Anthony Dougher lived on Alum Street in Lehighton before the war. He was born in Wilkes Barre on 15 October 1895 with blue eyes and black hair and was working here as a Switchman on the Lehigh Valley Railroad. His serial number was #1960-414 and he enlisted 15 May 1917.

 Anthony Dougher Jr is buried here.  He was a World War I veteran, recovering from the wounds of the war at Camp Sherman Ohio in October of 1918.  Over 5,600 of our soldiers were sickened by the Spanish Influenza at Camp Sherman alone, 1,176 died there, so many, they were “stacking the men like cordwood” in places like the Majestic Theatre.  Anthony Dougher Jr of Lehighton was one of them.

The First Provisional Marine Brigade Flag seen here on right: The Provisional reverted back under the command of the First Division by September of 1950.

"Sexy" the First Division Mascot, The most traveled dog in the Corps: Born in China, taken to Guam in 1949, marched with the Division Band in Guam, taken to Camp Pendleton 1949-1950, recruited and taken to Korea by Bob Neubert, made the Inchon Landing, protected the Kimpo Airstrip, barked at Bob Hope at Woson.  Lost at the Chosin in December 1950.

Jack Watso receives his commendation ribbon in the field at Korea in early 1951 from First Division Commanding General Oliver P. Smith.

Tom Fortson on a warm day in July of 1951 at an outpost in Korea.

A view from Tom Fortson's outpost at Honchong in the Spring of 1951.

A view from Randy Rabenold's outpost facing the hill of Fortson's previous shot.  To see the complete collection of Rabenold'strench art, click here.

Tom Fortson on left, unknown and Charles Zaccone of Chicago on right on an outpost in Korea.

A letter to the First Marines from Cecilia Ament from New Jersey.

Fortson with Sandy Scaffidi at 2001 Reunion.  Scaffidi passed away a few years back.

Jack Watso is at far left and Tom Fortson, far right at the 2001 Marine Corps Musicians Reunion at Camp Lejeune, North Carolina.

Donna Blauch ~ 1953-2004

Ray “Nuny” Rabenold:

Dick Carrigan:

Don Blauch, left and Dick Carrigan center chat with another GI friend back stateside after the war.

Don Blauch's daughter served in the Navy during the end of the Vietnam War and served the Carter family at Camp David.

Four Bulldogs at Randy and Ruthie Rabenold's September 1954 wedding: Bill Kuhla, Dick Carrigan, and Ray "Nuny" Rabenold.  On the right are Janet Nothstein, Marie Kleinle, and Shirley Wentz.

Men who havent stopped serving: Randy Rabenold, third from right, has served as Adjutant of his local AmVets since returning from Korea.  Kevin Long is on his right with Carlos Teets and Kaye Leiby to his left.

Randy Rabenold:

Randy and Ruth with Rebecca and Randy.

Tadashi “Jack” Yamaguchi:

Jack Yamaguchi (center) was treated to dinner at his favorite restaurant in California just a few months before he died. That's former Marine Corps Band Director Steve Schweitzer at Jack's left. Incidentally, Schweitzer holds the record for playing in most outright and consecutive Rose Bowl Parades at 19, one with a broken foot.

Post Script:

Two Former Marine Corps Division Band Directors and friends of Jack Yamaguchi's: Jesse Sunderland, Steve Schweitzer, and Ron Rabenold at the 2013 Marine Corps Musicians Reunion at Camp Lejeune.

First Division Marine Tom Cook at Camp Pendleton before Korea.

Kim Rabenold enjoys a moment with special guest of honor Staff Sergeant Kopetzki, Second Marine Aircraft Wing Band and recipient of the MCMA SNCO of the Year.  Sergeant Kopetzki sat in with the Division Jazz band as did many retired Marines.  Good music and fellowship.

Don Blauch enjoys a visit from fellow Bulldog Randy Rabenold.  Of the six friends from the Lehighton Class of 1948, only these two remain.  They are among a striking few veterans left of their First Division friends.

Call the Colors Inje, Korea - 7 June 1951 Sgt Charles E. Price of Chattanooga TN, Sgt Donald Close of Sacramento CA, Sgt Robert N. Bland of Harlingen TX  and Sgt Graydon A. Landahl of Mokena IL (L to R).

On our recent visit to Melbourne Florida (to help our son move into his apartment) we once again stayed at a private beach house within an area known as the "Archie Carr National Wildlife Refuge."

Some concerned residents fear some predator has been disturbing nests.  Getting rousted  during the day has caused some to die of dehydration before reaching the surf.  I found this lifeless loggerhead on an early morning walk.

This parcel, governed as a federally enforced refuge, is unique for it is the largest nesting area for loggerhead sea turtles in the world.  Another distinction involves the grandfathering of all the property owners prior to the 1991 enactment.  Hence, the house we rent for the week rests directly on the dune overlooking this protected beach.

One night, watching for "crawls" from a reverent and silent sixty yards away high above upon our deck, we witnessed three turtles emerge from the sea, spread across 150 yards of surf line.  As best as we could tell judge, two of the turtles were of the loggerhead or green turtle varieties.  The third turtle, substantially larger, near the size of a bathtub, was perhaps the most rare here in Brevard County, the leatherback.

Same dehydrated loggerhead hatchling, just forty yards from the surf.  If you find a "wash-up" or otherwise struggling hatchling, do not attempt to save it by placing it directly in the ocean.  It will need to regain its strength before it can be reintroduced.  Place the turtle in a container of wet sand and take it to the Brevard County Sea Turtle Preservation Society  or Sea World of Orlando or the Brevard County Zoo.

All three of these crawls turned out to be "false crawls," as they subsequently returned to the water, leaving wide arching tracks from the sea and back without laying any eggs.

Volunteers patrol the surf line with their red Honda ATV's equipped with low impact red lights (shorter wave length light rays) as to be least intrusive on the expecting turtles. They watch for the telltale turtle tracks leaving the surf.

Distant observers such as we were, we could tell one was discovered by the slowing, then turning off of the light and halting.  Each time the ATV paused and darkened, our scans produced the dark lumbering visitors from the deep sea who were heading for the high ground of the dune.

The dune has eroded since our last visit, no doubt an indictment of our rising seas.  Part of our patio atop the dune has fallen off, lost into a severe cut-bank.  The turtle nests are now as close as a mere fifteen foot walk, with an equidistant drop off, from our back patio door.

A view from our patio.  On our last visit, we could relax on a swing suspended overlooking the beach from the pictured wooden frame.  However, due to beach erosion, the frame is highly unstable, anchored at the front edge of the cut bank that once had many feet of dune in front of it.

In the face of fines for things like leaving exterior lights on at night and for nighttime beach activities, some unauthorized people comb the beaches at night. Up until our last night, we respected this code, choosing to enjoy watching these emerging descendants of the dinosaurs from the unobtrusive distance of our deck.

