Some good out of war

U.S. Army Reserve Sgt. Mary Rhoads of California, Pa., arrives home in March 1991 days after a devastating enemy attack on her unit in the Persian Gulf War. (Scott Beveridge/Observer-Reporter)

By Scott Beveridge

The first time I met Mary Rhoads she was dispensing a parking ticket in 1990 while working as a meter maid in her hometown of California, Pa.

The motorist receiving the violation, though, didn't respond with the expected snarl, but rather a smile. He then said it was difficult to be upset about receiving a ticket when it was delivered by someone as friendly as Rhoads, in what was in impromptu exchange among three people sharing the same sidewalk.

I turned to her and said every town should have someone like her in that job.

The next time I noticed her name it was on the list of survivors of a U.S. Army Reserve unit that had come under attack Feb. 25, 1991, in Operation Desert Storm against Iraq.

I was a cub reporter and had suddenly been tossed into an international story because two local members of her unit, the 14th Quartermaster Detachment, were among those killed by a Scud missile that leveled its barracks. The attack took the lives of 13 members of the unit, including Spc. John A. Boliver Jr., 27, whose wife, Paula, was a friendly pizza shop employee near where I worked in Monongahela a short distance from their house. Spc. John Biongorni III, 20, of Hickory, also died in the Feb. 25, 1991, tragedy in Dhahran, Saudi Arabia, just hours before the brief war ended. It was the deadliest enemy attack on U.S. troops in the war.

Rhoads had become a symbol of the incident when CNN broadcast her image cradling her best friend, Spc. Beverly A. Clark, 23, of Armagh, immediately after Clark was killed. Rhoads had just stepped outside, taking a break from a card game, when the Scud landed.

The 14th based in Hempfield Township would quickly be returned home by air to Latrobe Airport in an event heavily attended by the press. Rhoads rushed to her husband and daughter upon landing. Flowers were distributed. It was a happy affair if only for a few hours.

Soon many members of this unit would later complain about suffering mysterious illnesses that eventually were attributed to Persian Gulf War syndrome. Rhoads landed in the Veterans Administration Hospital in Pittsburgh in a room down the hall from a comrade who died there during her stay from an unknown heart disease.

There would be thoughts of suicide among other members of the 14th as the Department of Defense investigated a spate of theories the illnesses were caused by such things as exposure to chemical warfare, reactions to inoculations and their having breathed fumes from burning oil wells. Others were convinced Saddam Hussein had ordered the Scud laced with biological warfare.

Rhoads testified about her medical problems before Congress and would become among the first from that war to receive full military disability on a claim linked to the syndrome. She then shielded herself from public attention after being criticized for complaining about service to her country. Back in the newsroom at the Observer-Reporter, I received anonymous hate mail attacking her for being a woman who didn't belong in a war zone to begin with.

I didn't see Rhoads again for more than a dozen years, until being asked to take photographs at a veterans program at a Canonsburg personal care home, where she had been volunteering. It turned out she since has survived cancer and two heart attacks, and was caring for her ill husband, both of whom were in their early 50s.

It seems her critics were wrong, given the bravery she has faced in dealing with the medical problems that have plagued her and her family. She can still muster a smile, despite her bouts with survivor's guilt and post-traumatic stress disorder.

"Some good has come out of all of this," she said Friday, when the 14th marked the 20th anniversary of the Scud attack. "It's been hard but you make the best of it."

The aftermath of an attack on temporary barracks shared in the Persian Gulf by members of the 14th Quartermaster Detachment in Greensburg.

You can thank my hometown for cleaner air

An illustration from the late 1940s showing the extent to which air pollution from steel and zinc mills in Donora, Pa., had defoliated the hillsides and farms across the Monongahela River in Webster.


By Scott Beveridge

WEBSTER, Pa. – A story I have often repeated about the prejudice folks expressed about my hometown involved an awkward date three decades ago with an upper-class young woman from a "better" part of town.

We were in our early 20s and hanging in her fancy ranch home in a pricey Rostraver Township neighborhood when she decided to introduce me to her father.

I reached out my hand to shake his, as did he mine, and then he paused and asked me where I lived.

"Webster," I responded, before he rudely withdrew from the handshake and walked away.

Needless to say he set the tone for my having had a short-lived relationship with that family, and I likely can sigh in relief, today, for that.

So the news today that Webster, and its neighboring town of Donora, have been deemed eligible for inclusion on the National Register of Historic Districts, can allow residents of these neighborhoods to stand a bit taller in this neck of the Monongahela River Valley.


The Pennsylvania Historical and Museum Commission recently gave preliminary approval for them to qualify for the distinction after the state agency rediscovered the dramatic story about the killer smog of 1948. More than 20 people died and thousands of others were sickened when a thick smog settled over the Northeast and trapped toxic steel and zinc mill pollution over the towns that Halloween weekend.

Webster residents reacted by launching an antipollution crusade, which became an impetus for the nation's first federal clean air laws.

Under the leadership of local restaurant owner Abe Celapino, Webster neighbors organized the Society for Better Living in a charter approved in 1949 by the Westmoreland County Court of Common Pleas. Among its goals were to conserve soil, real estate and plant life in Webster, and to seek the "elimination of poison gases and pollution of the air," the charter indicates.


