We started to school in 1948. Our first year, kindergarten, we only went half a day. At each school, the class was divided so that half of us went in the morning and half in the afternoon. This became important. We made friends in our group that we would stay close to until we graduated. Central originally housed all 12 grades, so it was the biggest building. McKinley had been voted the most beautiful elementary school in Pennsylvania when it opened. Lincoln had the biggest classrooms and largest central hallways, and because the East End of town was still being developed, it had the smallest enrollment when we entered, so Lincoln students had the benefit of the smallest classes. That would change as new streets were opened and numbers grew. Lincoln students were traumatized after fourth grade when it was announced the school could no longer hold all its students and the top two grades would be sent elsewhere. They spent fifth grade in the back wing of the junior high, then moved to the top floor of Central for sixth grade. Those were fine facilities, but many regretted for the rest of their lives only getting to attend their beloved Lincoln building for five years instead of the seven they had anticipated.

Heroes come in many guises. They don't all wear capes, masks or white hats. Some of them are the guy living down the street. We didn't know it at the time, but we were blessed to come under the influence of two legitimate heroes during our formative years. The first of these was Dr. Harry Houtz. He shaped our education from kindergarten through sixth grade. Before coaches, band directors, scoutmasters or youth directors, he was the first male authority figure any of us experienced beyond our own fathers. There was no possible reason we should have had his talent benefitting us. He was grossly overqualified to be administering elementary students. He had already been an award winning high school American History teacher, extracurricular advisor, high school principal and Superintendant of the Coraopolis Public Schools. Then, thanks to small town school board politics, he was reassigned. Given this unjust treatment, any other man would have left and accepted the superintendancy of a bigger, more prestigious, better paying system.

Yet he stayed. He liked the town. He thought it a good place to raise two daughters. He also possessed a certain German stubbornness which would not allow a group of men to run him off. So he became Supervising Principal for Elementary Education, meaning he was responsible for all three elementary schools. Dr. Houtz was a grandfatherly figure to us, ruling the kingdom from his third floor offices at Lincoln and Central, dressing very professionally, maintaining his dignity at all times, yet quick to drop to a knee to speak on eye level to a first grader, take off his suitcoat and loosen his tie to show us a few basketball fundamentals on the Lincoln courts, or roll up his sleeves to examine our science projects.There's an old rule that "When you find yourself with lemons, make lemonade." Harry Houtz became one of the all time great examples of that. He focused his considerable intelligence on those three grade schools and set about making them the best in the state. He immediately realized that reading was the key to elementary education. And reading instruction in the forties was quite random, with each teacher basically left to her own instincts. We really did not know how to teach a child to read. Houtz designed a system retaining the old Dick & Jane books, but emphasizing repetition and Phonics. In 1948, Phonics was a radical new theory with no large scale studies to prove its worth. Houtz mapped out a comprehensive, three school study which he thought would prove Phonics was the most effective strategy. We were thus guinea pigs in a nationwide study, but it turned out to be a huge benefit for all of us. Houtz proved his point. Our class included whites, blacks, kids of all economic levels and parental education levels, kids from all religions and nationalities, and when Pitt brought in an impartial group of test administrators at the end of our second, fourth and sixth grade years we recorded Pennsylvania's highest scores. Houtz's article about how we achieved such success was published in the University of Chicago's National Education Journal. Various encyclopedias and internet sources refer to it as a "land mark study." He changed the way America taught reading, and he gave all of us the greatest foundation any group of students could have received.

We were born into World War II. The war raged during our preschool years, and many of our parents, relatives and neighbors were in it. We were dimly aware that there was an epic struggle going on between the forces of Good vs. Evil and people we knew were on the side of Good. Sometimes it got personal. Fathers, neighbors and uncles would be wounded in faraway battles and be sent home on furlough to heal before going back to war. The Battle of Midway was a huge naval event in which 37 Coraopolis men were wounded and 12 killed. Most of the men who were wounded were manning antiaircraft guns on towers above deck and were either shot or blown off the gun turrets, falling to the deck below. Other Coraopolis men were wounded at Anzio Beach, Palermo, Corregidor, Iowa Jima, Tarawa, and Normandy. We never really understood why some of our fathers were retained in military hospitals and others sent home for a month, but even though they came home wounded we were always excited to have those months. Sometimes these medical furloughs were the only times we saw our fathers before we entered kindergarten. We knew them from photographs and letters but when they finally came home to stay they were strangers to us, men we had to get acquainted with after living with our mothers for our first five years. The War Decade had a profound effect on our growing up. Our mothers had demanded we grow up a little ahead of schedule because with no man in the house, we kids had to help with routine chores, and with no other adults in the house, our mothers talked to us as if we were older. So we entered kindergarten perhaps more mature than most five year olds. Then, when our fathers returned, they were determined to make up for lost time with us, so they were eager to volunteer to coach sports teams, teach Sunday School, help with Scout troops, YMCA Fairs, and Halloween, Christmas and Memorial Day Parades. They were also determined to make Christmases and other holidays bigger and better than usual to make up for those ones they had lost while they were on ships or in foxholes.

