Since yesterday’s post dealt with the old interurban stop numbers in Avon Lake, it’s a good time to post this. In case you missed it, the Elyria Chronicle-Telegram two weeks ago had a nice article with the story behind a new museum dedicated to the Lake Shore Electric Railway.
The museum is the brainchild of businessman Thomas Patton and archivist and historian Dennis Lamont (a regular contributor to this blog), and is under construction in Avon Lake at the Artstown Shopping Center in a former bowling alley.
(Thomas Patton with Dennis Lamont and Albert Doane previously published the Arcadia book Lake Shore Electric Railway, which was featured in a four-part series on this blog beginning here.)
The Avon Lake museum project undertaken by Patton and Lamont also includes the restoration of a former Lake Shore Electric baggage car (shown in the photos) – Number 38 – that currently sits behind the shopping center near the U. S. Post Office facility.
But how did it get there, and what had it been doing since the Lake Shore Electric Railway went out of business in 1938?
Stop back here tomorrow for the “moving" story of LSE 38!
For decades, the poles painted with the Stop numbers associated with the Lake Shore Electric Railway (and the buses that replaced them) were a familiar sight to Lake Road (U.S. 6) travelers. I remember seeing them while commuting to Cleveland in the 1980s.
But as the decades passed, the painted yellow bands with the numbers on them began to chip away and fade, just like the memories of what the numbers represented.
Happily, the numbers on the poles – and the history behind them – are making a comeback.
According to the Heritage Avon Lake Facebook page, the Boy Scouts of Troop 338 have taken on the task of repainting the familiar yellow band and Stop numbers.
The first one – at Stop 56 (at Route 83) is completed and was the subject of media coverage last week. Here’s what it looks like (below).
Several others have been completed as well.
The book The Avon Lake Story (1965) by Milburn Walker included a mention of the old Stops. It stated, “A carryover from electric interurban days in Avon Lake is a numbering system to denote bus stops. Along the interurban right-of-way before the electric line’s demise in 1938, the stops are now on Lake Road, the bus route. Stop 56 is at Center Road and Lake Road."
From the book The Avon Lake Story
Congratulations to Avon Lake and everyone involved with the project for celebrating the city’s transportation heritage, and taking steps to make sure that this part of it is not forgotten.
For much better coverage (with photographs) of the Stop 56 pole being painted, be sure to visit Heritage Avon Lake’s Facebook page and scroll down the page a bit. It also has a great ongoing selection of “then and now” photographs of Avon Lake through the years posted on its timeline.
This is kind of interesting, a "what if" type of article.
It ran in the Lorain Journal on August 5, 1976 – 40 years ago today – and chronicles the community reaction to the announcement that a Holiday Inn was going to be built in Downtown Lorain.
Of course, it didn't happen. But if it did, the hotel would be sitting right where the City Center parking lot is.
The quotes in the article are all very interesting. But the best one came from John Malinovsky, who was Lorain Police Chief at the time. "I'll believe it when I see it," he is quoted as saying. He also added, "If we got a Red Barn it would be an improvement.”
I first mentioned the Red Barn back on this 2009 post.
Back when most people read daily newspapers, deciding what to do with their subscription during their summer vacation was a problem.
One possibility was having a neighbor save the papers. Another choice was to temporarily cancel the paper.
Well, back in 1938, the Lorain Journal offered a creative alternative: having the paper sent to you where you were vacationing. I guess the assumption was that people were going to stay put long enough that they could receive the newspaper in the mail.
That’s the theme of the ad at left, which ran in the Lorain Journal & Times-Herald on July 20, 1938. The Journal was counting on readers not wanting to miss what was going on in the popular Popeye comic strip.
Sadly, the plot line mentioned in the ad – in which Swee’Pea was revealed to be heir to the throne of the Kingdom of Demonia – was the last story by Popeye’s creator, E. C. Segar, who passed away later that year.
Did you know that there’s an official Popeye fan club? Fans of the spinach-munching sailor even hold an annual picnic get together in E. C. Segar’s hometown of Chester, Illinois. It’s coming up in September (details here).
(Popeye has been mentioned on my blog several times, including this post about his 85th birthday.)
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UPDATE (August 12, 2016)
Here's the non-Popeye version of the same ad from a few years later. This version ran in the Lorain Journal on July 8, 1941.
I wish I could say that I found a follow-up newspaper
article about that mysterious suitcase that was found in Sheffield Lake back in late June 1941. But despite combing through the Lorain Journals in the weeks that
followed all the way up to July 25, I didn’t come up with anything. I guess it's because no apparent crime had been committed, and consequently it wasn't practical to assign a detective to it.