One of many nests at the elbow of the dune, partially covered by the thick vegetation that covers it like mountain laurel.  Note the set of fresh turtle tracks leading into the nest.  Close examination of many nests will yield the dried remains of the leathery turtle shells.

Once the female feels the spot is right, far enough away from the surf so that her eggs will safely incubate for fifty-four days, she begins to dig a substantial hole, one that will provide ample space and to be large enough to submerge her from a predator's view across the sand.  She will also flip sand across her back to further obscure herself.

She has reasons to be so furtive.  Including man, she faces an array of predators including raccoons and gulls. A day earlier, a neighbor of the beach house, my friend Pete, a retired government contractor from New Jersey, told me to be on the look-out for a big cat patrolling the dune at night.  The green-woody vegetation growing as high as twelve-feet is as dense as any laurel thicket here in PA.  I told Jersey Pete I would surely keep out a vigilant eye, though I kept my suspicions to myself.

Then, at about 9:30 PM of our last night, we noticed a figure emerge and pounce upon the sand from the thicket.  As the image took shape, it became clear to be the form of a large, lanky cat, patrolling one nesting area to the next, directly below our perch.  The big cat was either attempting to feast on the high protein and fat of freshly laid eggs or the relatively easy targets of the new hatchlings despite their already hard, spiny shell.

This is the same hatchling as pictured above. Note the hollowed area filled with sand where the umbilical cord is attached in the shell. Also worth noting is the relative size of the head, hence the given name "loggerhead."

Later discussions revealed a bobcat was recently killed on Route A-1A and that many suspected another tall one living on the dune.  Consequently some people from the Brevard County Sea Turtle Preservation Society (click here for link) say something has been disturbing the nests to the point where hatchlings are emerging too early with umbilical cords still attached.  While others had been emerging too late into the early morning light, dehydrating in the sun before reaching the surf.

This is the nest below the beach house we rented.  Note the tracks leading in, the smooth area in the center flanked by angled depressions resembling truck tire tracks.  From flipper tip to flipper tip, the tracks are about the width of an ATV and could easily be confused as such.

Just as the bobcat went out of sight, we noticed a turtle emerge from the surf and then what eventually turned out to be quite a large assembly of people.  In the ensuing forty-five minutes until she reached the dune, two volunteers from the ATV scrambled to bring in a research crew from the University of Central Florida and a documentary film crew.

The seemingly frenzied activity indicated to Kim and me that it was safe to get a closer look.  We climbed down from the deck and stalked our way out onto the dune crossing where several of the volunteers had approached and crossed.

Already feeling fortunate to be overhead and within twenty-five yards of the nest, it was the near ample light of the half moon that gave the scene more acuity.  The new proximity allowed us to talk to some of the volunteers, all of us keeping a safe distance away.

Most though were gathered at the surf, waiting for the signal from the lone spotter crouching directly behind the turtle who was using the blind-spot of her massive shell as cover.






Once the spotter could see the initiation of the laying, he turned and flashed a red signal light to the others.  The crew, now swelled to about twelve people, began to gather around in close proximity to the green mother.  This is when Kim and I decided that perhaps it was ok for us to join them on the beach and to our pleasant surprise we were more than welcomed.

No longer in the classroom at the Universityof Central Florida, Professor Emeritus Llwellyn Ehrhart  enjoys "retirement" leading research teams on the beaches of Brevard County.  "Doc" is a distinguished son of York County, Pennsylvania.  He serves on the Sea Turtle Conservancy's Scientific Advisory Committee.

We were greeted by Professor Emeritus Llwellyn "Doc" Ehrhart, originally from York County PA.  We were entertained and informed by his gregarious charm and story telling as the green continued her mission.  The Professor and his students sat at the ready as she continued to flip sand out of her hole and onto her back.

Prof Ehrhart thrilled us with stories and facts and patiently answered all of our questions.  This discourse, within earshot of his students who seemingly had heard them all ad naseum, was not deterred by their sardonic interjections to his punchlines.  He continued his barrage of turtle details, with as much excited enthusiasm as if he were telling them for the first time, apparently encouraged by the fortuitous finding of a set of fresh ears more than willing to hear them.

"Greens are known to be skittish," the Professor explained, coming up on her too soon might cause her to turn around, returning to the sea.  They will usually make up to two attempts, but if they return after a second time, they will often jettison their eggs in the sea.  Turtles will lay approximately 130 eggs at a time up to six times per season.

But the story of the green turtle and Brevard County is a success story.  Ehrhart said, "I read where the biologist back at Hawk Mountain (Berks County, Pennsylvania) announced a record number of bald eagle sightings there last year, calling it 'the preeminent environmental success story in the country."

Prof Ehrhart acknowledges the eagle's reemergence as rather noteworthy, but he'd like everyone to know what the Archie Carr legislation has done for green turtle.  "From those 32 nests back in the 1980s, the green turtles' numbers have grown exponentially."

A tireless advocate, Dr. Archie Carr Jr. was a professor at the University of Floirda and was instrumental in the enactment of Brevard County beach to protected status.  The U.S. Congress named it in his honor.

It is estimated that Brevard County hosts up to 15,000 loggerhead nests per season.  Green turtles as a species are a bit more rare and were practically extinct here in the 1980s when the low point of only 32 nests was recorded.  Last year the slightly more skittish green laid eggs in over 5,000 nests, setting an astounding new record unheard.

That is, until now.

To the amazed surprise of many, this year's green turtle nest count has surpassed the 8,000 mark and still counting. "But don't be dismayed if the green's numbers take a drop next year," Ehrhart warned, "as they are known to waver in two-year cycles."

According to Ehrhart, green turtles begin laying eggs in their 17th to 20th years, but some have been found to start as early as fifteen.  (And in one study at an even earlier age!)  Impressively, the prime age is from thirty to sixty, though some are thought to still be laying eggs as old as seventy.  "But," he cautioned, "there is no empirical science for knowing a turtle's exact age."

Another green turtle distinction is in how she positions herself during the laying.  Whereas a loggerhead (known to have quite large heads for their bodies) will raise up, giving ample viewing space between the tail and the sand, a green (known to have rather small heads for their bodies) submerge their tail-ends while laying.  The female will use her rear flippers to pack and bury the eggs as she goes.

As we waited for her to finish, the UCF students lounged on their backs on the sand, checking messages on their phones, careful not to flood the scene in white light.  After about an hour and a half, a student passively making a mental check list of the things the good professor had left said and unsaid, suggested he tell the "ardor wanes" story.

Though retired from the classroom, Dr. Ehrhart has been a tireless advocate of the sea turtle.  Seen here accepting his award for his service to the preservation of sea turtles by refuge namesake's son, Archie Carr III.  The award was presented in 2009 by the Caribbean Conservation Corporation.

