Tear Down Little Pete's? Sure, Can We Tear Down City Hall Too?

Philadelphia, I love you, but you’re bringing me down: Little Pete’s to Meet the Wrecking Ball

Little Pete’s, a beloved Center City diner, will meet the wrecking ball soon in order to make way for a 300-room hotel.

South Street is a shell of its former self; the Boyd is being hollowed out into a shitty multiplex; Little Pete’s is going to be torn down for a goddamn hotel. Hell, they even want Frank Gehry to tear out the steps of the Art Museum.

One of the great things about Philly has been that it’s a place everyone could afford live; I don’t want it to be the “sixth borough” or SanFranEast.

But what else is new?

You'll Pry My Butterscotch Krimpets From My Cold Dead Hands

Food of the gods

When I started this blog, I called it "The Philadelphia Preservation Society", mostly as a joke, playing off the Kinks' Village Green Preservation Society, one of my favorite records. Well, maybe we need a Preservation Society now.

A&P, who owns the local chains of Superfresh and Pathmark, declared bankruptcy in December, leaving the fate of 5,500 jobs up in the air. They've already closed several stores around my town (Lansdale). Safeway has closed some Genuardi's, as well, and now apparently Acme--yes, "the Ac-a-mee", my dear North Philadelphians--is closing some stores.

All of this is bad enough--especially for those who live in the city and only have access to public transportation, making getting fresh food that much more difficult. But there are some surprising repercussions, apparently:

TASTYKAKES IS IN BIG TROUBLE

Now, you have to understand--Tastykakes are as much a part of Philly as the Liberty Bell, pretzels, cheesesteaks, Yuengling, and questionable behavior at sporting events. Everyone knows how to scrape all the butterscotch icing from the package of krimpets; and who does love the creamy inside of those little Kandy Kake hocky pucks? And the mini-pies: baked, not fried, and filled with blueberries, or cherries, or apples...

Man, I'm getting hungry.

If we lose Tastykakes, we lose another part of Philly. "It's just snacks," you might say. Well, sure--but since when isn't food part of culture? What's Italy without salami? Ireland without potatoes? India without curry? Food is one of the most elementary things we deal with every day. "But it's just mass produced cakes." Sure, you could say that--but I bet you haven't eaten one.

It's a question of jobs, of course--if Tastykakes gets sold, we could lose even more jobs, or worse--lose the jobs altogether, like when Hershey sent all their jobs to Mexico. That's right, Hershey, PA doesn't make chocolate. If they get sold, the recipe could change, and not taste as good as it does now.

Sure, it's silly to get sentimental about snacks. But it's about identity, and about the loss of regionalism. Tastykakes and Yards tastes better than Twinkies and Bud Light (well, maybe don't eat beer and cakes together). The local almost always tastes better than the national. Smaller scale allows a greater attention to detail than a larger scale.

And hey, I want to win a case of tastykakes next time I see the Flyers.

Mumming--It's Not Just For Old People On Two Street Anymore

Philebrity has a post on Nerd Island, a new mummer brigade which directly tries to appeal to younger artists and activists in the Philly area.

For those who don't know, the Mummer's Parade is held on New Year's Day here in Philadelphia; it's a day-long parade of people in costumes, divided into four groups--comics, string bands, fancies (which combine elements of comics and string bands with small floats), and the fancy brigades, which have very elaborate, feather- and sequin-covered costumes.

It's something to see, usually while drunk--which is OK, since the comics are usually still drunk from the night before. All of which is keeping in the tradition of mumming, which goes back to medieval Europe. Mumming plays, wren boys, the Mari Lwyd, and the Philadelphia Mummers are all part of a larger tradition wherein the working classes (both urban and agricultural), given freedom from work for two weeks, drank and ate and partied, often to the dismay of their social "betters". It's one of the reasons the Puritans outlawed Christmas in both Britain and America in the 17th century (see the fantastic The Battle for Christmas for more on this).

What's interesting about Nerd Island is that unlike the other brigades, these aren't from the old neighborhoods--these are young people, seeing an opportunity to carry on a tradition, while getting it back to its anarchic roots. Like the best comic brigades, they're using pop culture and politics for their inspirations (for Nerd Island, it's the environment), and in keeping with the spirit of Christmas, taking donations for charity (in this case, Haiti).