Our aunts and older sisters listened to music on 78 rpm records. Most of their record players had a crank which they turned but a few had modern electric models. The music was mostly Big Band songs featuring clarinets, saxophones and trumpets, but Glow Worm, Blueberry Hill, Mockingbird Lane and Bewitched Bothered and Bewildered were top vocals. We were vaguely aware of a new dance step called the Jitterbug, which parents and ministers denounced. Those aunts and sisters bought their records at several record stores in Coraopolis, and as we moved up through the lower grades something called The Top 40 came into being. Every Saturday KQV announced the new listings. We had to put up with our aunts and sisters listening to KQV all afternoon, which sometimes created family arguments when Pitt or the Pirates were playing and our Dads wanted to listen.

Before camping, before hiking and backpacking and canoeing, when we were only in kindergarten, first and second grades, many of us had our first taste of spending nights outdoors in treehouses. A fine treehouse was a great source of adventure for a bunch of kids five, six, seven and eight years old. We could fight off invading forces, sail it across oceans, pilot it to the Moon, or share it with Tarzan, Robin Hood, Peter Pan or other characters. Some of our fathers built us state of the art treehouses. Others of us built our own. The adult built versions tended to be a bit better, but they all looked good to us. The greatest tree house of all time was probably the one in the Heiningers' backyard, but there were several others in other parts of town that came close.

Laying there in our kapok sleeping bags at night, we learned an awful lot about owls, bats, the moon, the constellations, wind, storms, dew, neighborhood cats and dogs out roaming backyards, and the possums, raccoons, and other animals that emerged from brushpiles and hedgerows after dark to forage in gardens.

This was a desk from Mrs. Tucker's fourth grade classroom at Lincoln School the day they hauled all the school furniture out to the moving vans to truck them to Ohio. Many former Lincoln students went down to try and buy a desk or a clock for a memento, but the antique dealer who had submitted the winning bid would not sell anything that day. We later found out that each of these units brought $300 when sold by antique dealers at their shops. Central and McKinley graduates have told similar stories about trying to buy desks or clocks and being refused by the same dealer. These desks would have been used for 17 more years after we sat in them, then sat gathering dust for another year or two. Notice the ones in the photo above, which was taken during our years in grade school, are in much better condition.

We were told that the cast iron scrollwork on these desks made them much more valuable. All of the Lincoln desks had this scrollwork, but most in Central did not, as seen in the photo above. Central was the original school, having been originally built to house grades 1-12 for the whole town and kids from Neville, Robinson, Moon and Crescent Townships. So its desks were older, and not as fancy.

The first Big World Event of our lives occurred when we were in second grade. We were dimly aware of aunts and sisters easily upset and crying for no reason. We learned the Marines had gone in to blow up the Chosin Dam to take out North Korea's electricity and end the war. It was a trap. The Chinese Communists had lured our Marines in so they could wipe them out and gain a propaganda victory. They had the Marines trapped in a long, narrow valley rimmed by steep ridges on all sides. There was no way out, no radio contact, no news. 13 Coraopolis boys were in that group, outnumbered 10 to 1. A week dragged by. Radio announcers were suggesting there was no hope. Then Saturday morning we were awakened by every church bell in town pealing. The Marines had blown the dam, emptying the Chosin Reservoir, and fought their way out, bringing their dead and wounded with them. No one from Coraopolis died. A Coraopolis native, GC Lemley, was seen in a classic Rambo like photograph coming over the hill, one wounded Marine slung over his right shoulder, another Marine leaning on his left arm, two bullet belts criss crossing his chest, a machine gun cocked and ready, and a helicopter gunship hovering overhead. It broke North Korea and ended the war. Shortly after, we saw uncles, cousins and neighbors getting off the trains in their uniforms. It was our first conscious memory of how distant events could resonate right here in our hometown.