Apparently this was right about the time when Ehrhart would make his famous "ardor wanes" pronouncement, in reference to the flagging energy of the students.  To this he obliged by telling us of an old frog mating documentary.  It compared the number of chirps of the hopeful frogs at dusk as compared to the number several hours later, to which the narrator used the now infamous line.

A telltale shift in her body language signaled the end of her laying.  Then, as if launched by a signal from a starter's pistol, the students assembled in predetermined positions with the precision of a NASCAR pit-crew.

First a student checked her left front, then moved clockwise around the turtle, finding flipper tags on most, calling out the numbers as another student recorded them.  Next, measurements were taken with a tailor's tape.  

Including the curve of her shell, she measured 105 centimeters lengthwise.  The average turtle according to Ehrhart is 99 cm (about 39 inches).  Then another student unfolds a large set of portable calipers to measure straight width and length as well.  They estimated her weight to be between 300 and 350 pounds.  (Compared that to the leatherback at about 183 cm (6 feet) and about 900 pounds!).

The videographer was continuing to film a documentary called "The Call of the Ancient Mariners" (click here for a preview) using infrared lighting.  Interestingly, this project is associated with the website SaveCulture.org which has a similar mission, though to a grander scale, as to my own CulturedCarbonCounty.

My blog attempts to catalog and preserve the distinctive history of the traditions, stories and customs of the people of our Pennsylvania county.  Whereas SaveCulture.org attempts to preserve elements of Americana on the whole.  Topics include Native American Connections to Turtles, as well as Appalachian, African-American, and Yiddish traditions in America.

As we approached our third hour, the green turtle began to pivot to the right, trying to raise herself from her hole.  However, due to being so close to the eroded dune, the more she dug to get out, the more sand collapsed on her from above, including an old driftwood log of a palm tree.

Concern even spread among the seasoned team of researchers.  Some suggested we try to heave the now quite exhausted sea reptile, not used to bearing the full weight of her 300-plus pound being on dry land.

Sitting in silence, Professor Ehrhart patiently monitored the situation with a discerning eye, neither refuting the suggestions or encouraging them.  After about fifteen anxious minutes though, the tension was broken.  Sighs passed over many lips as she finally made her way out, having exerted considerably more time and effort than is normally expended.

The smallest thing can have the mightiest of impacts.

Paper or plastic?

So besides plastic bags, predators and poachers, turtles must now face the destructive forces of global warming as the rising level of our seas further erode these already rare sanctuaries while beachfront property continues to be such a highly sought commodity.

Located several miles south of Melbourne's public beaches and fortunately for the sea turtles, this section of the refuge sparsely receives daytime beach tourists.

By now, most of the students had dissipated away into the night, either to other sites but most likely according to Prof Ehrhart, back to their beds, as it was a long night well past one o'clock.

Only the cameraman, Ehrhart, Kim and me now remained with this ancient, awe-inspiring creature of myth and legend, as she began to make her way to the surf.  With deep breaths, pausing from time to time with seemingly lugubrious steps, she eventually welcomes the sea back around her.

As the water's buoyancy releases gravity's burden, she once again enters the wilds of her home to be among her own kind, taking with her the hearts of the dry-landers willing to be touched by her presence.

Where empty beach and the grandfathered property owners meet:  The dune crossing is jointly owned by the pictured beach house property owner and several residents across Route A-1A.  This is the site of our previous night's encounter with a mother green turtle.

Dr. Snow of London, considered to be the "Father of Epidemiology" empirically proved cholera was caused by a contagion in the water supply.

The Kuder and Langkamer families of Lehighton, starting with the Reverend John H. and wife Rebecca (Fink) Kuder and G. Charles and Emma (possibly Koch) Langkamer, have placed many gifts at the feet of those living here today.  Among them: A still prosperous and faith-filled congregation of Trinity Lutheran Church, an historical account of the sanitary conditions of the town of Lehighton as they appeared to a somewhat neutral observer, a nationally famous radio gospel singer, and three Kuder men who served our country in war-time: One during WWI, and a father and son who both served in World War II.  

The four foot walls of the town reservoir held another million gallons of water in an area of 100 by 75 feet.  Though in 1916 a fence was being built around the Long Run dams, no such fence was planned for the above reservoir along a dirt road above town.  From the looks of this view, it looks to be at the location of the current flat-shaped tank at the top of the Seventh Street.

A July 2010 Story on the 60th Anniversary of Beisel's Christmas Tree Hill

Beisel's Christmas Tree Hill Official Website

The word 'soul-mate' gets a lot of use.  Many times it gets mis-applied, over-aggrandized and certainly over romanticized.  In a simple way, it's the life changing force resulting from the collusion of two celestial bodies sharing light and life.  Sometimes there's an interplay at work, a synergy as in between a Master and a Student.  No matter the configuration, the light simply never goes out.

Each embodied soul has a certain amount of light granted to it.  That light can irretrievably bring an energy that was heretofore absent.  This increased energy is absorbed within the universe in streaks and bursts, where massive infusions of invisible life, light and love enter the deep vacuums of space and time.  The Gods are pleased when all energy is conserved.  Nothing is ever wasted.  The synergy allows life to magically evolve in places thought to be barren and desolate.  It shines on and on.  And so it goes...

Dana helps granddaughter Aubrey plant her first tree on Beisel's Christmas Tree Hill

Dana Beisel lived a simple, happy, purpose-driven life.  He loved many things, but he loved his wife Wanda, daughters Melissa and Jessica, his sons-in-law Craig and Jerry, and of course his twin granddaughters Abigail and Aubrey most of all.

My wife and I married at the early age of nineteen.  We were without health insurance to deliver our first born son.  As the hospital social worker for many years, it was Dana Beisel who got us through what could have been a very difficult time.  There is not enough space here nor do you want to read all the stories of Dana's countless friends.  But perhaps a few...

The testimonies at his funeral service were numerous and lengthy.  Many were humorous.  (The 1964 steak dinner he promised to classmate Jane for doing a flipping dive off the three-meter board at the community pool for one).  There were so many heart-felt stories given by his friends.  All were a testimony to his generosity, his congenial spirit and his healthy yet endless drive for perfection in everything he did, from golf to pruning trees to his new found passion of biking, to finding new ways to enjoy his free time with his family and his friends.

There is no mistaking the value of manual labor.  There is no substitute for it.  During my fourteen growth cycles, fourteen pruning cycles and fourteen Christmases on Beisel's Christmas Tree Hill, I found an undeniable, welcomed solace in the fresh air of the pines and in the hypnotic repetition of working beside Dana.  We labored though it all: under days of sweltering summer sun, in low vernal light, and in the dim days toward the solstice.

The ups and downs and hard work of the various seasons were all more than balanced by the joy and the homecoming of sorts of working the Christmas season. We all worked together, with more or less the same crew year after year.  Each year it was always a reunion for both workers and customers, wondering if the same ones will once again return, to renew the same spirit of Christmases past.

