor James Tate to fire Rizzo, including one that was made up mostly of white teachers and another of mainly white students. In the black community, one of the responses to this police aggression was to initiate a

boycott described in the “RIZZO MUST GO!” flyer. The plan for the boycott was announced at a community meeting on Sunday, December 10th; and was to last through the Christmas season. The boycott does not seem to have had much success. Even in The Philadelphia Tribune, the city’s main black newspaper, it only garnered one brief article. Indeed, far from being fired as demanded by the organizers of the boycott, Rizzo’s assertive handling of the student protest in particular, and his suppression of the Black Power movement in general, were among the factors that gained him enough citywide popularity to be elected mayor in 1972. Why was the boycott such a failure? After all, earlier in the decade the Selective Patronage movement led by Reverend Leon Sullivan had successfully pushed numerous companies—from Tastykake to Coca-Cola—to hire large numbers of black workers for nonmenial jobs. By refusing to buy goods from the targeted companies, blacks used their collective economic power to gain concessions from employers. In 1962, Reverend Sullivan and his allies in the clergy had turned their attention to The Great Atlantic and Pacific Tea Company, owners of the A & P supermarket chain. The ministers threatened a boycott unless A & P placed 66 black workers in A & P’s stores and warehouses on a full-time and permanent basis--including at least story cont’d on next page

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story cont’d from previous page

the philadelphia evening post

six in its all-white head office with 250 employees. Although A & P agreed to meet some of these demands, the boycott was launched in December, 1962 and did not end until February 3rd once A & P fully conceded to all demands and even exceeded the requests by hiring nearly 80 black workers. According to a February 5th, 1967 article in The

the Christmas season.” Thus, even if it had become a mass movement, retailers would know that the timeframe was limited. Whereas the A & P boycott was spearheaded by an organized group of regional black clergymen known as the 400 ministers, the Rizzo boycott flyer mentions an obscure, undefined

Philadelphia Tribune, “the capitulation of the giant A & P food concern marks the twenty-first successive victory of the four hundred ministers in Philadelphia vicinity in their Selective patronage efforts against large companies to open ‘sensitive’ job opportunities for Negroes. It is estimated that within the past three years since the idea originated in Philadelphia, more than one thousand job openings have been made available to Negroes within the Philadelphia area, and more than four million dollars in new purchasing power has been added annually to the colored community’s income.” There are numerous reasons that the Selective Patronage campaigns were so successful, while the Rizzo boycott seems to have caused barely a ripple. First of all, before taking on A & P, a group of ministers had met with company executives and made clear, specific demands, stating that the boycott would not end until all of these were met. The Rizzo boycott, on the other hand, was to last “throughout

group called “Coordinated Citizens Concerned.” Furthermore, black families supporting the A & P boycott had plenty of other options of places to buy groceries; the Rizzo boycott required participants to make no major purchases anywhere in the region or from any Philadelphia-based stores— and this during the Christmas season, the busiest shopping time of the year. Most significantly, however, the A & P boycott targeted the executives at a particular company—the exact people who were in a position to change hiring policies in order to have shoppers return to their stores. The Rizzo boycott targeted merchants, plenty of who may have also disliked Rizzo, but who lacked the power to get him fired. For the campaign to succeed, retailers would have had to somehow collectively organize to pressure Mayor James Tate to fire Rizzo from his position as Police Commissioner. This seems far-fetched to say the least. In spite of the misguided strategy

