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Did you know Paul McCartney used to be in a band?
Student in a college social science course in Altoona, PA
WHAT IS YOUR EARLIEST HUMAN MEMORY?
Hmmm, the question implies that I may have other NON-human memories . . . perhaps a more intriguing question?
Unexpected Heroes
I wrote this story in the 72 hours following 9-11-2001. It was published in Westsylvania magazine as the usual Kidsylvania article in December/February 2001-2002. The article was illustrated with photos of the memorial that quickly started in Shanksville in those first few days after the attacks and with historical photos explaining the 1889 Johnstown Flood.
[In those emotionally-charged days, Editor Dave Hurst added this note when the article was originally published: The events of September 11, 2001 made Westsylvanians witnesses to history. Because of the impact of that day, and its link to the region, we have chosen to put the event into some historical perspective for our young readers. We recommend that children under the age of 12 read this article with an adult.]
Every day, firefighters, police officers, soldiers and other put on their uniforms and go to work. They know that before the end of the day they may be called to save a life – or give their own lives. They are our everyday heroes.
But every once in a while, ordinary people find themselves in situations they never imagined, and they, too, perform heroically. These are the unexpected heroes, and we have seen their bravery and sacrifice in Westsylvania.
Late May is a magical time. The new leaves on the trees bring green back to the mountains. Wildflowers fill the fields with pink, purple, yellow and white blossoms. Garden tools, packets of seeds and plants wait on the porch until the last frost has passed. There is color everywhere.
On May 31, 1889, Westsylvanians could not believe their eyes. On that day 112 years ago, a dam on the South Fork of the Little Conemaugh River broke, sending 20 million tons of water down the river to Johnstown. The flood killed more than 2,200 people. Our nation was horrified by the destruction of a mountain city in Pennsylvania.
Early September is a wonderful time in the mountains. The deep green of the forest is fringed with bits of red and yellow. Fields are filled with acres of goldenrod. Back porches and kitchen windowsills are crowded with tomatoes and zucchini. There is color everywhere.
On September 11, 2001, Americans were shocked by the destruction of the World Trade Center towers in New York City and the damage at the Pentagon in Washington, D.C. As many as 5,000 people were thought to have been killed. It all seemed far away until United Flight 93 crashed near Shanksville, about 18 miles by air from the remnants of the South Fork Dam.
The evening of May 30, 1889, Colonel Elias Unger watched as the rain fell and the water rose in Lake Conemaugh behind the dam. The next morning the Colonel and his workers tried to remove debris from a spillway that was clogged, to get the water flowing around the dam again, but the water was rising too quickly. Frantically, they rushed across the dam with their picks and shovels to dig a new spillway at the other end. Before long they realized they couldn’t dig fast enough.
About 11 o’clock, Colonel Unger sent John Parke to warn people who lived downstream from the dam of the danger. John rode his horse as fast as he could toward the town of South Fork, a few miles below the dam. John knew the people of Johnstown also had to be warned. Determined, he worked his way to the nearest telegraph office.
As United Flight 93 took off from Newark, N.J., the passengers and crew settled in for the five-hour flight to San Francisco. Their take-off had been delayed for 40 minutes, but now they were finally on their way. The flight attendants moved through the aisles, serving breakfast to the 37 passengers scattered about the big plane.
About an hour into the trip, the pleasant flight changed suddenly. Air traffic controllers were the first to suspect that something was wrong. As they watched their radar screens, the plane made several sharp turns. By this time, reports of the attacks at the World Trade Center in New York were starting to come in.
On board Flight 93, four men had taken over the plane. Their plan was simple: Hijack a plane and crash it into an American landmark, killing as many people as possible. Their plan would soon be figured out by the ordinary people on board, who were hearing about the World Trade Center and Pentagon attacks on their cell phones.
In 1889 there were no cell phones. In fact, most places in Westsylvania did not even have telephones yet. People relied on the telegraph for vital communication. Emma Ehrenfeld slogged through the swampy streets of South Fork to her job at the telegraph office. Her job was hard that day because the storm had knocked down poles and wires. She was getting ready for lunch when a man burst in, very excited. He told her that the dam was in danger of breaking.
But what could Emma do? All the direct wires from her office to Johnstown were down. She later said, “I thought I would do the best I could.” She called the operator at Mineral Point, a small town between South Fork and Johnstown. The operator there still had a connection to Johnstown. Together, they crafted a message and sent it to Johnstown.
The message finally made it to Hettie Ogle at the Western Union office in Johnstown. At 3 o’clock, she tapped out her last telegram: “The dam is becoming dangerous and may possibly go.” Fifteen minutes later, the dam broke. Hettie was still at her post an hour later when the terrible wave reached Johnstown. Her body was found with her telegraph equipment.
