“What Team?”: An essay from a student writer at Capital Area School for the Arts (CASA).

July 31, 2014 | by Annabelle van Hemert

Annabelle van Hemert

The band waited in the tunnel, the atmosphere bristling with excitement and jangled nerves.

Someone tapped twice on the brim of a friend’s shako, the marching band hat, for good luck. That started a chain reaction; band members wanted all the luck they could get. The crowd cheered from inside the stadium. A beat started to lead the other band off the field, in time. Slowly, the new band moved out into the lighted stadium. The prop team raced to set up the smoke stacks in the back of the field and gears in the front. The band marched onto the field, clumped together for a quick pep talk from their director, and hurried to their dots, their placements on the field.

The Mechanicsburg Area Senior High Marching Band would place third in the USBands Nationals Competition. Preparation for the show, “The Factory,” started at the beginning of the summer. Since the beginning of the year, the director and leaders worked on the drill, the formations of the band during the show, and the music. During band camp, an extensive two-week camp, the band worked hard to learn as much drill, flag work and music as possible.

The color guard congregated out on the field, spinning their flags, racing to get to their dots, the girls, tired and sweaty, still managing to yell out an “and we’re loving it!” toward Kristy Templin, the color guard instructor. The pit squeezed together for warm ups, playing their scales faster and faster, building up callouses on their hands. The drum line practiced not far from the pit, their rhythms echoing throughout the small town of Mechanicsburg.

Jim Weaver, the percussion director, jumped between the two sections to keep them on track. The winds stood together in two arcs, playing their own set of warm-ups, trying to tune the flutes, piccolo and saxophones. William Stowman, a Messiah College music professor, led the band. Ben Goldsborough, the band director, hung out with the winds and could be seen enthusiastically jumping up and down to get the band to play louder at the crescendos.

The band got used to winning that season. Its hard work paid off in the end, winning every competition up until Nationals. The week before Nationals, the band won first place at the Atlantic Coast Championships with a score of 97.70 and earned awards for high music, auxiliary, visual, percussion and brass.

When asking Greg Hutchison, a Lower Dauphin band director, about performing as a high schooler in his marching band, he said, “I had an incredible marching band in high school. I went to Red Land and was a part of their band when they won three Atlantic Coast Championships in four years. Performances were great because we were taught to take so much pride in what we did.”

Mechanicsburg students feel the same way. Leaving the field after the Nationals performance, the band gathered together to rate their individual performances and talk about what would happen next. As soon as everyone gathered together, Goldsborough shouted, “MECHANICSBURG, HOW DO YOU FEEL?” The band yelled a collective “HOOHAH, FEEL GOOD,” in response.

Tournament of Bands (TOB), a competitive band organization founded in 1972 by the National Judges Association for high school marching band competitions, grew from 18 bands performing in the Atlantic Coast Championships to more than 400 schools that participate in competitions in 13 states.

The Mechanicsburg Area Senior High Marching Band performed with USBands for the first time for Nationals. USBands started in 1988, by the Cadets, to allow high school bands to perform in advanced competitions with top judges.

The Cadets, the founders of USBands, started as a program for boys in a church parish in the 1930s. In 1940, they won the American Legion Junior National Championship. They broke away from the parish in 1958, began their own organization, and placed second in Legion Nationals. The Cadets proceeded to become World Class Champions throughout the years.

USBands judge in a more difficult way than TOB, So, that morning, Mechanicsburg borrowed Cresskill High School’s football field to practice and perfect the details. The band arrived at the field in the morning and got right to work. The color guard took over the field. The drummers went their own way. The pit set up at the front of the field. The band went over to an open air to work on music and marching techniques, practicing until lunchtime, with a break for subs and chips. Then, they came out and worked some more. They gathered all together for group ensemble time, where every section practiced the show together to make sure everything fit together.

The band members nearly sprinted to their dots. The color guard ran around them, simultaneously waving and tossing their flags and rifles. The drumline, avoiding any collisions with the band members, crab stepped, a march that requires crossing one leg over the other, and yelled out the garbled phrases they use to remember what to do. The pit, using all its instruments, focused on keeping perfect time.

Judges used a 100-point system when judging a band’s show. They raced around the band members, glorifying the good components, catching the meaning behind the show, but pointing out feet not marching in time, bad technique and weak crescendos. They look for dropped flags and rifles in the color guard.

Sound touched silence. The beat moved faster. The last notes of the song ended together in a tired, but triumphant manner. The band exited the field.

The band director stood in the middle of the group, completely surrounded by sweaty, out-of-breath teens. He asked if any of them scored their individual performance less than a five. No one raised their hands. Six? Same response. Seven? None. Eight? A couple hands popped up in the air. Nine? More hands. Ten? Everyone else raised their hands, proud of their hard work.

The band hurried to the buses to put away the instruments and returned to the stadium for awards. The seniors are sent out before the ceremony to prepare to collect the awards. The rest of the group headed to the stands. They waited group by group, until they heard Group IV Open Class’s awards. The members linked arms, completely silent as they waited to hear the scores. Third place: Mechanicsburg Area Senior High School Marching Band. Cheers and screams erupted, but the band quickly quieted down to applaud the rest of the bands. Pride took over, knowing they earned and deserved this moment.

“With Child:” An essay from a student writer at Capital Area School for the Arts (CASA).

July 31, 2014 | by Quadriya Cogman

Quadriya Cogman

In my school, I knew at least one student pregnant with her first child.

Society would lump her into the category of “teen mom” and be more likely to judge and dismiss her without digging deeper into her story. The notion that a teenager, pregnant or not, could be that easily dismissed bothered me enough to gather a panel of fellow teens to discuss teen pregnancy. One of the members of the panel appeared visibly nervous. When she noticed my notebook, she took a few deep breaths to prepare for the interview.

Basketball all-star MW enjoyed life as a normal teenager, but a doctor’s appointment changed all that. During a routine physical, the doctor pronounced her to be eight-and-a-half-months pregnant. Denying that she had only a few weeks to prepare for a newborn, the 14-year-old didn’t know what to do. She said she had no symptoms whatsoever. Knowing only how to be a teenager—showing up for practice, studying, socializing—she didn’t know if she wanted to take on the role of motherhood.

“When I found out that I was expecting a child in a few weeks, I started to think about my consequences. I started to wonder what people would think of me. I didn’t know if I could handle being judged,” she said.