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pursued by the organizers of the Rizzo boycott, there is a poignancy in their naiveté and their belief in what sacrifices people would be willing to make to see Philadelphia become a more inclusive, less racist city. This is from an article entitled “Anti-Rizzo Meeting Votes for Toyless ‘Black Christmas’” in the December 12th, 1967 edition of The Philadelphia Tribune: “ ‘We will have to explain to our children why they will not receive toys,’ one speaker said. ‘We will tell them that not getting presents may seem terrible, but that later in life they will discover that the power structure is denying them things much more important than toys. They might as well learn now to be deprived of their very birthrights. We are all being deprived of jobs, and education and our cultural heritage,’ he said. It was decided that ‘the bare necessities of life’ could be purchased at out of town stores, but that no ‘major purchases’ would be made until Rizzo is fired.” Looking back at this small, failed campaign nearly 50 years later, we can regret that police brutality against African Americans continues, that black unemployment rates in the city remain significantly higher than for whites, and that Philadelphia city schools remain grossly underfunded. One bright spot, however: the student protestors’ demand for an African American history course was eventually met—though it took nearly 40 years. In 2005, Philadelphia became the only district in the nation to require a year of African American history for high school graduation. Although we can assume that the Rizzo boycott is probably not taught in these classes, the course can illustrate plenty of examples of movements by African Americans in which a combination of anger about injustice and optimism about collective organizing has made positive change. Selective Patronage is but one local example; there are so many more that our young people will learn about by being required to study the African American past.

+ Amy Cohen Director of Education, History Making Productions

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Winterfest at Penn’s Landing

Heading home after the Mummer’s Parade, Broad + Pine

Christmas at Lemon Hill Mansion, Fairmount Park

Center City Macy’s, 13th + Market Street

Ice rink at Dilworth Plaza from the City Hall Observation Deck

South Philly Christmas lights, 13th Street

A snow day at Broad & Locust Streets

Santa visits the Philly Pops Holiday Concert, Kimmel Center

Balloon vender, Thanksgiving Day Parade, Ben Franklin Parkway

featured instagrammer:

@photolope “It’s all about discovery. That’s what drew me to Philly from Berks County and that’s what keeps me shooting. There’s so much to appreciate about Philly (yes, even the touristy stuff long-time residents seem to take for granted if you just open yourself up to it. This has become my home, the place I really discovered and challenged myself, and I want everyone to see what I see infinite sights, sounds, smells, and tastes in every part of the city. The beauty of watching the sun set from 33 floors up (or a sunrise from an MFL platform or the rush of sledding down the Art Museum steps or the calm of lounging on a net over the river or the millions of stories behind the people we pass every day on the street. It’s all waiting to be discovered and rediscovered” - Loren Berckey

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the philadelphia evening post

fairmount

+ spring garden “Where do you think you’re going? Nobody’s leaving. Nobody’s walking out on this fun, old-fashioned family Christmas, no, no, we’re all in this together! This is a full-blown, four-alarm holiday emergency here” – Clark W. Griswold

@photolope

One of our readers dug deep into his vintage postcards and discovered this interesting card mailed in Philadelphia in 1906 from a young soldier to his lady.

The card features a group of soldiers with the caption “On a hike” it reads: “In hard lock a again going find them JH More” not sure what that means but it’s certainly interesting. What do you think it means? (submitted by @blainecollectsoldthings on Instagram)

Want to take over our Instagram for a week?

did you find a mistake?

DM us at @PhillyEveningPost

It’s our policy to include something for everyone. Since some people like to find errors, we usually like to include a few in our magazine.

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NOBODY YET MUSIC

ou might not think of University City as a place that houses much rock n’ roll, however, one of Philadelphia’s most energetic up-and-coming bands calls this neighborhood home. NOBODY YET is a pop-punk trio consisting of friends Joe, Matt and Kevin. I sat down with the front man of the band, Joe Humeas, to discuss the ever-changing music industry. He describes his “must see live” band as high-energy pop punk that incorporates dark guitar riffs and solos. Who were your influences growing up? How have they impacted you musically and in everyday life? I have a tattoo of my favorite band, The Beatles. I was brought up on oldies and classic rock, so guitar riffs from the 70s and 80s are very influential. I miss when bands had cool guitar parts and solos. I still listen to those classic songs as well as new stuff, but it’s pretty fun to be able to talk to the older generations about The Beatles. Where are your favorite places to play and what makes that venue special? We love the Troc Balcony because we’ve had some good all-ages shows there. It’s definitely an iconic place as a music fan. We got to play the main stage of the Troc with our buds in First Things First, which was awesome. What are some bigger shows that stand out? We opened for Cartel at a spring jam concert, Valencia at Arcadia University,