Up the valley, locomotive engineer John Hess was at the controls of his engine. He heard a sound unlike any he’d ever heard before. Later, he described it as “a roar and a crash and a smash.” He knew he had to do something.
As he put the locomotive in motion toward Johnstown, he tied down the cord of the steam whistle, letting out a loud, shrill blast that continued to blare as he guided the speeding locomotive into the city, just ahead of the flood. He hoped the sound of the whistle would alert people to the danger. He said, “I didn’t know what else to do; I didn’t see what else I could do.”
Several passengers on Flight 93 called family and friends; another called 911. Todd Beamer picked up a phone and reached Lisa Jefferson, a supervisor at GTE, the company that operated the phones on the plane. He told her what was happening; she told him what had happened in New York. Passenger Tom Burnett called his wife, Deena, in California. He asked her to call someone for help. When they hung up, Deena called 911 and was put in contact with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Tom and Deena spoke together three more times. Deena told Tom about the attacks in New York. Another passenger, Jeremy Glick, had called his wife, Lyzbeth. He, too, learned of the New York attack from his wife.
Jeremy, Todd, Tom and other passengers knew that the hijackers intended to use Flight 93 as a guided missile to destroy a target in Washington, just as the hijackers had done in New York. They knew that they had to do something. They decided to stop the hijackers however they could.
In the days after the 1889 Flood, survivors told stories of courageous feats, performed by unexpected heroes, who saved the lives of hundreds of people, often at the expense of their own. Eyewitness accounts of the flood included countless acts of kindness, often among strangers.
America and the world also responded. Millions of dollars and an estimated 85,000 tons (1,408 rail cars) of food and supplies flowed into the ruined city. One survivor wrote: “if there could be a silver lining to such a disaster, it was the stupendous charity manifested by our neighbors around the globe.”
As Johnstown reemerged from the mud and debris, new heroes also surfaced. On August 31, 1889, newspaper editor George T. Swank wrote:
“We are moving forward, slowly but steadily . . . those of us who stick together will come out all right in the end. So let us be thankful that so much help has been extended us and more is yet to come; that such great headway has been made toward rehabilitation where chaos reigned three months ago today, rather than linger over the memories of the wretched past. We cannot help that, but we can better the future – better it day by day and year by year as the present and future merge. . .”
We don’t know yet who all the heroes of September 11, 2001 will be. We already know it was a day that will be marked in history, but when historic events happen we need to step back and sort out everything.
Right now, it’s a story without an ending.
But we do know that no September 11, 2001, the passengers of Flight 93 were unexpected heroes. Their actions forever link Westsylvania with those tragedies in New York and Washington. Their actions forever link them to those unexpected heroes of Westsylvania’s history as well. And we are all better people because we have learned their stories.
A conversation with an artifact. For the next few days, I'll be spending some time documenting this Conestoga wagon at Fort Roberdeau near Altoona, PA. It is an authentic wagon, probably built in the late 1700s. For anthropologists, an artifact is any object that was made or used by a hominid (humans and our closest primate neighbors). Each artifact has clues about who made it and who used it. These may be one and the same person, but not always. We make very few of the artifacts we use everyday, but in the past, people's stuff was often the product of their own hands. After spending a few hours grabbing some overview photos today and planning my work, I am already impressed by many of the little touches that this artifact's maker built in. The wagon maker was obviously proud of his work. But there are also clues about the teamsters who drove this wagon. Scratched into the box are groups of tally marks which probably marked the number of days on the road. There seems to be some writing, too; wouldn't it be nice if one of these anonymous guys from the past took the time to scratch his name into the Prussian blue milk paint?
Oh, no! I've got one eye on the Pirates-Braves game as I write this and the Braves have just tied the game in the 6th inning. After staying up until 2 AM to see the end of last night's marathon (19 innings), I just don't think I can handle another emotional ride like that! It would be less stressful to ride across the mountains of PA on that old Conestoga wagon than it would be to have another game decided by an exhausted umpire.
A warm, steamy day was chased by late afternoon showers. As the sun disappeared behind Short Mountain, the fireflies rose from the wet grass accompanied by a wood thrush off in the distant woods. Nature's fireworks!
In 1975, in honor of the nation's bicentennial, Gov. Milton Shapp of Pennsylvania gave a Conestoga wagon to each of the states -- 50 wagons! The Conestoga wagon was so important in settling the nation for almost 100 years, and it was invented in Lancaster County, PA. Along with the wagons came a cast of performers who accompanied each wagon from each state to Valley Forge, PA. Each night they stopped and presented a program of original music created especially for the wagon train. On Independence Day 2011, members of the original cast reunited 35 years later and performed some of the 1976 show at Fort Roberdeau. It was a special moment, and a great way for us to celebrate the acquisition of a Conestoga wagon (more than 200 years old). It was a great day at Fort Roberdeau, perhaps the best 4th of July ever!