U.S. Steel, the owner of the Donora mills, eventually settled a string of federal lawsuits filed by the smog victims, taking responsibility for the damages, and then the story faded away, only to resurface every time another 10 years were tagged onto the anniversary of the smog.

It wouldn't receive significant attention until a U.S. Public Heath Service historian, Lynne Page Snyder, decided in the early 1990s to look into the smog for her post-graduate studies. She concluded that the thousands of pages of court documents in the Donora case, as well as another downriver in Clairton, enrolled enough people to get science involved in seeking air pollution limits

Before the 1990s were out, fluoride pollution investigator Chris Bryson cited Snyder's research in an article for the Earth Island Journal that federal records on the smog had turned up missing. Regardless, Bryson wrote, the "lessons learned at Donora resulted in the passage of the 1955 Clean Air Act."

Despite the haters of Donora and Webster, everyone in America can thank those who came before us here for our having cleaner air to breathe.

Knowing how to read is a treasure

WASHINGTON, Pa. – The deadline is fast approaching to reserve tickets to a worthy cause to support literacy education in southwestern Pennsylvania, and also get a chance to win the fancy treasure chest, shown above.

The Washington County Literacy Council will auction the chest featuring a 67-inch strand of new cultured pearls, and also have plenty of raffle items at its annual Mardi Gras dinner and fundraiser March 5 at Jeremiah's Reception and Conference Center in Washington, Pa.

"It's a huge hit with all of our guests," said Amy Manko, executive director of the literacy council, discussing the chest provided by an anonymous donor. "It's just full of treasures."

She needs to know by Tuesday (March 1) if you are coming to the party, where Cajun-Creole food will be served, a king and queen will be crowned and the popular Pittsburgh Zydeco band, Mon Gumbo, will perform. The proceeds benefit the council's efforts to teach adults how to read, a skill that can help them find jobs.

Reservations or donations can be made by calling 724-228-6188. The council also has a website and Facebook page.

A feeshy tale

This $5 find at Black Rose Antiques & Collectibles in Washington Crown Center mall, Washington, Pa., reminded me of my father's funny way of mispronouncing words.

By Scott Beveridge

The origins of my father's hillbilly accent has been an amusing subject for decades.

Jim Beveridge didn't eat fish sandwiches on fish fry Fridays during Lent. He ate "feesh" sandwiches.

And when the Webster, Pa., steelworker wasn't in the mood for bread with cod, he ate his "feesh on a deesh" at home or the annual fire hall fish dinners here in the middle reaches of the Monongahela River Valley, about 30 miles south of Pittsburgh.

His dialect certainly wasn't Pittsburghese. Most of us here seem to know how to correctly pronounce fish, but we have earned a famous reputation for screwing up the plural you, by turning it into "yinz," and also saying "wersh," rather that wash, when its time to do the laundry or redd up the house.

I heard a hint of where my late father learned how to talk like an Appalachian misfit a couple weeks ago while meeting with a Marcellus Shale executive in Washington County, Pa. That guy didn't sound like the Texans who hold many of the jobs around here working in the booming industry, especially when he turned the word, flash, into fleesh.

"I'm from Steubenville," the Ohio man revealed.

Bingo.

My dad spent a good part of his childhood in that Ohio River town during the Great Depression.

A subsequent Google search provided a second source that loosely confirmed that he hadn't learned how to talk like an outsider in these-here parts of the mountains.

The search engine led to an excerpt from a book, "Me and Orson Welles: a novel," by Robert Kaplow, and a passage about the comical way in which Ohioans say, "feesh on a deesh."

Mystery solved.

Going to miss you Babe

Click here to read the Observer-Reporter feature obituary of Thomas Gregg Sypula, 60, of Canton Township, Pa., who died yesterday en route to cover a story.

Click here to view a touching WTAE-TV video about Tommy.

The funeral home obituary:

Thomas Gregg Sypula, 60, of Washington, died unexpectedly Sunday, February 20, 2011, in Canonsburg General Hospital, of an apparent heart attack.  

He was born November 16, 1950, in Tarentum, a son of June L. McAllister Sypula of Natrona Heights and the late Albert Thomas Sypula.

Mr. Sypula was a member of Immaculate Conception Church.  

He graduated from Tarentum High School in 1968. While at Tarentum High School, he was a standout football and baseball player and also played basketball. He then attended Kansas State University prior to enlisting in the U.S. Navy. During his service in the Navy, Mr. Sypula received the National Defense Service Medal. He served on the USS Hornet in 1969, which was the ship that participated in the retrieval of the Apollo 12 Space Capsule.

Mr. Sypula loved photography and videography. He loved being the first man on the scene to cover a news story. Mr. Sypula was a self-employed photographer and videographer providing coverage for several Pittsburgh news stations.  

He was an avid sports fan. From 1989 until 2009, he produced football films for Washington High School and then for Canon-McMillan High School.  

