Tag Archives: harrisburg

A Well-Spun Lie

June 4, 2015 | by Lawrance Binda

Agents spent much of Tuesday hauling Western-style artifacts from the home of former Harrisburg Mayor Steve Reed.

In early 2014, TheBurg’s former managing editor, Dan Webster, conducted an interview with a man who had virtually disappeared from the public eye: the long-serving mayor of Harrisburg, Stephen Reed.

The interview was the result of months of hard work and persistence by Webster, who, after letters, phone calls and visits to Reed’s house, finally cornered him in one of his usual haunts–a barstool of Der Harrisburg Maennerchor on North Street at about 2 a.m., the seven-term mayor sipping his usual drink of a light beer over ice.

Reed didn’t know Webster and, at first, was put off by the young man’s tenacity. According to Webster, Reed said to him something like, “Oh, so you’re the guy who’s been stalking me?”

But, after some conversation, Webster persuaded Reed to sit for a lengthy, wide-ranging interview that covered everything from his biography (though no questions about his personal life were allowed) to the city incinerator debacle to the Old West museum that Reed had proposed. Webster later published portions of the interview in his magazine, “Local,” a Harrisburg-focused issue released about a year ago. The cover featured a portrait of Reed, grinning slyly, a caption overlaying the picture and asking the question, “Sinner or Saint?”

On Tuesday, I thought about Webster’s story as I stood across the street from Reed’s Cumberland Street home (along with the rest of the media scrum), watching agents haul away items such as saddles, a statue of an Indian, a totem pole and a stuffed coyote. The bounty would have fit perfectly into the “Old West” museum that Reed had wanted to build, for which he had spent millions in public funds to acquire thousands of artifacts.

In particular, I kept remembering when Webster asked Reed why he wanted to build a Western-themed museum in the unlikely location of Harrisburg, Pa. His response:

“Everybody assumes that I must be a collector of those items. I never was. I never was. I do collect stuff, WWII-related stuff, some Vietnam and old books. Just people assume, ‘Oh, he’s building museums related to his hobbies.’ No, actually, I wasn’t. But, in this town, a well-spun lie will trump truth or fact any day of the week.”

In his story, Webster cast doubt on Reed’s veracity by mentioning that his old city hall office was filled with Western-themed artifacts, including his “two prized possessions”: Wyatt Earp’s card table and Doc Holliday’s revolver.

And now we know that his personal home also was loaded with objects from the American West. After the faded, chipped green door opened, the Cumberland Street house spit out three truckloads of artifacts, including a spinning wheel, a whiskey barrel, statues, antique-looking furniture, Western-style clothing, horse-riding gear, Indian ceremonial items and box after sealed box of other things.

The house’s contents didn’t surprise a few of the veteran reporters. Rumors had circulated for years that Reed’s house was jam-packed with artifacts, though, until Tuesday, no reporter I knew had ever seen them. In a 2009 interview, Patriot-News reporter John Luciew asked Reed directly if any city-owned artifacts were inside his house.

“Never have I kept city- or authority-owned anything at my house, other than my pager,” Reed replied.

Luciew also asked about the reimbursement that Reed had requested from the Harrisburg Authority for artifacts he said he had purchased with his own money years earlier.

“These weren’t personal items,” he said. “There were items I had purchased for the archives and museum projects. These were delivered here (to the city) from the beginning. They were never anywhere else but delivered here.”

Emerging from his house yesterday, Reed–the non-collector–told the media gathered outside that the artifacts seized by agents the day before were, indeed, his personal property. He then went on, as he did with Webster, to offer reporters a lesson in lying.

“A well-spun lie repeated often enough becomes almost gospel truth,” he said before the cameras when asked about reports of corruption during his lengthy tenure in office.

After speaking for a few more minutes, Reed got into his car and drove off, saying that he was under a court-imposed order not to talk to the press and, in any case, was on his way to meet his lawyer.

A Cemetery Swing: The region’s historic graveyards offer a fascinating take on the past.

June 1, 2015 | by Susan Ryder

Search the web for things to do in Harrisburg and you will find the typical list of “Harrisburg-y” possibilities: tour the Capitol, visit the National Civil War Museum, ride the Pride. However, No. 24 on the list of 30 offers an unexpected option— visit Harrisburg Cemetery.

A cemetery as a tourist attraction? I couldn’t resist.

Cemeteries meet the interests of a number of groups, especially history buffs. With a cemetery visit, you get the collective history of those buried there, the history of art used to commemorate their lives, and the history of wars or struggles in which they participated.

“So many interesting stories, that’s the way it is, though—all the old cemeteries, they have a story to tell,” said Barbara Barksdale, co-chairwoman of the Pennsylvania Hallowed Grounds Project and president of Friends of Midland, a non-profit that cares for the predominantly African-American Midland Cemetery in Steelton. “The history is just crazy in cemeteries around here.”

Some of those stories are individual, such as Herbert “Rap” Dixon, who, in 1930, became the first black man to hit a home run in Yankee Stadium. Then there’s Lemuel Butler, born in Harrisburg in 1844, a teamster who served with the U.S. Colored Troops during the Civil War.

Other stories are broader. Looking at the dates on the stones, it’s clear that some of those buried in Midland were slaves or freed slaves who mostly likely worked on the farm where the cemetery now sits. Midland is also the resting place of veterans of numerous storied African-American military groups, including the Buffalo Soldiers, the U.S. Colored Troops, Montford Point Marines and the Tuskegee Airmen.

“I want people to go away with—it’s more than a headstone,” said Barksdale, who gives tours of the cemetery.

Local Notables

Harrisburg Cemetery, listed in the National Registry of Historic Places, holds local and national history, as well.

In the walking tour, David Via, superintendent of the cemetery, pointed out the governors, soldiers and local people of interest buried there. Names like Berryhill, Calder, Cameron and Kelker, among many others, read like the street signs of Harrisburg.

“The Walking Tour Guide of Harrisburg Cemetery,” available at the caretaker’s house at the entrance to the cemetery, provides information on those buried there, as well as other intriguing aspects of the place.

Via said that 155 Civil War soldiers are buried in the cemetery and pointed out that the simple, white tombstones differ. The monuments for the Union soldiers have rounded tops, while the Confederate soldiers have pointed tops.

“Supposedly, so the damn Yankees couldn’t sit on them,” Via said of the Confederate stones.

Veterans of the American Revolution, the War of 1812, the Mexican War and the Civil War are all represented in the cemetery.

Down the highway a bit, the Old Public Graveyard in Carlisle holds the remains of 53 Revolutionary War soldiers, including Molly Pitcher, the famous female fighter and heroine. Her monument is one of the larger ones in the graveyard.

A guide mentions that the oldest marker is from 1757 and that the cemetery is the final resting place of a Civil War drummer boy and of Judge Frederick Watts, president of the Cumberland Valley Railroad, a U.S. Commissioner of Agriculture and a person “instrumental in the founding of Penn State.”

Manmade, Natural Beauty

While civic and war history engage many, the art history in cemeteries also should be noticed. Cemeteries large and small typically contain a gate, sometimes simple, sometimes ornate, which signifies the separation between the everyday world and the cemetery space.

A 30-foot-tall obelisk, representing eternal life from the Haldeman family plot, greets visitors to Harrisburg Cemetery. Tombstones on the grounds hold symbolic art. Anchors represent hope, ferns sorrow and lambs innocence.

The Old Public Graveyard contains many family plots with iron gates, some with intricate scrollwork, conveying a sense of privacy for the deceased.

Examples of white bronzes exist in both Harrisburg Cemetery and the Old Public Graveyard. These gray headstones, made of a combination of copper, tin and zinc, show little weathering even after a century of exposure.

The natural beauty of cemeteries is another draw. Quiet places, they provide a serene environment to walk, write, read or explore. Harrisburg Cemetery, in particular, has a wonderful array of plant life. In appreciation of its many flowering trees, the cemetery held a tree walk in April.

Trees include the well-known flowering dogwood, the crabapple and the northern red oak, as well as the less-recognized Kentucky coffee tree with its unusual pods, the English hawthorn lined with thorns and the Japanese pagoda tree, which sports bumpy, string bean-type seeds.

Via pointed out ivy growing on a stone that originated from a trimming from Martin Luther’s grave. Similar to English ivy but smaller in size, he calls it “Martin Luther’s ivy.”