This is one reason I love Philly--here we have this drunken, crazy parade, and it's entirely keeping with a medieval tradition, even if we don't realize it.

Plus ça change...

The Decline and Fall of South Street

Pearl Art is closing at the end of the month. I'm both depressed and not surprised. South Street has been in a rapid decline for several years now, ever since they started raising the rent rates. But there are a lot of causes behind the emptying of South Street, much of it sad.

So let's take an incomplete tally:

• The Brick Playhouse: well, this is a case of mismanagement--I know, because I was a member. But the few years I was part of the Playhouse was some of the happiest of my life.
  
  
• Zipperhead: namechecked in the Dead Milkmen's "Punk Rock Girl, it was, of course, a clothing store. Best part about the place was the exterior (which may still be there, I don't know, I haven't been down that way in a while)--big ants crawling up the side of the building. Apparently they've moved and changed their name, and the fact that I only found out about it in 2010 says something, though maybe it just points out my own ignorance.
  
  
• Spaceboy Records: and when we lost Zipperhead, we lost their neighbor, Spaceboy. I loved Spaceboy--they had a great selection of new indie, new lps, old LPs and CDs upstairs. But with the massive changes in the record industry, even big chains have gone out of buisness. Between the high rents and the decline of record sales, there was no way a place that deals largely in new music products was going to survive, but it still hurts.
  
  
• The Book Trader: not exactly gone; they moved up to 2nd and Arch. But I miss their two-story store on the corner of 5th and South, with the big bay windows where you could look out on the street below, busy with foot traffic, lit up at night. They moved, but it's not the same, and South Street isn't the same.
  
  
• Philadeli: sure, it was pricy, but they sold six-packs, great sandwiches, and now they're gone too.
  
  
• TLA Video: I don't know what got them more--the rise of Netflix, or the decline of South Street? Sadly, I'm going with Netflix overall, because this isn't the only store they've closed; they've also closed the one near my old apartment on Spring Garden St.
  
  

And there's probably lots of others that I can't remember.

There are a lot of causes--South Street's rent is too high, we're in the Great Recession, and media consumption has moved from brick-and-mortar stores to the computer. And there are still places that I like down there--The Bean Cafe, Tattooed Mom, they're still there, and hopefully will stay there. But I've lost a lot of reasons to go down there.

And now Pearl Art, where you could find just about anything you wanted, is gone. And I hear that's as much how the company--not this particular store--is managed.

I don't have to leave my house anymore to buy a book, or find a record, or rent a movie, or talk to friends. Everything can be done right here on my laptop, as I sit on the living room, warm and narcotized by the soft glow of Law and Order in the background, while tabs for Netflix, Amazon, and Facebook are up on the browser. But doing so, I'm losing something. I'm losing real human contact, I'm missing meeting new people, I'm missing finding things by accident.

Update
Den just reminded me of Tower Books, also gone a long time, before even Tower Records, IIRC. He used to sell his zine there.

Week 23: I Just Wasn't Made For These Times

The ax came down on Friday. Half the office was let go, including Kate. Her paystub in hand, she took the trolley back to Arthur's.

"They laid me off."

"I'm sorry, Kate."

"No--it's OK. I--I can just spend more time on school."

"Yeah."

"Arthur. I don't know if... I don't know how I'll chip in right now."

He nodded. "There's probably something. The co-op--"

"The co-op already has three people working there. That's all they can support. They want volunteers, not workers."

Arthur began fiddling with a broken radio. One of his sister's kids dropped it down the stairs that morning. "Kate, I'll help you as long as I can, but--"

"But this isn't a charity. I know."

Kate left. Arthur sat back. He knew what she was going to do, but he didn't feel he could stop her. Resources were stretched as it was.

---

That night, Kate packed two bags. There wasn't much left--the bed and dishes she knew she'd have to leave behind; she selected a few of her favorite books. A few favorite clothes. A few favorite cds. Her laptop.

She missed the apartment. The backyard, with her tomato plants; the mantel over the fireplace, where a Buddha sat next to a rosemary tree; her books. It wasn't much, but it had been hers. But that was over now.

"Where are you gonna go?" Lisa, who worked with her until the layoff, had been her roommate for the past two months here at Arthur's. She'd been let go too.

"I don't know. I just want to go home. I want to go back to Reading."

"How?"

