JOHNSTOWN, Pa. – I’m older than the new pope. Let that sink in a minute.
Today is my 76th birthday. My mind is 38; my soul is 19; my still original body parts are 127.
Mom grew up in the Philadelphia shadows of movie stars such as Grace Kelly and Katherine Hepburn. Not to mention, the mega-popular Miss America pageant held annually in Atlantic City that celebrates talent and beauty.
Mom hoped for a talented, striking, accomplished daughter. She got me.
In spite of years of music lessons (mostly piano, but tap dance when I was 7 and guitar lessons during Mom’s “Sound of Music”/”Singing Nun” phases); two meteorology courses at Indiana University of Pennsylvania to make me a weather wench; and other ill-fated efforts – the actual me emerged.
I pursued two careers that I love: writing and teaching. My former students claim that I significantly influenced their lives in addition to warning them not to split infinitives and dangle participles. Fans of my columns say I stir memories of good times past, and inspire them to live lives to the fullest. Making folks smile, laugh and, occasionally think, fulfills me.
This time last year, Rick Rosko allowed me to celebrate my milestone 75th birthday with an afternoon party at the Silver Drive-In in Richland Township, one of my favorite places in the world. It poured rain that day, but partiers who dropped in enjoyed themselves at Fossilfest 75. (Taylor Swift did The Eras tour and Beyoncé did Renaissance. I’m no slouch.)
Writing a series focused on Central Park memories kept me busy lately. When I recalled the details of businessman/philanthropist Frank Pasquerilla’s donation of an ornate, magnificent, custom-crafted fountain, a bell rang in my head.
Mr. P wanted to gift the city he loved with a unique treasure that, I’m pretty sure, he intended to benefit generations to come. Words don’t pack the visual wallop that sculpture does, but used properly to express classic concepts, they can become immortal.
“Ask not what your country can do for you …” JFK. “I have a dream…” Martin Luther King. “Snap out of it!” Cher in “Moonstruck.”
For my birthday today, I want to give “pals” (special), friends, former students, column fans, fellow-Johnstowners who get what the Johnstown spirit is all about – a party.
While in downtown Johns-town the other day, I noticed an outdoor dining area at The Sweet Spot on Franklin Street.
I called the management and asked if I could “park” my chair outside there for a few hours Saturday afternoon for a “meet-and-greet” birthday celebration. They generously agreed.
Between 1 and 4 p.m. today (Saturday), I cordially invite you to breathe a sigh of relief with me: I made it to 76.
No gifts, please. Do you know how much stuff 76-year-olds already have? No admission. No games, giveaways, 50/50s, politics or fireworks. No refreshments from me either, but a lot of tasty items are available at the diner and other nearby businesses.
One more thing: Fire terrifies me – always has, since childhood. Cakes with candles symbolize birthday delight, but I see flaming carbohydrates threatening me with molten calories. Emoji no cake.
Ready? Set? Salute the spirit of 76.