Before visiting a cemetery, do a little research. Often, online, printable guides will direct visitors to points of interest within the cemetery and to any special artistic and planting features.

Visitors should follow posted rules, which often vary from cemetery to cemetery. While they provide a park-like atmosphere, with lots of space, grass and trees, cemeteries are not playgrounds. Stones are heavy and often old and could seriously injure someone standing or leaning on them. Groundhogs, which frequent cemeteries, burrow under stones, leaving large holes. Tread carefully.

Cemeteries serve as the burial ground for the dead, but offer much to the living. Those looking for a way to spend a summer day may want to consider a visit. Even the skeptical should try it once, as they may have a similar reaction to students who spent time in Midland Cemetery. As Barksdale put it, “Once I got them, they were hooked.”

For more information on the cemeteries mentioned:

Hallowed Grounds tour: https://centralpahallowedgrounds.blogspot.com
Harrisburg Cemetery: https://sites.google.com/site/harrisburgcemetery
Midland Cemetery: Friends of Midland Cemetery on Facebook
Old Public Graveyard, Carlisle: https://www.visitcumberlandvalley.com

Not Our Fault? In Harrisburg, there’s plenty of blame to go around.

June 1, 2015 | by Lawrance Binda

I don’t often get into screaming matches, much less in public places.

But, a pint or two in at my favorite new Harrisburg brewery, a friend and I began raising our voices over something we actually agree about—that we’re both angry, really angry, at John Campbell.

For sure, we’re not alone. The disgraced former Harrisburg treasurer upset plenty of people who had trusted him with their confidence and their money.

Heck, two months before Campbell’s arrest on theft charges, TheBurg helped host a party in his honor as he departed Historic Harrisburg Association, where he had been executive director. And my friend and I both were members of organizations where Campbell has been accused of taking money.

So, I guess we needed to vent, which we did, loudly, in contrast to the sounds of folks happily enjoying their La Dolce Vita drafts and their mutual company and the din of the jukebox at Zeroday Brewing.

We vocally debated Harrisburg’s version of “he who must not be named,” but, in the process, disagreed about something fundamental.

I hold many of us at least partially responsible for the phenomenon that was John Campbell; my friend doesn’t.

“He was a con man,” my friend said. “How could anyone have known that?”

Con man, no doubt. But I insisted that Campbell never should have had such positions of authority in the first place.

“He was a 21-year-old kid still in college when he was hired,” I countered, insisting (without success) that Campbell should have been flagged as too young and too inexperienced to serve as director or treasurer of anything important.

A person, I believe, is responsible for his own actions. However, that also pertains to the supporting actors, those who played lesser parts in a situation that goes spectacularly wrong.

I feel largely the same way about the city’s financial collapse.

Former Mayor Steve Reed, without question, tops the list of people responsible for Harrisburg’s fiscal chaos. However, in a flow chart of blame, you could list, in descending order, Reed’s direct underlings; the professionals who advised him; the Harrisburg Authority; members of City Council; the Dauphin County commissioners; numerous state officials; the supine media; and the voters.

Not that anybody has accepted this blame. A few years back, during a state Senate committee hearing on the city’s massive incinerator debt, every witness called upon, including Reed himself, denied responsibility. Evidently, Harrisburg’s near-bankruptcy happened without anyone causing it.

In fact, during the Reed administration, signals abounded that his consolidation of power was troubling and that the city’s finances were increasingly out-of-whack. Some residents tried to sound the alarm, but they invariably were shouted down, mocked or ignored.

You could make a long list of the ill-advised projects that the Reed administration championed, often financing them through strange, convoluted deals. For the sake of this column, I’ll limit my focus to what might be the most surreal—Reed’s attempt to build not one, but “five nationally scaled museums” (his words) in a poor, tiny city in central Pennsylvania.

New museums typically are born in one of two ways. In the first, a group (usually a non-profit board) tries to raise money for a building and/or its contents. In the second, a wealthy patron donates items—and sometimes foots the bill for the building, as well.

Harrisburg didn’t follow either path. The museum idea originated in the mind of a single man, Steve Reed, without any of the detailed preparation and painstaking planning needed to embark on a massive venture like starting a world-class museum (much less five of them).

In a nutshell, Reed got hold of public money and began buying stuff because he wanted to—and because he could.

Over a decade, he packed an enormous warehouse (and several other buildings) full of thousands of items from his sprees, spending untold millions on things that ranged from the genuine and valuable to junk and fakes. Lacking expertise, he vacuumed up lot after lot, often overpaying for the good and the bad.

The majority of objects were for an Old West museum he wanted to build, but some were for an African-American heritage museum he proposed and others for a Sports Hall of Fame he hoped to construct on City Island. There also were artifacts that didn’t seem to fit into any category—wood from a Colonial-era ship, transcripts from the Nuremberg trials.

Eventually, he got one “nationally scaled” museum built, the National Civil War Museum, but only because he learned that former Gov. Tom Ridge was a Civil War buff. So, according to project architect Vern McKissick, Reed quickly carved out a Civil War collection from his vast Old West stash and, though luck and salesmanship, got the state to foot the bill for the building.

This is local government gone completely off the rails. I half-laugh, half-cringe when I imagine Reed and his surrogates darting around the country attending auctions, sweeping up inventory, packing it all up, shipping it to Harrisburg, unpacking it and storing it in whatever dusty corner they could find for future museums that had no realistic path to ever existing.

But that’s what happened, and a lot of people knew about it—officials and politicians, consultants, city workers, the media, some in the general public. Yet year after year after year, it went on.

Typically, I’m not big on assigning blame, as I find resolving a problem more important than determining who’s at fault. However, in the case of Campbell and Reed, I believe it’s important to examine if we, as individuals, are in some way responsible. By understanding our own roles, we lessen the chance of a future rogue mayor, thieving treasurer or whoever might try to scam us next.

We all know the cliché that it takes a village to accomplish something good. Well, sometimes, it also takes a village to screw up royally.

Lawrance Binda is editor-in-chief of TheBurg.

Treasured Island: Many people have high hopes for the future of Harrisburg’s City Island. But can its players paddle in the same direction?

June 1, 2015 | by Paul Barker

One evening in March 1986, Mike Trephan was at the reception for his own wedding, at Catalano’s bar and lounge in Wormleysburg, when he got a call from then-Mayor Steve Reed.

“He says, ‘Michael, the river’s coming up,’” Trephan recalled. “‘You’ve got to move—’” Trephan knew what Reed was talking about: the hull of what was to become the Pride of the Susquehanna riverboat, a hulking metal frame that was perched on a City Island beach, unmoored. For the past year, Trephan and a group of local businessmen had been working to build an old-fashioned passenger boat to augment the city’s riverfront attractions. Trephan, who had recollections of taking a ferry to City Island as a child, called it “an old memory becoming a new dream.” He got off the phone and, along with his wife, headed for the island.

Rising waters had imperiled the project once already. Months before the wedding, the river had torn the boat from where it was docked on the west shore, wedging it against a pier of the Market Street Bridge. The disaster prompted a Patriot-News reporter to liken the riverboat to the Titanic—a display of hubris that was doomed to failure. But the hull was rescued and relocated to the island, and Trephan, after coaxing more positive coverage from the paper, kept the project and its capital campaign alive. On his wedding night, he got to the boat before the swelling river did. “And who shows up and helped us? Mayor Reed,” Trephan said. “We were all dressed up, but we got the boat tied up. I think he’s the one that brought ropes over, if I’m not mistaken.” The boat stayed anchored to the island.

The riverboat was just one piece of City Island’s transformation under Reed. For nearly a century, the island had been a recreational site for city dwellers, following the 1890 construction of the Walnut Street Bridge. According to Eric V. Fasick’s “Harrisburg and the Susquehanna River,” a collection of images of the river published earlier this year, the newly granted access led the city to develop bathing beaches, playgrounds and baseball diamonds there. By the time Reed took office, however, in 1981, the island had fallen out of use and acquired a reputation for prostitution and cruising. Trephan called it “disheveled,” though, he hastened to add, it “wasn’t as bad as people say it was. It just wasn’t developed.”

All that changed under Reed. In 2010, giving an interview for a local history project, Reed recounted his search for an enterprise that would have a “catalytic effect on changing the image and perception of the city.” “You needed something that had universal appeal,” he said. Waterfront investments, he went on, were “almost no-brainer types of developments. Once you do them, people will come. You build it, they will come.”

