A Tale Of Two Theaters

It was late January or early February 1964. I had just completed the first semester of my freshman year at George Washington University in Washington, D.C. Final exams were over, it was a cold Saturday night and group of us went to the movies. Back then, first run films newly released could be seen only in downtown theaters; only after several months did they make their way to the suburbs.

Like many cities, D.C. had several large and very elegant movie theaters, with 1500 to 2000 seats, large, wide screens, satin curtains, plush lobbies, tapestried walls, and ushers to help you find a seat. ( Only the Warner Theater still stands today, but it is used mostly as a performance venue and not a movie theater.) The most popular movies were big spectacular wide screen colorful spectacles; My Fair Lady and Mary Poppins were among the box office smash hits of that year.

But our destination that cold winter evening was not one of the large, wide screen movie palaces, and the movie of choice was not a tens of millions of dollars blockbuster cinema spectacular. No – we were headed to the Dupont Theater (also no longer there) on Connecticut Avenue just south of Dupont Circle. The Dupont was a small theater - just a large room really – no balconies or boxes – seating about 300 people and located on the bottom floor of an office building. While the theater did show first run films, they were not the big splash spectacles.

The audience that crowded into the small theater that night was mostly young people – probably college students like me on break. It was a somewhat raucous group. But just a few minutes before the start of the movie I caught sight of something – or I should say someone – unusual. Someone who didn’t belong with this noisy group of kids. In walked an elegantly dressed couple. He was very tall – at least 6’4” and broad shouldered, wearing a very nice cashmere or wool topcoat, in sharp contrast to the dirty jackets and sweatshirts of the rest of us. The woman with him was also well dressed. There were only a few empty seats left and my first reaction was fear that this large man might sit in front of me – there was not much slant to the floor and I was concerned that I would not see the movie so well. But that reaction was quickly replaced by one of awe – because this was not just any tall man – I knew who this was – newspaper columnist and CBS TV newsman Eric Sevareid. The celebrity presence seemed to innervate the crowd even more. And by the way, fortunately he sat behind me.

The movie showing was Dr. Strangelove, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb. While Stangelove does have an all-star cast (more on that in a moment), it is not a wide screen glamour film; in fact it is a black and white movie and is only 95 minutes long! It is a comedy satire on the cold war, the arms race (how many of you remember the missile gap?), and parodies the government and military of both the U.S. and the USSR. George C Scott and Sterling Hayden portray over the top parodies of U.S. Generals – one of them hawkish and power mad, the other just basically nuts. Peter Sellers plays three different roles: the U.S. President, a proper British army Captain, and Dr. Strangelove, a geeky German rocket scientist roughly based on Wernher Von Braun. Keenan Wynn is a by-the-book army man who disrupts the scheme. Cowboy actor Slim Pickens is the pilot of a bomber armed with the nuclear bomb that will start world war three, and a very very young James Earl Jones is the plane’s engineer and intelligence officer.

The movie is chock full of just the type of anti-establishment satire and sophistry that would have appealed to us college kids. After all, we knew that we were much smarter than any adults, and would never do any of the stupid things that they do – such as in this film. We laughed; we roared; we screamed; we applauded. I thought it was the funniest thing I had ever seen. And it was the start of a care-free weekend. I should also point out that at that time, the legal age for beer and wine in the District was 18. After the movie we all bundled up out into the cold and went elsewhere. Eric Sevareid and his wife drove off in their car.

I told everyone I knew – including relatives and friends in Pocomoke – that they just had to see this movie!

1964. I am back in Pocomoke for the summer. In fact, little did I know, it would be the last time that I actually lived in Pocomoke. But anyway, Dr. Strangelove came to the Marva Theater. I made sure as many people as possible went with me to see this movie; my parents, aunts, uncles, whoever I could. It was a very hot night. The Marva Theater is much larger than the Dupont Theater was. On the night we went, there were at most 40 or maybe 50 people total in the theater – so there were hundreds of empty seats. We watched the movie; we chuckled; we giggled a few times. We did not scream; we did not roar with laughter, and we definitely did not applaud (which is bad etiquette at a movie anyway). That hot night, in that near empty theater, I can honestly say that the movie was just not all that funny. Those who went with me told me that they thought it was “clever” or perhaps “cute.”