"I don't know. I just--look, I've got some friends out of the city. They say things are OK out there. I'm going up to them, and from there, I'll figure something out."

"Are you serious?"

"What choice is there? I can't stay here. I can't even go to school anymore. At least in Reading I have family." She paused. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know."

---

In the morning, Kate took the trolley to 30th Street Station, boarded the R5, and headed for Lansdale.

Week 20: More on the Sunoco Incident

It's been three days since the Sunoco Incident. They--that is, the state and city governments and thus the media--are saying it wasn't terrorism per se, but an attempt to steal the oil. At least, that's the story right now--who knows? But I swear to god, people are stupid--as baltpiker pointed out, the refineries have been under guard for months now. There was no way they'd get away with it. The identities of the thieves haven't been released, and that's making me suspicious. On the other hand, I guess if it was terrorism, they'd have struck at a time when they could get mass casualties, and not at five in the morning.

I went downtown today, in part because I'm a fool and in part because I'm an ex-journalism student. Den has a lot of work to get through, though, so he stayed behind.

So I hopped the R5 from Lansdale down to Market East. There was a huge backup getting off because in order to leave the platform you now have to go through metal detectors and pass bomb-sniffing dogs and whatnot. So even if the Sunoco job wasn't terrorism, the cops aren't taking any chances.

I hate to say it, I can't blame 'em.

There are National Guard troops in the city now; not just down at the refinery, but posted outside Independence Hall, outside (and in the courtyard of) City Hall, down at the Stock Exchange--you get the idea. Let's face it--if people are nuts enough to attack an oil refinery, what's to stop them from attacking anything else?

OK, I'm feeling a little paranoid these days.

As I said, some two hundred people died from the gas leak. The city's in mourning. This is my city--I grew up here as a kid, I lived here until the spring. My heart is still here. And maybe that's why I felt like I had to come down.

There was a tent set up in the park next to the Constitution Center. Volunteers I asked what they needed--"Anything. Put together food packages, first aid kits. Head down to Graduate [Hospital], they could use some volunteers."

"What about down in South Philly?"

"You don't wanna go down there. Besides, only the National Guard is going down there."

"Why?"

"Why the hell do you think? Look, you wanna help or not?"

"Yeah, I do. What can I do?"

So they set me to putting together food packages. Canned goods, mac & cheese, the usual food drive stuff. What amazes me--and encourages me--is that people, despite their resources being tight, are giving.

Around noon, they let us take a break, so I headed over to the Reading Terminal for some lunch. Normally (or at least normally being six months ago) the place is packed, every day of the week--but now, well, not so much. Oh, there were still folks getting lunch, mostly in suits, but the crowds definitely weren't there.

So anyway, I sat and had spinach pie at the Middle Eastern place, and a pretzel from the Amish pretzel guys. I knew I was spending a lot of money--money we need--but I was famished, and it'd been a long time since I'd had anything special like that. And, I don't know, I figure the sellers need the money too.

I also bought some fish and packed it in ice. I haven't had fresh fish in months--you just don't find it for a reasonable price up in the suburbs anymore. I admit, I'd packed a soft-vinyl cooler just for this. There's nothing wrong with killing two birds with one stone.

After lunch, I headed back to the volunteer station. Talked with some other people--a lot who lived in town, but a few from the suburbs who came down on the trains like me. (I'll get to what we talked about in another post.)

So anyway, I called it a day around 6:30 and tried to get on a train. Well, stupid move, because the station was packed, and I ended up sitting for an hour and a half waiting for a chance to get on a train. Den offered to pick me up in the car, but I told him not to waste the gas. I did call him when I was near the station, though, and he walked me home.

God, I'm exhausted. Anyway, this is a really abbreviated version of what happened. I'll post more later.

Week 20: They've Finally Attacked Sunoco.

I don't know who remembers this, but six years ago this week was the terrorist attacks. You know, the ones people used to think of when you said "terrorism". I was in college at the time--a grad student, working for an MA in English because I didn't know what else to do with my time. Economic slump, no call for ex-English majors, not much call for anything. So I lived with my parents, worked at a Barnes & Noble, took classes at West Chester (where I'd just graduated), and tried to be a playwright in the Philly scene. To be honest, it was ideal, because I'm lazy and adverse to working in an office.