Trephan got involved after talking to the mayor during Kipona, the city’s riverfront festival over Labor Day weekend. Trephan had charted helicopters for the festival, and, as he and the mayor observed the long line of people waiting for a ride, Reed asked about other ways to improve the riverfront. Trephan ventured a suggestion for a ferry. That idea blossomed into the campaign for the riverboat, which Trephan spearheaded, along with other acquisitions—a railroad circuit and steam train, purchased from a bankrupt Vermont millionaire; an antique carousel. The crowning achievement was the construction of a new ballpark and the acquisition of a minor-league franchise.

Trephan, now in his seventies, looks back on the redevelopment of City Island as an emblem of Reed’s vision and follow-through. “He was a doer,” he said. “People knew that if he said he’d get something done, he would.” More than that, though, he recalls it as a story of political and geographical unity. The mayor “didn’t give a shit what your political party was,” he said. In the case of the Pride of the Susquehanna, he “probably got that done with 80 percent Republican help.” Trephan wanted the boat to be a project of both shores, and, when it came time to incorporate a nonprofit to manage it, he lobbied for the name to include “Harrisburg Area,” as opposed to just “Harrisburg.” (In a history of the riverboat, which Trephan put together in 2007, he wrote that it “might have been the first time that the east and west shores ever came together on a community project.”)

The renaissance on the island has largely endured. The Senators still play ball in the stadium, now dubbed Metro Bank Park. The Pride of the Susquehanna is paddling into its 27^th year. But in recent months, both the private sector and local officials have begun looking to improve its offerings. Much as it did in 1986, when its mayor showed up to save a stranded boat, the city is considering what sort of businesses can flourish there, and how the government should help.

Last November, a group of land-use experts met over two days in downtown Harrisburg to contemplate City Island’s future. The Urban Land Institute, a global nonprofit, had convened them to tackle a question: was the island was being used to its full potential?

Urban Land Institute panels are meant to provide planning advice, as the institute puts it, “in an atmosphere free of politics or preconceptions.” Susan Baltake, the executive director of its Philadelphia council, which oversaw the City Island panel, told me the institute “gives cover to elected officials, who don’t want to be the ones telling constituents what to do.” The panel, which included lawyers, engineers, designers and real estate and construction professionals, among others, toured the island and interviewed 51 “stakeholders” representing the various constituencies with interests there. The result was a report that George Asimos, a local real estate attorney for the law firm Saul Ewing, and the panel’s co-chair, said he hoped would be “an informed, open-minded, no-agenda catalyst for action.”

The report affirmed the island’s present recreational use, while highlighting its immense potential. It called for a form of centralized management and urged the city to develop a long-term master plan. Among other ideas, it recommended pursuing additional programming at the island’s sports facilities and exploring winter activities and a year-round restaurant. It strongly urged the city to work with the City Islanders, a professional soccer team, to improve their stadium, which is underwhelming, despite the view of the Harrisburg skyline from its bleachers. The report also included a few of what Asimos called “blue-sky ideas,” including a “Museum of the Susquehanna” to celebrate the river’s ecology.

“City Island is a well-loved place,” Asimos told me. “It is unique and tremendous in its location, and in the fact that you can walk and drive to it.” But, he noted, the island’s amenities are “not planned in a uniform way.” The island didn’t have a consistent signage system, and the natural resources were integrated haphazardly. “It’s crying out for a unified master plan,” he said. Brad Jones, the president of the downtown development nonprofit Harristown, which led the request for the Urban Land Institute study, said the panel learned that vendors shared more or less the same wish list. They wanted the island to be “clean, safe and beautiful,” and they would like “maybe a little more marketing.”

Where does city government fit into these objectives? In 1984, before the rapid development of the island under Reed, the city petitioned the Urban Land Institute for a similar report. This time, the request came not from the city but from Harristown, with the backing of the Dauphin County commissioners and the regional tourism bureau. The difference is small, but it may say something about a divergence in priorities. Since Mayor Eric Papenfuse took office, he has clashed with these entities over spending on development and tourism. Though he was interviewed for the report, he took little interest in it. “I don’t think it told us anything we didn’t already know,” he told me, describing it as “one of those things the county likes to spend money on.” (Dauphin County paid $15,000 for the study.)

More to the point, Papenfuse has begun his own examination of the island, focusing less on potential for future development and more on the status quo. The city recently engaged a contract lawyer to go through the city’s permits with island vendors. The Urban Land Institute report recommended giving vendors longer permits, to encourage investment—yet the city recently notified vendors that their permits would be extended provisionally, for one year only. Jackie Parker, director of the city’s Department of Community and Economic Development, which encompasses the parks division, said she expected ultimately to renew them. But, she added, “We’re taking a look, because they’ve been on the books for a very long time, so we felt, and so did the vendors, that there were some things in there that they’d like to discuss and, you know, make some changes.”

Opening the permits may simply be about ironing out wrinkles; most of them date back a decade or more. But it may also reflect a deeper reconsideration of the vendor-city relationship. Under some permits, the city pays the vendor’s electric bill. Many contain a profit-sharing provision—if the vendor earns above a certain figure in a given year, a percentage of those profits goes to the city. But the city has rarely, and perhaps never, collected money under the provision. (One city official suggested such profit-sharing was never meant to be enforced, but rather was a way of making permits for private use of city-owned land more politically palatable.) Vendors, meanwhile, have found the one-year term puzzling. “As a business owner, how do you take a one-year permit to the bank to get a loan?” one vendor asked me.

These concerns are especially prevalent in the case of the asset that dominates the island—the minor-league baseball stadium. The city renovated the ballpark in 2007, matching an $18 million state grant with $18 million in borrowed money. (Around the same time, Reed sold the Senators to a private investor for $13 million, representing quite a coup, as the city had paid less than $7 million for the team a decade before.) Reed claimed that, under the deal, the city should expect ongoing revenues from the ballpark of $500,000 per year. In fact, the city now loses money on the stadium, largely because annual debt payments on it exceed the year’s rent and tax revenues by around $200,000. One city official described the arrangement as a “naked put—the city has all the downside.”

More worrying to Papenfuse, the stadium permit requires the city to pay for facility upgrades, potentially at very high cost to taxpayers. “You have a major scoreboard outage, you have an elevator go down, and you could suddenly have a million dollars in a year that the city’s on the hook for,” he told me. The Senators are supposed to pay the city a portion of parking revenues and stadium naming rights, but the city hasn’t received the money for about a year now, because it’s been siphoned off to pay for repairs. Papenfuse has been meeting with Mark Butler, a local businessman who bought the team earlier this year, and said he feels optimistic about the negotiations. He called the team “good partners” and pointed to its nearly $400,000 annual lease payment, which he acknowledged was costly. “From their perspective, they have the highest lease payments of any team in the league,” he said. “But from our perspective it doesn’t work, and the city can’t fill the gap.” (Butler did not respond to requests for an interview.)

The Urban Land Institute aspires to apolitical advice, but it is difficult to sever political considerations from the use of public land. Asimos, though he said the mayor’s task force didn’t come up during the panel, said the “fact that City Island is still costly to the city” did. In the fall, absent a renegotiated ballpark permit, Papenfuse will go before City Council and ask members to budget for the stadium’s capital repairs—and thus balance the city’s island subsidy against other spending priorities. I asked him what his long-term goal was for the island. “I’m not sure we can achieve it, but the goal is to get it to be—it doesn’t need to make any money for the city, but it shouldn’t be a financial liability to the city,” he said. “And right now, it’s a huge financial liability, with a sort of question mark for how high it can go.”

On a Thursday in early May, around noon, three men in red T-shirts and matching pants left a small, gray shed on the island, near the Walnut Street Bridge, and climbed into a Department of Corrections van. An escort drove them past the stadium towards the beach at the northern end. There, behind the putting greens of a miniature golf course, they spread out at a picnic table for lunch.

Jeff Palkovic opened Water Golf in 1990, making him one of the island’s longest-running attractions. A few years ago, when the city was nearly bankrupt, Mike Trephan organized Palkovic and several other businessmen into a loose committee to help take care of the city’s parks, including the island. A fellow board member of Trephan’s worked in corrections, and she connected the group with a community work program at the Camp Hill prison. Since then, Palkovic said, he has spent hundreds of hours working with the prisoners to maintain the island—cutting back overgrowth, painting facilities, even clearing a walking trail on the west shore.

