Philly Phanatic's Wayward Wiener

It was the hot dog heard ‘round the world.

Fired by a cannon-like “hot dog launcher” by slime-green mascot The Philly Phanatic, it hit one poor woman smack in the kisser giving her a shiner and requiring a hospital check-up.

This sad, silly and unique event was covered by news media across the country and abroad.

”The Phillie Phanatic Almost Shot Someone’s Eye Out.” read one headline.

The victim, Kathy McVey of Plymouth Meeting, told the press, “It hit me like a ton of bricks. . . .Be aware; you never know. I can understand a baseball but not a hot dog.”

Actually, McVey took the incident with good humor and is not upset.

We feel the flying hot dog that walloped a Phillies fan will become a new Philadelphia sports meme like the old image of Santa Clause getting peppered with snowballs at an Eagles game 50 years ago.

Webster says a meme is “an idea, behavior or style that spread from person-to-person within a culture"

Philadelphia sports fans have a reputation as crude, lewd, hostile – sometimes violent knuckle-heads.

Philadelphia sports memes include a judge and courtroom at the Eagle’s games, physically attacking fans of opposing teams and cheering when an opposing player is injured.

Now the flying hot dog meme, which, at least, has a humorous side. Late night host, Stephen Colbert, did a funny monologue on the incident that has been up-loaded to Youtube. Colbert ended the piece by noting that Ms. McVey will be getting free tickets for a future Phillies game. “Unfortunate, those tickets are for corn dog sniper night,” he joked. A photo flashed on the screen depicting a Marine in
camouflage firing a corn dog.

Rained-Out War Games And Barrels of Laughs

Some very bloody battles of the American Revolution were fought in and around Philadelphia: Brandywine, Paoli, Germantown, Fort Mifflin.

But there are two local battles that are rarely mentioned:
The Battle of the Clouds and The Battle of the Kegs. 

Maybe you never heard of either because they weren’t bloody. You could bring your grandmother to these two “battles” and she’d be safe.

Brandywine was fought on September 11, 1777 (that 9-11 date seems to be unlucky for America). Casualties were high on both sides and Washington was forced to retreat.

But five days later, the two sides faced off again in Chester County. Washington was deciding whether to fight or retreat. British Gen. William was hoping to finish off the rebels.

Then suddenly the sky got dark. There was thunder, lightning and incredible torrential downpour. The ground was soaked, the soldiers soaked and most important the gunpowder was soaked and useless.

The British couldn’t even mount a bayonet charge. “The mud was up to our calves,” wrote one soldier.

So, Washington and his troops retreated to fight another day. God had intervened. There would be no killing in the “Battle of the Clouds.”

Fort Mifflin on the Pennsylvania side of the Delaware River and Fort Mercer on the New Jersey side were preventing British ships from reaching British-occupied Philadelphia. After a long heroic stand against constant shelling, the forts were abandoned.

Now British supply ships could dock in Philadelphia but the Yankees had a little trick, which became known as the “Battle of the Kegs”.

A clever New Englander, David Bushnell, developed an effective floating explosive mine. The devices were put in kegs and floated down the Delaware where many British ships were docked.

Two boys found one of the kegs, which exploded with deadly results.

Now the British were alarmed and told to shoot at anything floating in the Delaware. We can imagine the Red Coats lined up on the river banks blazing away.

No British ship were damaged. But Americans got a good laugh.

Patriot Francis Hopkinson wrote a humorous ditty entitled “The Battle of the Kegs” sung to the tune of Yankee Doodle.

Betsy Ross and Vexil Domus Weisgerber

What are the weirdest names in Philly?

Well, there is a writer named Mister Mann Frisby.

An 18th century city official was Israel Israel – and he wasn’t even Jewish.

We might add current Philly’s pitcher, Seranthony Dominquez, 1940s boxer Young Gene Buffalo and long-gone basketball player, Mockie Bunin.

However, we suggest that the strangest Philly name belonged to the late Vexil Domus Weisgerber. 

The name is Latin and means “flag house.” The man was born and raised in the Betsy Ross house on Arch Street. His daddy, Charles H. Weisgerber, was an artist and live-in supervisor of the Betsy
Ross house from 1898 until his death in 1932.

Little Vexil was born in 1902 and had a close association with the Betsy Ross House during most of his life. He was curator of the museum house when he died in 1959. His father brought national attention to the decaying house when he painted a very large picture of Betsy meeting with George Washington, Robert Morris and George Ross.

To raise cash for the house, the picture was reprinted on certificates purchased for a dime by tens of thousands of school kids.

Vexil Weisgerber said the neighborhood kids called him “Flaghouse” some called him Vex. In truth, his first name, like his father’s, was Charles. Apparently, no one ever called him Charles and he got to like “Vexil.”

Everything about Betsy Ross is the source of endless debate: the flag, the house, her grave, a visit by George Washington etc. We will examine some of these controversies in later posts.

However since the topic here is names, Betsy was married three times. 
So her full name is Elizabeth, Griscum, Ross, Ashburn, Claypoole.