Once upon a time Coraopolis had an annual tradition known as the Tom Thumb Wedding. And sure enough, the event pictured at left includes our very own classmates. A lot of these characters wouldn't get this dressed up again until high school prom. Which ones can you identify?

How many of our grandkids could we horsewhip into doing this ?

Many of us began receiving A. C. Gilbert Microscope Sets for Christmases and birthdays. None of the three elementary schools had a science lab, but by sixth grade many of us had labs at home in our basements, corners of bedrooms, or up in the attic. The Gilbert sets included a book titled "Hunting With The Microscope," which led us chapter by chapter through collecting, preparing and viewing everything from fabrics, hair, feathers, flower parts, leaf cross sections, soil samples, the microorganisms in a drop of water, blood, and every other imaginable item in our houses, backyards and surrounding woods. We wouldn't learn until college that "Hunting With The Microscope" was an all time science classic, the best guide ever written for using microscopes. Danny and Dale started studying the protozoa in McCabe's Creek, expanded that to a full scale science fair project, and with a little help from Dr. Houtz and Carnegie Tech advisors built it into a display that won local, county and state first place awards several years running. Bobby started studying the bacteria in Flaherty Creek near the Standard Steel Spring Company, shifted that to the lower part of McCabes's Creek when his family moved across town, and won a series of second places, meaning Coraopolis was dominating science fair competition in Pennsylvania based on Gilbert Microscope equipment. Every boy with a microscope set looked forward to Spring, when we could go out to the small ponds in the woods around town and collect frog eggs, bring them home, and watch them hatch and develop. It was just fun to us. We didn't realize we were learning more science on our own at home than most high school science classes teach. And this would pay huge dividends later, as many of us would earn masters and doctoral degrees in the sciences. Bobby, for instance, pursued a career in the Health Sciences.

One of the more epic achievements of our time in grade school was David's construction of a scale model of the Eiffel Tower. Mrs. Clark (who became Mrs. Tucker when she married at Christmas) allowed David an hour a day while we were working on other material, and he set up a table in the corner of the room. Today, you can buy models of the Eiffel Tower from Leggo (plastic) and Heller (wood). Not in 1953. David obtained 3 x 6 poster sized photos of the tower and converted them to scale drawings on poster board. He then bought strips and sheets of balsa wood from Michael's Hobby Shop on Mill Street. He used an Exacto knife set, which had a dozen different gauge razor blades inserted into a metal handle, to painstakingly cut the sheets and strips. They had to be pinned down to the poster board and glued into place to dry. He had to make four different sides, then raise them, brace them, and glue them together. The tolerance was almost zero. If he made any error on any side, the sides would not meet, and he was dealing with curved surfaces. As the project neared completion, the whole class was caught up in the suspense of whether or not he could bring it together. When it all fit, everyone cheered. Dr. Frank Braden came by from his office a block away and took a few photographs, one of which is shown here at right. At the end of the year David's older sister Gretchen helped him carry the model to their home, which fortunately was only across the street and down three houses (The family moved from their Hiland Avenue home that Summer). Both Doctor Braden and Mrs. Tucker told David he should become an architect. He did.

From Kindergarten on, we always wrapped up each school year with the annual Kennywood Park Picnic. It was a spectacular way to begin Summer Vacation. We bought tickets at school for half price. The whole town went. Parents took a day off work. Some parents drove. But first the train, then the trolleys, and finally Shafer buses, provided shuttle service for others. Many of our parents took picnic baskets and reserved a table in one of the huge pavillions. We would arrive at the park around noon and stay until it closed at 10 pm. In Kindergarten we were pretty much confined to Kiddieland rides plus the Train, Auto Race, Rockets, Boats, The Old Mill and Carousel. We had to be a certain height to ride the others. It became a matter of pride as, one by one, we grew tall enough to be allowed. We all loved Kennywood and knew it was an epic experience but we didn't realize it was the number one amusement park in America, with three of the nation's top 10 roller coasters and a dozen more rides ranked either number one or somewhere in the top 10.