And then one day I was driving down to school--to think I used to drive from Worcester to West Chester, 30 miles each way, every day. And I heard about the first plane, and then as I listened to channel 6 on the radio, I heard Charlie Gibson suck in his breath when the second one hit.

Class was canceled, as was the night's Philly Fringe shows. As I drove home, the B&N I worked at was closed up and the parking lot empty. I just remember drinking a lot, because my parents were down the shore on vacation, and my sister was back in school up in Edinboro.

I guess where I'm going with this is that as messed up and terrifying as things seemed back then, it wasn't anything compared to what's happening now.

---

There was an attack on the Sunoco refinery down in South Philly this morning. No one's sure exactly what the story is--channel 6 says some low-level mafia trying to steal oil and sell it themselves and botching the job, while channel 10 puts in on more Muslim terrorists, like those guys at Fort Dix. What we do know is that there was a gunfight, two explosions, and a large leak of "anhydrous hydrogen fluoride"--thousands of gallons, they're saying. Hundreds of people are dead--refinary workers, folks asleep in bed. Anyone on I-95 seems to have gotten away in time, but maybe we just don't know about it yet.

Because this happened early in the morning, around 5 am, it wasn't as bad as it could've been--no one was at the Linc or a Phillies game, and while folks were on I-95 going to work, rush hour wasn't in full swing.

That's all I know. I don't think Kate's hurt--she's over in West Philly, and the wind doesn't blow west usually.

It's only ten o'clock, but damn it I need a drink.

I'll write more if I know what's going on.

Week 10: Heroes and Villains

Kate was riding to the co-op on her bike. She'd been warned that it wasn't safe, but really, what's the point of having a bike if you can't use it?

A group of young men stepped out in front of her. She tried to go around, but they grabbed her, caught her, took the bike and her wallet. They left her self alone, though, when a neighbor came out side and fired a gun in the air. For this small miracle, she was grateful.

The neighbor--Arthur--was an artist; she knew him from the local Buddhist zendo. He didn't seem the type to own a gun.

"What, and Buddhists don't practice martial arts, either?" he laughed, picking her up off the ground.

"I--yeah. Well, thank god."

He offered her an escort to the co-op. He went back into the three-story house; old houses, Victorian, full of gables and back staircases, and backyard gardens. She followed. He grabbed a handgun, concealed it, and put a jacket on.

"Isn't that illegal?"

"So's mugging."

"I thought you were an artist."

"I am. I'm also not stupid."

"Thank you."

"I didn't mean you're stupid. Look, I'm an artist, but I was also a Marine."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"When?"

"Desert Storm ."

"Wow. I had no idea."

"You ready to go?"

Kate paused. "Do you think it's safe?"

"Probably not. But we've gotta eat, right?"

She nodded, and followed him outside.

---

I'd just like to thank WWO for awarding this post. :)

Week 6: Denial Ain't Just a River

Kate rides the trolley. She doesn't drive, doesn't even use the bus. She buys local food from a co-op. She says this won't affect her.

Kate works on the eighth floor of the EPA building. She is a record keeper; by night, she works on her MLS at Drexel. Eight floors being a long way up, she takes the elevator.

---

The air conditioning didn't seem to be working right. It was humid; the polyester shirt she wore stuck to her, not letting her skin breath, her sweat to escape. Four people got onto the elevator with her; at least one could use another shower. Kate tried to subtly breathe through her mouth, but that isn't something you can do subtly, and so she made her way to the back of the elevator so that none would notice.

Between the third and forth floors, the elevator stopped. Then the lights went out. "Crap--I've got a meeting in ten minutes," one of the men said.

"Eh, it'll be back on in a second."

"I thought they fixed the elevators," Kate said.

"That's not the elevators--that's the electricity."

"Oh."

They stood, shuffling a little, loosening collars, joking about the weather, the high gas prices. "See, that's why I live in the city and take public transportation," Kate said triumphantly.

"Yeah. The city's a great place to be when society's falling apart."

"Let it go, Paul," said a woman, who'd been silent until now.

"No--I mean it. The city was a cesspool before the crisis, and it's only getting worse. Did you hear about the shooting--"

"Which one?" Kate asked.

"Yeah. Exactly. Which one. And that was before--"

"Before the oil shock. Yes. We know."

"Three shootings a day. Did you know someone siphoned my car?"

"Huh?" said Kate.