and last year our dreams came true when we played Warped Tour in Camden. Our fans came out and sang every word! VividSeat rated Philadelphia the top city in the country for live music. What about Philly stands out when playing a gig vs. elsewhere in the country? Philly has so many venues to play and see shows and so many different cultures with varying music styles. From houses to stadiums, you can basically see anyone, and luckily most artists come through Philly. I guess cheesesteaks also attract people. Only here can you visit a 24-hour cheesesteak vendor after your show and grab soft pretzels. We’re doing this interview in a newspaper, an industry that’s been struggling over the last few years with the rise of the Internet. We can say the same about album sales as we see a lot more digital sales and streams. What’s your take? We have talked about how many CDs to buy to sell, because it will possibly be less than before. However there are still those that love to open the CD, and for them, I plan on putting in just as much effort in making that disc as cool as I can. We want to make sure we can keep up with the digital world but vinyl is back anyway, so CDs will probably make a comeback after cassette tapes, right? What are the most important things you have learned in a band? What advice would you pass on to other musicians coming up in the scene? Work your ass off. If you don’t reach out thirty-seven

to people and try to figure out ways to get shows, you won’t get noticed. We used to hand out flyers at local shows all the time. I would feel terrible if I missed one, and I was constantly trying to think of new ways to get noticed. If you think your music doesn’t need to be “pushed” and promoted, no one is going to hear you. Do you feel as if a live show is just as important as an album? Philly seems like a city that would much rather go see the act than just listen to the album. If you are able to write good songs and give a good show, you’ve got it made. When I go to a concert, I’m not there to just hear the album. If I wanted that, I would stay home. What does being a Philadelphian mean to you? Philadelphians have an endless supply of entertainment and plenty of terrific places to eat. Come visit and you’ll have fun, eat very well, and you can always see live music since there are probably ten shows going on every night. Facebook - /nobodyyet Twitter - @nobodyyet Instagram – nobodyyet

+ Steve York

the philadelphia evening post

past post

city hall + Kristen Humbert

Pass through the dark and quiet coolness of one of City Hall’s walkways and you’ll hear your footsteps echo. No matter how bustling it is outside, the clap-clap-clap bounces off the cavernous hall. And then in front of you, framed by the giant archway that curves yards above your head, will be the city, bright and busy, waiting for you to join in. There are experiences everyone in Philadelphia, visitors and locals alike, must do at least once. You have to get a cheesesteak from Pat’s or Geno’s (or Jim’s). You need to see the Liberty Bell—even if you just peer through the glass. Running up the Rocky steps isn’t mandatory, but you should definitely walk them. And if you drive by Boathouse Row at night, make sure to take a look. These types of encounters make it into guidebooks and onto lists of “Top 10 Things To Do,” but there’s so much more to this city. Just pay attention. Suddenly you’ll notice the little details that leave a lingering impression—even if you’re just passing through.

My Dear Mary, I have missed you—and wondering why you haven’t been down. Hope you and all the rest of the folks are well. I have been ill in bed. My Teddy is dead, fell off the porch dead Sunday afternoon. Come down soon.