The same customers returned each year from far and wide: from New York City and other points north and west, from the south as far as from Delaware, and from all the points in between, and of course a large majority coming from throughout the Lehigh Valley and Carbon County as well. All told, this loose collection of people sharing a brief Holiday transaction together has woven itself into some of the most cherished threads of my life.  Each of these loyal customers have their own story to tell: how they've come to this hill now for one, two, three generations.  How in this season, their own children and their children's children now make their own tradition here.  And so it goes, cycle to cycle...

It started in the 1890s when Adam and Mary Beisel moved to 231 Coal Street in Lehighton from Gratz in Dauphin County.  Adam Beisel was the County Superintendent of Public Schools.  He was an authoritarian leader, according to my now sketchy memory of the stories Dana told me.  Somewhere in my fog I remember a stern disciplinarian, heavy in build, storming into the schools unannounced, in a gown that beckoned obedience.

It appears Adam's own father passed away at a young age, his mother bounded him and his sister out to live with Emmanuel Wetzel on a farm in Schuylkill County in 1870.  Sophia, sixteen, was keeping house there and Adam, seventeen, at that time was a stone mason.

Looking up through the Concolors and Queen Anne's Lace on a clear summer day on Beisel's Christmas Tree Hill.

By the age of twenty-six Adam Beisel married Mary L. Romberger of Gratz or Gratztown but today known as Berryburg in Dauphin County.  She was only sixteen at the time.  They had a total of six children, only three lived to adulthood.  One four-month old born in Lehighton died of "cholera infantum" in August of 1894.  They went to great lengths to inter the baby back in Mary's home town seventy miles away.

Mary had a brother D. A. Romberger who was a school teacher by profession but had recently lived in Lehighton in early 1900 who died of "consumption" (tuberculosis) at the age of thirty-five in March.  He had recently been ordained to preach in the United Evangelical Conference just before he died.  He was buried in the same family plot as Adam and Mary's baby daughter.

In December of 1909, Adam's remarried and widowed again mother, Mrs. Magdalena Shade, died at the age of seventy-nine.  She is buried in I-38 in Lehighton Cemetery.   She was living with her daughter Hattie Snyder, married to William B. in Parryville.  Her obituary stated she had several surviving sons and daughters.  "A. S. Beisel" served as Superintentdent of Carbon's schools until 1902.  He then pursued a career in banking, working as the cashier at Dine Bank in Lehighton (most recently the PNC Bank at 150 South First Street.)  Prior to their moving to Parryville, Adam's sister and husband, a butcher, lived in Ashland, Schuylkill County.

Adam and Mary Beisel's three adult children were: Minnie (born July 1880), James (born March 1882) and Marie (born August 1895).  James M. Beisel Sr. was baptized at a Berryburg church on June 11, 1882.  He married a Lehighton woman Carrie M. Anthony on Halloween, October 31, 1906 at the Wesley United Methodist Church in Lehighton.  They were both twenty-four.  He at the time was a "copyist" at an insurance company but would later become a bookkeeper at Dine Bank with his father Adam.

By 1911 they had three children: James Jr. (born 1908), Mildred (born April 29th, 1910; living to her 99th year in May of 2009) and Ralph.  Ralph was born on November 26th, 1911 and a short two weeks later, mother Carrie died, perhaps due to complications with Ralph's birth.  She is buried in section I-38 of the Lehighton Cemetery.  It is a pity to think how this death may have impacted Ralph.

On the day of his daughter-in-law's funeral, according to family lore repeated to me by Dana, Adam quickly sprung into action and dictated to his son James as to where the now motherless children will live.  Mildred was bounded out to Carrie's mother, the widow Mrs. Amanda Anthony of Second Street.  The boys were to remain with their father at the Beisel homestead on Coal St.

By July of 1917, Adam passed away and is buried in section A-73 of the Lehighton Cemetery, leaving his widow Mary and son James and two grandsons to live on.  Sadly, Mary died and was buried on Christmas day in 1932.  By October of 1935, James Beisel Sr. had also passed away, he hadn't been working since prior to 1930.  He was only fifty-three years old.

Mildred never married.  Instead she made nursing her profession and became a professor of nursing at Cornell and New York Hospital.  James Beisel Jr. married Kathryn E.(Beltz) and they had a son Darryle V. born on September 28th, 1927.  James was a truck driver for a wholesale grocery, most likely Freeby Whoesale of Lehighton.  His son Darryle enlisted in the Marines at the end of World War II just after he turned eighteen.  He was killed on April 5, 1951 while working as a logger in Maine.  He is buried with his parents.  James Jr died January 11, 1967 and Kathryn on January 3, 1976.  They are all buried in plot A/B-5 in Lehighton.

But in 1935, Ralph, the grandson of Adam, the son of James Sr., was living in Orono, Maine, attending the University of Maine, a special place for two subsequent generations of Beisels.  By 1940 Ralph and Sarah S. (Smith) were married with their infant son William and living in Berkshire County Massachusetts.  Ralph was a foreman for the Civilian Conservation Corps.  Later son Dana L. Beisel would be born in Presque Isle Maine and his daughter Jessica would get married on Maine's cool shore.

Douglas Fir (l) and Concolor looking west over Lehighton at the top of Beisel's Christmas Tree Hill with the Lehigh Gap in the horizon.

Dana served in the Air Force during the Vietnam War, attended Kutztown State College and was their starting tailback for two seasons, he married Wanda Solt In June of 1972.  He worked as a social worker, patient relations specialist at Palmerton Hospital for many years, but the constant part of his life that was virtually unchanged was the work on his family tree farm, the one his father Ralph started when he was just a small boy of four, the reason the family moved back to Carbon County from Maine.  (Ralph and Sarah are buried in P-43 of Lehighton Cemetery.)

The many touching stories shared at his funeral attested to the fine qualities in this friend of many.  I agreed and was touched by them, especially the words of his weekly golfing friend Dick, who ended by saying how it has been said, you can tell a lot about a person on the golf course.  I think most anyone who has golfed can attest to that.  It was Dana who renewed my enjoyment of golf, and he in turn helped bring in my two sons, playing foursomes in the Mahoning Valley, ever patient with our games, ever encouraging, and always a steady partner.

And as he helped me with golf, you could say I helped encourage his passion in the biking he truly enjoyed in the last few months of his life.  There are many things of which I am grateful for toward my friend.  And though at the beginning many of the same things I now find rather endearing, at first I thought were somewhat bothersome.  His endless pursuit of creating the perfect tree, his obsession for catching blights and improper soil before they became a problem, his constant battle with "slimming down" his trees.

Dana's worktruck with all our pruning implements along side a section of Frazer fir.