Teen pregnancy is defined by the University of Maryland as pregnancy of a girl under the age of 20. Teen pregnancy remains the highest in industrialized countries. Almost 85 percent of these teen pregnancies are unplanned, meaning that 820,000 teens under the age of 20 become teen mothers each year. They have to drop some of the things they never thought they would have to let go of, so soon in their young lives.

As I wrote down the young mother’s answers to her shocking story, she lowered her head. I knew something bothered her because feelings of another participant during the interview became tense.

“I had to sacrifice a lot in life to care for my child. Even if it meant basketball, friends, or being a party girl.”

She sounded like a sad tune ready to burst when it hit the high note. “I chose to keep and care for my daughter,” she said. When a teenage girl becomes pregnant, she only has three options: abortion, adoption or keeping the baby.

“Discovering and going through a pregnancy forever changes a woman, both mentally and physically,” said Dr. Stephanie Diamond, my pediatrician. “Many teen girls who believe they are not capable to care for a child will choose abortion or adoption. Looking from the outside in, teens who are so wrapped up in their teen lives don’t want to throw it all away only because they have a child. So, to avoid all the motherhood behaviors, they abort them. Many teens who do birth their child prefer to keep it because they can’t see themselves giving away a human they’ve grown attached to. Teens who believe that they cannot meet the satisfaction of a child financially, emotionally and physically will sometimes choose adoption.”

Dr. Diamond emphasized: “Newborns require your full attention day and night.”

On his website, FindYouthInfo.gov, Dr. Stanley Swierzewski discussed the effects of teen pregnancy and how it complicates a teen’s life. “Teenage pregnancy is an important issue,” he said. “Having a child can cause stress and low energy.”

Due to the human body not having enough hours of sleep, teen moms can become associated with low income, substance abuse or falling behind in school, Swierzewski said. The website shows how a child of a teen mom can greatly complicate life with behavioral problems or repeating the cycle of the birth parent.

Most teens are friends, or have been acquainted with, a teen parent. When I entered the lunchroom, a group of girls sat at the lunch table giggling and having fun, so I asked what they thought about teen parents.

“Sometimes, people seem to jump to conclusions when this topic is brought up, but I wonder what their story is?” said Caitlyn, a senior at CASA.

I asked what if you were to see a teen mother emotional and helpless? “Well, there’s not much you can do, but show them your support instead of standing there judging them on what may or may not have been their fault,” Brittany, a junior, stated.

As I questioned them, I noticed the young girls looked puzzled. I could tell they wondered why I chose this specific title. I told them I wanted to get the viewpoint of how others truly see teen moms rather than how society views teen parents.

“In the United States, the title of ‘single mother’ creates several assumptions about the mother’s ability to care for her child,” according to the website www.2.websters.edu.

Teen parents struggling to stay out of poverty settle for a minimum wage job to support their children on her own, but it may perpetuate the stereotypes of teen mothers, like becoming a high school dropout, which could lead to poverty, substance abuse and irresponsibility. These are some stereotypes that teen mothers face in today’s society, according to www.babygaga.com.

“Most people enter parenthood with dreams about satisfying, rewarding relationships with their child as they grow and develop successfully,” stated Fredric Reamer, Ph,D., at the Rhode Island College Graduate Social Work Program.

“A struggling teen can feel like an assault on a parent’s dreams, abilities and confidence,” he said. “A parent who has a daughter who’s a teen mother often second- or third-guesses their decisions and judgments. They tend to abandon their rich fantasies and learn how to accept and honor the real child they have. One of life’s greatest challenge is accepting painful truths.”

Coffee, Tea & History: For four decades, Kauffman’s has blended fine beverages, friendships.

July 31, 2014 | by Susan Ryder

A simple wooden sign hangs outside the unassuming door. Upon walking inside, I hear the chime of a hospitable bell and view a scene from years past. Glass jars with gold lettering line the shelves, chalkboards listing the available goods hang on the walls, and an ancient, silent cash register sits on the counter.

Kauffman’s, Coffee, Tea and Spice has resided in downtown Lemoyne for 36 years. Owner Betty Dorsey recounts that she and friend Barb Shultz bought the business, originally located in Harrisburg’s Shipoke neighborhood, 41 years ago.

“Why don’t we just shut up and buy it,” was Dorsey’s response to their indecision about purchasing the closing business.

They moved it to Lemoyne because they couldn’t afford to purchase the Shipoke building and because Lemoyne had greater customer traffic. Dorsey’s partner sold her part of the business to return to school five years into their venture. Dorsey’s husband, deceased for three years, served as the president of the Local Council of Churches, so she ran the business mostly by herself with the help of their children.

While Kauffman’s is an old-fashioned shop, there’s nothing old about Betty Dorsey. This forward-thinking pastor’s wife started a small business at a time when only about 15 percent of women entered the workforce.

She said that Kauffman’s is different than most teashops because it doesn’t just serve tea. It also sells a variety of products, including pastries prepared by Dorsey’s friend.

Kauffman’s dusty blackboards reveal the treasures within. Its loose teas, 35 types, include the exotic Russian gold, peony white and jasmine teas, as well as the more traditional Ceylon, Earl Grey and English breakfast. Tea lovers can also enjoy teas flavored with black currant, apple, apricot or Kauffman’s blend mint tea.

When speaking of tea, she explains that there is “tea the plant and tea the drink.”

“Tea the drink is not always tea the plant,” she said, referring to the fact that tea, in the broad sense, is a beverage created when leaves, berries or roots are steeped in hot water. Tea, in the strict sense, is a beverage made with the tea plant, Camellia sinensis.

Coffee rounds out the beverage menu with 25 varieties, including Sumatran, French roast, Guatemalan and Kona. All coffee is whole bean and ground on the premises for customers to take home or French-pressed to enjoy in the shop. Dorsey’s extensive travels in Europe have influenced her ideas about coffee, and she wrinkles her nose at any mention of a coffee-brewing method other than French press—it just doesn’t taste good, she believes.

Kauffman’s doesn’t restrict itself to selling beverages; it also deals in spices. Spices make up about a quarter of its business. Common kitchen spices—basil, oregano and thyme—line the shelves, which also include the less common saffron, whole nutmeg seeds and the mysterious tellicherry, a type of black pepper.

The place is full of breakables, but, in the corner on a simple wooden chair, are two handmade cloth dolls for children to play with when they come in. Dorsey wants people to feel comfortable bringing their children into the shop.

