There were two newspapers in our house. The Times Leader Evening News that was delivered daily and which Papa read faithfully. My interest in the daily paper was the comic section. There on the page was Brenda Starr, female reporter, gorgeous long red hair, sparkling green eyes and the intelligence to outsmart and scoop a story. She was my hero.
The other paper came into my life when I was 12 years old and was called The Sunday Dispatch. Papa bought the paper every Sunday morning on his way home from the San Cataldo Society. His interest in the paper was the political page written by John C. Kehoe, coal baron and politician, venting the antics of the opposite political party which seemingly did everything wrong while his party did everything right.
Don’t recall when Mr. Kehoe stopped writing his page but that’s when it was I who picked up the Sunday Dispatch for there was still no home delivery service. It was routine on Sunday morning to attend Mass and then read the Dispatch. The pages were full of stories of the happenings in the town, local chatter, engagement and wedding photographs, birth announcements, obituaries and so much more.
My introduction to Mr. William Watson Sr. came as a young woman when I would drop off a notice or written article at the office on Dock Street. He read the copy, lifted his eyes, nodded his head, indicating it was time for me to go. Through the years, there were not too many words spoken between us but he had my admiration and respect for his ability and dedication as editor of the Sunday Dispatch and as a gentleman.
They say, “A picture is worth a thousand words.” That was true of the Dispatch. Pictures became their trademark. Every issue was filled with photos of all the local events occurring. While Pidge Watson took the action shots, it was Kenney Feeney who came to photograph the event with his gentle manner, boyish smile and a lot of patience. When Kenny appeared on the scene, the Sunday Dispatch had answered your call.
Through the years, the Sunday Dispatch continued on its successful journey with the leadership of several editors, namely William Watson Jr., John Watson, Paul McGarry and Ed Ackerman.
My introduction to writing for the Sunday Dispatch came in one of two ways. My classmate and friend James Gilmartin, who was employed by the paper through his high school and college days, continued to write a column while he served as superintendent of the Hamburg School District. The title of the column was “Something to Think About (This Sunday Morning)” and usually dealt with education issues.
At one of our class luncheons, I mentioned to Jim that someday I, too, would like to write a column. He asked, “About what?”
“I don’t know. About this or that or whatever comes to mind.” We both laughed and went on to other matters.
Perhaps Jim mentioned that remark to Ed Ackerman or maybe it was the written review of the activities that occurred in Pittston during the celebration of America’s Bicentennial that I had submitted to the Dispatch. That was in July 2001. The following month, I received a call from Ed, asking if I would like to write for the newspaper.
Hesitant at first, I thought nothing ventured, nothing gained. I accepted the offer to write a column twice a month.
My first article appeared in August 2001 with no title for the column. Ed said he would take care of it. That Sunday I was filled with anticipation and very excited as I opened the paper to see my column entitled “Maria Remembers” and to read my words. Brenda Starr was looking over my shoulder.
My emotions play a big part in the words placed on paper. There were tears streaming down my face on to the keyboard when I wrote about “Mama, Me and the Clothesline,” “Tied to Mama’s Apron Strings,” “Mama’s Old Trunk” and “Papa’s Purple Heart.” I am unashamed to say many times I used half a box of tissues when writing.
I loved the freedom to choose the subject of a column. Writing about my Pittston as it was when I was a child brought joy and tears. Remembering the stores that outfitted us with our clothing, the grocery stores with baskets of fresh fruit and vegetables lined in front of their business, the ice cream parlor where, for another nickel, you could buy a double dip, the American and Roman theaters, memories lock in our minds never to be forgotten.
Writing about my Pittston of today brings much pride of the accomplishments and dedication of a group of young people who also have Pittston blood running through their veins — Michael Lombardo, Lori Nocito, Jim Zarra, Rose Randazzo and the crews of the Pittston Tomato Festival and the Pittston Art Walk.
It is with great pleasure and pride you came to know my daughters, Marilyn and Michele, and grandsons, Nicolas and Alexander, through my stories. You came to know Chet, my husband, with his witty remarks and charm.
I loved introducing you to the “Face in the Mirror” and “The Guy in the Glass,” their meeting and flirtation through Mama’s bureau mirror. “Sara Taylor,” my ghost friend, became your friend, too. My Red Hat Sisters, many known to you, were written about with delight.
A dream came true on a Sunday afternoon in 2010 when I received the “Joseph Saporito Lifetime of Service Award” and was presented with a Sunday Dispatch media card. It’s right up there with Brenda Starr.
The Sunday Dispatch — the newspaper born 70 years ago — is still the paper written “By, for and about the people of Greater Pittston,” May it live in print another 70 years.