I did receive some interesting emails from some of my
regular contributors, though, who were fascinated enough with the whole thing to research it a bit and come up with some pretty good observations and theories.
Rick Kurish wrote, “Who doesn't love a good mystery?
However, without finding follow-up information in the newspapers of that time,
your odds are pretty small of identifying Donald McQuarrie. The suitcase
contained enough documents that the local constabulary could certainly have
tracked him down – if they wanted to. They were probably more concerned with
whether a violent crime had occurred.”
Rick did note, however, “Even without any details from the
documents found in the suitcase it is possible to arrive at some conclusions.
“Both his draft registration card and CCC discharge papers
would bracket his age. The first peacetime draft registration was enacted on
September 16, 1940. It required all men between the ages of 21 and 35 to
register with their local draft board. Since the law was enacted less than a
year before the suitcase was found, that helps narrow his age range. Also his
CCC discharge tells us a few things. The CCC was organized in 1933 and to join
you had to be in good health, be unemployed, be a U.S. citizen, and be between
the ages of 18 to 26 years old. Enlistments lasted for six months, but many men
reenlisted several times. Based on the above facts, Donald McQuarrie was
probably in his middle 20s in 1941.
“An educated guess, based on seaman's papers found in the
suitcase and addresses in Detroit and Buffalo might mean that after he left the
CCC he was employed as a hand on a ship operating on Lake Erie, or maybe the
Great Lakes.
“The address in Tewksbury, Massachusetts – since it was
outside the Lake Erie area of the rest of the papers – was possibly his original
home address. Since he had a Social Security card, I accessed the death index
looking for any Donald McQuarrie born pre-1920. I found only one person who
seemed to fit that criteria: a Donald G. McQuarrie who was born September 10,
1914 (making him 26 years old when the suitcase was found) and who died June
12, 2002 in Massachusetts.
“Was it him? Who knows? Certainly an extreme long shot, but
fun to speculate about."
Dennis Thompson also weighed in after utilizing one of the online archival newspaper websites.
“What an interesting
mystery!” he wrote. "A search for the whole name in the Chronicle and the Plain
Dealer didn't turn up anything. Just the last name has many hits because it’s
shared by more famous people.”
That’s for sure. There are a lot of Donald McQuarries, judging by all of the online references to them.
Dennis later updated me on his search. “OK, I checked the
Death Index," he noted. "Nothing for that last name in 1941 +/- 5 years in Ohio. I'll try
some other websites. I have had very inconsistent results from the Index. I
wonder if the Plain Dealer has an obituary index? Or the Journal for that
matter? I know the Chronicle does. It is alphabetized for each year, not too
hard when you have an approximate date. On the shelves in the Elyria Main
Library history room.
"As I reread your article, I note the police had his Social
Security number. I wonder if the LPD has a cold case unit that you could get
interested? They have direct access to such stuff. Draft registration cards are
available for WWI, but I'm not sure about WWII, it might be too recent.
Like Rick, Dennis had his eye on one particular Donald McQuarrie. This one lived in Somerset, Maine and would have been around nineteen at the time the suitcase was discovered.
I also found a couple of Donald McQuarries who I initially thought might be him. One was a member of a McQuarrie family who lived less than five miles from Tewksbury; the other had the correct middle initial and everything – and even served in the Navy! But both of these gentlemen were too young in 1941 to serve (unless the Navy was accepting 10-yr-olds back then).
Oh well.
I sincerely appreciate the help from Rick and Dennis. If I can find the time, I'll go back and hit the microfilm one last time.
The Harmonicats (From left to right, Al Fiore; Jerry Murad; Don Les)
Since yesterday's post was about how Lorain helped Perry Como get his start as a singer, today I'll mention Lorain's other well-known connection to the national music scene: the Harmonicats.
A Lorain Sunday News article of October 28, 1951 has the story.
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Lorainite With Famous Harmonicats
A Lorain boy who went to the big city to make good – and did – is Don Les, son of Stanley Leshinski, 222 East 33rd St., a member of the famous Harmonicats who will open a week engagement at the popular Showboat located at 8th Street and Broadway in downtown Lorain.
A talented harmonica player, Les changed his name by shortening it for professional reasons.
There is an interesting and warm story about Les who almost went hungry on many occasions while waiting for his big break in the musical field.
The handsome and pleasant former Lorainite was pronounced dead when born. He was christened twice and was partially blind at one time.
Les still talks about his school days at the Columbus State School for the Blind and at Hawthorne Junior High in Central Lorain which he started attending when 12 years old, just after a successful operation here which restored his sight.
It was Les' mother who taught him how to play the strains of "Home Sweet Home." His mother died during the past year.
