This week hunters across America storm the woods loaded for deer. For yet another indication of how times have changed, consider this account of Deer Season a half century ago:
My mother’s family lived in Emporium, Pennsylvania, as did dozens of their relatives. Emporium is a tiny town nestled in the mountains near the north/central part of the state. Back in the 1940s, when my mother was born, my grandmother had worked as a Rosie Riveter at the Sylvania plant. Some reading this article will remember owning a huge, heavy Sylvania TV—back when you got only three channels.
Sylvania employed half the town. Farming was another means of employment, which my grandfather and his parents and nine siblings had done down the road in Rich Valley.
Still, neither Sylvania nor farming nor anything else did much to populate tiny Emporium.
Once a year, however, the place was flooded with people. That time of year was Deer Season, when out-of-town hunters arrived like an incoming Army, loaded with rifles and bullets. “Army” is a good metaphor, given that a large portion of the hunters were World War II vets. They came from the mills and mines of Pittsburgh and Western Pennsylvania. They came to shoot a deer.
During that special week, Emporium’s streets were bustling, the bars were jammed, and churches had more people than usual, including St. Mark’s, where hunters sought out the priest for a blessing before heading into the woods.
The lone hotel was full, leaving hunters looking for lodging. Some packed into makeshift hunting camps. Some slept in their cars. Sleeping in a car was no big deal to guys who had fought in Germany, France, the Battle of the Bulge. Nonetheless, they searched for a place with a roof, heat, a bathroom—which brings me to my main focus:
My grandmother always took in boarders during Deer Season. In fact, the whole town did. Up and down every street, hunters….
Read more from Dr. Paul Kengor on FloydReports.com.