Let’s hope “Teddy” is just a toy bear…

Lovingly Gertrude

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sweetzels season FOOD he Fall Hunt is rife with the signs of the season; leaves turning from lush green to dry browns, rust, and gold queuing the changing slant of the sun and signaling to prepare for the coming cold and dark of winter. Orion the Hunter appears, stalking the clear-skied nights leaving a rim of frost on the ground come morning. The animals heed this primal call as well and add to their stores of body fat. Emboldened by the remembered pangs of hunger from the lean years of the past and the testosterone that urges the males to breed in order to allow birthing to line up with the warming days of the following spring, they gather in the open to feed and mate. Hunters know this just as well and masculine camaraderie returns to the long vacant deer camps of

the woods where beer gets spilled and anything that isn’t sporting blaze orange gets a bullet in it. At this time also arrives Sweetzels Spiced Wafers, a true seasonal gift, in a box fittingly rimmed with the precise hue denoting, lest it wander off into the woods on it’s own, that it is not a piece of game lurking in the bushes but a friendly box of cookies. Only baked in the fall, they’ve been made in Blue Bell, PA using the same colonial recipe since 1910. Blue Bell, being not far from Valley Forge, one can only surmise the original recipe was likely imported from New Jersey by George Washington himself on that fateful Christmas Eve. Harkening a colonial version of a ginger snap, hard, spicy and sweet with molasses that makes them stick to your teeth a bit, they are the perfect dunking cookie whether your medium be hot thirty-nine

cider, milk, bourbon, or tea. And with it also being pie season, these cookies make a fantastic pie crust (a recipe is on the box). Available in grocery stores regionally, usually stacked at the end of an aisle advertising two boxes for $5, bring a box to deer camp and the blaze orange might keep it from getting shot at but it’s not likely they will survive.

+ Nick Petryszyn

the philadelphia evening post

west philly “Philadelphia isn’t some flashy food town easily swayed by passing trends. True to the spirit of its founding fathers, the city is a refuge for freethinking entrepreneurs who put their faith in community” Travel + Leisure, 2012

@photolope

Vegetarian and Vegan friendly food cart

“The stylish crew” - Philadelphia, 1920s. Is this a vintage photobomb of Al Capone? (Bottom right). Submitted by @ bittenbenderandmoll on Instagram.

Find us in Clark Park on Saturdays and South Philly on Sundays. Availible for catering! For more info, check Facebook or Twitter. /kungfuhoagie @kungfuhoagies

This postcard from 1906 features Memorial Hall in in Fairmount Park. It’s such an old card, the only room to write is on the front and it appears to be from two young boys pleading with their mother to write to them.

“Mother write me soon - Francis” “Vincent - to Mother, this is a lovely hall.”

A nice window on what life was like 109 years ago! Our Autumn edition featured a story about the first World’s Fair in America, which was held at Fairmount Park. This vintage find was submitted by Blaine from Fishtown (aka: @blainecollectsoldthings on Instagram)

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Watercolor of the Ben Franklin Bridge + Delaware River by Jill Schmehl

my philadelphia hen I was a child growing up in the shadow of Manhattan, Philadelphia meant the bell with a crack and Ben Franklin with a kite. On a class trip to the capital of the United States, confused, I asked my teacher, “Where is the bell, where is the kite?” The teacher, sad but unsurprised (I was never a good student) answered, “The capital of our country is Washington, D.C., but its birthplace, the bell and the kite, are back up in Philadelphia, which was our first capital city.” “Why don’t you take us there?” I asked. “Too dangerous,” she replied. “Criminals and trash.” Then she whispered, “They hide the bell under a stairwell.” Years later, I fell in love with a Philadelphian boy. He held my hand and took me to see the cracked bell, not

under a stairwell but in a glass box in a field of green. At the end of a bridge named for the man, we saw a sculpture of Ben Franklin’s key and kite in a circle surrounded by fast-moving cars. I wondered if Franklin, for all his open-mindedness, could have imagined such a sight. Five years ago, I moved here for the love of a Philadelphian man. He shared his love for this city - as comfortable to him as a small town. He shared his neighborhood, Northern Liberties, a neighborhood reminiscent of Mr. Rodgers and Sesame Street. The people in the shops know his name and even the strangers smile and say good morning. The streets are filled with people walking, to eat, to shop, to work. We stroll along, hand in hand, passing this dog park, and the other dog park, and the other, other dog park. We watch the old buildings come down and the new ones go up. And now this is my home. This is my forty-one