Since that night, I have seen the movie a dozen times or more; mostly on TV and I do own a DVD of it. I still think that it is a very funny movie, but it has never seemed as funny as that first night. Some of the humor is dated, although perhaps not as dated as it was 20 years ago. I used to think of the dichotomy between those first two viewings of the movie when I would see Johnny Carson deliver his monologue and sometimes would get no reaction. He would stare out at the audience and say “Is anyone alive out there?” I also think about the year or so that I worked part time as an usher at Lisner Auditorium. Observing the same concert or performance two or even three times, the audience reaction was not always consistent. But those are examples of live performances. Performers on any given night may have a chemistry, an interaction with the crowd. But a movie?

Was the D.C. audience right to think this was so funny? Was the Pocomoke audience wrong to think it wasn't?  I believe that comedy is about a time, a place and an atmosphere. This is a variant of "Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder." The first time I saw the movie it really was as funny as we thought because we - as a group - perceived it to be so. The second time it really was not as funny, because that is how we perceived it that night. I was part of both audiences and all these years later I can still remember and feel the perceptions I had at each of those screenings of the movie.

Perception is reality.

You had to be there.

(Reader comment)

 Anonymous said...

I was there. It was funny. It's still funny. Especially Slim Pickens.

Your friend,
Slim

tk for PPE says- Slim, you've been conspicuous by your absence here at PPE. Would love for you to chime in more often like back in the "old" days.

                                                         

"A Tale Of Two Theaters"

Mel is turning back the clock with memories of a film you know of, and maybe have seen, and recalls how it played to the audiences in Washington, D.C. and in Pocomoke City.  

It's an interesting read and we think you'll enjoy it.

Check for "A Tale of Two Theaters" on Tuesday, 3/7, here at The Pocomoke Public Eye.

Jottings from Mel

 

So I saw a tee shirt the other day that said "It's weird being the same age as old people."  That's sort of how I feel.  Mentally I don't feel old and can't even think of myself that way, in spite of the fact that I have all kinds of physical issues from multiple cardiac problems, to bad knees, to just fear of falling when I go down even a small flight of stairs.

I must look quite a sight; when I go out to a store, I see little old ladies holding the door for me.  People are always asking me if they can help me with bags/packages.  A few weeks ago I went to a Ravens game.  There were hundreds of us lined up waiting to get on the escalators to the upper deck.  Two ushers came up to ME.  "Sir, come with us, we can take you up in the elevator."

I can remember that when I was about 6 or 7 years old, I believed that there were 3 types of people; there were kids, there were adults, and there were old people. I sort of understood that little kids eventually became bigger kids but had no concept at all that kids became adults or old people. It's not that I couldn't or wouldn't believe that I would become an adult; the idea never even entered my mind any more than the thought that perhaps one day I would turn into an apple tree. Perhaps that is why I am still where I am mentally; I really enjoy all of the same stuff that I did as a kid. One of the great things about having the grandkids (don't get me wrong, I love them all dearly) has been that I got to play with toys again, and I realized, I really like this!

Mel Says preview

 

Attention those born before 1960.  Mel says-  So I saw a tee shirt the other day that said "It's weird being the same age as old people."  That's sort of how I feel.  Mentally I don't feel old and can't even think of myself that way...

Read what Mel says about age Thursday (1/5) here at The Pocomoke Public Eye.

Mel Says

From Pocomoke to College - Part 1 - How my Weekly Call Home to Pocomoke Became the Comedy Hit of my Freshman Dorm

Sometime during the 1950s, direct distance dialing was introduced in parts of the United States. But not in Pocomoke.  In fact, through the 1950s and early 1960s, Pocomoke did not have even direct local dialing.  Most of the phones did not even have dials!  Each household with a phone had either a 3 or 4 digit number. You picked up the phone - there was no dial tone - and waited for the local operator who came on and said "number please."  You then told them the number, and they would connect you and ring that phone, if that number was busy, the operator would tell you that the line was busy.  The operators in Pocomoke were located on the second floor of a building at the Northeast corner of Clarke Ave and Willow Street. I was only up there once or twice but remember them each sitting in front of a large switchboard with blinking lights and patch plugs to connect the calls.