I can still hear him say, "fat no more!" as he mercilessly pruned past this year's growth, going hard into last year's as well.  And how sometimes, after sage-ing an entire section of 200 trees, he would come to me, lamenting how he might have taken it too far.  How we'd walk for what seemed to be exceedingly long walks through those trees, the Master seeking the Student's perspective, me all the while thinking, "I only know what I have learned from you."

But it was all part of the process of working under Dana on his farm.  You had to build up an appreciation of hearing him out, to become his sounding board as he reassured himself "yes it would all be ok...yes these trees still can be sold this year...just wait, and you'll see how firm and sell-able they'll be, especially once the weather turns colder."

I remember, me the young student of this Zen process, how I was assisting my wife's elderly truck-patch-sized tree-farming-uncle plant and care for the 200 Frazer fir saplings that Dana sold him one spring.  I relayed to Dana how I showed Uncle Keen the center-bud pruning technique we used on Beisel's hill and how I was gently reproached by Dana for sharing trade-secrets off the farm.  One of many times I was reminded of another mantra, "What's said in the fields stays in the fields."

There were countless, ongoing conversations among all of us as we worked the long summer hours of the pruning season from late June and into September, on weekends leading to the sales season, and yes, sometimes "winter pruning" of the seedling and sapling fields.  Most were the mindless, random thoughts that enter one's brain when it has been cleansed of accumulated life clutter by mindless repetitive pruning.

Dana always had a way of both stirring and cleaning up after the boiled-over pots of the simmering topics of discord we'd talk about on the farm.  The topics ranged from issues with immigration, the political gridlock, whether the murder truly was self-defense, or the merits and problems of universal healthcare and Dana somehow had a way of crafting everyone back to what was truly important and self-evident: how we are nothing without the love of our families.

Through all those seasons, my own sons, Nate and Jon, became invaluable laborers too.  They too appreciated the work and peace of the farm, the three of us growing in our love for each other there, though we also had our trials and some tribulation there too, as all fathers and sons will do.  Undoubtedly similar I'm sure to some hard times of stress between Dana and his daughters Melissa and Jessica when they too pruned for him.

Over the years, both summer and winter workers would come and go.  And from season to season, cycle to cycle, it would do my heart good to see my old tree-farming comrades again.  Some would move on to other jobs, but we'd always had a steady core of men who you knew you'd see the next time around.

Among our running jokes, the one who'd be selected by Dana to ride in the truck to pick up a load of trees for the lot, to which the rest of us would say, "Oh, you're number one, you were selected," as we'd rub a certain digit of our hands against our nose to indicate our dis-satisfaction with the one leaving the crew, with only a slightly feigned jealously toward the one riding beside Dana, and how he was "brown-nosing" the boss to be selected.

While visiting Wanda over these days of mourning, I was touched and saddened at the sight of Dana office space.  Over the years, I grew to enjoy the process of getting paid by Dana, though at first it was a somewhat insufferable and painstaking process.  He had a deliberate somewhat quirky way of doing it, it wasn't something he did quickly, it had purpose, it was a scheduled event meant to last.

Back in the days when he paid in cash, he had this habit of looking me in the eye with a regimented procedure of counting each bill into my hand, upon completion of which I would be required to re-count the stack back to him in his presence (a habit perhaps handed down from Great Grandfather Adam from his cashier days).

I find myself already looking back on this with fondness, to those long, meandering conversations that would ensue, sometimes as long as an hour or more.  It was my time alone with the Master at his desk, me the Student along the wall, on the deacon's bench.  Fond times now gone, knowing another season of this time is forever gone, but forever a part of me.

Another running joke was how, one day, for some apparent "grievance" or change in our working conditions, we'd get even with Dana by unionizing.  These among many innocuous conversations and gags were at best only slightly funny.  But in Dana's death, I now can see the irony, as it seems it is Dana with the last laugh as I see how more than ever he has brought us closer together.

He was always looking ahead and planning how each cycle would come to a close.  Leading up to and at the end of each pruning season, he'd want numerous assurances from me and my sons that we would be available once again to prune for next season and beyond.  He'd reveal to me his vision of how he intended to curtail the amount of trees to care for to correspond to fit the aging of his tree-farming body.

I found comfort in these cycles and seasons.  I too looked ahead, seeing myself as part of this plan, of my own winding down of my role in it, breaking it all down, into smaller and smaller more manageable pieces.

No one envisioned it would end like this.
All those years of being the Student have taught me that I can live contently without him because I have a part of him forever with me, a part of his light embedded within my own.  I cannot see much of the future, but I am content to know that love and light will always and forever be moving onward, forward.

Forever looking over the trees, in a determined but healthy pursuit of perfection

On the day of the funeral, I for some reason was paralyzed, unable to pull myself together enough to share any of my memories at his services, a very rare day indeed for me, not known to shrink from an opportunity to make a public address.  And yet I have few regrets.

Here at this grave lay the bodies of these two tree-farming men, son next to father.  They lay beneath the only set of Blue Spruce trees in the entire Lehighton Cemetery.  They are not the healthiest of trees, possibly suffering from cytospora canker fungus (or perhaps is it more like needle cast?).  I smiled as I realized I'd never hear Dana's explanation of them ever again, but in my mind's eye, as clear as day, I did see his ever-present sardonic grin.  And then the thought crossed my mind: Now that these two Beisel men were together again, they would somehow have it all worked out soon.

As we walked away from the grave, there was nothing left to question or say.  The Master's lessons on accepting these alternatively painful and joyous cycles of life were well taught: There is nothing toward which we should cling.

Creation is soul-searching...nothing is ever finished ~Carl Ruggles

Beisel's Christmas Tree Hill - October 2013

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Beisel Genealogy Footnotes:

Given the age of Adam Beisel's mother Magdaleen, his father was most likely born around 1830 and died prior to 1870, making him about 40 years old or younger when he died.  It appears this line of Beisel men had a recurrence of death at early ages:

• Adam Beisel's father - Circa 1830 to circa 1870 - 40 years old
• Adam S. Beisel - October 1853 to July 1917 - 63 years old
• James M. Beisel Sr. - March 1882 to October 1935 - 53 years old

             (Ralph's brother James M. Beisel Jr. - 1908 to January 1967 - 59 years old)

• Ralph Beisel - November 26, 1911 to April 28, 1994 - 82 years old
• Dana Lewis Beisel - June 6, 1946 to October 25, 2013 - 67 years young.

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Typhoid could hit you when you least expected it.  Sources came from places like the Baer Silk Mill shown here.  This  1916-era postcard was included in the Kuder report.  The roadway overlooks the south end of Lehighton.  Just to the right of the Baer Silk Mill,  the large brick building with the brick smokestack, you can see the Penn Lace Mill as well.  To the extreme left of this picture one would find the dairy run at by Reuben Small and Reuben Koch, the only dairy in Carbon County that pasteurized its milk at that time.