Philadelphia Asks: Can You Find The Valley?

So, where is the valley?
 
Webster tells us that a valley “is an elongated depression of the earth surface usually between ranges of hills or mountains. 

So, where is the Delaware Valley?

Over the past 70 years or so everyone has been conditioned to call the Greater Philadelphia Area “the Delaware Valley.” But there is no valley hereabouts.

Not having a real valley hasn’t stopped countless organization and businesses from using “Delaware Valley” in their names. There’s the Delaware Valley Friends School and a Delaware Valley Raptor Center, Delaware Valley Urology Center and on-and-on.

There’s even a Delaware Valley University, high in ”the hills” of Doylestown.

Some blame (or credit) the Philadelphia Inquirer for spreading this geographical place name in the 1950s.

It’s too late now to do anything about this inaccurate phase. Everyone uses it.

So we propose a theme song or anthem for the Delaware Valley. It’s an old song that most of us sang in elementary school. It goes like this:

Down in the valley; the valley so low
Hang your head over. Hear the wind blow.

Rats! It's Philly's Biggest Export

Philly's Biggest Export is Pretty Small

Guess which Philadelphia product has sold more than any other – millions of unit?

Clue, it’s actually an animal and like the Labrador retriever, the Bengal tiger and Shetland pony, it’s named for a place – a place in Philadelphia.

You guessed it – a rat. 
It’s a rat that was bred right here in West Philadelphia: the pure white Wistar rat.

Unlike the nasty rats that spread disease, the albino Wistar rat is gentle, cute and extremely useful to medicine. It was probably the first animal bred for laboratory use and can claim to be the most numerous lab animal in the world.

Scientists at the Wistar Institute developed the albino rat in the early 1900s. They carefully bred the rodents in order to get consistent, accurate results from medical experiments. So, they all have the same size, physical characteristics and genes.

Wistar also made money by selling their rats to countless other labs. You can still buy pure-bred Wistar rats from several breeders around the world.

Today there are other strains of laboratory rats but the Wister rat is still the most popular rodent in medical labs.

A Cracking Good Tale of Two Sisters

Spiritual Trendsetters Maggie and Kate

This is a tale of twenty talented toes. 

They were located on the pretty feet of sisters Maggie and Kate Fox.

In truth, the ladies also had talented ankles and knees.

In the late 1800s the Fox girls started a cult that was bigger than the Rev. Moon, Father Devine and the Bagwan Rajneeshi cults combined.

It was Spiritualism and it enabled the gullible to communicate with the spirits of the dead through séances. The two sisters hailed from a tiny village near Rochester, N.Y.

As youngsters, the Fox girls fooled their parents and neighbors into believing their house was haunted by a spirit that they could summons up. The spirit made rapping sounds .

Soon the Fox girls were communicating with the Spirit World in auditoriums and houses of famous people here and in England. Leah, a third sister, became their manager.

Other mediums got into the act, too. Some said ghostly figures appeared in their photographs. Others could make the dead write on slates or make objects move about a room.

A few figured out the girls’ gimmick. Late in life, the Fox sisters admitted the noise – often quite loud – came from cracking the joints in their toes, ankles and knees.

So where is the Philly connection? Well, Maggie married one of Philadelphia’s most famous 19th century residents, Arctic explorer Elijah Kent Kane.

More important was a multi-year study (1884-87) of Spiritualism, in all its manifestations, by scholars from the University of Pennsylvania.

Henry Seybert was a true believer in Spiritualism, but he must have had a few vague doubts because he left money in his will for a thorough study by Penn scholars. The 10-member Seybert Commission was composed of top intellects, including scientist Joseph Leidy, neurologist,S. Weir Mitchell and Shakespeare expert Horace Furness.

In brief, the Seybert Commission concluded that all forms of Spiritualism were pure bunk. A load of hooey.

Of course, even a 1000 Seybert Commissions cannot stop the gullible from a belief in ghosts and mystics with the power to contact the dearly departed. Examples include Uri Geller, the booming success of ghost tours in every city, and scary urban legends.

Studies in 2017 show close to half Americans either strongly believe in ghosts or they’re not sure about their existence. Search on line for Spiritualists or “contacting the dead” and you will find that this malarkey flourishes.

“Your love one is in a beautiful world of light. They are safe and happy. So do not fear them,” declares one site by a husband-wife team of mediums. There’s similar stuff on Youtube and something called “Afterlife TV.”

Frank Humor: The Wit of Rizzo

 

When you think about former mayor and tough-guy cop Frank Rizzo, humor is not a word that comes to mind. However, those who knew him say Rizzo often displayed a sharp wit.

Here are two tales of Rizzo’s wit from retired TV reporter Mike Strug.

When Rizzo was mayor he was hospitalized briefly to have hemorrhoids removed. Always willing to meet with reporters that he liked, Strug and his cameraman had no difficulty visiting his room at the hospital .

Rizzo cracked-up Strug and a couple of other visitors saying: ‘Now I am what my enemies have always said I was – the PERFECT ASSHOLE'.