Many people shared a phone line with their neighbors. These were called party lines. These phone numbers had a letter appended to the end of the number.  Our phone number was 381-W.  Sometimes you would pick up the phone to place a call only to hear that the next door neighbor was on the line. You had to hang up and wait until they were done with their call. At some point, my parents paid an extra fee and got a private line, and removed the letter from the end of our phone number.

All of this is a prelude explanation to the long distance phone call adventures of my freshman year of college, starting in the fall of 1963. My freshman dorm was located a couple of blocks from the White House at the Southwest corner of 19th and H Streets in Washington, D.C. In that era, it was, of course an all male dorm. There were students from across the country and foreign nations as well.  At least a third were from the New York City metropolitan area. There were about 30 or 35 students on our floor (the 6th floor). While some students paid to get their own phone installed, most were content to use the pay phone located in an alcove at one end of the hall.

My parents and I established a routine whereby I would call them every Sunday evening around 8 PM. I would call collect (if you don't remember, that is when you would reverse the long distance charges so that the recipient of the call had to agree to pay - then the operator would connect you.) 

City operators, were not used to calling places that did not have direct dialing. It was never easy.

My typical call home went something like this: (Op here will be short for operator)

[I would dial 0 for Operator]

Op: Operator

Me: Yes, I would like to make a long distance call, collect, to Pocomoke City Maryland

Op:  And what is that number?

Me: The number is 381

[long pause]

Op: Yes, go ahead, I'm listening

Me: Listening for what?

Op: What's the rest of the number?

Me: That's it, that's the number

Op: That's the number? 

Me: Yes 381

[long, long, pause]

Op: 381 is the phone number?

Me: 381 is the entire number

Op: And this is in Maryland?  Area code 301 ?

Me; Yes this is in Maryland

[long pause]

Op:  I'm routing your call

[long long pause]

Op:  I have the operator in Pomonkey on the line

Me:  Not Pomonkey,  I said Pocomoke City

Op: [silence]

Me: [spelling] P-O-C-O-M-O-K-E

Op: One moment please

[long long pause]

Op: Where is that?

Me: I think you route the call through Salisbury

Op: North Carolina? (Honest, that actually happened once!)

Me: Salisbury Maryland - on the Eastern Shore

Op: Hang on please

Me: Yes, I'll wait

Sometimes the saga would take 5 or more minutes until the call was connected. It was different every week, but it was almost never easy. One week, my call - somehow - got routed to Rolla, Missouri, and another time to Panama City Florida. There were many different twists.

Now, picture hearing only my side of this conversation, like those old Bob Newhart comedy records.

Our dorm was often too hot and kids left the doors to their rooms open to get better air circulation. The second or third week of the year, someone overheard my attempt to place the call; he thought it was very funny and spread the word. Gradually, more and more of my dorm mates started gathering for my Sunday night call home.

By the end of October, I had a weekly audience of anywhere between 10 and 20  listen in as I placed this call.  They were almost never disappointed.  The city kids really loved this; to them it was like a real life episode of Andy of Mayberry.

The fun was short lived. By the end of my sophomore year, Pocomoke had dial phones and my parents had a normal 7 digit phone number. But I still chuckle when I think back to the tribulations of placing that weekly call.

Mel is back!

 

 "From Pocomoke to College - Part 1 - How my Weekly Call Home to Pocomoke Became the Comedy Hit of my Freshman Dorm"

Enjoy the latest from Mel this Tuesday here at The Pocomoke Public Eye.

TV Comes to Pocomoke, and I get Fired from my First Job,

For a couple of years when I was in elementary school, we lived in an apartment on Willow Street.  Across the street from our apartment was a furniture and appliance store. I was a frequent visitor to this store. Why? You may ask; what could be in a furniture store of the 1950s that would so fascinate an 8 or 9 year old boy? The answer: television sets.

 

The early days of television in Pocomoke were - to say the least - interesting. Pocomoke purchasers of TV sets in the early fifties probably did not realize the adventure that awaited. First of all, you couldn't just buy the TV set.  You had to get an antenna and then you had to get an installer to go up on your roof to mount the antenna as high up as possible atop whatever building you lived in. 