Mr. Sypula enjoyed spending time with his nieces and nephews. He loved his children, Tommy and Sara, and his wife, Charlotte. Mr. Sypula was a devoted family man and a friend to many. 

On June 23, 1979, he married his high school sweetheart, Charlotte Demma ,who survives. 
Also surviving are a daughter, Sara (Rico Dillard) Sypula of Beechview; three brothers, Lynn (Janice) Sypula of Creighton, Kim (Michelle) Sypula of Peters Township and Chuck Sypula of Natrona Heights; a sister-in-law, Rosemary (Gene) Trenski of Freeport; a brother-in-law, Michael (Joan) Demma of Fort Collins, Colo.; and eight nieces and nephews, Gina, Joe, Eric and Kaila Sypula, Jonathan (Ashley) Trenski, Michael Demma, Michelle (Mike) Jones and Kristine (Ray) Medrano. 

In addition to his father, deceased is his son, Tommy M. Sypula. 

Friends will be received from 6 to 8 p.m. Wednesday and 2 to 4 and 6 to 8 p.m. Thursday in Warco-Falvo Funeral Home Inc., Wilson at East Katherine avenues, Washington, S. Timothy Warco, supervisor/director, Susan Falvo Warco, director, S. Timothy Warco II, director. A prayer service will be held at 9 a.m. Friday, February 25, in the funeral home followed by a Mass of Christian Burial at 10 a.m. in Immaculate Conception Church, West Chestnut Street, Washington, with the Rev. William P. Feeney, pastor as celebrant. Burial will follow in Washington Cemetery.

In lieu of flowers, those wishing to make memorial contributions may do so to the Washington High School Scholarship Fund in Memory of Tommy M. Sypula, in care of Charlotte Sypula, 132 Laddie Drive, Washington, PA 15301. Online condolences may be expressed at www.WarcoFalvoFuneralHome.com.

The finest pure hitter in history

The Donora Historical Society has set aside a section of its museum in the Pennsylvania borough to honor Stan Musial on his being given the Presidential Medal of Freedom, the nation's highest civilian award.

President Barack Obama, when the award was presented Tuesday at the White House, said the Hall-of-Famer is "a gentleman you would want your kids to emulate." 

As another way to honor the 90-year-old Donora native, let's look back to December 1999 and take another look at this story about him that appeared in the Observer-Reporter:

By Matt Jacobs

Before the phrase, "You da man," weaved its way into the fabric of modern pop culture, there was just "The Man."

Stan "The Man" Musial, that is. 

During his 22-year Hall-of-Fame career with the St. Louis Cardinals, Musial, who was born and raised in Donora, was, and perhaps still is, regarded as the finest pure hitter in National League history. 

At times overshadowed by American League stars of the era like Joe DiMaggio and Ted Williams, Musial has the statistics to back up his immortal nickname. 

From the time Musial first broke into the big leagues with the Cardinals in 1941, until his final game in 1963, the three-time National League Most Valuable Player compiled a .331 batting average to go with 475 home runs and 1,951 RBI. Musial finished with 3,630 hits, won seven NL batting titles and was the first Cardinals' player to have his number (6) retired. 

As a member of three World Series champions, Musial frequently saved his best for when it mattered most. All that, despite missing the entire 1945 season while serving the United States in World War II. 

Despite his success at the major league level, Musial never forgot his humble beginnings on the rugged, unforgiving ball fields of Donora. 

"Sixty years ago, I was a batboy for the Donora Zinc Works (a semipro team)," said Musial in 1996 during a dedication ceremony for Stan "The Man" Musial Baseball Field.

"My neighbor, Joe Barbao, took me under his wing. He tutored me and we played baseball all the time. One day when we were playing, the regular pitcher didn't show up. So Joe put me in to pitch. 

"Well, I struck out something like 15 guys in six innings. Of course, that was quite a feat because I was only about 14 at that time. After that game, they voted me into their association so I could play. It was terrific experience because I was playing against fellows who were 18, 19 and 20 years old." 

While Musial frequently returns to his old stomping grounds, the field dedication held special meaning. 

"I want these fields to be a symbol and an inspiration to all the young ballplayers," said Musial, who was born November 21, 1920, to Lukasz and Mary Musial. "Somewhere along the line, something like what happened to me could happen to them."

Musial also met his wife of nearly 60 years, the former Lil Labash, in Donora. 

"I remember when I was about 14," Mrs. Musial recalled. "I was at a baseball game and everyone kept telling me to look at the little Polish kid. Well, I wasn't interested in boys at that age. But the following year, I met Stan at 15 and everybody told me he was the Polish kid who played baseball. I knew it was Stan." 

The couple has four grown children, 10 grandchildren and two great-grandchildren. 

Musial, who was voted into baseball's Hall of Fame in 1969, runs Stan "The Man" Inc., a St. Louis firm that deals in memorabilia from his baseball career. 

He remains as humble as ever. Musial never wanted to be DiMaggio or Williams. He's quite content just being "The Man." 

"I played on this field 60 years ago – 60 years ago, that's hard to believe," he said at the ceremony. "I'll tell you, I'd rather have a bat in my hands than a mike. I knew what I was doing with a bat."