"Siphon. Stole my gas. If I'd been there--"

"Yeah. God, it's stuffy in here. Do you think we'll run out of air?"

"I'm telling you," said Paul, "if it wasn't for the security in this building, I'd carry a handgun."

"Thank god for security," the woman said.

"Yeah? Let's see you say that when you get held up again. You were lucky last time."

The lights came on. The hum of the air conditioning kicked on. The elevator slowly lurched up to the sixth floor, and then the eighth.

Kate came to her desk, sat down, and opened her email. It was already a long day.

Week 4: Welcome to Killadelphia

The bad thing about Philadelphia is that it's hard to separate one cause of violence from another.

I can go for days without watching the local news. It's usually the same: fire in Kensington, shooting in West Philly, robbery in North Philly, racial strife in South Philly. It's like MadLibs--all you do is move the crimes, going round-robin. Shooting in Kensington. Robbery in West Philly. Fire in South Philly. And so it goes.

A few blocks from Kate, when you cross over into West Philly, there was a shooting at the Hess station. Hess is known for carrying the cheapest gas--them and Wawa. Well, whatever cheap is these days, I don't know.

But it was at a gas station. Two men arguing, one pulls a gun, shoots the other, drives off. That's what I heard, anyway. There's so many shootings these days, it's hard to keep them separate. A shooting. A fire. A robbery. A drug bust. A kid shot in crossfire. There've been at least 130 murders this year, and it's only May. Probably more. I've lost count.

But it was at a gas station. Three blocks from a police station on Chestnut. And a lot of us can't help but wonder whether this was the normal kind of shooting--drugs, a woman, a botched robbery.

Or fighting over gas.

I'd say it's gonna get ugly, but it's already ugly in Philadelphia. It was ugly before the shortage, and it ain't gonna get pretty any time soon.

The Hess station ran out of regular gas two days later. I drove by, on my way to see Kate, and saw that only premium was left. So much for the cheapest gas in the city.

Week 1: Kate Gives Thanks

Kate has never owned a car. She never even learned to drive. On moving to Philadelphia to attend Temple University, she found she didn't need a car, that Philly's public transportation was decent enough that she could get around without needing a car; and besides, her boyfriends usually had one.

When she found that her boyfriend of the last five years was cheating on her, she threw him out--well, the relationship had been falling apart for the past year, with her in grad school and him not even holding down a job. Change was needed.
A car, however, was still not needed. Even without a boyfriend.

---

Public transportation is Kate's friend. SEPTA--that institution both dreaded and necessary for Philadelphians--was enough to get her from her apartment in University City, to her job at the EPA in Center City, to school at Drexel after work, and back home again. This particular rout is one of the few running on trolleys.

Kate loved the trolleys. Running above ground and below, avoiding the jerking terror of a bus, she happily paid her two dollars a ride.

And then they started talking rate hikes. Again.

---

"What're you doing Friday?" she asked Mary.

"I dunno, probably watching a movie with Dennis. Why?"

"Wanna come down and hang out?"

Mary, unfortunately, didn't live around the corner like she used to when they both lived in Fairmount; instead, the two girls had gone to different ends of the city, Kate to University City, with its students, anarchists, and Ethiopian immigrants, and Mary to Mount Airy, with its liberals, Unitarians, and strong community organizations.

For being in the same city, they didn't see each other as often as they'd like.

Mary sighed. "Yeah, but can you take the train up here? I don't wanna drive down."
"Why not?"

"Dude--have you see the gas prices?"

"Not really--why?"

"Four dollars a gallon. I'm putting more than $200 a month into my car. Just in gas."

"Wow," Kate said flatly.

"Easy for you to say--you don't have to deal with any of this."

"So are you coming down?"

"Are you coming up?"

A pause.

"Yeah, I'll come up, if you'll drive me home--I don't like taking the train that late at night."

"Well hell, we might as well come down if we're going to drive there and back anyway."

Kate smiled. "Cool. We'll go over to Dahlak's and get a drink? I'll chip in for gas, too."

"You don't have to... Hell, yes you do." Mary gave a caustic laugh and hung up.

(We Are) The Philadelphia Preservation Society

This blog is mainly a work of speculative fiction, working with the World Without Oil game. My fiction revolves around a small group of friends and family spread out across the Delaware Valley, and how they cope with the oil shock.