These efforts raise the question of what the proper relationship is between city government and private businesses, particularly private businesses that rely for their livelihood on public land. The island is a city park, and it falls to the city to maintain the public areas. When the city can’t afford the maintenance, how far should businesses go to keep up appearances on their own? Trephan, who approached former Mayor Linda Thompson with the offer to help early in her term, said she initially seemed suspicious of his motives. Trephan told her he wanted to help because the parks were “what our forefathers left us, and it’s up to us to keep them going.” “All of a sudden, she completely changed her demeanor,” he recalled. “I only had 10 minutes with her—we sat there for an hour, hour-and-a-half talking.” After their meeting, he said, Thompson “helped me anywhere she could.”

Vendors have more recently taken the initiative in marketing and promoting the island. For the past year, they have held monthly meetings to discuss issues ranging from the island’s appearance to branding, signage and security. They meet either on the riverboat or at a ballpark conference room and are typically joined by the city’s parks and recreation director, at least for part of the time. Jackie Parker compared it to a downtown merchant’s association—“they really are starting to work together as a group, which is cool,” she told me. But the businesses also seem to want to ensure their insights and experience are respected. “I want to work as partners with the city,” Steve Oliphant, who owns Susquehanna Outfitters, which rents watercraft and offers river tours, told me. At the same time, he added, the parks administrators were newcomers, while most of the vendors had been on the island for 10 years or more. “They should be coming to the businesses that exist and working as partners. We want to help, too. Have input. Not feel like decisions are made in our absence, and they’ll tell us how that works out.”

“I think the city and the mayor are so overwhelmed with trying to fix things,” Palkovic told me. “There’s a hundred things to do and they can do 10 things.” Still, he reminisced about an earlier era of cohesion, when the island, under aggressive city management, seemed to pick up momentum. Each new vendor drew visitors to the island, and, as a result, everyone’s business improved. Tina Manoogian-King, the longstanding parks and recreation director under Reed, “ran it with an ironclad fist,” he said. “But you know what? You knew what to expect and you knew it was gonna be really, really good.” She was especially ardent about vendors cleaning up trash. To this day, after fireworks displays on the island, Palkovic goes around with a blower to clean up fallen debris. “And I have no problem with that,” he said. “Because I want the island looking good, so when you come, you’re impressed.”

Speaking to vendors and city officials, I wondered how much Papenfuse’s approach to the island was informed by his views on Reed’s legacy. His approach to the National Civil War Museum set one kind of precedent. When he asked the county to cut its funding, he described the museum as a financial waste that should never have been constructed. What Reed saw as a worthy investment, Papenfuse now saw as a crippling obligation. I asked him—did he feel the same way about the stadium and the Senators? “I think it’s distinct,” he told me. “Because there’s no question the Senators bring a benefit, and that perhaps at one time you could make an argument that a city or municipality could subsidize a sports team.” When it came to City Island, it wasn’t that he didn’t see the value of the investment. It was that he believed he had a more pressing obligation to the bottom line. “When we have debt that we absolutely have to pay, and we’re hundreds of thousands of dollars short on a yearly basis,” he said, “we don’t have the luxury of looking at the soft economic impact of that. We have to come up with real numbers.”

Last month, on a nearly perfect spring night, I went to a Senators game. I was early, and while I waited for my wife and our friends, I stood near the gates and watched a crowd stream in from the parking lots and over the bridge. The first time I’d seen the Senators play, before I moved here, I found the experience charming—the kids’ contests between innings, the ads for local businesses on the Jumbotron, the lights strung up on the Walnut Street Bridge. Now, though, it struck me as an emblem of a much more complex legacy.

I thought of something Mike Trephan told me. We’d been talking about the uniqueness of Harrisburg’s riverfront, and the beauty of the island, but had gotten sidetracked on his estimation of the Reed years. He was aware of the incinerator and related borrowings that, late in Reed’s tenure, wrecked the city’s finances. He would entertain the suggestion of bad governance, but he didn’t doubt for a second the mayor’s motives. “Everything he did, he did for the city,” Trephan said. He paused a moment, then set these thoughts aside. “Ah, it’s a great place, City Island,” he said, as if it was all that mattered.

Harrisburg on the Levant: 2nd Street Shawarma brings Mediterranean flair to central PA.

June 1, 2015 | by Stephanie Kalina-Metzger

Mustafa Thabata and Doug McKeta have an easy rapport and appear, at least on the surface, to lack the frenetic demeanor that is often part of those in the restaurant business.

I wondered: Was it because I showed up on a rainy, blustery day around 2 p.m. when most diners had returned to their homes and jobs?

But the more I talked to them, the more I learned that easygoing is just their way. The two aren’t easily rattled—crowd or no crowd.

Perhaps that’s why the laid-back partners decided to take the plunge and launch their new restaurant, 2^nd Street Shawarma, during one of most challenging times of the year—the icy, frigid days of February.

Couple the freezing temps with parking rates that are sometimes blamed for keeping people away from downtown Harrisburg, and a less optimistic pair would have reconsidered the timing. Yet, the two were confident that they could overcome the hurdles and make a go of it.

Today, they are reporting a steady uptick in business as the weather warms and word of their cuisine spreads.

“We’re getting great reviews on Yelp,” said Thabata.

And, as far as the parking rates are concerned, they are meeting diners in the middle, so to speak.

“The first half hour is on us,” said McKeta.

Making a Mark

Before opening the restaurant, the two worked together in the flooring business.

“We put in one particularly long day, and Mustafa looked at me and said, ‘I’m tired,’” recounted McKeta, who agreed, commiserating with his friend.

What came next was a surprise. Thabata suggested they team up to run a restaurant, using Palestinian recipes passed down through his family.

Within three weeks, they hit the street searching for the perfect place to make their mark on the Harrisburg food scene.

“I knew if we didn’t get on it right away, it would be nothing but talk,” said McKeta, who added that they selected downtown for the steady foot traffic from daytime workers and nighttime revelers.

The Harrisburg men finally settled on the N. 2^nd Street address where Arepa City operated until it moved up the road. The pair worked at record speed to make the restaurant their own, choosing a lime green hue for the building that once sported bright yellow.

“We also installed new floors and new lighting,” said McKeta.

The cozy space accommodates 26 inside, and additional seating will soon be available outside for those who wish to dine al fresco.

Adding Diversity

McKeta and Thabata are providing customers with an alternative to the downtown routine along restaurant row.

The manageable menu, developed with team member Hashem Abulizz, includes starters like hummus, vegetarian grape leaves and the popular baba ghannouj, featuring mashed eggplant, lemon juice, garlic and sesame seed butter served with pita. For the record, “baba ghannouj,” means “pampered papa” (you can thank me in advance if you ever compete on “Jeopardy”).

Salads include fattoush, a fresh vegetable mix with toasted pita and house dressing, and tabbouli, which features chopped parsley with onions, tomatoes and cracked wheat mixed with lemon juice and olive oil.

Vegetarians can choose from dishes like the “Falafel Deluxe,” a wrap containing falafel, hummus, tabbouli, tomatoes, pickles and a creamy, garlicky tahini sauce.

There’s plenty on the menu for meat lovers, as well, from the beef shawarma with marinated beef slices, tomatoes, pickles, hummus, onions, tabbouli and tahini to lamb, beef and chicken kebabs, to name just a few.

“For people who have yet to try the cuisine, one of the most oft-heard comments is that the food is ‘very flavorful,’” said Thabata.

And the men promote a fun atmosphere for their employees, according to waiter Justin Randall. “The guys make me laugh and make my day better.”

Randall said one of his favorite parts of the job is when a customer tries something for the first time and is pleased.

“For instance, I’ll give them a dessert sample, and a smile breaks out on their face and they say, ‘I’ll take one,’” said Randall, with a chuckle.

“None of their food comes in a bag,” said customer Bill Hamad. “It’s like going to somebody’s house for dinner. They picked a good niche—to find something similar and of equal quality, you have to drive fairly far.”

Kevin Long, who works downtown, said the restaurant scene is important to him.

“I like that it’s inexpensive, you get a lot of food for the price, and it’s something different,” he said.

