In the early 1990s, I occasionally watched a dramedy called Northern Exposure which had a classic "fish out of water" premise. In it, a young New York doctor named Joel Fleishman accepts a position as a general practitioner in a remote Alaskan community called Cicely. Because I had been an international student, the stranger-in-a-stranger-land element of the show intrigued me. Significantly, at the start, Fleishman seems rather smug about his own intellectual and social superiority. But gradually, the eclectic mix of characters demonstrate that they have a lot to offer. Northern Exposure got me thinking about how the U.S. is vast and diverse enough to encompass significant cultural differences, and how we all have something valuable to share.
Later, when I moved to Pennsylvania and started to research the history of its public libraries, I found that there can be significant cultural differences within each state, too. Through James Carville's famous political quip about Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, and Alabama in between, and through the hit TV series Orange is the New Black which includes a character named Tiffany "Pennsatucky" Doggett, many people are superficially aware that the Appalachian center of the Commonwealth is quite distinct from its two largest cities. Living near Harrisburg, I am nestled between the edge of those mountains to my west and miles of farmland to my east, with Philadelphia about 2 hours' drive beyond that. Situated where I am, I learned quickly that one-liners and caricatures don't do justice to the natural beauty of Central PA, or to the people who live there.
After 20 years, I am still discovering communities that offer something special. This week, I wound up in Emporium, in Cameron County. When you first drive into town, it's all too easy to pick up the cues of the "Rust Belt" narrative that is so often used to describe Pennsylvania. Just about every municipality in the Commonwealth has its big company that closed down, leaving both an enduring cultural imprint and a sense of loss. Emporium's seems to have been Sylvania, a manufacturer of electrical/electronics equipment founded in the early 1900s that drew hundreds of new faces to the area during World War II then closed in 1990. The borough's population rose and fell in step, from about 2,500 residents at the turn of the century, to a high point of nearly 3,800 during the 1940s, down to just 1,900 people today. Institutions that were once there -- including many of the stores, large hotels, and theater -- are gone.
However, as I spent the week in Emporium, I noticed how the remaining residents truly love their community. And this tiny town is worth that.
[I'm writing this as I scarf down another cookie from Allegheny Baking Company. Holy moly, are they tasty!]
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| A Mason Hill Cornbread Cookie from Allegheny Baking Company. Photo by the author. |
To be sure, I had my share of Fleishman-esque comedic moments in Emporium, starting the moment I arrived. My Airbnb was on 5th Street, uphill from the main drag, and my GPS didn't warn me about the one ways in that part of town. For added fun, there is a 5th Street Extension, too. After a 3 1/2 hour drive, my gut was overfull, and as I rounded a certain corner for the umpteenth time, I nearly lost my $h!t in every way. I gave up, drove in the wrong direction, and earned a shout from a guy who was watering a patch of flowers in his yard. The one-ways, I later figured out, are necessary because hillside streets in Emporium are so narrow. Road construction is hard work, especially on rocky, slope-y ground, and I guess that the first crews to pave Emporium's streets left well enough alone as soon as they would accommodate a Ford Model T with a little extra room to park.
It was good exercise (and less frustrating) to leave my car behind and walk any place I wanted to go. In a town of just 1,900 souls, most people that I passed by stared at me -- whether because I was a stranger, or because I am strange-looking, who can say? Late one afternoon, I was exhausted from hours of the get-up-and-sit-down that it took to explore and photocopy historical documents from 3 back-office file cabinets. So I quit a little early and trudged toward home. I was gimping along when an older man drinking beer on his front steps hollered at me, "Hey! Are you alright?"
"Yeah ..." I said with a wince. I stopped and rubbed my bad knee.
"If you've got a bum leg, why are you walkin'?' he said with a chuckle.
"I guess somebody's got to use these sidewalks," I replied wryly.
"Ain't that the truth!" He thrust his bare arm into a cooler, pulled out a Straub's, and limped over to me.
I tried to refuse politely: "oh, thank you, but I don't drink ..."
"Church lady?"
"Not exactly ..."
"Are you from Potter?"
"No ..."
"Clearfield?"
"Uht uh."
[I later learned that Clearfield and Potter Counties, which border Cameron, have some "dry" boroughs and townships]
"Well, whatever. You can use it to ice down your knee, then," he said kindly. "That's what I do, when I've drunk enough."
That's exactly what I did.