“It’s a special little coffeehouse,” said Fred, a regular at Kauffman’s.

He likes that it’s quiet with no cell phones or blenders making what he unapologetically calls “non-coffee” drinks. According to Fred, drinking tea or coffee at Kauffman’s, with the classical music in the background, feels like sitting in a living room.

“It’s like a bed and breakfast of coffee and tea,” he said.

What’s also special about Kauffman’s is that it sells a unique blend of Sumatran, house blend, Italian and Tanzanian coffee, which is sold under an acronym that most people would find vulgar. At Kauffman’s, though, Folgers is the only swear word.

When asked if she ever thought about updating the place, Dorsey replied “no way.” The early-1900s cash register only rings up to $6.95, but Dorsey has never considered changing a thing. She weighs her goods on a vintage scale, writes up sales on slips of paper and uses a calculator to tally up the cost. With a confident smile, she said that Kauffman’s style has gotten her where she wants to be.

About the only modern items at Kauffman’s are the various brewing devices available for purchase. The shop sells French presses and specialized tea brewers that go beyond the typical loose tea infuser.

Justin Walters, owner of JW Music just over the bridge and down the street from Kauffman’s, said that his parents went to Kauffman’s regularly and that his dad refused to buy coffee anywhere else. So, when his parents could no longer travel, Walters would make a special trip to Kauffman’s to purchase coffee for his dad—Colombian supreme.

Like most people who know the store, Walters’ face lights up when he talks about it, and a broad smile comes across his face. “It brings back memories,” he said.

Leaving Kauffman’s Coffee, Tea and Spices feels like leaving an old friend, even if you’ve just met. The aged wooden floor creaks as I walk to the door, the bell peals a goodbye, and Dorsey and friend wave a friendly farewell. Stepping out into the noisy street with a small brown bag full of delicious possibilities, I look forward to my next visit.

Kauffman’s Coffee, Tea and Spice is located at 222 S. 3^rd St., Lemoyne. Call 717-763-0829 or visit the Facebook page.

“I, the Runt:” Short fiction from a student writer at Capital Area School for the Arts (CASA).

July 31, 2014 | by Kelsee Baker

Kelsee Baker

They say the runt of the litter is the first one to die. They say it’s the weakest, that it won’t grow up and become strong like the other pups.

At least that’s what my father told me.

Me, the runt out of four older, tougher brothers who’d already learned to hold their liquor by the time they were 12. I shouldn’t have to tell you how hard it was growing up in a house dominated by this drunken, masochistic excuse of a family. It didn’t take long for me, the skinny little runt, to learn my place in the liquor-soaked patriarchy led by my father.

I kept to myself most of the time, finding solace in taking long walks down the boulevard during the day and bumming cigarettes outside of Dega’s Play and Trade at night. Tuesday nights were the best at Dega’s. Five bucks and you could get in to see all of the city’s greatest underground folk acts. Not to mention that Dega’s was the only place that had a liquor license, booze always flowing and the tunes always rolling into the night.

It was after a few of those intoxicated escapades when I started to realize how consumed I was by the environment around me. I constantly offered to buy more rounds, refused to stop downing drinks when it was time to close; but there was something else, something a little smaller and nearly unnoticeable had I not begun to tap my foot along to one of the musician’s common-time beat.

Stumbling closer to the stage, I drowned everything out and focused on his fingers picking away on his acoustic. Delving further into this musical bubble slowly encasing me, he began to sing:

“Life used to be good. Now look what I’ve done.

I’ve ruined my temple with drugs. My mind is gone.”

A whirlwind of memories started to play in my head—all the nights I’ve wasted here, drunk and falling into debt. His words sent shivers down my spine.

“How did I get this way? It’s so unreal.

I’m no longer a person. I can’t even feel.”

His stage presence was haunting. I closed my eyes to delve further into the music, shaping my fingers to each chord. I was in tears by the end of his set.

A roar of applause erupted from the crowd, and it was at that moment when I realized what I wanted to do with my life. I, the runt, was no longer going to wallow around in the filth created by my booze-laden household. I, the runt, realized what it was going to take to get me out of the shithole life I was living.

I managed to get a stable amount of pay busing tables at a diner not far from my house and began to save money for a used guitar from Dega’s. Saving money was easier said than done, as I was able to rake in a decent amount of profit only to blow it all again with drinks and cheap thrills. After an ebb and flow over three months, I was able to save about $40, not enough for a great guitar, but it was enough to get something playable.

After one of my evening shifts, I brought my savings jar home and put it above the refrigerator to conceal it from the family. I planned to take it to the bank the next day so I could be on the way to my future.

I slept better than I had in months, probably over-confident of the fact that I’d finally been able to save enough for a guitar. Filled to the brim with excitement, I bounded downstairs to the fridge, feeling my hand around for the jar, but I could only feel air.

Frantic, I began to pace around the kitchen, trying to recollect if I’d moved the jar during the night. Running about the house, I milled through every room until I was interrupted by the drunken steps of my brothers stumbling inside. I poked my head around the corner, and, lo and behold, there was the jar swinging back and forth in one of their hands.

“What the hell, you guys? Did you spend all that?” I grabbed the jar.

“Uh, yeah, we went to Dega’s and got what? Four, five rounds?” They started to laugh, drunk off their asses and completely carefree.

“It took me three months, three damn months to save all of that, and you shitheads blew it all on booze! What the hell is wrong with you?” They keeled over from laughing. Filling with anger, I clenched my hands into fists, ready to throw a punch. If they’d have been sober, there was no chance I’d get out of a fight without at least one swollen eye. But drunk, I could pack in a few before they’d have a chance to fight back.

As their laughter reach a crescendo, I could take no more. I closed my eyes and poured all my anger out through my fists, slugging left and right, not caring where the hits landed. A few muffled grunts and small screams ensued before I opened my eyes.

All four of my brothers sprawled on the floor, eyes swollen and blood flowing from their noses and small cuts on their faces. I looked down at my hands, bright red and raw from the sheer force of my bottled-up frustration. Behind me, I heard the sound of someone clapping slowly. I turned around to face my father, grinning from ear to ear.

“Well, son, I didn’t think you had that in you. You aren’t as weak as I thought.” He crossed the room and put a hand on my shoulder.

“But dad, you don’t understand. I spent so much time trying to get money for a guitar, and those idiots spent it on booze. I’m glad I did it, but I shouldn’t have beat the shit out of them like that.”