 

But it didn't end there.  You then had to be able to point the antenna at the transmission tower of the TV station you wanted to watch.  The cheapest way to do this was with a hand crank mechanism near a window of the house.  You would open the window, unfold the crank and start turning it. The crank was attached to spindle gear that in turn connected to another set of gears and sprockets which eventually turned the antenna.  And you did this while watching the picture on TV so you could stop when you got the best picture. If you could spend a little more money, you could get a motorized antenna with a controlling piece of electrical gear (a rotor box I think they were called) that sat on top of the TV.  (Note: if you lived in a city, you needed none of that; signals were locally strong and all you needed was the "rabbit ears" antenna on top of your TV.)

 

So there were TV stations to tune to in Philadelphia (point the antenna north-northeast), Baltimore (northwest), Washington D.C. (west-northwest), Richmond (west-southwest), and Norfolk (south).  But even with the antenna properly pointed, getting a good signal was a hit and miss proposition. Weather, atmospheric conditions, planes flying overhead all wreaked havoc with the signals. The Norfolk and Philadelphia stations were on some of the same channels and loved to interfere with each other. And there was vertical roll, and horizontal roll.  Before we got our own set, friends or relatives would call us, "Hey come on over, TV's coming in really good," and by the time we got there - nothing but a snow filled screen. Most of the time, good reception did not last for more than a few minutes at a time. Sometime you would start watching a show on the Philadelphia station, lose the signal after ten minutes but rotate around to the Baltimore station for the next ten, and then maybe back where you started to finish the show.

 

Still, having a TV was a big deal; I still remember the day when we got our first TV set. But that's another story to be told.

 

And that brings me back to that furniture store.  The TV sets for sale in that store always had a good picture. Did they have special, better antennas?  So, after school I would wander in there and watch some TV.  I remember once watching part of a World Series game.  The salesmen in the store got to know me and they seemed to like me.  In hindsight, I realize that I was filling a similar role to that of a puppy.

 

One day, one of the salesmen said to me, "Would you like a job? You're here anyway, want to be useful?"  So they told me that if twice a week I would dust all of the furniture and TV sets and sweep the floor, I would get a quarter.  Now that was too good an offer to refuse because 1 - I was there watching TV anyway, and 2, you don't realize the spending power that gave me.  With a quarter, I could buy a bottle of Nehi soda, a Hershey bar, and a Superman comic book! And so I went to work, my very first job.

 

One day, I was in there dusting this big new beautiful console TV, in a gorgeous mahogany cabinet.  I was dusting the top, when suddenly, by itself, the TV turned on, and then started switching channels - all by itself!.

One of the salesmen came running over,  "What did you do?  Don't fool with these - you might break it!" He seemed mildly angry.  "But, but, I, I didn't, I was just . . . "  I stammered, tried to explain.   "Well just be careful!"

A minute or two later, the next TV set over.  I barely touch it, and it blares on, real loud.  I look over and both of the salesmen are glaring at me, with wide eyes.  Again I start to explain my innocence, but they are now laughing, laughing.  And then they showed me.  The very first TV remote control which they had used to turn on the set and flip the channels when I dusted it.  This remote used a beam of light, it looked like a flashlight but with a pistol grip; very similar to the appearance of the Phasor weapons in Star Trek a dozen or so years later.

 

I loved fooling with the remote myself.  I even tried to run the same gag on another kid who was in the store one day (It didn't work - he had already seen the remote gizmo). They really didn't want me to fool with it too much - it did use batteries and they wore out quickly, but - despite repeated warnings, I could not resist playing with that toy every time I came in to "work."  One day I dropped it; it didn't break but the batteries fell out.  My salesmen friends ushered me to the back to the manager's office who gave me the bad news, gently. They really liked me but children are not allowed in the store without a parent; it was the rules. I should come in and visit, but bring my Mom or Dad.

 

There I am. Fired. Career in ruins! and I'm not even ten years old!! Of course, the entire span of this job, from start to finish, was 3, or possibly 4 weeks at most. But in any case, I never included it on my resume, or mentioned it on a job application when asked: Have you ever been involuntarily terminated from any employment?  After all they were just following the rules.

 

Author's  note: The story above is true, but full disclosure, I have probably conflated a few different events here, because the timeline does not quite agree with known facts. First, WBOC-TV, channel 16 came on the air in 1954 when I was 9 years old, and - while it required yet a different type antenna, good reception was basically no longer a problem after that. Probably , the TV sets in the furniture store had good reception all of the time because they were tuned to channel 16.  Secondly, the remote devise that I describe was definitely the Zenith Flashmatic - see below.  And a little internet research shows that it did not come on the market until 1955 by which time we no longer lived on Willow St. - MW

(Reader comments)

 Anonymous said...