He also likes the complexity of the flavors in the dishes.

“The rice/lentil/onion dish amazes me, it’s so simple, yet so tasty,” said Long, referring to the vegetarian mjaddara. “When I’m getting food to take home to my family, we get the mixed grill so everyone can sample each of the meats they offer.”

Then he quickly added: “And if you get dessert, try the harissa—it’s wonderful.”

Harris Zwerling also works nearby and said that he appreciates the convenience, the friendliness and the rapid service. He highly recommends the falafel.

“I’ve lived in a number of different places from Montreal to New York to the Midwest and have had quite a wide variety of falafel,” he said. “It compares very favorably with the other places where I’ve lived and traveled. It’s also one of the few places I’ve gone where they grill the pita.”

As far as the future, the men have big plans.

“We’d like to eventually branch out to other parts of PA, but, for now, we’re happy to be a part of the community and to bring something new to Harrisburg for their enjoyment,” said McKeta.

2^nd Street Shawarma is located at 316 N. Second St., Harrisburg. Call 717-232-3100 or visit their Facebook page: 2^nd Street Shawarma. Hours are Monday to Thursday, 11 a.m. to 2 p.m.; Friday, 11 a.m. to 3 a.m.; Saturday, noon to 3 a.m.; and Sunday, 2 p.m. to 9 p.m.

Home Style: Anna T’s is a tribute to a special mom & her way of cooking.

June 1, 2015 | by Stephanie Kalina-Metzger

When Mark Gaspich took an early retirement after 14 years in law enforcement, he decided it was time to fulfill his life-long dream of running a restaurant.

By September 2014, that dream had been realized, and the only citizens he detains these days are diners, who voluntarily turn themselves over to his custody and are arrested by his delectable dishes. The 50-seat restaurant, located across the street from the state Capitol, serves up home-style food seven days a week.

The former Dauphin County deputy sheriff named the place “Anna T’s” as an homage to his late mother, Anna Theresa, at whose side he learned to cook. A portrait of her, with Gaspich’s father John, graces the back wall of the establishment and acts as a comforting reminder.

“When my dad retired in 1992, they spoke of opening a soup and sandwich shop, and it never came to fruition, so I had the opportunity to fulfill both our dreams,” said Gaspich.

The Linglestown resident is no stranger to food preparation. He spent decades working in the kitchen of the local fire company, cooking for weddings and other events.

Made from Scratch

Fans of the first meal of the day have their choice of steak and eggs, sticky buns, hotcakes, breakfast meats and hearty omelets. Late risers will be glad to learn that breakfast is an all-day affair.

“Not many places do that,” said Gaspich.

State workers can easily walk to Anna T’s during their lunch hour and choose from soups, sandwiches and salads. Dinner choices include lump crab cakes and substantial, stick-to-your-ribs comfort foods like meatloaf, turkey with filling and chopped steak, which Gaspich says is a customer favorite.

One thing that sets Anna T’s apart is that everything is made from scratch, from “Mama’s chili” to meatballs to chicken corn soup to the rich, decadent macaroni and cheese. When patrons order sandwiches for the first time, they are often pleasantly surprised to find them devoid of deli meat.

“All our meats are cooked here and hand-carved off the bone,” said Gaspich, adding that the turkey club is a big hit. “We also do a slow-roasted, pulled pork sandwich with our own apple cider barbecue sauce made with real apple cider.”

Gaspich makes it a point to greet all his customers and make them feel welcome.

“Even though I spend quite a bit of time in the kitchen, I always attempt to check on every customer,” he said.

Those who leave room for dessert can choose from cookies and cakes, which are baked on site.

“The cakes, pies and the grilled sticky buns are all homemade, using my mother’s or my staffs’ family recipes,” said Gaspich.

Close Ties

Judy Imes works in the Fulton Bank building and is an Anna T’s regular.

“It’s a friendly, relaxing place,” she said. “Mark’s dad comes in, and he’s a joy also.”

Imes enjoys a few dishes in particular.

“When you order a chef salad, you get real turkey, and they offer a tuna melt on Fridays that is just delicious. They also have a veggie omelet that is to die for.”

The Harrisburg resident said she enjoys that all the food is homemade and portions are generous.

“I ordered their hot roast beef sandwich and had to take half of it home,” she said.

Joe Sobel, who works next door, said he likes the fact that Gaspich supports local artists by displaying their artwork, which is available for sale on consignment.

“I’d like to get to the point where I rotate it out every few months,” said Gaspich.

Sobel said he appreciates the fact that the owner has such close ties to Harrisburg. He also enjoys the welcoming atmosphere and the homemade family recipes, including the soups and omelets.

“Everything is fresh and tastes good. For lunch, I often choose the wraps because they’re well done,” he said.

Specials vary daily and diners can preview them by visiting the Anna T’s Facebook page.

For those who want to bring meals home to the family, takeout is available along with seating up front for customers to relax as they wait.

For Gaspich, Anna T’s has been a satisfying second act as he enjoys his new career as a restaurateur.

“My favorite part is chatting with customers and seeing their smiles,” he said. “The fact that I’m putting out comfort foods at a good price makes me happy.”

Anna T’s is located at 210 N. 3^rd St., Harrisburg. Hours are Monday to Thursday, 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. and 24 hours from Friday through Sunday at 2 p.m. For more information, call 717-236-1110 or visit the Facebook page: Anna T’s.

A Bright Idea: Lighten Up Harrisburg gears up for its second Glow Run.

June 1, 2015 | by Rebecca Hanlon

Got glow gear?

Then you’re already prepared for this month’s 5K Glow Run, which, for a second year, will make the city a little brighter by raising money to install LED lights on streets that need it most.

Runners and walkers of all ages and fitness levels will fill Riverfront Park with neon glow sticks, necklaces, bracelets and a variety of other lights as they participate in the night-time run. And, if you lack any manner of glowing, blinking bling, don’t fret. You can always pick up some at the race.

“I was blown away by the people who responded and showed up last year,” said event coordinator Stacia Zewe of Lighten Up Harrisburg. “When you plan a party, you’re like, ‘Gosh, I hope somebody comes.’ I couldn’t believe how many people cared.”

Last year, $22,000 was donated to Harrisburg for lighting improvements along Front Street, Zewe said.

While the city donated labor for the installation of the lights, the money raised from the 5K helped replace 14 streetlights in that area, she said.

Lighten Up Harrisburg is no stranger to making the city shine brighter. The organization’s other projects have included the Walnut Street Bridge relighting and lighting work on Allison Hill.

Despite the improvement along Front Street thanks to last year’s run, the lighting project still must be completed, Zewe said. If the event can raise enough money, Lighten Up Harrisburg would like to focus on other streets, too.

“Overall, people were happy to see that something was done so quickly,” Zewe said. “Within a month of the Glow Run, we had replaced 14 lights on Front Street, so people could see that what they did helped make an immediate impact.”

To keep things fresh this year, the run will feature the fun street band No Last Call at the turnaround point to help keep runners and walkers motivated.

Also, last year’s after-party at Sawyer’s Cantina meant participants younger than 21 couldn’t celebrate post-race. In an effort to include all runners, a small party will be held at the starting point in Riverfront Park.

For Zewe, it’s still surprising to see the community event she dreamed up turn into such a popular race. A runner herself, she saw the need to provide better lighting in the city.

While she hasn’t created a hard financial goal for this year, she’s hopeful that even more money will be raised, largely due to corporate sponsors. WCI Partners, City House Bed and Breakfast, Mid Penn Bank and Road ID are among those contributing.

“Last year, I think all of us were blown away because the event was our baby, and it learned to crawl and run in the same night,” Zewe said. “It’s so different and such a good cause. It’s important to me that we keep that kind of excitement going.”

Lighten Up Harrisburg’s 5K Glow Run is set for 8:40 p.m. on June 6. The race starts in Riverfront Park, Harrisburg, just south of State Street. Pre-registered runners can pick up bibs and race information at TheBurg offices, 2601 N. Front St., 3 to 6 p.m., on June 5. Registration is $30 for adults and $20 for kids 12 and under. For more information, visit www.lightenupharrisburg.com.