Another time Strug was chatting with Rizzo on the street while the then Police Commission smoked a cigarette. A newspaper reporter came up to Rizzo and said “Frank, you’ve got to stop smoking. I just got out of the hospital and I quit. You gotta stop.”

Rizzo didn’t hesitate a second, says Strug. The commissioner said, “Well, Joe (or whatever his name was) I knew a guy who didn’t smoke. He didn’t drink. Didn’t fool around with women. And he got hit in the ass by a 47 trolley.” Strug says he has often used the same joke.

As a final example of the Rizzo’s humor, we repeat an earlier post from this blog. It’s a memory of advertising man Elliot Curson. He recalled Rizzo declaring that he was so popular that when he walked into a funeral home, “Everyone stood up but the corpse.”

Philadelphia Zoo Goes Moo: Hosts Civil War Celebrity

Now good citizens, let us offer a patriotic salute to a hero cow…actually a heroine.

When the Philadelphia Zoo opened in 1874, it housed a spectacular collection of 616 animals: camels: elephants, lions, a tiger, a rhinoceros, kangaroos, bears and one aging milk cow.

But this cow was an honored Civil War veteran. 

Named Atlanta, the aging bovine had accompanied General William Tecumseh Sherman and his troops during the Union Army’s march through Georgia.

We don’t know how long Atlanta lived and whether it eventually ended up as dinner for the big cats.

Let us end on a happier note by mentioning the Zoo’s first prairie dogs. They regularly escaped from the Zoo by simply burrowing out.

Founder of Two Schools of Journalism Never Practiced Good Journalism at His Newspaper

If there was a Philadelphia Hypocrite Hall of Shame, certainly “America’s Dad” Bill Cosby would be the first inductee.

Another first class hypocrite would be former District Attorney Seth Williams.

While Seth was busy prosecuting criminals, he was involved in a variety of lawlessness and mendacity, including stealing money meant to fund his mother’s nursing home.

Our nominee for the Hypocrite Hall of Shame is the late multi-millionaire philanthropist Walter Annenberg .

His Honor Ambassador Annenberg endowed two schools of journalism at University of Pennsylvania and at USC on the West Coast. We presume both prestigious schools emphasis journalism that is unbiased, fair and trustworthy.

In other words, virtues that are just the opposite of the Inquirer under the ownership of the esteemed Walter Annenberg.

The newspaper was a tool Annenberg employed to attack and smear those he disliked and boost those he approved - such as Richard Nixon and Frank Rizzo.

Imagine a newspaper that refused to cover the city’s NBA basketball team.
For reasons now lost to history, Annenberg ruled there would be no coverage of the Philadelphia Warriors on his sport pages.

To many it seemed like vindictive whims, when Annenberg ruled some names would never appear in his Inquirer, including Imogene Coca, Zsa Zsa Gabor and singer Dinah Shore. Consumer crusader Ralph Nader was also persona non grata in the Inquirer.

Annenberg’s most vicious smear campaign was against Milton Shapp, who eventually became Pennsylvania’s governor despite countless negative Inquirer stories.

The most outrageous smear was when an Inquirer reporter asked Shapp if he had been hospitalized for mental illness. Of course, he had not, but the next day’s front page headline read: Shapp Denies Mental Institution.”

The Inquirer under Annenberg included bookies operating in the building and a top investigative reporter who used his skills for blackmail and extortion.

So, we recognize media mogul Walter Annenberg for a place of honor in the Hall of Shame. His name lives on at schools dedicated to the best principles of journalism – schools endowed by a man who embodied the worst principles of media ownership.

Always Bout Time For Boxing Levinsky

Battling Levinsky: Hardest Working Boxer in the Business

A look at recent boxing ratings shows that Englishman Anthony Joshua is listed as the world’s heavyweight champion with only 21 bouts.

Amazingly, the world lightweight champ has had a mere 12 fights.

Rarely do modern day boxers have 50 career fights.

If Philadelphia’s Battling Levinsky were alive, the old champ would be astounded, astonished and appalled that a man could become a champion with so few fights.

Levinsky often claimed he had 500 fights in a 20 year career that started in 1910.
The official record book shows a mere 287 bouts.
 
There is no debate that on New Year’s Day 1915, Levinsky fought three times – two 10 rounders in New York and 12 rounds in Waterbury, Conn.

Another time he fought six bouts in one week.

He became the world light-heavyweight champ in 1916 and defended the title 49 times over the next four years, before losing the title to Georges Carpentier. He took a a few years off to try his hand at business but returned to the ring and kept slugging.

Levinsky even fought heavyweights, including two great champs, Jack Dempsey and Gene Tunney. He lost to both men, but he was a great defensive fighter who rarely took a beating or suffered a knockout.

He was actually born Barney Lebowitz and started boxing under the name Barney Williams, probably to fool his parents. Eventually, a new manager gave him the Battling Levinsky moniker.

He lived in West Philly and died in 1949 at age 58.
Locating his burial place has so far proved fruitless.