When I was in junior high one of our teachers arranged for us to walk a short distance up Market Street from the old Pocomoke High school to Johnny's TV shop (east side of Market) to watch Eisenhower's inauguration for a second term.

 Anonymous said...

"...one of our teachers arranged for us to walk a short distance up Market Street..."

Now the Board of Education would charter a fleet of buses to take the students the 10 blocks. Can't have vulnerable children being exposed to all the dangers out there!

 Anonymous said...

I remember that the early television sets were made to receive only channels 2 to 13. So if you had one of these sets when channel 16 came on you had to have a converter box hooked up to your television to receive it. In the first half of the 1950's most homes in Pocomoke didn't have a television and you could tell that by the number of antennas you saw. In later years cable came along and for those who were willing or able to pay for it they could count on seeing a good picture from the Baltimore and Washington stations. But if you lived away from town cable wasn't available.

 Anonymous said...

Yes, the TV sets back then received channels 2 through 13 but Captain Kangaroo occasionally had a fellow on his show who lived at (in?) Channel One!
Go figure.        

tk for PPE says: Originally there was a VHF Channel One but the FCC dropped it in 1948 due to technical issues with reception.  The Captain Kangaroo show referenced it anyway in their storyline according to our reader's comment.

  

We'll hear from Mel this week!

**P  R  E  V  I  E  W**

TV Comes to Pocomoke, and I get Fired from my First Job,

"For a couple of years when I was in elementary school, we lived in an apartment on Willow Street.  Across the street from our apartment was a furniture and appliance store. I was a frequent visitor to this store. Why? You may ask; what could be in a furniture store of the 1950s that would so fascinate an 8 or 9 year old boy? The answer: television sets."

Enjoy Mel's story this Tuesday here at The Pocomoke Public Eye.

Mel Says

When are we going to hear from Mel again?

We caught up with Mel.  He's been thinking, he says, and has some things for us cooking in the oven but they're just not quite finished yet. 

If you missed Mel's first couple of postings or would like to read them again here's where you'll find them:

https://thepocomokepubliceye.blogspot.com/2021/02/mel-says.html

https://thepocomokepubliceye.blogspot.com/2021/03/a-fire-story-tanks-for-memory.html

And, by the way, if you have something of interest to share with Pocomoke Public Eye readers.. a sentence or two, a paragraph or more.. email it to us at tkforppe@yahoo.com and we'll post it for other readers to view. 

                                                           

                                                           

A Fire Story - Tanks for the Memory

Background: The town of West, near Waco in Texas, is a town of about 3000 people – about the same size that Pocomoke was in the 1950s. In 2013, a fire and explosion at a fertilizer plant in West killed 15 people, injured over 150, and destroyed or damaged almost 300 houses. When this made national news, I immediately remembered an incident from the 1950s and wondered, “How close did we come to this type of tragedy in Pocomoke?”

No research was done for this article. The following is based purely on memory. But memories are not always accurate. They alter a little each time we replay them mentally; they get diluted and tarnished by similar experiences over the years; they may even be affected by things we see in the movies or on TV. So the following is a brief description of events as I remember them. I hope that perhaps someone who has the facts can verify or contradict – as appropriate – any of what I describe below.

It was an afternoon and I was at my Dad’s store on Clarke Ave, next to Adkins across from the intersection with Walnut street. It was  sunny as I recall, perhaps during the summer as I was not usually at the store on weekdays during the school year, but maybe this was a Saturday. Just don’t know – no Idea what year it was or how old I was.

Fire sirens sounded Not that unusual an event.  But soon the engines came racing past our store and headed out Clarke Ave towards the railroad tracks. Over the next 30 minutes we watched a parade of fire equipment from nearby towns trek past our store; Princess Anne, Snow Hill, perhaps Onancock. We watched as a small but steady stream of people on foot headed out Clarke Ave.  Someone stopped in the store. “It’s that fertilizer place, Tilghman’s, she’s ablaze!”