This is a never before published picture of Lehighton taken by Joseph Kuder from the Mahoning Mountain in the summer of 1916.  It is roughly looking off of property owned today by the Nis Hollow Hunting Club.  A closer examination of this picture shows the broad hill of Third Street and the large former high school building on the corner of Mahoning Street.  Steam from the Packerton Yard can be seen off in the distance from the notch of Packerton.   One also notices that beyond Seventh Street, Lehighton still had a substantial amount of farmland.

This is an actual Pennsylvanaia Department of Health quarantine placard from 1916.

Ervin Faust's body was shipped back to his hometown of Lehighton in a metallic, sealed casket.  He was only twenty-six when he died in El Paso, Texas.  The special casket was necessary due to the infectious nature of his death: typhoid fever.

One hundred years ago, drinking untreated water or eating food contaminated with the bacteria that causes typhoid could send you to your doom.  Modern sanitation of sewage and purification of water has virtually eliminated this all too common threat.  Additionally, in the rare instance where it does appear today, modern antibiotics and hydration replacement treatments have diminished its fatal impact.

This is a companion post to Dr. Joseph Kuder's Sanitary View of Lehighton in 1916.  This is the first of multiple posts that will focus on various aspects surrounding the hygiene and communicable diseases discussed in Dr. Kuder's report.  For the full story on how this report came to be written, please click the link above.

As written in the first post on Kuder's report, Kuder believed the Lehighton water supply, though untreated, was considered safe.  True indeed, for Lehighton never experienced a town-wide epidemic as other larger communities had.  (Easton for example had an epidemic of fifteen individuals sickened in August of 1898 from a contaminated spring.  Only one of those died.  Allentown as well had occurrences of sporadic epidemics.)

Though Lehighton's incidence was slightly below the state average, it does not say the town was without potential pathways to infection.

My great uncle Garrett "Edgar" Rabenold died of the disease in October of 1906.  He was only fourteen.  Most victims died about three to four weeks after the initial onset.  Edgar was my grandfather Zach Rabenold's youngest brother.  They lived as tenants on the Sebring farm, on a lot which is today the site of Lehighton's Shull-David Elementary school.

There is nothing in the family lore that tells how Edgar became ill.  With 17% of the area typhoid deaths occurring in twelve to nineteen-year-olds, it is easy to make some predictions.  With their new found independence combined with the recklessness of youth, it is easy to see these young adults drinking questionable water, swimming in polluted waters, put that atop of careless hand washing, and one realizes why their numbers were so high.  (Compare that to children below the age of twelve accounted for only 3% of the local area deaths from 1894 through 1910.)

What is known is that the Baer Silk Mill and the Penn Lace Mill made a steady discharge of raw sewage into the neighboring stream from their hundreds of employees working there daily.  The "toilet slops" from these two prominent factories went directly into the small stream that ran between these two buildings, which flowed to the Mahoning Creek and of course then into the Lehigh River.

Just before this pollution reached the river, the Lehigh Valley Railroad placed a dam for the purpose of harvesting winter ice for their refrigerated cars.  And though the ice was not sold for public use, it is easy to see how this enterprise in polluted waters had the chance to spread the bacteria far and wide.

In the summer, this dam also purposed as a fine swimming hole for the town's young.  (As well as it did up to and including the days of my own youth.)  Known as "Harleman's Dam, it still existed until about eight years ago.  It was located just behind the Boulevard Drive-in on Route 443.  Kuder noted its popularity but said it was "a menace to the health of those who swim in the polluted waters."

"The Foreign Element" - "Slavs" according to Kuder were a public nuisance to the town of Lehighton.  This picture is roughly across the tracks just north of  the LVRR passenger station, which was behind today's Hi-Rise on the Lehighton By-Pass.

More of the six double houses along Railroad Street - These homes were occupied by Slavic rail workers and were located just north of the now former Lehigh Valley Railroad Passenger Station that was directly behind today's Hi-Rise.  These houses would have been just north of North Main Lane.  Some houses of similar construction still exist today across the By-Pass on North Main Lane.

Another area of concern for Kuder in 1916 was the housing along Railroad Street (today's By-Pass in Lehighton) of the "foreign element...the Slavics." He goes on to say these tenement houses (six double house all told) "lived up to the worst Slavic conditions of filth." Rats, toilet slops and unclean habits were not only an eyesore, but was a potential epidemic waiting to happen.

"There were no screenings in the windows...tin cans and refuse were dumped all over the yard, the front porch overlooked a puddle of toilet slops and kitchen waste...the place swarmed with flies and children...the beds were not made, but then the bed clothes were so dirty that there was no longer any point in trying to conceal their filth..."

A picture by Dr. Kuder directly in front of  the houses in question, the sewage and other contaminants a breeding ground for disease.  Drainage from the Obert Slaughter and Packing house needed to seep and wade through this debris on its way to the river.

One must consider that at this time, every household had a refuse pile in their yard as there was no central garbage collection.  Additionally, most homes did not have flush toilets inside but rather had "privies" or outhouses.  It is easy to wonder, as in the picture here to the right, with all the refuse and sewage among the handfuls of playing children, how more people didn't become seriously ill.

Two examples of outhouses from other areas of town.

Note the ashes dumped on the bank.  As noted in other areas of town, and since there was no regular garbage collection, people dumped ashes and refuse in any area where land was low and needed leveling or raising up.  (NOTE: This location was identified by Kuder as the bottom of the alley between Fourth and Fifth Streets near Mahoning Street. However, upon inspection one will be hard pressed to find any land in that vicinity with a similar grade as above.  My best guess places this at the "T" of Coal and First Streets down the bank with the former "Hammel's Store" (Current "China Ming") roof line in the back.

As seen in the rest of these photos, many of privies throughout town were known to overflow during the heavy rain seasons.  In fact, one photo taken by Kuder shown below shows a privy with its contents running over the Lehigh Valley Railroad tracks in the vicinity of the rear of today's Carbon Podiatry practice at South Main Lane and First Streets.

A 1915 Lehighton ordinance ordered all newly constructed privies to have a vault of cement to encase the excreta with the intention of preserving the integrity of well water in the vicinity.

Kuder's description of the houses above continued: "The cellar reeked with putrefying vegetable matter mixed with water from defective plumbing, a cellar toilet used in common with three families with about ten roomers, bordered closely upon the room where vegetable food supplies were kept, and the chickens had free access to these subterranean grottoes."

"The floor of one of the rooms in the attic was so covered with worn out and discarded shoes that the boards of the floor were hardly visible, and the other room was full of other manner of discarded clothing, bedding, books, etc."

"In a few cases, cats and dogs are kept in houses and have ground filled boxes in the kitchen.  The filthiness of such conditions needs no amplification, and the remedy is equally obvious.  Fortunately such cases are extremely rare...There is only one remedy for a place such as this, and that is either to tear it down, or clean it up and keep it clean…"

You can see the overflowing contents of the above privy and the LVRR tracks at the bottom of the picture. This scene is located roughly behind Carbon Podiatry today.

