The Valley Runs Through Us
The Mon Valley flows through our veins as surely as the Monongahela River runs through our towns. Awhile ago our dreams were young, and so were we. Many of you share my memories, flawed though they may be with the passage of time.
I remember fondly Sampson Star Elementary School, now the Anthony L. Massafra Funeral Home on 2nd Street Extension in Donora. A sad metaphor for what has become of our beloved Valley. Never having attended Kindergarten, this is where the “I want to be a teacher” seeds were first planted and nurtured. I never took the opportunity to thank these special teachers in my life, so I would like to publicly do so now. Thank you Mrs. Cline, Ms. Moody, Mrs. McPherson, Mrs. Laureman, Mrs. Bedogne, and Mrs. McIntosh, my first through sixth grade teachers. Thank you, Mrs. Horne, my music teacher who taught me to play the flutophone, now called recorder, much to the dismay of my brothers. The spelling of their names may not be accurate, but the memory of their kindness is as vibrant as ever. Thank you Dick, Jane, Sally, Spot and Puff for my early love of reading about these characters in the Scott, Foresman and Company basal readers. Because of all of you, I did become a teacher and lifelong reader/writer.
The steel mills were the Valley’s heartbeat. Our lives pulsed with the rhythm of shift changes. We were quiet when Dad was sleeping in the day, and happy that Mom was always there for us. Strikes loomed over us with their ever present threats. It was only much later that I heard of the unsafe working conditions in the mills, where men worked in temperatures so cold that the water in the toilets froze.
The mills made their presence known in more ways than one. My friends and I would sleep outside on summer evenings under the stars. Lying on folding cots and covered only in a lightweight blanket, we would wake up in the morning also covered in fine particles of black mill dirt. This dirt entered our homes, carried on breezes through our screened-in windows. Our mills were alive and breathing. We welcomed them into our homes. And then they were no more. They left and many people followed.
My memories of playtime consist of: dolls, roller skating in basement circles pretending to be the famous ice skater, Sonja Henie, while wearing flowing scarves from our waists, bike riding, softball, sled riding. coloring and jacks. I recently displayed a large ceramic jack in my classroom, just as a decoration. The students thought it was an atom. So sad!
Shopping in the Mon Valley was a sequence of favorites. Clothes were purchased at The Boston Store in Donora, Millers in Charleroi and Eisenbergs in Monessen. Oranges in Charleroi was the go to place for gifts. Most of these buildings still stand in silent salute to aging customers who nod in passing.
by Sandra Warholic Seeley
I feel hopeful that the Mon Valley towns are flickering back to life. Some stores are doing business as usual. Take for example, Zelenski’s Bridal Salon in Charleroi. This is where I bought my wedding gown 41 years ago. My daughter, who lives closer to much larger bridal chains in the Pittsburgh area, said, “Yes to the dress” also from Zelenski’s. Our experiences here were, I’m sure, comparable to the haute couture shops in New York or Paris.
I’m waiting for a new theater to rise from the ashes of Charleroi’s Coyle Theater, for my Donora High School dragon to reawaken in a new den, showering us all with sparks of rejuvenation and for the youth of our towns electing to stay and flourish where their roots run deep. Until then, I have my memories to sustain me and my dreams to envision a brighter future for all.