Student Scribes: Letter from Harrisburg

June 1, 2015 | by Dawn Saylor

I heard nothing about the Baltimore riots until the following day, when I walked into work and noticed the television tuned to the news. Being at the tail end of my undergrad career, while also working four to five days a week, leaves little time for keeping up to date. I knew about the death of Freddie Gray, but not the escalating situation. The first images that crossed my vision were of fire and chaos. I worry that it could happen here, in Harrisburg, right down the road from where I live.

My neighborhood, Allison Hill, has a face only a mother could love. Empty plastic bags tumble down the streets, and scraggly weeds grow out of the cracked sidewalks. A pothole on my side street takes up so much of the road that my car can only drive down the wrong half. My car might easily be dragged into the black hole of rubble, ripping out the undercarriage and leaving a gutted shell behind. The street remains mostly unchanged since I purchased my house and moved in five years ago. Though they did throw in some cold patch a few years back that lasted until the following winter, when it began to cave in on itself again. Like the burnt-out street lamp on my block, I doubt the city will ever fix it.

And I adore it. I adore the Dominican salon across the street, the Spanish-American restaurant on the corner, the deli that sits diagonal from my house that reminds me of Brooklyn. I love the joy of the two young girls who live in the house across from me, who giggle and chase each other down the stairs and up the ramp of their home, over and over. I wave to my neighbors across the street and smile at the passersby on my way to the store. I love the kids on roller blades navigating the jutting sidewalks; the folks walking back from the supermarket pushing wheeled personal carts around the broken landscape; the souped-up dirt bikes that rip and roar up the street on any given Saturday night, or Tuesday afternoon for that matter. But in the same breath, learning to discern the difference between bullets and fireworks factored into the education of living on the tattered edge of Allison Hill. I actually reside two blocks past the technical edge of Allison Hill, but bullets aren’t concerned with invisible boundary lines.

I understand the anger of Baltimore and Ferguson, of Eric Garner, Amadou Diallo and Rodney King. There is a systemic racism in this country, and it has gone on far too long. But how do we channel that anger into change? How do we become a country that values each and every life? My neighborhood could very easily descend into violence. The buildings in this city could burn alongside police cars. Walk down Derry Street, and you will see abandoned houses, chipped and peeling paint, broken and boarded up windows. The Rite Aid down the street has been robbed so often they employ a security guard. How are the people who live in this neighborhood supposed to hope for a better future when their environment falls apart around them? Martin Luther King Jr. stated that, “A riot is the language of the unheard.” Who will hear the cries of my neighbors if chaos erupts? More importantly, is anyone listening now?

My friend “Jersey Mike” Van Jura moved here from New Jersey, and adopted Harrisburg as his home. He loved it here. I never asked him why he came; I missed that opportunity. He saw possibility on the streets of this city. He wanted to create a scene that encouraged art, music and theater, that encouraged political activism, that fostered involvement. He wanted a better future for everyone. His heart and soul loved and believed that Harrisburg could be a place where people wanted to live, a city where bands wanted to come because a space conducive to the arts existed. He believed that, by creating a scene where positivity reigned, the whole city could benefit.

The first few years after I moved here, I hated Harrisburg. The only thing to do in the city involved drinking on 2^nd Street. Yes, there were some fabulous restaurants, and a couple fantastic little theaters, The Gamut and Theatre Harrisburg, but once you attended their productions, weeks passed before a new show opened. I regretted ever moving here to be near my family. I’d lived in Brooklyn, traveled to Chicago several times, and spent a couple months in Austin. I’d resided for a decade in Kalamazoo, Mich., a town loaded with theaters and music venues, art galleries and opportunities. Here, I felt adrift on a disappointing wave lapping at the shore of a life I used to live.

Ranting one day to Jersey Mike about the lack of culture in the city, he surprised me. I thought he’d commiserate with me. Instead, he told me I needed to be part of the creation of something bigger than an angry diatribe. He put himself out there all the time. He held tweet-ups at Appalachian Brewing Co. that encouraged people to become an active participant in the change they wanted to see in the city. He blogged about the best diners and attended City Council meetings; he wanted his voice to be heard. The last day I saw him, he wore a crisp white shirt and black vest. His smile showed his excitement at lending his voice to the politics of the city. Three days before, he’d officially submitted his name to run for City Council. He never had the opportunity make good on his promise. When Harrisburg lost Jersey Mike, it lost a beacon of light in a city immersed in darkness.

At one time, my neighborhood must have been gorgeous with its beautiful old houses. When I started looking to purchase my first home, I spent much of the time perusing cookie-cutter townhomes that appeared as carbon copies of one another. There came a point where I almost gave up hope. Then I stumbled upon an ad on one of the real estate websites showing photos of the home I would come to call my own. Boasting high ceilings, beautiful woodwork, a hardwood staircase and a claw foot bathtub, I knew I wanted to look at it. My real estate agent, a sweet, older, balding man tried to talk me out of it because of the neighborhood. He insinuated that as a tiny, single, white girl intent on living alone, that area of the city might not be in my best interest.

I knew the dangers of living in a poverty-stricken area. I’d lived in Trenton, Cleveland and Pittsburgh. My neighborhood in Kalamazoo acquired the name “The Student Ghetto.” For years, it had been dangerous, but the students stayed and bought homes, fixing them up in the process. The neighbors there looked out for one another. So, I didn’t care about the surface appearance of Allison Hill. The requisite postage stamp-sized backyard and the sloped-ceiling attic where my books could live sealed the deal. On August 31, 2009, I signed the paperwork and became a homeowner. The girl who never lived in one house longer than two years finally put down roots.

The following summer, a drive-by shooting occurred right in front of my house. In that moment, I remember thinking that gunshots sound nothing like fireworks when they happen 15 feet from your bedroom window at 2:30 a.m. I watched as a crime scene unit placed tiny, numbered placards on the sidewalk for each bullet that lay abandoned on the street. There were no casualties, but I wondered if I’d made a mistake. Who was I to live alone in such a dangerous place? I talked to friends. They advised me to consider purchasing a weapon. A black-ops military man I know, more than 6 foot tall and very imposing, suggested a rifle with buckshot. The sound of the cocking gun would become a deterrent, and, even if I couldn’t aim, the buckshot would likely spray enough that I’d hit whoever was in the process of breaking in. As a hippie, I recoiled from this whole idea. I’d never held a weapon, let alone considered firing one. Could I shoot someone even in defense of my life? I’d been advised that once I shot, I must empty the chamber into whoever stood before me. Otherwise, the police would not believe that I felt truly threatened.

Walking around Allison Hill, if you learn to look past the roll-down gates and the graffiti, you’ll see backyard gardens bristling with sunflowers. You’ll see the young trees we planted a few years ago and an anti-violence mural the community created with the words, “Live the Conversation” on the side of a building. When I walk anywhere, the people almost always smile back at me. In the five years since I moved into the neighborhood, I’ve never had a problem. But summertime approaches, and I will once again fall asleep to gunshots and sirens. After 5½ years of hard work at HACC and Penn State Harrisburg, I wonder what my bachelors of arts offers my community.

In Jersey Mike’s office hung a whiteboard. On it, in varying shades of dry erase markers, were listed the names of bands he wanted to bring to the city. I often wrote my own suggestions. Some were unattainable: Flogging Molly, Mumford & Sons, Bruce Springsteen. One late night, while sitting on the deck, we planned how we might attract Springsteen to play at the Abbey Bar. I still think about that complicated and impossible dream that involved a lot of luck. Everyone we mentioned it to enjoyed a good chuckle. But Jersey’s magnetic charm brought plenty of other bands, and I’m not sure he didn’t actually believe he could get Bruce Springsteen to play here. I’m not sure I didn’t believe he could do it. Especially considering I once wrote the name of one of my favorite bands, Lucero, on the board on a whim. I’m fairly certain I squealed the day he told me he’d booked them.

As I watched the news of Baltimore the day after the riots occurred, I listened to stories of community members calling for calm. I turned it to sports when my bar started to fill up, but the images lingered. That evening, I turned the news on at home and waited for the curfew to take effect. Riots cops lined the streets, the protestors facing them. Someone lobbed a bottle at the police, and they retaliated. But somewhere amidst the rising tension, the community chose peace and silence came over the neighborhood as people slipped back to their homes. Did the people calm because they felt that their voices had been heard?