Ah, the time of orange flowers has arrived. Here in Central PA, the wildflowers seem to follow a schedule based on color. Early in the spring, little yellow and white flowers are the first to appear. Then comes the redbud, with its lovely whips of purple flowers throughout the woods. In May, the white, purple and pink shades of the Dame's Rockets crowd the shady spots. But now, it's time for orange. The day lilies are coming into full bloom in thick stands along roadsides and field margins. At my house, one of my favorites is just starting to bloom -- the trumpet vine. No, that's not a tree in the photo, that's really a trumpet vine. It's the biggest I've ever seen, and I applaud the forethought of the previous resident that planted that vine at the base of the utility pole. Look closely -- you can see the pole at the base, and the electrical supply line at the top. There are just a couple of flowers now, near the bottom. The hummingbirds are already regular visitors. Those orange flowers must be tasty, too; already, the rabbits are munching on those that fall, as are the deer. A doe was out there at 6 this morning having breakfast. What a great day to be home working around the house!
The kids got busy opening a new excavation unit during Kids' College at Fort Roberdeau late last week. They got through most of the topsoil, or plow zone. We didn't find too many artifacts yet, just a few pieces of fence wire (no surprise there, we're working near a 19th century barn). We also found a few flakes of chert. Although the kids won't be there to help, we'll continue this excavation over the next few weekends with volunteers. So, if you find yourself in the neighborhood of Fort Roberdeau, near Tyrone, PA (get directions from www.fortroberdeau.org), drop by and get your hands dirty!
Success!
We opened a new excavation unit today. The kids worked really hard to remove the grass. We began screening the dirt as it came out of the unit. So far, we've gotten a few artifacts of the 19th or 20th century -- nails, bottle glass, a fence staple. We also found a couple of flakes of chert (aka flint). Tomorrow is the last day of Kids' College (Penn State Altoona), and it looks like the kids may be able to get most of the topsoil, or plow zone, out of the unit. They are doing an excellent job!
After digging this morning, the kids dressed in their 18th century style clothes and learned about spinning and weaving. They got to leave their "mark" at Fort Roberdeau by stitching their initials into our "signature quilt." Over the years, we've collected hundreds of initials on our quilt. What a nice record of people who have visited.
The kids also got to try their hand at some 18th century style toys and games. The stilts are always a challenge!
Chert flakes and chips from a shovel test at Fort Roberdeau. We'll open a larger excavation unit near this location tomorrow.
We need a new plan
Our dig at Fort Roberdeau has hit a small problem. We tried to expand one of the excavation units to see if we could get out of what appears to be a modern feature. It has lots of plastic in it and the soils are all very mixed up and disturbed. We picked a direction, hoping that we could get out of it, but it seems that it's bigger than we thought.
In the other excavation unit, we were able to get through a tough layer of limestone fragments. Not many artifacts coming out below it. I'm thinking that tomorrow we will move to a site near the barn where I found evidence of a prehistoric "workshop" last month. We collected many flakes and chips of chert that were probably the result of making stone tools, like spear points and knives. Let's hope it's a productive move!
Scenes from Kids' College at Fort Roberdeau.
We seem to be between the proverbial rock and a hard place in our dig.
The blue tarp keeps us from getting baked in the sun as we dig, but it sure makes the colors of the soil and artifacts funky!
The Dig Begins!
We started digging at Fort Roberdeau today as part of Kids' College with Penn State Altoona. We've got a good group of kids. These nine kids are just new, and even though they're only between the ages of 9 and 12, they had a good sense of what to do. With a little instruction, they were wielding their trowels like pros!
Some archaeologists give kids an opportunity by setting up a "sandbox" that they fill with artifacts and features. The students dig in the sandbox and record their finds. I prefer to let the kids dig in areas of real sites. It's a bit of a gamble, for sure. I try to locate these excavations in areas where I think they'll find things, but in places where they won't run into any complicated features.
It's hard for some of the kids to believe that I didn't put stuff in the ground for them to find. But it begins to sink in, especially when they find something that I can't immediately identify. After all, most of what archaeologists find is little bits of things, fragments of something that was originally larger. It can take some time to figure out just what you're looking at. But, we work on the identification together, and usually, by the end of the week, we can figure it out.
So tomorrow it's back to the pits!
Archaeological investigation during Kids' College at Fort Roberdeau (2010).
Places and stories
There is an irresistable link between places and stories. I know I'm hooked. Perhaps it's because of my profession. As an archaeologist, I appreciate the power of sharing a spot on the landscape with both my contemporaries and with the people who walked there in times past.
Places change and so do people. And that's what makes the stories so interesting. I'm looking forward to exploring some of them here.