I grew up in a small coal-mining town in Northeastern Pennsylvania during the 1950s and 60s. As the daughter of the High School football coach, I learned quickly that if anthracite coal was king, football was indeed his most revered son.
The town of Tamaqua lies sheltered in Continue reading
there she was just a-walkin’ down the street
singin’ do-wah-diddy-diddy down diddy-do
snappin’ her fingers and shufflin’ her feet
singin’ do-wah diddy-diddy down diddy-do *
The words and melody began timidly enough with just a few brave souls chiming in, then, rose slowly by increments as more and more children boarded the school bus. By the time the yellow caravan concluded its four-mile journey
at the foot of the old schoolhouse’s steep steps, the tune had reached a crescendo ricocheting off the surrounding hilltops and stretching to the far reaches of the hamlet called Tuscarora. Continue reading
I am wordy when I write. I will try to make this post honest and to the point, just like the men it’s meant to honor.
Walt Ligenza’s grandson, Sam Pagano, Harry Fetterman, and Dick Jones
This past Monday, I attended a viewing for Mr. Harry Fetterman in Tamaqua, the small town in the anthracite coal region of Northeastern PA where I grew up. Harry was a beloved teacher and football coach. He was my dad’s oldest and dearest friend. Harry and my dad, Dick Jones, knew each other as boys; they both enlisted in the Navy right after high school during World War II (Harry actually left Tamaqua High a semester early in 1943*). Continue reading
it's me, rhonda 