Another funny moment happened when I was at the ShurFine (a.k.a. Emporium Food Market). Seeing what folks in Emporium pay for basic groceries, the rest of us don't have any right to complain. There isn't another supermarket in the entire county, the next-best option is WalMart in St. Mary's (Elk County), and the company prices its products like they know it. Many of the shelf-stable items that I rely on when I'm on the road, including medium-sized boxes of Sun-Maid raisins, Pop-Tarts, Cheez-Its, and Frosted Mini Wheats, were in the $5-7 range, a dollar or two more than I pay in Harrisburg. As I was checking out, I didn't have enough cash, so I pulled out my debit card. The young person at the register chirped, "Hey! Hold on! I forgot to give you your discount!"
"Discount?" Although there are ShurFines where I live, I don't have a loyalty card.
"Yeah! We give all seniors 15% off!"
I choked on the Altoid I had just popped into my mouth.
[I'm 50ish. And in the moment, I realized that that little tin of wintergreens cost me $4.19].
"How do you know I'm a senior?" I challenged.
"Why, your hair and old-timey candy!"
Maybe the celeb-trend of going gray and the retro-cool of eating "curiously strong" British mints hasn't hit Emporium yet. But I kept my mouth shut, took the money, and ran.
Now, you could read these interactions as examples of rural innocence. But there's an easygoing generosity of spirit in Emporium that deserves to be noticed and appreciated. Besides the folks who'll give you a free beer or cheaper groceries if you look like you need them, you can spot other types of good-heartedness all over town. While I was doing research at Barbara Moscato Brown Memorial Library, I learned that the Emporium Foundation contributed to it repeatedly over the years, built the nursing home (Felt Manor) across the street, and has funded more than $10 million worth of other projects -- so much for such a small community. As I thumbed through weekly newspapers, I saw that there was a long tradition of honoring deceased loved ones by donating "Memorials" (cash gifts) to local organizations. Sometimes, the papers ran ads listing all Emporium's worthy charities and urging people to give. In the present day, I encountered a former schoolteacher who hand-makes and sells hundreds of sloppy joes every month to raise money for the library. I also overheard a teenage "library kid" offer to replant flowers and greenery around the building. At some point, someone else painted colorful murals in the town's crosswalks, boosting the library, the senior center, and the high school football team. Even radio station WLEM has the motto "We Love EMporium." As I was searching online for aerial views, I came across a YouTube video that a local photographer had developed in hopes that HGTV Hometown Takeover would help the area revitalize. The emotion in his voice as he describes what Emporium means to him is a touching example of how residents feel about their community.
Even on the days when my huggy side wasn't in full effect, there were lots of other things to appreciate. The Pennsylvania Wilds region, of which Cameron County and Emporium are a part, is well-known for outdoors recreation, including hiking, winter sports, wildlife viewing, fishing, and hunting. But it has an appeal, even for less-rugged among us. Coming from Dauphin County, which has the worst air quality in the United States, the first thing I noticed was how refreshing Cameron County felt to breathe in. Sometimes, when I walk to and from work at Penn State Harrisburg, I find myself wheezing. But as I made my way between my Airbnb and the library, I took Emporium's steeper hills in stride. A second thing I noticed was how dark and quiet the area is at night. There are few floodlights from commercial buildings, most streets are unlit, and the thickly-forested hills tend to dim whatever lights shine from people's houses. A few evenings, I sat quietly on the porch of my apartment, staring in awe at the blackest black I've ever seen on the East Coast. Astronomy fans from all over the country come to visit Cherry Springs State Park, which isn't far away. My eyesight is too poor to stargaze, but the lack of noise and light pollution made Cameron County a sleeper's paradise for me.
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| A street sign in downtown Emporium. Photo by the author. |
On my last day in Emporium, I drove up a winding road to see an overlook that several people had recommended. The weather wasn't ideal and a budding tree obstructed my view of buildings below. But watching residents live their lives in a small town cradled (and, sometimes thrashed) by the Sinnemahoning Creek was a tender way of saying goodbye. While I've conducted site research at libraries that hold larger troves of historical documents, I enjoyed Emporium more than any other Pennsylvania community I've visited along the way. As Joel Fleishman wrote to his New York friends after he'd gained a greater appreciation for Cicely, Alaska, "I [felt] very lucky to be [t]here. Very, very lucky."
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| Emporium amid Pennsylvania's "Endless Mountains." Photo by the author. |
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