“How much did you save up?” he asked, and I explained how hard it was trying to get money in between struggling with my own alcoholism and sheer laziness. Knowing that he probably cared less and less the more I spoke, I wasn’t surprised when he stopped listening entirely and walked away. One by one, my brothers left the kitchen, leaving me with the empty jar. The awkward silence that ensues after a heated discussion suffocated me.

What else could I do at this point but move on? I was most likely going to fall further into alcoholism, end up a poor old man, and die a lonely death like all of the other men in my family. Oddly so, I felt a queer satisfaction from the thought of living the rest of my life in frustration, trying to piece together this hellish puzzle I called a life.

Healthy Appetite: Crave & Co. brings good food, good-for-you to Harrisburg’s cafe culture.

July 31, 2014 | by Stephanie Kalina-Metzger

Kristin Messner-Baker is a woman of action.

After graduating from the University of Pittsburgh with a degree in creative writing, she went on to study at the Pennsylvania State/Dickinson School of Law. She then embarked on a variety of endeavors, including running for office in South Middleton Township.

Along the way, she purchased property in downtown Harrisburg, where she wore the hat of landlord for about a decade while practicing law with her mother Dorothy Mott and raising five children—Ethan, 19, David, 16, Sensi, 10, Bowie, 6 and Bijou,4.

When Messner-Baker took on the role of busy mom, she became acutely aware of the dearth of fast, accessible, on-the-go healthy food and dreamed of filling that niche “someday.”

Well, “someday” arrived this year when tenants moved out of her property at 614 N. 2nd St., ushering in a new beginning. Messner-Baker was finally ready to fulfill her dream of running an organic coffee shop featuring vegetarian food.

She and her husband, John Baker, decided to call their business “Crave & Co.” and began gutting the building, which once housed a barbershop. They used their collective creativity to give the café a contemporary, yet homey, feel. Attractive exposed brick lines the wall where customers place their orders, and a large window adds a bright, airy feel to the space.

“We uncovered that when we renovated,” said Messner-Baker, seemingly incredulous that someone would block off such a find.

Framed posters of rock stars like Joan Jett, John Lennon, Kurt Cobain and Bob Dylan contribute to the hip vibe, while red-and-white striped tables and chalkboards displaying the couple’s artistic talents add a hint of whimsy to the establishment.

John, who works as a teacher, is spending his summer side-by-side with Kristin. At times, you can find him drawing decorative designs with chalk on the front sidewalk, having a friendly chat with customers, or strumming a guitar outside the café.

The menu has been in the works for some time.

“I found some of the recipes on the Internet, then adapted and streamlined them,” said Kristin.

“Yes, and I was the benefactor of all this creativity and tried all the versions of her food,” added John.

Their tagline: “We aim to satiate.”

Breakfast customers on the go can grab a healthy blueberry muffin or a sprouted wheat bagel topped with organic cream cheese, preserves or peanut butter. An egg, tomato and cheddar breakfast sandwich served on pita is another option for a hearty meal and can be accompanied by a cup of Jim’s organic coffee or a variety of teas like burdock, chai or dandelion root—or just plain black, for the more conventional.

Lunch options include a popular curried egg salad sandwich, an equally well-liked Israeli sandwich featuring roasted eggplant, egg, hummus cucumber and tomato, or a black bean and quinoa burger, to name just a few.

Mikee Bentz, who heads the Harrisburg chapter of March Against Monsanto, an organization that advocates for non-genetically modified foods, lives up the block from Crave & Co. and is thrilled to have a healthy food option in his neighborhood.

“I love going there because, as a person who supports an organic lifestyle and local consumerism, I can vote with my dollar and put my money where my mouth is,” he said.

His favorite sandwich is the curried egg salad, and the coffee is an added plus.

“I am a huge coffee lover, so it’s great to know that I can walk half a block and grab a cup of organic coffee,” he said.

Monica Kline of Myerstown is also a fan and thanks her brother for putting Crave & Co. on her radar.

“My office is on State Street, and we always try to patronize local restaurants,” said Kline, whose choices are somewhat limited due to dietary sensitivities.

When she visits, she usually orders the kale and quinoa salad, which is tossed with pecans, currants and feta cheese.

“I just love the blending of good food, and that’s what they’re doing at Crave,” she said, adding that the drinks, like the ginger tea with blueberry, are very good also.

The Bakers are hoping to expand their hours as the business ramps up, and an open mic night might not be too far into the future.

“Kristin has the best of both worlds, where she can now mix her creative side with her technical side,” said John. “She has the poet, coffee-shop persona. It was part of her, so now she has come full circle.”

Crave & Co. is at 614 N. 2nd St., Harrisburg. Hours are Monday through Friday, 7 a.m. to 2 p.m. and Saturday, 9 a.m. to 2 p.m. More information is at www.craveandco.com.

Swimming Lesson: A brief history of Harrisburg’s public pools.

July 31, 2014 | by Paul Barker

Screenshot 2014-07-30 21.14.24 “My hungry body’s burning for a swim,” the Jamaican-born Harlem Renaissance poet Claude McKay wrote in his poem “Thirst,” from his 1922 collection “Harlem Shadows.” For city dwellers in the midst of a hot summer, there’s no relief quite as sweet as jumping into a pool. And yet, for the past few summers, Harrisburg residents have had only one city pool in which to swim.

That’s expected to change this month, as the city plans to reopen the pool at Hall Manor after making some short-term repairs. The Hall Manor pool, at the end of S. 18^th Street in south Harrisburg, was closed in 2012 due to leaks, and, according to city engineer Wayne Martin, it will also require extensive concrete work and a new paint job before it can be used. The necessary repairs, which began in July, represent part of an estimated $210,000 in renovations to both pools planned over the next year, to be paid for out of federal community development funds.

The administration of Mayor Eric Papenfuse announced the renovations in late June, shortly after the launch of its “Summer in the City” promotional campaign. “We chose the pools because we consider them critical to our public safety strategy as well as our summer enrichment strategy,” Papenfuse said, when asked about the project at a press conference in July. “We need two pools just to handle the demand. But also, we want to give kids and families something productive and happy to do.”

The other city pool is on N. 6^th Street in Midtown, located behind the Jackson Lick public housing apartment towers and the Ben Franklin School. Both pools were substantially renovated in the late ‘90s. The initial investment will yield scant returns this year, as the Hall Manor opening, expected to be around Aug. 15, will only provide for two weeks of swimming before the summer ends. But, according to Martin, the repairs planned over the next year should extend the pools’ useful life by between 10 and 15 years.