Les credits a one-time Hawthorne teacher, Miss Betty Louise Hall, for getting him interested in music.
"She put me on a program, not knowing I could even play a harmonica," Les said "and that's what did it. I've been playing ever since."
After winning several amateur shows, Les went to Chicago and met the other two members – the three of them to become known nationally as the Harmonicats.
The Harmonicats hit big-time in 1946 when their recording of "Peg O' My Heart" became an overnight sensation. More than 2,000,000 records were sold, and people are still buying them.
Les also plays the piano and accordion as a hobby.
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And of course, here are the Harmonicats playing their big hit, "Peg O' My Heart." I think every Lorainite has an old 78 of this in their basement somewhere! (I'm pretty sure we did!)
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Speaking of "Peg O' My Heart," here's an article that appeared on the front page of the Lorain Journal on June 3, 1947, just as the tune was becoming a big hit. The article includes a nice history of how Don Leshinski learned how to play the harmonica, and how he got his big break in the music industry.
It’s long been a local legend that before he was famous, singer Perry Como cut hair in a barbershop in South Lorain.
Is there any truth to this story?
Find out in this article (below), which ran in the Lorain Journal on July 21, 1947. You might be surprised to find out that Lorain was the scene of a very important milestone in his career.
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Crooner Recalls Debut on Stage in Lorain Never Cut Hair Here But Did Make His First Stage Appearance in City, Singer Says By DAVID SAMUELS
Perry Como never worked in a barber shop in Lorain – contrary to some reports in this area.
But he made his first stage appearance as a crooner at the Palace.
And, he roomed with Harry Broglia, former president of Lorain city council, during the early days of his singing career in this city.
Those facts came straight from Como himself when Broglia and this reporter visited him in his dressing room in Cleveland where he is setting a new box office record for theatre appearances.
The husky, barrel-chested singer grinned when asked about his alleged barbering practice in Lorain. He said:
“The past two days at least a dozen people told me I cut their hair when I worked in a barber shop in South Lorain. I can’t figure that out. I barbered eight years in my home town (Canonsburg, Pa.) but I didn’t cut hair anywhere else.”
“It was in Lorain, tho, that I made my first appearance before a large audience. Harry (Broglia) was head usher at the Palace and he got me a job singing between features. I did it for one day – for experience and without pay.”
Remembered by Waitress
"The other day, when I was eating at a Euclid-av restaurant, a waitress walked over to me and said she remembered when I sang at the Palace in Lorain. And I thought everyone had forgotten about it but myself.”
Broglia said he and Como were playmates when their families lived across the street from each other in Canonsburg. He came to Lorain in the late 1920’s to get a job and lived with his uncle, the late Andrea Broglia, on E. 28th-st.
“Perry was a good singer ever since he was a kid,” said Broglia. “I remember when he used to work at Felix Tardio’s barber shop, and kept his guitar on the wall. When business was slack, he’d take down the guitar and sing. Felix always said he put the customers in a better mood for the extras.”
Como nodded: “I started barbering when I was 10, lathering the customers. I had my own shop when I was 15.”
Visits Lorain
After coming to Lorain, Broglia wrote to Como urging him to visit here because there were many opportunities for good singers. Finally, Como took the step which probably changed the course of this life; he bought a round-trip train ticket to Cleveland.
His first visit lasted two weeks. He lived with Broglia and his uncle. The first “job” turned out to be the one-day stand at the Palace. Como went over well with the audience, Broglia said, especially when he sang, “All of Me.”
Then, Broglia took him to Cleveland and got an audition with WTAM, but nothing ever came of it. They also stopped at the Palace for a tryout. The manager told them to come back the following week, he was busy handling arrangements for the personal appearance of the late Jean Harlow.
Como replied he could not wait that long and returned to Canonsburg. His “break” came at last when Freddie Carlone, Cleveland bandleader, consented to give Como an audition – after Broglia harangued him for 25 minutes.
Hired at $25 Weekly
Back to Lorain rushed Como, borrowing the money for train fare. Carlone was rehearsing in Cleveland; the ex-barber sang a few selections and was hired as vocalist for $25 a week.
He spent three years with Carlone. The next step up the ladder was taken one night in 1936 when the band was playing at a night club, outside Warren, O.
Ted Weems, who was in Youngstown, decided to visit the club to hear the crooner. He persuaded Como to sigh with his organization.
Como sang with Weems until the war started. The band broke up after most of the musicians joined the armed forces and Como entered radio broadcasting to gain his greatest fame.
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And what was it like to hear Perry Como sing at the time of the above 1947 Lorain Journal article? Here he is, singing Chi-Baba Chi-Baba (a Number One Hit) in a recording from that same year.