Football and basketball may have been bigger in high school, but at the elementary level baseball was the big thing. We played it at recess at school. We played it in yards, and sometimes we played a version of it out on the streets. We adapted the rules according to how many players we had, and what the field parameters were. We had Train Rule Doubles, Car Coming Doubles and Broken Window Outs. In really tight yards, we'd use a wiffle ball, a plastic ball with holes in it so it wouldn't travel very far. When one kid had to go home to eat or cut the grass, somebody would take his place and the game would go on. But the main action was down at Ewing Field, where we had one of the finest Little Leagues in the county. There would be tryouts every Spring and teams would be chosen. The Record sent reporters and photographers down to cover the games, there was an announcer, and the dugouts were better than most. It was a pretty big time program for a bunch of grade school kids. Looking back through old Record microfilm, the names of Ronnie, Jesse, Nick and Joe keep showing up. The field has been renamed in honor of Ronnie.

Girls were enrolled in piano lessons by their mothers while we were in grade school. Each area had its own teacher. Lincoln area girls went for lessons to Mrs. Buzza's house on Hiland Avenue, shown here at right. The house sat high on a hill above the street, looking out over half the town. A lesson would last an hour and a girl would go for one lesson a week, usually taking cash in a sealed envelope to pay Mrs. Buzza. Central school girls took their lessons from Mrs. Xxxxx. McKinley girls took theirs from Mrs. Xxxx. The girls were expected to practice at home an hour every evening. Some girls dropped out after sixth grade, some after ninth grade, and a few continued on all the way through high school. Regardless of how seriously the girls took the lessons or how long they stayed with them they grew up with a thorough knowledge of music, which later many of them applied to various instruments in band or orchestra, or to vocal music as part of the choir.

In fourth grade, most students were enrolled in band. We started during the Summer. We conferred with our parents and teachers and chose an instrument from woodwind (clarinet), brass (trumpet), percussion (drums), and specialized instruments like cymbals, triangle and bells. We began by learning to play a tonette, bugle or block of wood. We met Sam Carson, Sam Yahres and Ed Schores, who would direct our band and orchestra for eight years. It is amazing to recall the songs we played on our tonette, bugle, wood block, cymbals, bells and triangle. Eventually we advanced to clarinet, trumpet and snare drums. We were supposed to practice at home for an hour each evening. Our parents were encouraged to enroll us in private lessons, which were given by several instructors in town. Most of us began by renting the instruments ("to see if we liked it") but after a year most parents began purchasing one, usually from Mr. Sworgel from Wexford, who also supplied the school. We called it Band, but we did not march, so what we had was really an orchestra. We would not begin marching in the "big band" until seventh grade. Mr. Carson, Yahres and Schores invested this extra effort because a school as small as Coraopolis needed to build a strong foundation early if it was to field a competitive band. They wanted those needed numbers. We would find out many years later that Dr. Houtz pushed this effort because he had evidence suggesting early music education improved math skills. He was one of the first administrators to accept this theory. Today, it is a common assumption among educators.

We were blessed with a whole decade of White Christmases. It was easy to imagine the sleigh up on the roof because we always had snow. Two weeks out of school to enjoy the holiday and go sledriding. Most of us got sleds for Christmas presents. Some got the newfangled saucers or skeds, but the Cadillac was still the Flexible Flyer, seen here. It had oak slats and stainless steel runners and outran everything else in town. We could ride it laying down steering with our hands or sitting up steering with our feet. We could even ride it double. There was a whole set of tricks and skills to sledriding. We learned to run a piece of emery paper over the runners to remove any rust, and to pack a ball of ice and rub it along the runners just before a racing run. We learned to lean with curves to help the steering and use our feet for braking. It took a while to get all bundled up so once outside, we tended to keep sledriding until our feet were frozen. Then we'd come in and prop them on the vent or radiator while drinking our hot chocolate.

A lot of us graduated to skiing in our 20s, then, with our kids, returned to sledriding and remembered how much we still loved it. And Flexible Flyers are still the best.

But the majorityof our activities were held over weekends during the school year. We hiked and camped the woods around Coraopolis until we knew them like the back of our hands. This particular scene is down the hill from where Stan and Marianne now live. A few times we were hiking out in those woods and were stopped by armed patrols who told us we had wandered onto the back end of the Nike Base. Even on day hikes, we all had to fix a hot lunch. On longer trips, we had to fix three meals a day. Boys didn't take Home Ec in school, but we learned how to cook through the Scouts. We didn't have GPS units yet, so we all had to learn to read a topo map and use a compass very, very well. We also had to learn to "live off the land," fixing entire meals from the plants found out there in the woods.

When a lot of us went into the military, after a few days of basic training, the drill sergeant would single us out. "You," he would say, "You were in the Boy Scouts." We would admit that, yes, we were. They would send us on up the line, skipping much of the basic instruction.

