Uniontown is just ten miles South of Smock on Route 51. That is where we used to go (and still go today) if we want to buy anything more than a postage stamp or a stale glass of beer. In the 1950's, Main Street in Uniontown had a brick surface. And on Friday nights, Main Street was closed to traffic to allow vendors to sell anything from cheese to cider. Those of you who remember G.C. Murphy's Department Store also remembered that you could get a coat, Christmas decorations and a milk shake from their soda fountain.
There were stores for the "normal" people and stores for those who were much more financially blest and obviously did not derive their income in a black, wet pit using a pick and shovel. I remember that the women who worked in these posh stores wore enough perfume to knock a fly off of a manure wagon. They also wore "rouge", something that you don't see women wearing in the Victoria's Secret catalog. I thought that they were from another planet where the inhabitants all had rosy cheeks and rivers of perfume made all of the flowers wither.
At Christmas, the women of Smock didn't really smell like anything. It was the men who smelled of things like Iron City beer and cabbage that had completed its alimentary journey. And it was those same men who would begin their Christmas preparations by insuring that the deer meat was still frozen and that mother had enough flour and walnuts to make kolatch, a rare delicacy that was only made at Christmas and Easter. And the men did not help out in the kitchen. They usually spent their time hunting or enjoying a beer and a bump at Bortz's tavern.
The outside lights were huge and needed to be nailed to the wood frame of the house and front porch. And, they were red, orange, green and white. That's it. I learned some really good curse words helping my father nail those lights up along the porch.
But all of these traditions aside, our little St. Hedwig's Church took on a beauty that was only seen and felt at Christmas. The two trees with simple lights were near the side altars and a manger scene was always beneath the altar where Mary's statue stood. The figures had to be at least fifty years old. The church was central to our town and still is today.
I remember that the "richer" people in Smock bought motorized rotating Christmas trees that were aluminum and had shiny aluminum branches. A rotating color disc in front of a spotlight shined and made the tree change from crimson to a very realistic yellow. But manger scenes beneath these modern marvels were handed down through several generations.
So what do you hold sacred this time of year? I remember that we actually CELEBRATED Christmas. God sent his only Son to redeem us and provide salvation. And as we were properly taught as children, without the BIRTH, we could not have the DEATH, and without the death, we are lost. This is why Easter is even more important than Christmas.
And as in years past, those good people in my home town will remember Christmas in our tiny church that still smells of fresh pine (and not aluminum). They remember when they share the oplatky at the dinner table. And even if the old glass lights are now replaced with modern LEDs that light up our own silent nights, you can still see the holes where we placed the nails.
These memories will flood their minds and hearts and make another Christmas so worth while.
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