132 Walking Around Monongahela: The
Underground History of American Education by John Taylor Gatto from archive.org
Walking Around Monongahela
We're back in Monongahela now, a
town of strong principles even if some are wacky or
plain wrong. Pragmatism is a
secondary theme here, scorned by most unless it keeps to
its place, a bittersweet oddity
because practicality is the town's lingua franca. The
degree I experienced it later in
Ithaca, Cambridge, and Manhattan. The oppressed are
insufficiently docile in Monongahela
for anyone to revile openly. So the Pinkerton
detectives found out when they went
to do Andrew Carnegie's dirty work at Homestead
during the steel strike of 1893.
There is only one restaurant in the town proper, "Peters."
It's a place where the country club
set drinks coffee alongside rubber jockeys from the
tire vulcanizing shop across the
street.
Several nights a week, long after
dark when house lights were blazing, Mother would
gather Sister and me for long quiet
walks up Second Street hill to the very top, then along
the streets on the ridge line
parallel to the river. From these excursions and the morning
walks on River Hill I learned to listen
to my senses and see that town as a creature in
itself instead of a background for
my activity. We would walk this way for hours,
whispering to each other, looking in
windows, and as we walked, Bootie would deliver
an only partially intelligible stream
of biographical lore about the families within. I
realize now that she must have been
talking to herself. It was like having a private
Boswell to the Dr. Johnson of town
society. When she had some money, which was now
and then, we would buy candy at the
little grocery at the top of the hill and share it
together, sometimes two candy bars
for the three of us or in flush times a whole bar
each — and in the weeks following
Christmas when there was holiday money, two each.
On two-candy nights the atmosphere
seemed so filled with chocolate perfume that I could
hardly sleep.
When my granddad was a boy in
Monongahela he watched John Blythe, a planing mill
operator, rebuild large sections of
the town in the Italianate style. Blythe had no degree,
and the religion of professional
licensing was still in infancy, so he just did it without
asking anyone's permission. Whole
sections of the town are now handsome beyond any
reasonable right to be because
nobody stopped him. If you see a keystone over a window
molding, it's likely to be one of
John's.
When my granddad was a boy in
Monongahela he used to sit in Mounds Park, site of two
ancient burial mounds left there by
the Adena people three thousand years ago. In 1886,
the Smithsonian robbed those graves
and took the contents to Washington where they
still sit in crates. To compensate
the town, the government built a baseball field where the
mounds had been. When my granddad
was a boy, school was voluntary. Some went, but
most not for long. It was a free
will choice based on what you valued, not a government
hustle to stabilize social classes.
The College Of Zimmer And Hegel
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