“The Hall Manor pool has been closed for years, just neglected and forgotten about, and we said, ‘No, we’re gonna make fixing it a real priority.’ And it looks like we’re going to be able to get it up and running,” Papenfuse said. “We think that’s a wise investment of city dollars.”

Harrisburg undertook the construction of its two pools in the spring of 1968, under Republican Mayor Albert Straub.

“Big Al” Straub, whom the journalist Paul Beers, in a column in the Patriot-News, once described as “a senior-citizen sex symbol with a square jaw and a silver mane,” had taken office that January. Not unlike the current mayor’s initiative, the Straub administration’s efforts formed part of a citywide investment in recreation. Over the next year, the city would pledge more than $1 million—including $150,000 from a private donor—towards constructing the pools and developing playgrounds at seven city locations.

The recreation project came at a time of change and unrest. The city itself was shrinking: the U.S. census reported a loss of nearly 10,000 residents in the 1950s, and another 11,000 in the 1960s. On April 4, three months into Straub’s term, Martin Luther King, Jr., was assassinated. That summer, the school district, having been cited for “racial imbalance” by the state Human Relations Commission, drafted a plan to bus black students into three predominantly white schools. Less than a year later, pupils at John Harris High would boycott an afternoon assembly on the basis of, as Beers later wrote, “inadequate recognition of the recent Black History Week.” Harrisburg’s race riot flared only a few months afterwards.

The Hall Manor pool’s construction was delayed one year, but the Jackson Lick pool opened on Aug. 9, 1968, a Friday morning. At the time, the Jackson Lick apartment towers housed families with children, and in the days leading up to the opening, a residents’ association had raised safety questions in connection with the pool’s chain link fences, which some parents worried could be hopped by children. The association was also irked over a “complete lack of communication between the city and the tenants,” according to its president, Helen Moore. By opening day, the city had assuaged Moore by promising to post a night watchman at the pool and by inviting association leaders to sit with other city officials on opening day.

According to a report the next day in the Patriot, Straub led a 20-minute ceremony under a “hot noonday sun.” Perhaps in apology for construction delays, he announced that the public could use the pool free of charge for the remainder of the season. (Full admission prices would take effect the following summer—25 cents per visitor, or $8 for a family season pass.) While the mayor spoke, “kids and some parents stood impatiently by in swimming togs waiting for the program to end.” When it did, the report adds, “approximately 300 children entered the pool in 10 minutes.” Moore, of the residents’ association, remarked that she’d “never seen a happier bunch of children.”

On a recent weekday, during a few days’ break from summer temperatures, the men’s locker room at the Jackson Lick pool was empty. An inch-deep pool of standing water sat at the feet of a row of stalls. Outside, on the walk to the pool, a man named Andre sold sno-cones and candy out of a small garage. Andre owns a furniture store on S. Cameron Street, one of several businesses displaced by the massive fire at a nearby vehicle salvage business in May. At the snack stand, he said, he was merely standing in for the head of the operation—his 10-year-old daughter.

The Jackson Lick pool sits on a sloping rectangle of scrabbly grass in the shadow of the tinted-glass PHEEA building. On the other side is the Ben Franklin School, whose windows face directly onto the pool. In May, you would think this would prove a form of torture for the middle-school students, except that the pool isn’t filled until the school year ends. (Maybe it’s a form of torture anyway.) A pair of managers watched from under a sun umbrella, while perhaps 20 or 30 children, many from a nearby daycare, splashed around, tossed Nerf footballs, or dove from the boards. Behind them, a smaller, circular wading pool, filled, but with a broken pump, sat unused, its floor growing a brown-green fuzz.

It was a peaceful day, with lifeguards lazing at their posts and objects on the periphery—a crumpled stretch of fence, a dusty picnic table—looking quaintly timeworn. Nonetheless, the pool has seen its share of excitement over the years. Across the street, Keith Myers, a maintenance supervisor for the Harrisburg Housing Authority, reminisced about some of the wilder times. “Kids would sneak in at midnight, throw their towels over the fence,” he said. He recalled the discovery, several years back, of large bags of marijuana in the attic of the bathhouse, a gun battle that left bullets in the side of one of the apartment towers, and, most peculiarly, a deer bolting out from what used to be a woodsy patch adjacent to the parking lot.

Myers started with the housing authority in 1982. A year or two before, the organization had removed families from the southern tower, named for Alton W. Lick, and converted the building into apartments for people over 55. Before then, the tower had attracted gang activity. “Mayor Reed was calling us ‘Hall Manor in the sky,’” Myers said. The northern tower, named for C. Sylvester Jackson, was vacated in 2004 and is currently under renovation. Both of the buildings have 13 floors, which, in defiance of the superstition, are labeled 1 through 13 in the elevators. For the convenience of residents, many of whom are disabled, a wheelchair ramp was added to the Jackson Lick pool during a renovation in the 1990s.

In 1998, the city introduced a pool program that had nothing to do with swimming. Called the “Get Hooked on Fishing Derby,” it involved filling the pool with striped bass after it had closed for the season in September. In 2006, according to a press release from the office of former Mayor Stephen Reed, the city dumped in 1,100 12-inch stripers, 30 of which had been tagged with the names of various city celebrities. Anglers who hooked them would receive a special prize.

Bob Herman, the president of Capital City Bassmasters, the local BassPro Shop’s house fishing club, recalled that his members would team up with the city to help young fishermen manage their rods. “It was a mess,” he said. “You can imagine, kids around a swimming pool…we’d have, like, 20 kids at a time all tangled up.” The event was abandoned in later years, as the city’s deepening fiscal crisis led to a budgetary clampdown.

The present-day pool prices—$5 per visitor, $150 for a family of six—can make the city pools’ early years seem like ancient history. And, as far as I know, Harrisburg has no imminent plans to fill the Jackson Lick pool with stripers. But, for the first summer in a while, if only for a few weeks, it should once again have a second pool.

A Meal, a Memory: Caruso’s may be gone, but the melody lingers.

July 31, 2014 | by Rosemary Ruggieri Baer

Harrisburg’s restaurant scene has changed so much in recent years.

The places we considered “landmarks” in the city are gone: the Maverick (great steaks and a lobster fest in June), Italian classics at Lombardo’s (seafood fra diablo), the Esquire Room in the old Penn Harris (great burgers), and Santanna’s on 2nd Street with the fish tank at the door and hard shell crabs by the bushel.