city of brotherly love. It has criminals and trash, true, but that is not what I see when I look out my window. I see smiling people and their ubiquitous dogs, talking and laughing. I see people who are proud of where they live. I see constant change and a desire to make their home better than it was before. This is the place I live and love and work. I walk its streets like I walk the hallways of my home. Its bars are my living room, its restaurants my kitchen. Its murals are the paintings hung on my walls. Its museums are the guest room that you never use, but are really glad you have when people come to visit. I love where I live, simple as that. This is My Philadelphia.

+ Jill Schmehl

the philadelphia evening post

west market in march oil on zinc 9 x 7 in

scaffolding on 15th oil on zinc 10x8in

winter morning on west market oil on zinc 10 x 8 in

ART

spring garden and broad oil on zinc 10 x 7 in

Patrick Crofton was born in South Africa and worked in television and advertising in Cape Town, Johannesburg and finally New York. He came to Philadelphia to study painting at the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts, and has lived here ever since. He is represented by F.A.N. Gallery in Old City. He paints with oils, mostly on a small scale, using metal panels of copper or zinc. He tries for a balance between abstract, ambiguous areas and passages of fine detail. There are often atmospheric effects such as rain, snow or mist in the paintings; opportunities to play with mood, light and focus. You can see more of Patrickâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s work at www.patrickcrofton.weebly.com His work will be on display at the F.A.N. Gallery, 221 Arch Street from Dec. 4 - January 23. Wednesday - Sunday, 12 - 5 p.m. forty-two

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dear comfort People don’t realize how much of their lives they spend in search of you because wanting you near is such an innate desire. What many of us don’t realize, however, is that you reside in little unassuming instances that you already present us with on a regular basis. It is only once we are broken, and our hands are worn and our minds are tired from years of grasping for you that we realize that you’ve been in our lives the whole time. Like that old screen door that creaks and slams that we thought we hated at one point, the sound of our loved ones setting their keys on the dining room table after returning home from work, certain smells, certain times of day, things like that. You know, you’ve really pulled one over on us. We’re exhausted. However I can’t be mad at you because perhaps it takes being uncomfortable in our own skin, in our own lives, to truly fall in love with you. Maybe that has been your point all along. Like an old grandfather you sit from a distance with your knowing smile, watching us scramble, just waiting for us to get it. Whatever your motives, I’d like to thank you, because I’ve never loved anything so longingly as I love you.

FICTION + POETRY

Love, + Carissa Hudson

the walk The door had just closed outside of my three-story walk-up in South Kensington when a pang of uneasiness hit me. Although I had purposefully left my cell phone on the counter, a sinking feeling remained. Perhaps someone would notify the authorities; a Best Buy Geek Squad car would come screeching to a halt in front of me while skinny guys in skinny jeans put a bag over my head and I would disappear into the night, never to be seen again. Or, potentially worse, I would encounter some really cool graffiti with no way to capture it. While the cell tower pinged a lonely phone in an empty apartment I. Pressed. On – fighting the urge to reach for that familiar weight in my left pocket, which was, now so noticeably absent. My wife, an accomplice who had also left her communication device stranded behind, stepped into a Greek restaurant to get the food we had ordered from takeout.

2nd + Girard Ave, 1940’s

Now I too was stranded, holding a dog leash - on the outside looking in - with no one to talk to and no screen to scroll. I stood outside as each second slowly ticked by like an analog clock in a classroom; I had nothing but my own thoughts and imagination to keep me company. My wife finally emerged to release me from this nightmarish landscape. I had barely recovered from being abandoned for what seemed like 5 to 8 minutes, when I again found myself alone and afraid at the bustling corner of 2nd and Girard. My wife had entered the bright lights and boundless choices of the state liquor store. How I managed to survive the ensuing eye contact with strangers and observing the buildings around me I do not know. But nothing prepared me for what would happen upon my wife’s return. Before you could say “Fruit Ninja” my wife and I discussed, in detail, how our days went. After finishing my falafel, hummus, and half a gyro in the safety of my wifi-enabled apartment, I remembered to check my phone – 1 text message “MOM.”