The following is a table presented from Kuder's report for typhoid deaths in Lehighton:

One of those two deaths in 1906 resulted from the passing of my Great Uncle Edgar Rabenold at the age of fourteen.

The record in the press substantiates the above information.  However, one section of Kuder's report states, "The typhoid morbidity rate for Lehighton cannot be accepted as entirely accurate as one of the physicians in the town is notorious for diagnosing any case in the slightest detail resembling typhoid fever as such.  The town rate for true typhoid fever therefore is probably no higher than the state rate."

Still and all, these conditions were not only unsightly, but contributed somewhat to shortened life spans of town and certainly to a diminished quality of life here.

When Velma Keubler of Palmerton died in late August of 1906, the paper reported she died of "the dreaded typhoid fever, which has been the means of depopulating this community for several months." She was twenty.

A few of these deaths were expatriates of the area and were now living in cities which at times had suspect water supplies due to their reliance on river water.  Frank Raudenbush and his mother Sophia lived in Lehighton but died of typhoid in Allentown.  They each died within the exact same hour, separated by exactly one week in April of 1902.  They moved to there after Sophia remarried a Mr. Neff after her first husband Alfred was killed on the railroad in October 1896.

Another resident of Allentown originally from Carbon was Harvey Edelman a twenty-two year old principal at the Franklin School.  He died of typhoid in August of 1901.  Mabel Murphy was a twenty-three year old teacher in Greenwich New York when she died of typhoid in April of 1907.  She was originally from Lehighton.  Abraham Prutzman, twenty-four and originally from the Lehigh Gap died in Philadelphia while a student of medicine in February of 1899.

Additionally, a few deaths occurred while friends and relatives visited here.  

The Reverend Alfred Horn, fifty-four, came down with typhoid upon visiting the home of his brother, the Dr. C. T. Horn of Lehighton for the funeral of his uncle Samuel Getz (who died of heart disease) earlier that summer.  Though he made a valiant recovery attempt, the Rev. Horn succumbed August 7, 1906.

There was a popular traveling salesman for the Black Crow Motor Car and Springfield Gasoline Engine Company, originally from Palmerton but living in Lebanon, who died after drinking water along the way to Kresgeville.  He was thirty and died July 13, 1910.

The Kistler family from Sitlers was visiting Emma Kistler's parents, the Mr. and Mrs. James Williamson on Mahoning Street in November of 1903 when they were stricken.  Amandus Kistler, thirty-three and a veterinarian, died of typhoid on November 11th, 1903.  One week later, their seven year old daughter Lois also died while wife Emma recovered.  His brother, a medical doctor from Wilkes-Barre, and a sister Stella, a nurse from Philadelphia all attended to the the family at the Mahoning Street home for several weeks of November into December.  Later in January, Amandus's mother Lydia dies of typhoid at the age of sixty-eight.  (Emma survives and marries Lewis Hofford, they had a son Paul.  They are buried in I-57 section of the Lehighton Cemetery.)
Many others were just starting out in life.  One victim of the "Allentown epidemic" in the winter of 1906 and 1907 was Robert Dreher, originally of Weissport, interred at Lehighton.  He died on the third of January after marrying a woman from Kutztown on New Year's Day.

Mrs. Howard (nee Brighton) Wolfe of Weissport was married but six weeks when she died in December 1895 at the age of twenty-two.  She was sick for more than three of those six weeks of marriage.

Similarly, a spry youth of nineteen, Harry Rex, of Lehighton, a fireman on the railroad, died in November of 1901 only being married one week.  He was married to the former Gertrude "Gussie" Hartley.  He was among five typhoid victims buried by Dr. Kuder's father, the Reverend John Kuder of Trinity Lutheran Church.

From 1894 through 1910, there were eighty-nine typhoid deaths reported in the "Lehighton Press:" 3 deaths in ages 8 and younger, 15 deaths from ages 12 to 19, 32 deaths of those in their 20s, 16 deaths in their 30s, 6 deaths in their 40s, 7 deaths in their 50s, and only 4 deaths of those over the age of 60.  There were an additional six adults who died but no age was listed.  Twenty-year olds were the largest segment of the population who succumbed to this disease at 36% of the total, following by teenagers with 17%.

Since many cases resulted from either drinking infested water or bathing or swimming in it, one could expect a high incidence in the summertime when people are more active and traveling a good deal.  However typhoid was also transmitted onto food by handling with unwashed hands.  The record shows typhoid deaths remain fairly consistent throughout the year with a slight up-tick of cases just after the "dog-days" of summer and into fall.  As a result, some 40% of typhoid deaths occurred in the Fall, with 24% in the Summer, followed surprisingly by 20% in the winter, and only 16% in the Spring.

The two months that showed the lowest incidence were March and June with only one in each month.  February, May, and July each had five, six and seven deaths respectively.  January, April and November all had eight cases while December had nine.  The peak occurred from August through October with twelve deaths in each of those months.

Though it is sometimes a modern joke of one's naivete to catch certain diseases from a toilet seat, it does actually occur from time to time today.  When you consider how far we've come in the area of toilet-area hygiene, it is little wonder how our grandparents and on back survived those relatively crude times.

Consider the hygiene of the school children of 1916.  We had two elementary schools in town: First Ward at the bottom of Fourth St and Third Ward at the top.  Both had been built in the previous ten years while a brand new Junior/Senior High was being built on Third Street.  So for a town of Lehighton in 1916, it had three as up to date schools as one could hope for.  But as revealed in Kuder's report, the sanitation conditions for those students went beyond mere hand washing problems of students today.

The Third Ward building looks nearly the same over one hundred years later.  However the first toilets were a far cry from what one expects of public buildings today.

The school day was broken down into two parts due to student dismissal from 11:45 until 1:15 for them to walk home for lunch.  (Their day started at 9:00 AM and ended at 4:00 PM with a fifteen minute recess in the morning and afternoon.)

My own father in the 1930s lived at Ninth and Iron Streets.  Since there was no school for the "West Enders" at that time, kids from the rural end of town had to walk to the Ward buildings.  So for First and Second grade, Dad walked the eight blocks to Third Ward and as the rotation schedule worked, he attended Third and Fourth grades at First Ward, a distance of six blocks.  For Fifth and Sixth grades he switched back to Third Ward.  Today students would be bused for that distance.  Back then students WALKED, unassisted by their parents, not just once back and forth per day, but twice.  (Uphill in snow both ways?)

These "modern" schools did not have flush toilets.  The basements were divided into separate boys' and girls' sides.  Each had six toilets setting atop a wooden platform with badly cracked wooden seats.  Inside the toilets were perforated cast iron plates that caught the excreta and allowed the liquid portion to pass through into a cesspool.