We have new places to love now: Carley’s and Stock’s; Mangia Qui and Char’s; Café Fresco and Home 231; Bricco and El Sol; and many wonderful casual spots like the Federal Taphouse, Arepa City, Pastorante, Alvaro and Crawdaddy’s.

But driving on Chestnut Street in downtown Harrisburg always brings back memories of a little bistro that was very dear to my heart. Many years are gone since Dennis and Terry Snyder opened Caruso’s not far from the train station near what now is Bricco. It was a tiny place with a front-facing window, forest green walls decked with Italian art, and, on weekdays, the sounds of opera softly playing in the background. Caruso’s smelled like an Italian restaurant should smell, in my view: of olive oil and garlic.

It was the early ‘80s, and our children were very little back then. When my family could babysit, we would sneak out to Caruso’s for a late dinner, usually on a Saturday night. The little bistro was always bustling and, on weekends, Carl Iba, violinist for the Harrisburg Symphony, would stroll and play all night. I can never hear music from “Fiddler on the Roof” without thinking of him.

The food was wonderful: homemade pasta, fresh fish from Baltimore, chicken and meat dishes, all prepared in classic Mediterranean style. Terry made all the desserts herself. Her specialty was zuccotto, a chilled cake, brandy, chocolate and cream dessert prepared in a rounded mold. It was always on the menu. Lacrima Christi and Cortese di Gavi were always available for perfect wine accompaniments.

I still remember my first meal at Caruso’s: homemade spinach fettuccine with gorgonzola cream sauce and chicken with vinegar peppers. It was delightful. And, after that, we were regulars.

For this month’s column and as a tribute to Caruso’s, I searched and searched for a recipe for chicken with vinegar peppers to share with TheBurgreaders that was reminiscent of that first meal. I found a recipe by Bobby Flay called “Chicken and Peppers in Balsamic Vinegar Sauce”and decided to give it a try:

Heat 3 tablespoons olive oil in a medium Dutch oven over moderately high heat (I used my cast iron Le Creuset) until it shimmers.
Pat dry 8 chicken thighs (bone in or boneless) with a paper towel and season with salt and pepper. Brown the thighs in batches (give them room!) until golden brown, about 4 minutes per side. Remove each batch to a clean plate until the others are done and before adding the peppers.
Cut 3 bell peppers (I used red, yellow and green) into thin strips and add to the casserole. Cook the peppers about 5 minutes until slightly soft. (August is a great month for peppers.)
Add 4 cloves chopped garlic and toss with the peppers about 1 minute.
Then add 1 tablespoon tomato paste and cook for another minute, working the paste through the pepper mixture.
Add 1 cup balsamic vinegar (I used a good white balsamic) and cook the pepper mixture until the vinegar is reduced by half.
Add 2 tablespoons honey and a cup of low sodium chicken broth and cook for 5 minutes more. The heat should still be moderately high.
Return the chicken to the pot, reduce the heat to medium, and cover the lid. Simmer the chicken until completely cooked through (at least 30 minutes) and then remove the lid.
Remove the chicken to a platter and then boil down the sauce a little to thicken.
Pour the sauce over the chicken and sprinkle with chopped Italian parsley.

We loved this dish. I served it with rice for him and creamy mashed Yukon gold potatoes for me. Sliced summer tomatoes with chopped basil would be a nice accompaniment to the chicken, along with chilled melon slices.

Now, as a matter of full disclosure, this dish was very different from my first cherished entree at Caruso’s. (I will have to keep searching.) But writing this column brought back wonderful memories of that special place. Here’s to a little restaurant on Chestnut Street that was decades ahead of its time. Salute!

Gael Force Fun: McLain Celtic Festival celebrates 2 decades of heritage, music, fun.

July 31, 2014 | by Don Helin

Fáilte!

In Irish Gaelic, that means “welcome,” and you’re sure to feel welcomed this month at the McLain Celtic Festival.

On Aug. 30, the festival celebrates its 20^th anniversary at the Two Mile House in Carlisle. This family-oriented festival is an opportunity to immerse oneself in traditional Celtic music and food and learn more about the heritage of Scotland, Ireland and Wales.

I had something of a personal introduction to the festival. I met the director, Joan McBride and her husband, Jay, on a trip to Ireland a few years ago.

“Everybody thinks the Germans were here in Cumberland County first, but as a matter of fact, 90 percent of Cumberland County residents were Scotch-Irish in the early 18^th century,” Joan said. “Through this festival, I wanted to share the exciting things I’ve learned about my Irish heritage during the 11 trips I’ve taken to Ireland over the past 15 years.”

At the festival, you’ll see authentic Highland athletics, border collie demonstrations, Scottish clans, vendors with Celtic goods and musical entertainment, including folk singers, bands and dancers. Come prepared to enjoy toe-tapping music, tasty food and plenty of craic (Irish word for fun).

An Irish Heritage

The festival has always been at the Two Mile House.

“At first,” Joan explained, “part of the festival was held on land borrowed from the phone company, but, as the festival grew, we cleared land, so now we use all five acres of the property. Eight years ago, we built a permanent stage to replace the rented stage we had to bolt together every year.”

The Two Mile House, named for its distance from the Carlisle town square, was built in 1820 and, from 1826 to 1857, housed the James Given Tavern. Given hailed from Colerain in Northern Ireland and saw to it that travelers could stop to quench their thirst, spend the night and enjoy the tavern’s simple fare.

Mary Wheeler King bequeathed the property to the Cumberland County Historical Society in 1992, and the society has been the steward of the mansion, preserving and maintaining it, since.

Celtic Sounds

For Joan, the festival revolves around the music, a form that has become widely known and admired throughout the world.

“I love traditional Celtic music,” she said, “and that’s what we bring to our two stages.”

Performing this year will be Across the Pond, Fire in the Glen, Iona, Mark Maurer, Celtic Martins and Charlie Zahm. The Coyle School of Irish Dance and the Scottish Country Dancers will be on the Glen Stage, and the Quittapahilla Highlanders Pipes and Drums will provide traditional bagpipe music.

Joan told me she has watched the Celtic Martins perform over the years, and it’s been fun to see the kids grow into top-flight performers.

“The family consists of mom and dad, three girls, three boys and a son-in-law playing a wide range of instruments, including fiddles, bagpipes and tin whistles,” she said. “And the girls do Irish step dancing while playing their fiddles.”