Wayne, the boy in the striped t shirt at right, was actually from Robinson Township but came into Coraopolis to participate in Troop 133.

We paid $26 for two weeks at Scout camp, and then spent much of our time there hard at work. We had to keep our beds made, floors swept, campsite free of litter, dishes washed and garbage properly disposed of. We had to build the fire four times a day, cook the meals, and wash the dishes. And we had very little free time. Almost every minute was scheduled. The swimming, lifesaving, first aid, emergency medicine, search and rescue, and wilderness medicine classes were especially demanding. Archery and riflery classes were relaxing, and we had a "free swim" hour every day. But canoeing and wilderness engineering classes were usually in late morning and left us quite ready to sit down at lunch --- AFTER we built the fire and then fixed and served the lunch. At dark special classes like Astronomy and Night Biology met for an hour. Then, whether in base camp or out on expedition, we sat around a campfire and relaxed, but it was not unusual for several of us to excuse ourselves by about 11 and crawl into our sleeping bags, since we knew the bugler would sound Reveille at 7 a.m. It was essential to have a high energy level at Scout camp. If you didn't have one when you went, you developed one by the time you came home. Rain didn't matter much. We just pulled on our rain gear and the day continued as usual. Only lightning would cancel activities.

Left : Front : Janice, Emma.

2nd Row : Bill, Ron Tagliferri, Joe O.

3rd Row : Tony, John.

Right : Front : Jack K.

2nd Row : Joe O, John.

3rd Row : Joe C, Jimmy, Tony.

The Power Line was a landmark for boys growing up in our era. It was a series of high steel towers running approximately along the southern boundary of Coraopolis from Robinson Township over to Mooncrest. They carried high voltage power lines. We would later find out the Power Line began on Bruno's Island, the Duquesne Light generating station, crossed the river to Stowe Township, and went all the way to Jones & Laughlin Steel in Aliquippa. A tractor sized riding bushhog came along once a month and cleared off the ground below the Power Line so maintenance vehicles could get in. This clearing was known as The Power Line Trail and was a kind of highway for grade school boys to get from Montour Hill up over Charlton Heights and down to Thorn Run Hollow. We were, of course, trespassing on Duquesne Light property, but at ages 8-12 we ignored such details. Not only did the Power Line Trail allow us to easily move back and forth along the edge of town, but it also allowed a gang of Mooncrest kids to invade our territory whenever they wished. This gang became known as The Legions of Mordor and were the Evil Empire we fought against at the age of nine. The year long rivalry, Capture the Flag carried to its logical extreme, became known as The Great Crab Apple War and was one of the epic memories of our grade school years.

The Cliffs of Mordor rose from Route 51 to the back edge of Mooncrest. The word Mordor was an acronym from World War II. It stood for Mooncrest Offbase Radar Defense Officers Residences. An abandoned radar shack stood just at the edge of the cliffs and had been commandeered by the boys of Mooncrest as their clubhouse. Since they had boys living in residential units along the Power Line, it was not possible to approach Mooncrest by that route without being seen. Therefore, when we decided to invade Mooncrest as part of our year long war games, scaling these cliffs was our only access. We had a spy, Albert, who frequently spent weekends with an uncle up there. So Albert snuck out in the middle of the night, tied ropes to trees and threw the other ends down. We were then able to climb the ropes and surprise our rivals. In third grade, before we started playing other towns in football and basketball, this kind of competition was a very big deal.

Elmer Braun's Barn faced directly onto Vine Street four houses up from Nicky's. Elmer taught Woodworking classes at Moon High School for 40 years and had a completely equipped workshop inside this old building. It included a bandsaw, jigsaw, drill press, lathe, router, mitre saw, paint chamber and vices. He also had every hand tool ever invented, so we learned how to use tools here our fathers did not have in their garages and basements at home. We learned how to make everything from arrows to birdhouses here, and made three replicas of Patrick's Crab Apple Gun here. When we were restoring The Old Caboose and building The Clubhouse, we made the window frames and fit the windows here, and got advice from him on other tasks like hanging doors, levelling floors and trueing walls. Elmer also taught us Plane Geometry here, and after Dr. Jones made us hate Algebra, he showed us a thousand ways we would need it, then went back, undid the damage she had done, and retaught us Algebra so we liked it and were good at it. Although Braun's Barn was a Lincoln School hangout, kids from other parts of town would often hike up Montour Street to get help or get access to the tools, machines or advice they needed.