I went out on the sidewalk in front of our store to see a wide column of dense, black smoke towering over the landscape, With each new puff, the column grew incrementally wider. I decided to walk up the street to get a better look. “Don’t get too close!” my Mom reminded me.

By the time I got up by the railroad tracks, some kind of perimeter had been established around the fire scene and the crowd was held back at least a block, perhaps two. But the thick column of smoke continued to billow skyward, with occasional flames visibly dancing through the roof of the structure. But next to the building sat a rather large metal tank; similar to what might sit next to an oil heated house, but larger. A fine mist of water was being directed towards that tank. The following are shards of conversation from people standing around me, obviously paraphrased after so much time:

“They have to keep that tank cool.”

“They’re wettin’ it down for sure.”

“It’s full of ammonia.”

“They can’t let the fire get to it.”

“If it blows, it’ll level the whole plant.”

“If it blows it might level more’ n that.”

“Could blow the town.”

While the latter was probably exaggerated, at that point, I decided that standing there was probably not the best of ideas and headed back to my Dad’s store. After a while, I looked up the street and now saw only thin wisps of black smoke rising, and eventually they were gone as well. Someone else stopped in the store and said that two engines were going to remain at the scene overnight.

Long after I no longer lived in Pocomoke, I would often drive out Clarke Ave past the site of this fire whenever I visited; I don’t know whether that plant was rebuilt and put back in use, but I do know that for many years, well into the 1970s and I think 1980s, I would see that tank, that seemingly caused so much consternation that day – still sitting ubiquitously there. A quick look now at google maps and street view shows no sign of the tank, or the plant, but I do think that the area once occupied by the plant can still be identified.

Would love to hear from anyone who knows the facts, and I certainly wont be upset if someone has information that contradicts anything I have written here; but how close did we come to disaster that day?

(Reader comment)

Anonymous said...

I remember the incident and, yes, the fertilizer complex has been razed. At one time I knew the owner, Nash Strudwick, and all the employees on a first name basis. I, too, am going strictly from memory with no research.

I think it was the anhydrous ammonia tank and that would have been pressurized just like a propane tank. I know anhydrous is NH3 and does not particularly like water so the fireman were probably trying to cool down the tank rather than put the actual fire out. Tilghman also stored huge quantities of ammonium nitrate and that was the stuff that exploded in the Texas City explosion and was also used in the Oklahoma City bombing by Timothy McVeigh. Ammonium nitrate is usually granules called "prills" and they will explode from compression or extended heat but, for some reason, they are relatively stable in just plain fire.

One additional hazard in the area is the petroleum dock behind the fertilizer warehouse. C. K. Duncan had four large pipes that ran underground from the river to their facility on Railroad Avenue. They were for kerosene, #2 fuel oil, regular gasoline and high test gasoline. A small tanker would come up the river and offload at that dock. At one time Tilghman also received dry fertilizer from a small freighter at the same dock.

"Mel Says" Preview

                                                  

Look for Mel's full article this Wednesday here at The Pocomoke Public Eye.  Here's a preview:

A Fire Story - Tanks for the Memory

Background: The town of West, near Waco in Texas, is a town of about 3000 people – about the same size that Pocomoke was in the 1950s. In 2013, a fire and explosion at a fertilizer plant in West killed 15 people, injured over 150, and destroyed or damaged almost 300 houses. When this made national news, I immediately remembered an incident from the 1950s and wondered, “How close did we come to this type of tragedy in Pocomoke?”

(Reader comment)

Anonymous said...

I wait with bated breath. Really enjoyed his last offering and am truly looking forward to this one. Does it have anything to do with Wm. B. Tilghman Company on Clarke Avenue?

You know, I should remember Mel but I don't. I think he is maybe two or three years younger than me and I thought I know (or knew) almost everyone in Pocomoke City.

Mel says

 Pocomoke Sound (circa 1954)

What did it sound like if you lived in Pocomoke in the 1950s?

From what you’re about to read, you may think that I am saying that mid 1950s Pocomoke was a noisy place.  Quite the contrary. It was a very quiet town. The overall atmosphere was mostly silence that made these sounds all the more apparent. I can still hear these in my head and will try to describe them as best as I can. These are the sounds that broke the overall calm ambiance of 1950s era Pocomoke.