Joan’s husband, Jay, particularly loves the food.

“You’ll find a full assortment of traditional Celtic food,” he explained, “including fish and chips, bangers and mash, Scotch eggs and tasty meat pies. For the more American flavor, try the BBQ, burgers or hot dogs.”

Cabers and Shires

In addition to the music and food, two perennial attractions are the athletic competitions and the historical re-enactors.

Highland athletics features several events, including throwing 16- to 22-pound stones for strength (similar to shot put) and distance (similar to discus), a sheaf toss for height and the caber toss. A caber is a 15- to 20-foot tapered pole weighing 90 to 140 pounds. The object is to flip it end over end. Usually, there are 8 to 10 men in kilts participating.

There is a full selection of mini-Highland athletics for the younger generation. Children can learn how to toss a “mini-caber” using a cardboard tube. For the sheaf toss, kids can demonstrate their strength and skill with a hay-filled burlap bag. Both of these events are quite a challenge for youngsters—exciting for them and fun for adults to watch.

“I also enjoy the re-enactors who join us at the festival,” Joan remarked.

For example, the Shire of Blak Rose group of the Society for Creative Anachronism is an international living history group with the aim of studying and recreating medieval European cultures and their histories before the 17^th century. The group will display different projects depicting the various aspects of life in the Dark Ages through the Middle Ages in the Celtic world. The ladies in the Shire will bring a variety of crafts, including needlework and tailoring of period clothing.

The Scottish Society of Central Pennsylvania promotes an interest in the history, culture and traditions of Scotland and Scottish Americans. The group will be on hand with a display of different clan tartans.

The motto of the Welsh Society of the Greater Harrisburg Area is, “to be born Welsh is to be born privileged, not with a silver spoon in your mouth, but with music in your heart and poetry in your soul.” Their display will include photos of Wales, along with the symbols of Wales—the dragon and the daffodil.

Another group, Muskets of the Crown, is dedicated to preserving and demonstrating the life of the 18th-century British Soldier in North America. During the festival, they will portray the grenadier companies of two Scottish Highland Regiments, including the Black Watch. They also will demonstrate how to take nine yards of tartan and fold it into the “great” kilt.

I attended the festival last year, and it was great fun. I learned about Celtic heritage and enjoyed the music and dance. And I must agree with Jay about one very important thing. The fish and chips? Outstanding.

Going There

The McLain Celtic Festival is Saturday, Aug. 30 from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. at the Two Mile House, 1189 Walnut Bottom Rd., Carlisle, just two miles west of the town center. Tickets are $10 and children under 10 are free. No pets allowed. For more information, call 717-243-3437 or visit www.historicalsociety.com.

Don Helin published his first thriller, “Thy Kingdom Come,” in 2009. His second, “Devil’s Den,” has been selected as a finalist in the Indie Book Awards. He lives in central Pennsylvania and his latest thriller, “Secret Assault,” was published in June. Contact Don on his website, www.donhelin.com.

Residential Resurrection: You know that cruddy, old office building where you got your first job? It might just be the latest thing in stylish downtown living.

July 31, 2014 | by Lawrance Binda

In June, Jennifer Lazarski moved into a one-bedroom apartment in downtown Harrisburg.

Normally, this would hardly be a remarkable event, as downtown has a number of apartment buildings, large and small, and people come and go all the time.

Lazarski, though, was a pioneer of sorts. She became one of the first tenants at 130 Locust St., a high-end, office-to-residential conversion that suddenly has become the next big thing in downtown living.

“I wanted to be downtown,” said the 28-year-old Lazarski, a nurse at Harrisburg Hospital. “Now, I can walk to work and to restaurants or to have a drink with friends.”

Lazarski was living in Hershey, but found the commute “frustrating,” she said. So, she began searching Harrisburg for a new home, only to be disappointed by housing that was not up to her standards.

Finally, she learned about 130 Locust, a time-worn office building that was being re-developed into 14 one- and two-bedroom apartments with new floors, exposed brick, skylights, stainless steel appliances and other designer finishes.

“It’s urban and has character and was all brand-new,” she said. “I felt it was perfect for a young professional who wanted something modern to live in.”

As the downtown office market has cooled, developers have found salvation for Harrisburg’s vintage properties in an unlikely place: upscale residential. Turns out that professionals like Lazarski don’t mind paying a bit more in rent for a nice apartment in a boutique building near restaurants, nightlife and, often, work.

“They want aspirational space,” said David Butcher, president of WCI Partners, which re-developed the building. “This type of city living is resonating with their aspirations, with their artistic, financial, political aspirations.”

New Era

You can break down the history of downtown housing in Harrisburg into three rough phases. The first spanned the initial settlement of the city, from the colonial to the Victorian periods. Much of that stock has been lost to the wrecking ball, though a few charming pockets remain.

The second phase came with the advent of high-rise living in the 1960s and ‘70s. That era gave us such modernist buildings as Executive House, Pennsylvania Place and Presbyterian Apartments.

The current phase is apart from both those periods in design and living. It involves renovating and repurposing Harrisburg’s old, often-rundown (sometimes empty) office stock into small, boutique apartment buildings, with rents usually around $1,000 a month for a medium-sized, one-bedroom unit.

WCI stuck its toe into this market last year with a high-end renovation of two units above Little Amps Coffee Roasters at N. 2^nd and State streets. After those apartments leased quickly, the company began scouring downtown for more opportunities, said Butcher.

That search led to the purchase of 130 Locust St., which, within weeks of completion, was almost completely leased. The company next acquired 210 Walnut St., the long-time home of the Keefer, Wood, Allen & Rahal law firm. WCI now is converting that four-story structure at the corner of Walnut and Court streets into a 21-unit apartment building, expected to deliver next April.

And it isn’t just WCI.

Across the street from the state Capitol, Brickbox Enterprises just finished its conversion of the former Barto office building to the LUX, a 42-unit planned community whose first occupants moved in last month. In recent years, Brickbox also re-developed several old, dilapidated office buildings into housing for Harrisburg University students.

Nearby, Vartan Group is finishing up work on a six-unit conversion of the long-vacant Carson Coover House at 223 Pine St. Down on Front Street, Vartan just bought the historic, circa-1863 John Hanna Briggs Mansion, the long-time headquarters of the County Commissioners Association of Pennsylvania. That 5,500-square-foot building is slated to become seven luxury riverfront apartments.

