Travel with a Snuggie

Hail the mighty Snuggie, originally uploaded by Scott Beveridge.

Until last week, it seemed I would get by without receiving a kitschy Snuggie, the blanket with long, drooping sleeves that became the hottest-selling item under the tree at Christmas.

Blame it on blogger, Mike Jones, for letting it slip that he and another furloughed friend had bought me one of the polyester monk-like coats as a surprise gag gift for Jesus’ birthday.

“How did you like the Snuggie?” Jones asked, without realizing the present was late in coming from his co-conspirator, Amanda Gillooly, who missed the gift-giving deadline of Dec. 25.

It seems she wanted to iron on the letters, TWAB, to stand for Travel with a Beveridge, but didn’t have the domestic skills to use that appliance on Polyester. Gillooly promised, though, to give it another try now that she has been outed for holding out on my Snuggie.

If would be funny if it showed before Thursday when my employer, the Observer-Reporter of Washington, Pa., shoots a video to accompany a silly story I am writing for the newspaper about this fleece phenom.

The producer is talking about superimposing photos of me in a Snuggie as a spoof over those of the Eiffel Tower, the pyramids of Giza and the inauguration of President Barack Obama. This should be a hoot. Check back next week to see the outcome of this creative venture.

(Note: Scott Beveridge models a Snuggie in the photo, above, provided by a co-worker who received three for Christmas and brought one of them to the office for us to share, separately, on cold days.)

Las Vegas Elvis

An Elvis impersonator pitches margaritas last year on The Strip in Las Vegas. Today would have been the Kings 75th birthday. (Scott Beveridge photo)

A college apartment that came with pizza

The Pizza House and its upstairs apartments have miraculously survived at Indiana University of Pennsylvania as the school expands and replaces its outdated housing with hotel-like dorms.

By Scott Beveridge

The last college dump where I lived as a student had character.

Its 1940s-era in-wall kitchen unit in the living room was no more than 4 feet wide and 5 feet tall. Yet it held a small dead refrigerator, two stovetop gas burners that worked but stayed off for our safety, a sink with a dry faucet, a few drawers and a dish cabinet. It was nothing more, really, than a conversation piece in the two-bedroom apartment I shared with the friendliest of roommates.

He drank nearly a case of Heineken himself a day while also smoking enough marijuana to sedate a moose, and still he managed to ace his courses in the late 1970s at Indiana University of Pennsylvania.

We shared the place above Pizza House on Oakland Avenue at the outer edges of IUP’s Oak Grove during the fall semester in 1977 when I was a senior and before I forever said goodbye to the campus as a student. It was time to student teach and return to the real world.

The clapboard Victorian-era pizza shop was then next door to the Theta Chi house. I first visited the apartment in the spring of 1977 when it was home to the fraternity’s officers before they decided to give the place up for good. The guys were happily preparing a “meal” for hell night, the big party before their pledges were welcomed into the club.

One frat brother urinated into the newer refrigerator in the living room, straight into a bowl of punch that would soon be served to the minions. Nearby, a few other brothers were preparing the evening’s appetizers, mini crèpes topped with shaving cream.

Oddly, it was the same night the fraternity brothers invited me inside for a tour, hoping that I would agree to sublease the apartment. The party-preparation scene was enough to convince me that I had made the right decision to follow a path independent of such fraternal organizations. This one would later be sternly disciplined for its hazing practices.

The apartment, though, would safely be mine for the next few months.

It also came with another benefit that was especially welcomed by this starving artist. The owners of the joint on the first floor generously gave us the leftover pizzas each night at closing time. And, it was not uncommon for us to place an anonymous order late in the evening to make sure there was some warm grub on our coffee table.

The Pizza House is still there, relatively unchanged save for a few new coats of paint.

Fortunately this house has survived as the campus gobbles up property and constructs new dormitories that have all the comforts of suites in a Marriott Hotel.

It’s hard to imagine a sterile room in one of those new dorms could ever compete with the charm of those living quarters above the Pizza House. College, after all, was supposed to be about roughing it and building scrumptious memories while also earning an education.

Freaky cat Tuesday

can i go out please?, originally uploaded by Moon over Belgium.

It was just a matter of time before we subjected readers of this blog to another cat post.

The human salt spreader

Jamie Stache must wear out the heels of his boots fast while dragging his feet and also spreading sidewalk salt, seated in a cart pulled by a mini snow plow. The Washington County Housing Authority worker is shown today at Lincoln Terrace in Washington, Pa. His coworker, Clyde Myers, is steering the rig. (Photo: Scott Beveridge/Observer-Reporter)

Barber retires after 70 years in business

By Christie Campbell

AVELLA, Pa. – Dominick DeFilippis was only 14 years old when he began cutting men's hair.

Now 84, DeFilippis plans to retire from the business he has been in for 70 years. Within the next month or two, he plans to close his shop in the small community of Avella.

Many of the men who had been DeFilippis' customers have passed away, and the younger generation is no longer interested in going to a barber shop, he said.

His shop on Campbell Street is a reminder of days when life was simpler and men stopped at a barber shop for a close shave and a haircut, taking the time to joke and gossip with friends and neighbors.

The shop has a vintage flavor with its three barber chairs dating to 1915, marble-topped antiseptic cabinets and razor strops. Unfortunately, the old red, white and blue striped barber pole outside his shop was stolen about 10 years ago. It was too costly to replace, he said. Today he turns on a revolving red light to signal when the shop is open.

An avid hunter, DeFilippis has photographs of his hunting trophies such as deer and turkey hanging in the shop, as well as photographs of his family. He won't miss working that much, he said, because it will give him more time to hunt.

DeFilippis initially learned the business from his father.

"I watched him, and I learned how to cut hair before I went to barber school," he explained.

He attended the Ideal Barber School in Pittsburgh during the summers, staying with his uncle. The school also operated a shop where customers paid 25 cents for a haircut from the students.

"When they saw what I could do, they put me up front," he said.

In the DeFilippis shop, haircuts were once 50 cents. Today he charges $10, $12.50 for long hair.

"I can give a nice haircut in 15 minutes," he said.

DeFilippis isn't too fond of today's hairstyling salons, and confesses he chuckles when he sees the way some women cut men's hair.

"They don't know how to do it," he said.

In addition to his dad, DeFilippis' brothers Pat and Frank cut hair. Back then the coal mines were operating, and DeFilippis remembers two theaters, a lumber yard, a bakery and a half-dozen grocery stores being in town. There were many men in Avella needing their services.

"We were busy all the time," DeFilippis said.

Although his customer base has dwindled, he still has a few who come from Follansbee or Wellsburg, W.Va., and one woman calls for an appointment whenever her son from Cleveland is planning to visit.

He and his wife, Mary, had four children, but only the youngest, Frank, followed in the family's business. He operates a hairstyling shop in Waterdam Plaza in McMurray.

(This article first appeared in the Observer-Reporter newspaper.)