It’s easy to imagine Allison Hill as Baltimore, easy to see potential fires where stores grace corners. I hope, if the worst happened, that someone would give voice to the unheard cries of the people who live here. But maybe Jersey Mike was right. Maybe life needs to be more than waiting around for someone else to make a change, to take a chance. I love the pockets of beauty hidden in my neighborhood, but I’ve never really claimed it as home.

I explain patiently to those who look at me quizzically when I reveal where I live that the scariest man in my neighborhood is the man who lives in the duplex on the other side of my house. I have a kiddie pool I set up in my backyard every summer. I like reading in the sunshine, a beer on the side table, XPN playing over the radio on the porch. Creepy old man neighbor insists on leaning over the fence to ask me what I’m doing, as if the swimsuit, pool and book weren’t enough of an indication. As I hastily try to cover my body from his lecherous eyes, I know now why the previous owners grew morning glories on the trellis. I’ve been forced to listen to his family scream obscenities at each other more often than not. I worry more about them than I do about coming home at 4 a.m. after closing up at my job. Yes, there are arguments at all hours that waft in off the streets, and I’ve been woken up more than once by the sound of a vehicle crashing on the block in front of my house, but I’ve never felt threatened in my neighborhood. Catcalled, yes, but I’m a woman, so there’s nothing unusual in that.

Allison Hill is quiet tonight. No siren’s lullabies seep in through my open window. My cat’s head rests on his paws as I sit in my worn blue recliner and contemplate what comes next. My eyes fall on the stacks of books, the piles of mail, the sci-fi posters that adorn my living room and hide the holes I’ve made trying to hang pictures on the horsehair plaster walls, and I wonder if I want to leave. Grad school looms on the horizon. Ten years ago, when I first moved to Harrisburg, five years before I bought my house, when asked if I planned on leaving, I always answered with a resounding yes! I’d always planned to leave. Now I’m not so sure.

Today, the dappled sun flickered over me through the branches of the oak tree, and my neighbors waved from across the street. I walked over to Rite-Aid and jokingly gave Alex, one of the employees there, a hard time, as I always do; I know most everyone who works there by name. I passed a man walking with his daughter on my way back home, and they both smiled at me. These people hold voices worthy of listening to, if only someone cared to do so.

Last summer, 13 years after I left, I drove through the “Student Ghetto” back home in Kalamazoo. I noticed the vibrant colors of repainted houses, the streets free of debris, the hippies still playing guitar on the porches. It is beautiful today, because the residents graduated and decided to stay. I think about Allison Hill, and the people who live here. Hardworking, decent people who deserve more than vacant overgrown lots and potholes. It’s days like these I ask myself what Jersey Mike would do. What made him stay here despite the odds stacked against the city? I wish I could envision the city he imagined. At a crossroads, the decision of whether to stay or to leave waits in front of me. When the sun shines down and children’s voices echo on the streets, I want to stay. I want to make it better. But when the silence of the night breaks with the ricochet of gunshots, I want to sell and get as far away from the danger as possible. Then I wonder how the media would characterize my kind, smiling neighbors, and my troubled neighborhood, if chalk outlines left ghostly imprints on the streets.

Dawn Saylor was a senior English major at Penn State Harrisburg. She graduated in May.

River City: From ferry to festivals, the Susquehanna has defined Harrisburg.

June 1, 2015 | by M. Diane McCormick

Before there was Harris’ Ferry, there was a shallow plateau allowing Native Americans to ford the Susquehanna River. Trails led to and from the eastern and western shores. The landings weren’t called Shipoke or Lemoyne then, but they were made to order for the trading post and ferry established by entrepreneurial pioneer John Harris.

A new book by Eric V. Fasick, “Harrisburg and the Susquehanna River,” begins at that beginning, starting with the ford in the river and chronicling the centuries-long relationship between a capital city and its shallow, sometimes sparkling, occasionally cranky waterway.

The book, from Arcadia Publishing’s “Images of America” series, draws largely from the Historical Society of Dauphin County’s archives. As chair of HSDC’s collections committee, Fasick has special insight into the rich trove.

“I knew what was upstairs,” he says. “I knew what we had.”

The history of residents’ interactions with the river is a history of moneymaking, says Fasick. Ferries, toll bridges, dance halls, sports, festivals, dredging for waste coal washing down from northeast Pennsylvania—it’s all there in a book that explores the Susquehanna’s waters, islands and bridges from Colonial days to the 1990s.

As the book recounts, before City Island became the focal point for mid-river fun, there was Independence Island, near what is now the Harvey Taylor Bridge. Ferries would carry guests to a dance hall fashioned from a rolling rink transported to the spot.

“They had an old coal chute they set up for kids to slide down into the lagoon,” says Fasick.

Around 1900, the city of Harrisburg acquired its own island, known originally as Turkey Island and then called by the names of a succession of owners. One island owner, John J. Hargest, had been well known for the vegetables he grew and sold in Market Square.

The newly named City Island became home to a bathing beach, originally restricted for male use by city officials who said they had “witnessed the antics of Atlantic City and Coney Island.” Until urban flight and the coming of municipal pools, it was a popular cool-down destination for residents and a revenue generator for the city.

“The push from the city was to keep people in town,” said Fasick.

In a generations-spanning coincidence, Fasick realized after publication that the cover photo his editor chose—scores of men, women and children enjoying a dip in the river—included his great-grandfather and great-grandmother or her sister.

Rises, Falls

Fasick, steeped in local history and river culture, was born in Harrisburg and grew up in Lemoyne. He works at the Pennsylvania Liquor Control Board and serves on the HSDC board. He has been published in history journals and authored another Arcadia book, “Tropical Storm Agnes in Greater Harrisburg.”

As Fasick’s river chronicle shows, the Susquehanna’s role in the life of the region rises and falls with the city’s fates. Beginning in 1900, the City Beautiful movement did the river a favor, leading to construction of riverfront walkways, dedication of parklands and an end to raw sewage pumped directly into those sparkling waters.

People responded by celebrating life on the water. Festivals, whether they were called Water Carnival or Kipona, originally included participatory races. Residents competed in the fastest freestyle, swiftest canoeing or the unique talent for swimming while reading a newspaper without getting it wet. Really.

But the general intimacy with the river from those days has dissipated.

“We want everything sterilized to the point where we don’t want to be in that perceived filth,” he says.

City Island activities have included football games, track meets, concerts and gardening. The one constant through all the years—at least, since around 1893—has been baseball, and, when photos lacked identification, Fasick turned history detective.

For one long shot from center field, he spent more than 35 hours and used such clues as arched lettering on a player’s uniform, a coach’s distinctive jacket, and the overcoats worn by spectators to conclude that it was Sept. 22, 1904. On that cool day, the Harrisburg Athletic Club defeated the visiting Washington Senators, led by Hall of Fame pitching legend Walter Johnson.

“I was trying to date the photos and, really having no background on baseball at the time, I thought it gave me a good groundwork to start with this one,” says Fasick.

And in a photo from Sept. 25, 1919, when the Boston Red Sox came to town, is that Babe Ruth approaching first base? There’s no proof, but Fasick says the big guy in baggy breeches played that day, and that stiff-backed running stance sure looks familiar.

“I think it’s Babe Ruth,” says Fasick. “I put my proverbial rear end out there on that one saying it’s Ruth, but I really do think it is.”

“Harrisburg and the Susquehanna River,” by Eric V. Fasick, can be purchased at several local bookstores and online. A book-signing will be held to coincide with the opening of the “Susquehanna River Islands” exhibit, June 14, at the Historical Society of Dauphin County, 219 S. Front St., Harrisburg. Information is at www.dauphincountyhistory.org.

May News Digest

June 1, 2015 | by Lawrance Binda

Mayor’s Slate Victorious in Council Primary

Three candidates endorsed by Mayor Eric Papenfuse won nominations last month for four-year terms on Harrisburg City Council.

Incumbent Jeffrey Baltimore and challengers Cornelius Johnson and Westburn Majors emerged victorious in the Democratic primary for three council seats. Challenger Destini Hodges tallied the most votes for the lone two-year seat.

No Republicans ran in the primary, meaning the winners of the Democratic primary will be strongly favored in November’s general election.

Moreover, Papenfuse vocally denounced incumbent Brad Koplinski, pleading with residents to vote against him. Koplinski placed fourth, losing to Majors by just 18 votes for the nomination for the final four-year seat.