The sound of animals, both near and far away could often be heard through the otherwise silence of the day. Distant roosters could be heard greeting the dawn; the sounds of barking dogs and the occasional shriek of a cat broke the stillness of calm but hot summer days. With windows open on boiling summer nights, there was the songs of crickets and the sporadic croaking of frogs; there were no motors or humming compressors of air conditioners to interrupt the hymn of nature.

The bridge. When the Rte 13 bridge into Market street was raised to allow transit of water traffic, the sound permeated the whole downtown area. It was a ding dong sort of clanky bell sound but it was not a constant repeating tone; there were four or five different notes – and the best I can describe it is as follows:  yer-ding yer-dong ye-dare ye-ding - yer-ding yer-dong ye-dare ye-ding. Not a very good description I know, but I can still hear it in my head – and that’s what it sounds like.

Then there were the factory whistles – from local canneries I believe – and they were very loud – they could be heard for miles. I assume that these were used to announce shift changes, lunch times or whatever, but I don’t know why they needed to be heard outside of the immediate area of the plant itself. One of these canneries – I think – was out on Clarke Ave extended; the other was just across the river in Somerset County. The sound from one of these canneries was quite innocuous – just a loud constant horn-like blare that lasted 10 or 15 seconds, sometime repeated. The sound of the other was rather ghastly – like nothing I have heard – before or since. The best description I can give is to say that it sounded like a dying animal. It started out with a high pitched but loud oboe-like sound but its tone did not stay constant – it went even higher, then squealed a bit; it remained loud as the tone dropped into a bassoon-like register before finally fading to silence with a final shriek. All of this lasted about 15 seconds.

And the fire sirens that called the volunteers to fires, car crashes or any other local emergencies. These wailed at any time needed, day or night, the loud rising and falling cycles – repeated sometimes two, sometimes three or even four times – perhaps depending on the nature of the emergency. This was followed by the sound of cars speeding to the firehouse on 5^th street as volunteers responded, and then by the sound of the sirens of the emergency vehicles themselves. Especially at night, a trained ear could figure out exactly where the fire trucks were headed.

And those trains – those wonderful trains. Day or night – or middle of the night. Southbound trains announced their arrival with a series of loud horn blasts when they reached the Route 13 grade crossing about a mile north of town. Before the dieselization of the Pennsylvania Railroad, the 4-4-2 steam locomotives came stomping through town, hissing and growling while belching out clouds of black cinders as they chugged through, or stopped briefly with their coaches at the passenger station off of 2^nd St.

There were other miscellaneous sounds that punctuated the calm. Large semis rumbling along Route 13, snarling as they downshifted to stop at one of the traffic lights on Market Street. There was the occasional roar of distant drag racing cars – either legally or not; the shriek of 2x4s being cut at the Adkins Co. lumber yard off of Clarke Ave, and the not so infrequent sound of hooves clomping on the pavement, as various vendors, and farmers used horse drawn carts of various kinds to deliver goods and services to local merchants and residents. I’m sure others reading this may recall other sound that I have missed – I would love to hear about them.

(Reader comment)

 Anonymous said...

Wonderful memories! There was one sound I will never forget...

In the days before the beltway Warner Harrison made petroleum deliveries every morning from the Bagwell Marine Terminal in Onancock to Mariner Oil Company on Railroad Avenue via Market then Fourth Streets. One April morning it was extremely foggy as Warner approached the railroad crossing near Fourth and Railroad Avenue. The standard signal for a locomotive was, and still is, two long blasts on the horn followed by one short and another long. That morning a train was approaching in the dense fog and sounded the obligatory signal. Warner decided to answer back with the truck's air horn with two long, a short and another long. The engineer apparently thought another locomotive was approaching him from the opposite direction and immediately locked up the brakes. I think the brakes locked on the locomotive and every attached rail car and the squealing and grinding of metal on metal could probably be heard as far away as the Virginia line.

Great story from Mel, hope to hear from him again.

Read "Mel Says" this Tuesday

The Pocomoke Public Eye looks forward to adding a new mix to our format with "Mel Says" contributions from time to time on a variety of topics. Thanks to Mel. 

Mel grew up in Pocomoke City, graduated from Pocomoke High School then left for college and a career on the western shore.

Mel's first column will be this Tuesday. It has to do with Pocomoke City in the 1950's and his specific topic is most likely something you may not have thought about before.