Even the 1960s-era Executive House has jumped on the trend, last year converting three entire floors from offices to upscale apartments.

“There’s so much vacant office space in the city of Harrisburg,” said Derek Dilks, vice president of property development for Brickbox. “If people are willing to live in these cool spaces, why not adapt them?”

This type of living has strong appeal to younger people, said Dilks. But it also attracts single professionals of all ages; married couples, mostly without children; and empty-nesters who want to live in a walkable community, he said.

“People want the amenities,” he said. “They want to be close to the restaurants, close to the river.”

To illustrate that point, Nicole Conway shared a story from her own experience. A dozen years ago, fresh out of law school, she wanted to live downtown to be near the restaurants, bars and clubs that were popping up along 2^nd Street. She decided against it after she couldn’t find the well-appointed apartment she wanted.

“There are people who want to live in the city who are looking for nice rental,” said Conway, executive vice president and general counsel for Vartan Group. “Until recently, you had trouble finding it.”

Long-Term Trend

Of course, you can’t mention downtown Harrisburg without bringing up the issue of parking, as the cost of on-street spaces has doubled since January. Monthly garage rates also have increased, though not nearly as much.

Generally speaking, the developers said they thought the issue had been overblown. Indeed, some people will not live downtown because of the parking situation. Others, however, find they don’t need to own a car or they reverse commute or they take advantage of Standard Parking’s special rates for downtown dwellers, they said. In some cases, units come with parking.

“It’s not quite as big of a deal as people are making of it,” said Vartan’s Conway. “You go to any other city in Pennsylvania or the United States, and you will face the same challenge. You have to pay to park. It’s just part of being in a city.”

If parking were a deal-breaker, these developers wouldn’t be buying and renovating buildings, and people wouldn’t be moving into them, the developers said.

“People have to weigh the barriers versus the benefits,” said Dilks. “People who decide to live [downtown] are yearning to be closer to restaurants and work and to have greater interactions with others.”

Several other trends are favoring downtown residential development. Banks are beginning to lend again, and developers, seeing pent-up demand, are looking to renovate and build, said Dilks.

Harrisburg might just follow other cities in creating a “living downtown,” a place where people reside, not just work and party. That would further affirm the city’s status as a center for dining and nightlife, but it also might offer a better market for something the city clearly lacks—quality retail.

“It’s a trend, and it’s a long-time trend,” he said. “The trend to move out of the city lasted 30 years. Hopefully, this trend will last for that long of a time.”

Disclosure: TheBurg’s publisher, Alex Hartzler, is a principal at WCI Partners LP.

Known Unknowns: With a little digging and networking, you can find answers to your many questions.

July 31, 2014 | by Tara Leo Auchey

I get asked a lot of questions about Harrisburg.

Sometimes, they are basic questions with easy answers. “What’s the rule about trashcans in the city?” Per the ordinance, all garbage must be placed in plastic or metal receptacles with tight-fitting lids, securely fastened and watertight. There. Answered.

Sometimes, though, the questions are more complex. “How did the city get into such a financial mess?” My response to this one inevitably starts with a deep breath and includes sundry chapters and digressions.

I get questions about city rules, ways of life and states of being.

I get questions asked in sincerity, curiosity, confusion, frustration, facetiousness and indignity.

The fact is many people have many questions about the city of Harrisburg. They want answers and the scoop.

It isn’t a problem that there’s a plethora of questions. The problem is that people just aren’t quite sure how to find answers when they need them.

That’s because there really isn’t a centralized source for information about Harrisburg. The exact who, what, when, where and how can be elusive. As a consequence, a significant number of people feel excluded and frustrated with the entire system, which hardens divisions.

Sure, there is some information in some places, but people complain those places aren’t necessarily familiar or accessible or up-to-date or accurate. The city’s website would seem the logical place to go, but, as of now, it’s still a work in progress. And a call or visit to City Hall doesn’t guarantee clarity.

Overall, people have to work hard to access information. Questions end up coming my way because I have made it a mission of sorts to acquire information and share it.

I try to discover it and impart it massively, which can be a daunting task indeed. Often, I get the comment, “I was told to ask you because you would know.”

That’s not true. I don’t always know. And, in matters that reach beyond factual answers, I’m not constantly poised to engage. Although, there are times when I do share my theories and perspective. In those instances, I’m sure to support my positions with evidence and reasoning. The rest is open to a spirit of fair debate.

That being said, the thing I think I do well is find out what’s going on.

I seek the answers. I go places and talk to people. I ask questions and verify responses. I read. I listen. I engage.

Over the years, it’s gotten easier. I know more people and am aware of more points of view. I know where to find reliable sources and documents. I’ve learned processes and protocols. If I don’t know the direct route to answers or explanations, I’ve figured out which direction to look.

Harrisburg is a small place. When it comes down to it, it’s a manageable place with manageable information.

I came to that realization with time and effort, though. I had to make an effort to know where to go, who to ask or how to find out things. I had to gather information and try to make sense of it all.

Much of my knowledge comes from spending hours and hours in a variety of places around the city. While I may spend much more time in locating information than the average person, I’d argue even a bit of effort by anyone could make for a better informed citizen.

City Council meetings, zoning hearings, and press conferences—even going once in awhile—puts you in touch with several resources. Public projects, initiatives and gatherings are other good places to meet people and exchange information. Even sitting on the front porch and walking around the neighborhood help make connections and expose you to multiple types of knowledge. Participating in community endeavors unavoidably gives you an earful, much of it valuable and useful.

By doing all of the above, I discovered an incredible network of people and resources. I met people who care, people who are accomplished and who want to make Harrisburg better. They, too, want to know more.

Plus, they are willing to share what they do know.

It’s a network of rich diversity of perspective, experience and information.

Of course, serious trust issues exist, but that can’t be surprising for a city in reconstruction.

It takes some determination to tap into the network. When I first moved here eight years ago, I didn’t know how to do that. When I researched, I found that most of the information came from the top down. There lacked a mass community exchange, especially one that stretched across the city. Accurate information was some sort of privilege granted a few. The network seemed small, tight and exclusive.

Fortunately, it’s not like that anymore. That system crashed and can’t easily be rebuilt because now there are too many people paying attention. More of us share knowledge and willingly pass it along. There’s more engagement and consensus on what the facts are. More people are participating and expanding the system of communication in Harrisburg.

Tara Leo Auchey is creator and editor of today’s the day Harrisburg.

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