“This is a big night for Harrisburg, absolutely phenomenal,” said Papenfuse after the final votes were reported. “I’m elated that we’re finally going to get new leadership to move the city forward.”

Primary results were as follows: Johnson, 1,474; Baltimore, 1,429; Majors, 1,257; Koplinski, 1239; Ellis “Rick” Roy, 1,048; Rhonda Mays, 760; Jeremiah Chamberlin, 719; Ron Chapel, 332; Koscina Lowe, 226.

In the race for city treasurer, Tyrell Spradley defeated challenger Brian Ostella by a count of 1,279 to 1,221. Council appointed Spradley last year to fill the unexpired term of former city Treasurer John Campbell, who was arrested on theft charges.

For Harrisburg school board, Jennifer Smallwood, Monica Blackston-Bailey, Matthew Krupp and Melvin Wilson Jr. won nominations for four-year seats. At press time, Daunessy Penn and Lionel Gonzalez were tied for the final four-year slot, each with 1,159 votes. Judd Pittman defeated LaTasha Frye for the nomination for the sole two-year seat.

Tax Abatement Plan Passed

Harrisburg City Council last month narrowly approved a 10-year tax abatement ordinance that many had considered dead.

By a 4-3 vote, council members passed a plan that would provide full tax abatement on residential property improvements and new construction in Harrisburg for 10 years.

“For the first time ever, we have 100-percent tax abatement,” said Mayor Eric Papenfuse. “Before, there wasn’t enough of an abatement (to promote development). This is a stronger, more powerful LERTA.”

Council twice before had failed to pass the administration’s plan for the Local Economic Revitalization Tax Assistance (LERTA) program.

Councilman Brad Koplinski last month introduced his own LERTA plan, a program that would have diminished the tax abatement by 10 percent a year over 10 years. However, a council majority opted instead to re-introduce and pass the administration’s plan, along with certain responsible contracting provisions.
“I was totally shocked,” said Papenfuse. “I didn’t see this coming, but it’s great for the city of Harrisburg.”

The LERTA ordinance now must be approved by Dauphin County and the city school board, which are the other entities in Harrisburg that tax property.
Veno Announces Departure

Gene Veno, the state’s chief recovery officer for the Harrisburg school district, said he would step down at the end of June.

In December 2012, Veno was appointed to help revive the struggling, debt-ridden district. Several months later, he presented a five-year plan that he hoped would lead to a financial and academic revival.

Since then, the district has been in financial surplus, due to a combination of tax increases, school closures, staff layoffs and the discovery of millions of dollars that had been kept off the books. Academically, however, the district’s performance has deteriorated further.

Veno said he was departing to focus more on his consulting and lobbying firm, Gene Veno and Associates.

Last year, Harrisburg Mayor Eric Papenfuse asked the state to remove Veno, claiming he was too focused on financial, not academic, improvement.

As of press time, the state Department of Education had not announced a replacement for Veno.

Comprehensive Plan Team Named

Harrisburg last month awarded a contract to a consulting team for the first update in more than 40 years to its comprehensive plan, a document that will guide development across the city for the next two decades.

The $200,000 contract went to a team led by Bret Peters of the Harrisburg-based Office for Planning and Architecture and that includes designers, planners and engineers from both local and global firms.

Mayor Eric Papenfuse and city planner Geoffrey Knight said the update was long overdue and would help speed the city’s recovery.

Papenfuse described the plan as “the vision of the residents and the business owners and the stakeholders and everyone who has a stake in Harrisburg and its future development.”

The mayor added that he expects the plan to be ready for formal approval in April 2016 and that it will probably result in a revision of the city’s zoning code.

Knight said the plan, when finished, would overhaul an existing comprehensive plan dating back to 1974.

“So we’re in arrears by about 20 years with updating and adopting a new one,” he said.

Moose Lodge Conversion OK’d

The landmark Moose Lodge Temple in Midtown Harrisburg took a step closer to revival and reoccupation last month, as the city’s Zoning Hearing Board approved a plan to renovate it as mixed-use space.

The board unanimously granted a variance to WCI Partners LP for 33 apartments on three upper floors with commercial space on the ground floor. WCI needed the variance because the size of the apartment units, about 500 square feet apiece, is less than the 1,200-square-foot size permitted under the zoning code for the 900-block of N. 3rd Street.

WCI President David Butcher assured the board that the apartments, while small, would have high-end finishes that would appeal to young professionals. He estimated that the units would rent for around $1,000 per month.

WCI is purchasing the four-story building at the corner of N. 3rd and Boas streets for $900,000 from Atlanta-based Mosaica Education, a for-profit charter school company that is in receivership.

The purchase includes several adjacent parcels of land—three dilapidated townhouses and a 40-vehicle parking lot. Butcher said that WCI also plans to renovate the townhouses into apartments and retail space and would landscape the area around the parking lot to make it more attractive.

Harrisburg City Council now must approve WCI’s land use plan. If all goes smoothly, the project should start by the end of summer with completion expected in 12 to 18 months, said Butcher.

For five years, the former Moose Lodge housed the Ronald Brown Charter School. However, the building has been empty since 2005, when the school district’s board of control refused to reauthorize the school’s charter.

The Harrisburg Moose Lodge Temple was built in 1924, designed in the Beaux Arts style by renowned Harrisburg architect Clayton J. Lappley.

Disclosure: Alex Hartzler, publisher of TheBurg, is a principal with WCI Partners.

Changing Hands

Benton St., 634: 8219 Ventures LLC to S. Jawhar, $32,000

Briarcliff Rd., 135: J. & J. Lawrence to A. Sawyer, $215,000

Briggs St., 207: PA Deals LLC to S. & K. Plummer, $90,000

Brookwood St., 2424: G. & M. Tipton to R. Patterson, $70,000

Capital St., 911: K. Dolphin to B. & A. Lentz, $171,000

Chestnut St., 1925: J. Harbilas to J. Munoz Tineo, $45,000

Cumberland St., 1322: D. & D. Oswandel to E. Brinkman, $109,900

Cumberland St., 1416: T. Lewis to Full Harvest Ministries, $80,000

Division St., 609: D. Miller to G. Barone & L. Ambrosino, $90,000

Edgewood Rd., 2309: W. & N. Robinson to M. Cool & J. Smith, $162,000

Emerald St., 405: P. Dobson to G. Venable, $40,000

Fulton St., 1710: Cartus Financial Corp. to W. Fletcher & K. Cropper, $97,872

Green St., 1819: K. Livingston to N. Fickes, $105,000

Green St., 3212: R. Darr to E. Griffin, $55,000

Hale Ave., 426: M. & J. Williams to Gandy Real Estate LLC, $40,000

Kelker St., 500: Hamilton Health Center to Ministerio Nuevo Renacer, $65,000

Logan St., 2446: PA Deals LLC to M. & J. Sather, $104,300

Melrose St., 1029: S. & J. Wydra to W. Hocker, $35,000

North St., 244: E&S Properties LLC to K. Bryner, $161,000

North St., 1719: G. & M. Ramsey to K. Siddal & D. Cook, $35,000

N. 2^nd St., 515: M. & B. Habib to Candlelight Properties LLC, $625,000

N. 15^th St., 1617: Ajaz Uddin Inc. to T. Sweet, $35,000

N. 16^th St., 911: E. & J. High to M. McManus, $82,500

N. Front St., 1525, Unit 404: R. & R. Fried to J. Kelley, $210,000

N. Front St., 1525, Unit 613: J. Wirick to Pact Enterprises LLC, $108,000

Peffer St., 220: R. Scarabello to G. Cudaback & S. Cox, $190,000

Rudy Rd., 1944: V. Kelly to V. & S. Reyes, $66,900

Showers St., 616: J. Forr to S. Clearfield, $112,000

S. 13^th St, 1530: M. Watson to W. Okello, $58,000

S. 19^th St., 1340: PA Deals LLC to S. Orr, $81,000

S. Front St., 623: D. Sullivan et al to G. Schwab, $117,500

State St., 231, Unit 401: LUX 1 LP to S. Sehar, $164,900

Susquehanna St., 1724: Fannie Mae to B. & E. Burchfield, $35,000

Swatara St., 2101: T. Sweet to R. Gonzalez, $55,000

Swatara St., 2224: H. Romanovicz & W. Shade to L. Ho, $105,000

Wyeth St., 1412: J. Cruz to PA Deals LLC, $82,000

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