Supposedly, the solid portion "dried quickly" atop the metal plate.  (I would like to hear the distinction of its relative dryness and how quick this occurred.)  And as the report stated, these plates were cleared off once every THREE MONTHS (Whether they needed it or not?).  After the dried portion was cleared out, the remains were incinerated in the school furnaces!

Among his recommendations, Kuder specified that they should be cleaned more often than that and in-between cleanings, some lime should be poured down.  There was no washroom for the students either.  Students were all expected to carry a handkerchief to take care of their hands after using the toilet.

However this wasn't the most repugnant part for Kuder.  He took the most umbrage to the fact that the unpainted, deeply cracked seats were in a continuous loop which besides being a breeding ground for all manner of germs, also had the potential for the transmission among other things "gonorrhea," especially for the girls!

Could you imagine the public's reaction to such conditions today in the 21st Century?  Which group of modern Americans would cry foul the loudest and longest?

Anyone still clamoring for the good old days?




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Footnotes:

Ervin Faust had an identical twin brother named Marvin who also died at a young age.  Both young men were outlived by their parents, Adam and Sallie Faust.  Both men worked for the railroad and both had relocated to El Paso Texas, working on the rails there too.

Ervin Faust died of typhoid fever in El Paso Texas.  His remains were shipped back to town sealed in a metallic casket.

Ervin's twin brother Marvin also died an early death.

My great uncle "Edgar" as he was known, another victim of typhoid.

The Eugene Baer Silk Mill as it looks today as the Body and Soul Complex. The mountain in the rear is the hill the first postcard picture was taken. The first photo of the southern exposure of Lehighton would have been taken from the hill seen at the left side of this picture.

One of many trolley accidents.  This one at the bottom of South Street, running headlong into the Lehighton Exchange Hotel sometime around 1905.  James Blakslee Jr. is believed to be the first man in an overcoat at the rear of the car, with cane and white goatee.  Photo courtesy of the Brad Haupt Collection.  Note the young lad near the motorman with the cigar in his mouth. (Please note, low-resolution pictures were uploaded for this story to dissuade unauthorized copying. The Haupt collection photos are original, high-quality photos.)

The Lehighton-Weissport Bridge built for $25,500 in 1889.  Blakslee's Electric Company charged $5 per month for lighting the bridge.  Courtesy of the Brad Haupt Collection.

An example of flooding along a trolley route somewhere in the vicinity. Courtesy of the Brad Haupt Collection.

The Lehighton Power plant after the 1901-1902 floods.  It is presently privately owned parcel of land between the beginning of the Lehighton By-passand the Lehigh River.  (Courtesy of the Thomas Eckhart History of Carbon County.)

A modern view of Blakslee's electric plant built on a higher plane above the Lehigh River (right) than the one built in Weissport in 1890 that was carried away in the February 1902 flood.  The site is privately owned.  Photos taken with permission.

A modern view of this shot could be found standing on Iron Street looking across from the George Hahn property at Seventh Street.  The cement orbs weree still part of this property just a few years ago, though the Mansion burned to the ground April 4, 1915.  A followup post later will further examine the Atty Snyder property and its demise.  Photo Courtesy of the Brad Haupt Collection.

The Lehighton Exchange Hotel is at center of this frame.  Note the trolley tracks coming from the right that then turn in the direction of the parade route.  It is easy to see how the cars could break free of their restraints and run uncontrolled into the hotel.  Courtesy of the Brad Haupt Collection.

A photo from the 1966 Lehighton Centennial book dated about 1906 shows a car in front of the Lehighton Exchange Hotel approaching the curve to go up South Street.

Another photo from the 1966 Lehighton Centennial book shows a trolley heading downtown at a stop at Fourth and Mahoning Streets in Lehighton.  The home on the left is present day Verona's Pizza, formerly Young's Bakery, formerly Paulsen's Groceries.

This photo appears courtesy of the Ebbert and Ripkey book "Lehighton" published 2013.  This is taken from today's First Street looking toward Bankway and Weissport.  (Carbon Podiatry would be out of frame to the left and the Carbon Minit Mart is out of frame to the right.)  Blakslee's Power Plant would be down the hill to the left.)  Note the trolley tracks headed toward Weissport as well as the electrical wires above.  (Click here to purchase Ebbert and Ripkey's "Lehighton."

The Beaver Run ravine is approximately eighty feet below the trolley tracks.  This bridge was said to be used by the people of Beaver Run as a dangerous short-cut to Lehighton.  It was torn down in 1926 though some evidence of it still remain.  Courtesy of the Brad Haupt Collection.

The Beaver Run Trestle abutment as it appears today. This view is facing toward Lehighton, the ravine to the viewer's back.

This view of the Beaver Run Trestle remains gives some perspective to the eighty-foot drop off to the creek bed below.

Freshly cut trees and scaffold hoists appear across the trestle as it was being built in around 1905.  Photo from 1966 Lehighton Centennial book.  Among others, note the boy/man straddling precipitously off a beam at left of frame  below track level.

This view of the trolley right of way in Beaver Run is looking toward the ravine about 300 yards away.  Though not known to be the location of the terrible accident, the steep banking on the sides makes it easy to see how Mrs. Beissert rolled back onto the tracks when she jumped from the moving car.

Both the Lehigh Valley and Jersey Central Railroads had special hospital cars.  The Central car arrived first, dressed what wounds they could, and transported the victims to St. Luke’s Hospital in Bethlehem. 

The work gang circa 1905.  One of these workers is Austin Blew's grandfather of town.  Photo courtesy of the Brad Haupt Collection.  This picture appears on page 58 of Ebbert and Ripkey's "Lehighton" book published 2013.  The version shown here is presented in its widest extent.  Click here for a link to purchase this exceptional resource of Lehighton's history written by two of Lehighton's finest gentlemen.

Originally built in 1901 at the Pan Am Exposition in Buffalo, New York as the Michigan State Building, the stately manor was purchased by T. A. Snyder and transported to Lehighton piece by piece via the Lehigh Valley Railroad in 1903.  This view is looking north across present day Iron St Lehighton.  Seventh Street would be perpendicular to the left.  The address of the current home is 638 Iron Street and the cement orbs and stairs were still visible until the last few years when a ramp took their place.  See 1915 Lehighton Map insert below.   (Photo courtesy of the Brad Haupt Collection.)

As promised in theBlakslee's Trolleys Post of January 1, 2014, here is a more in-depth look atthe mansion and the man who brought it here, Attorney Theodore Allen Snyder (Or"T. A." as he was known), one of the backers of the Carbon Electric Railway.

Here is how Lehighton's "Colonial Court Mansion" looked when it was first built for the Pan Am Expo of 1901. It was the Michigan Building near the "Indian Mound" in the lower right quadrant of the "Rumsey Property" near the buildings from Ecquador and New England.  It appears as though this shot was taken with the American Flag at half-staff from President McKinley's death. Photo courtesy of "Doing the Pan." (Click here for more.)