Jan 29, 2005 By Glenn Tunney For The 8 min read

Man-made ice skating rinks like the rink built on Water Street in 1945 lacked one feature that could only be experienced by skating on the frozen surfaces of lakes and ponds in the surrounding hills and lowlands – the element of danger. Who knew when a skater might crash through the ice?

Allison No. 1 native Tom Liberator has lived in Portland, Ore., for 40 years, but he still remembers the thrill of testing the ice at the Allison reservoir, a mile and a half west of the patch.

“In those days,” Tom commented, “your stature in the patch was measured by your spirit of recklessness and general defiance.”

And what better way was there to show off than to be the first skater to venture onto the apparently frozen surface of the reservoir?

“It was truly an exhilarating experience,” Tom said, “that required considerable skill. You had to judge the thickness and strength of the ice and apply even pressure on your gliding and propelling skates. You adjusted your speed as you viewed the vegetation passing beneath the surface and felt the rubbery, rolling action of the ice.

“My skating buddy was often Frank Lizanich, who now lives in Orlando,” Tom recalled. “We found that the Allison reservoir was the most challenging for us because of the uncertainty of the water’s residual heat. Skating there was a sunny daytime activity because you had to be observant, watch out for the slushy areas, and disregard the peril of falling through the ice.”

Falling through the ice.

That was a hazard faced by anyone who chose to risk skating on the frozen bodies of water that Mother Nature provided rather than at the safer man-made rinks. Rowes Run native John Batovsky, now living in Chester, Va., recalls how skaters prepared for the inevitable crash through the ice.

“We used to skate on Rowes Run Creek,” John told me, “about 100 yards upstream from the old mineworkers’ union hall. We also liked to skate on Redstone Creek beneath the steel bridge in Tippecanoe, where the stone and concrete bridge supports made good seats. We always built a good fire to stay warm, usually out of tree limbs and branches, but sometimes we would find an old tire to burn. Tires made a good hot fire, but we would go home smelling like burnt rubber.

“I remember one evening in particular when we were skating up at Tippecanoe, and we hadn’t even gotten a fire started when one of the guys stepped through thin ice. He was soaked past his knees, and we really had to scurry to get the fire going, as the temperature was below zero that night.”

West Brownsville young people wishing to spend an afternoon or evening ice-skating often headed for a place called the “Swamp.” Thom Stapleton of Casa Grande, Ariz., grew up in West Brownsville and remembers the Swamp.

“It was located downriver from the railroad bridge,” Thom explained, “near the old Lilley mine. It wasn’t very deep, so it stayed frozen for much of the winter. We had to cut off a few cattails that stuck up through the ice, but otherwise it was a good surface. Not many families could afford ice skates, but with or without skates, lots of guys played hockey with a flattened tin can for a puck and a cut tree branch for a hockey stick.”

Chuck Rohrer of Orlando, Fla., was one of those guys.

“As a teenager living in West Brownsville 60 years ago,” Chuck recalled, “I had a good time ice skating at the ‘Swamp.’ We played hockey by our own rules. The puck was a crushed canned milk can, and it sure hurt when it hit you in the ankle or shin. We made our hockey sticks from the root end of bent young trees growing out of the hillside. They were a little crude, but they worked fine.”

Janet Hackney Kinzel of Pleasanton, Calif., grew up on a farm on Heistersburg Road, one mile southwest of Penn Craft. Janet’s ice skating memories are a bit different, because her skating venue was created through the combined efforts of her father and nature.

“Our farm was named Crystal Springs,” Janet told me, “and was originally the Conwell farm. The current owners, with whom we visited this past autumn, are Rocky and Ruth DiCianno.

“In the spring of 1953, my father, J.D. Hackney, had a pond dug and a dam built on our farm. What an event! Huge earth movers came and pushed the dirt from the creek bed and surrounding land into a 14-foot high, 30-foot thick breastwork, which was to hold back the water of the little creek that meandered through the ‘hollow’ of our 30-acre farm. A spillway was built along with a large drainage pipe as tall as the dam. Throughout the summer of 1953, we watched as the pond, which was at least as big as a football field, filled with water. By the end of the summer, Dad was able to stock it with fish and we opened a fishing business. My job was to watch the snack shed, collect ticket money and sell worms, which I did until I left the area in l960.

“But the best times for me came as winter approached. Being outside in the snow was always fun for me at home and at Central School in Tower Hill. We didn’t have much money and much of our snow equipment was makeshift, but that year Christmas was unbelievable for me. Under the tree on Christmas morning was a pair of ice skates, for which I know my parents sacrificed greatly. I could hardly wait to get down to the pond to skate.

“There is nothing quite like being the first one on the ice of a pond. When the surface freezes, it creates an air space between the ice and the water. When the ice gets stepped on, the frozen surface sinks to the top of the water and the air is forced out in a “Zzziipp” sound. I can still hear it.

“Over the years, many of my friends came to skate. We often skated at night in the moonlight. We played crack the whip, and somehow I was the one on the end almost every time. George Cox, who had a service station down the hill from us, would give us old tires that we would burn to keep warm. We stunk to high heaven, but nobody seemed to notice. When we came inside, my mom would have hot chocolate waiting to warm us up.

“Most of the time I envied the kids who lived in town, but on ice-skating days I was pretty darn proud to live on a farm. Now I live in a place where the snow is up in the mountains, and we have drive to it and from it – quite different from living in it. I am very grateful for my roots in western Pennsylvania.”

Some young people experienced their greatest skating thrills on the frozen Monongahela River. West Brownsville native Judy Furlong Luda, now of Parma, Ohio, remembers bundling up to venture down to the riverbank on wintry days.

“We wore whatever warm clothes we could find, including a heavy sweater under our coat,” Judy recalled. “The older kids used to skate on the river between the inter-county bridge and what they used to call the ‘beach,’ which was later known as Ehlers’ boat launch. I also remember kids skating on the river near California under the bridge, just as you went up Coal Center hill. The younger kids, most of whom did not have skates, were not allowed on the river.”

Readers, I would be interested in hearing from those of you who have ice-skated on the Monongahela River. I do not imagine there are many who have had that experience.

Next week, our series on ice-skating in bygone years concludes with the story of Peter Hunt’s ice rink in the Dunlap Creek valley, and we will also share more reader reminiscences of ice-skating on area ponds, lakes, and the Monongahela River.

Glenn Tunney may be contacted at 724-785-3201 or 6068 National Pike East, Grindstone, PA 15442. Comments about these weekly articles may be sent to editor Mark O’Keefe, 8-18 E. Church St., Uniontown, PA or e-mailed to mo’keefe@heraldstandard.com. All past articles are on the Web at http://freepages.history.rootsweb.com/~glenntunneycolumn/