+ Beau Merlini, Kensington forty-three

the philadelphia evening post

northwest philly @photolope

“The idea that God, if there is a force of Login and Love in the universe, that it would seek to explain itself is amazing enough. That it would seek to explain itself and describe itself by becoming a child born in straw poverty, in shit and straw… a child… I just thought: “Wow!” Just the poetry… Unknowable love, unknowable power, describes itself as the most vulnerable. There it was. I was sitting there, and it’s not that it hadn’t struck me before, but tears came streaming down my face, and I saw the genius of this, utter genius of picking a particular point in time and deciding to turn on this” – Bono, from an interview in The Chicago Sun-Times

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winter memories ’m always surprised when I slip on ice. Not because it’s unexpected I just expect better from myself. That’s not a stance of arrogance, that’s just what I’ve experienced. I grew up in RoxboroughManayunk, a little community of hills. I remember there being a large thunderstorm one day and reports of a tornado warning. I was at my Uncle’s house and told him the news. I imagined cars thrown around and leveled buildings, barren streets with wood strewn about. My Uncle laughed and said there were too many hills here, so many ups and downs, that if a tornado did come here It would just trip, fall and go away. I imagined the tornado would try to climb up narrow streets only to fall at the top of the hill and go away in embarrassment. It would excuse itself as it tried to squeeze between houses and blush as it knocked something over. It might even obey that unwritten law of cordiality, wherein it’ll pull into a vacant spot to allow a car to drive past. I was and still am surprised a city planner hasn’t stumbled into RoxboroughManayunk and introduced more one-way streets. A man with coke bottle glasses and a tie and a hunch, saying “No, no, no, this will not do,” and stamping one way street signs up and bringing order to the

polite chaos of Roxborough-Manayunk. The streets are some kind of temporal anomaly: there is no parking while simultaneously there is always a spot for a car to pull in to let another car go by. Even an inch of snow was enough to cancel school back then. That inch meant parents had the day off as well, free to stay in and just relax for the day. No one expected Roxborough to awaken from its slumber with its narrow streets. Kids never felt this way. We were too anxious and too excited to be bound; we wanted to go outside. As a kid, this meant shoveling. Metal shovels striking roughly cemented pavements shocked our little arms. It was just a big joke to our parents. Bundled up in big bushels of coats, sweaters, hats, and gloves, we’d see a friend, chained to the shovel. You’d always help because it meant freeing them and letting them join your gang. Freedom meant a march for the top of the mighty hills. Ripka Street was my personal favorite. My grandparents lived on that street. The small hike to the top left us out of breath. We had climbed to the top of our mountain. We looked down at it, like conquering generals. We took no claim or stake. We instead took our sleds down the street with the knowledge that there wouldn’t be a single car to come that

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day speeding down the hill, as they normally do, instead our only obstacle was the snow caked cars that acted as barriers between the sidewalks. The end of the day was at one grandparents or another’s drying off for just a moment before venturing out for more. If not sledding, there were always enough kids to start a snowball fight. We ducked in alleys and hid behind cars. There were few rules. A few streets were exceptions, simply because they were standard roads that could hold two cars, thus still being used. But to us, those hills were mighty and tall, and somehow, we never slipped. Harsh angles that would require us to crawl in feet of snow, crawling up and up and never slipping, not even when it melted and we had to walk to school over patches of black ice. There were no scrapes. There were no scratches. We just never fell.

+ Michael Kern

the philadelphia evening post

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Lily Meier is an architect and designer living in South Philly where she spends most evenings making collages in her living room studio. Check out her work on instagram @freshoffthedesk or www.lilymeier.com

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