Homesteading in Johnstown, PA
In which Teófilo reminisces about his first few weeks in the Laurel Heights.
First things first
We stayed a couple of days at the home of a young mother in Dale Borough. We'd contacted her through the nascent Internet. We were and remain, very grateful for her hospitality. Again, my memory fails me when it comes to her name.
Nor do I remember the name of the realtor who find us one side of a double-house in the West End's Blaine Street. The home belonged to Patrick Dempsey, who lived at the time in nearby Altoona. He was very gracious and welcoming as a landlord.
Two homes down the street in our block lived the Buday's. Mr. Jim Buday was a retired steelworker. Upon finding out we'd moved from San Antonio, he asked me "But, why?"
Marion, his wife, took a liking to us and sort of adopted us. She loaned a table, a couple of chairs, and a portable TV. She became our first Johnstown friend. We remained her friends until her passing of old age in 2006.
Unbeknown to me at that time, we were neighbors to a couple of married Orthodox seminarians. They lived in a home owned by the church. Their seminary Christ the Saviour Orthodox Seminary lay right behind our block. Their Cathedral was nearby, but we didn't know it either at the time.
Also unbeknown to us, the Hamryszak family lived around the corner from us. Their son Peter and Chris would become fast friends. The Mock family lived almost at the end of the street. Their children and mine would become friends later on.
Cousin Edna then invited us to spent Christmas at her home in Waterbury, Connecticut. As we had very little, we set off again northwards to her place. We took US 219 to I-80, then linked to I-95 northwards through New York. My Tío César and his family also lived in Waterbury. We spent a long time visiting with family I hadn't seen in years.
We returned home to Johnstown before the New Year dawned. "Home to Johnstown." That sounded strange to us at the time.
New Year 1994
We soon discovered we needed to income to carry us through the new job. As a consequence, and for the first time in our lives, I applied for unemployment and food stamps. That took away a load from our minds. We also got foodstuffs from a local foot pantry. It didn't take us long to understand we were poor. Yet, we were happy. Life remained uncomplicated. A babbling brook coursed behind the house. We got to see snow again.
We registered Chris in preschool. Since Jon was only two, he was too young for school at that time. We got our library cards and opened at account at the then U.S. Bank, on the corner of Main and Franklin streets. The bank sat across Johnstown's Central Park, which we took on calling "la Plaza." That's because Puerto Rican towns all have a central park called "la Plaza." In fact, not counting the snow, the mountainous region reminded us of Puerto Rico. The similarity became marked during the late spring into the summer. The mountains and the rivers and the trees made us feel welcomed.
Good Bye Air Force
Since the Air Force had discharged me into his reserves, I soon headed to Coraopolis. This is a town near Pittsburgh, right by the international airport. Coraopolis was home to an Air Force Reserve base and personnel support.
I took Rt. 56 north toward Rt. 22, and drove westwards through new roads and horizons.
The Air Force, in her wisdom, had wanted to make me an H/VAC technician. I wanted to see if could change that outcome. As I approached the personnel center, I saw a fellow enlisted man walking out from the building. I greeted him and noticed his crooked uniform name tag. I began to feel a foreboding.
The carrier advisor told me I could become a Security Specialist again. I thought this was better than becoming an H/VAC technician since I already had experience.
The career advisor took me to the Security Police (SP) squadron building. As he introduced me, a SP Master Sergeant berated my host for not having consulted him before hand. He wanted to interview and pre-approve every potential SP ascension. He looked at me, I looked at him. I thought,
This is the last time we'll see each other, Sarge
And it was, too. I felt offended, and misjudged by a narrow-minded leader. I didn't want to work for someone like that. I had a choice, and I made it. I asked my flustered counselor to removed me to the inactive ready reserve (IIR).
I drove home. That was the last time I ever wore an Air Force uniform.