Western Pennsylvania – gotta love it
I read two touching things today about western Pennsylvania people today.
One is about a young married Marine who just died a hero in Afghanistan.
It is obvious that our government’s foreign policies are brainless, but the motives of young men such as Sergeant Ryan Lane to sign up for the Marines to battle Islamism are of the very highest.
Castle Shannon mourns ‘our hero,’
son of former longtime police chief
http://www.pittsburghlive.com/x/pittsburghtrib/news/pittsburgh/s_635257.html
Marine Sgt. Ryan H. Lane
About the writer
Chris Togneri can be reached via e-mail or at 412-380-5632.
Castle Shannon has lost an unassuming hero.
Marine Sgt. Ryan H. Lane, 25, the son of former longtime Castle Shannon police Chief Harold Lane, was killed Thursday in combat in Afghanistan. He leaves behind a wife of nearly three years.
“You know, you read about things like this in the paper all the time, but when it hits home, when it’s somebody you know — that’s when you realize how bad it is,” Castle Shannon Mayor Don Baumgarten said Friday at the borough offices, where a flag out front flew at half-staff.
“It’s still unbelievable,” said Shirley McMonagle, Castle Shannon police secretary who worked with Harold Lane for 30 years and had known Ryan since he was a baby.
“All I can see when I think of him in combat is him being the first one going ahead,” she said. “He won all these medals with the Marines, but he never wanted to talk about that or what he was doing over there. … He’s a hero. He’s our hero.”
Lane joined the Marines in 2002 immediately after graduating from Keystone Oaks High School. He was on his second tour of duty in Afghanistan, McMonagle said.
Lane died of wounds suffered while supporting combat operations in the Helmand province, according to the Department of Defense. He was assigned to the 2nd Light Armored Reconnaissance Battalion, 2nd Marine Division, II Marine Expeditionary Force, Camp Lejeune, N.C.
Lane’s family was unavailable for comment yesterday.
Baumgarten said Harold Lane spent the day driving to Dover, Del., with some of Lane’s three brothers and Lane’s wife, Valerie, to meet the military plane carrying his son’s remains home.
“It’s difficult to talk about. He was a fantastic young man,” Baumgarten said, pausing to wipe tears from his eyes. “I feel so bad for his father. Nobody wants to bury their own kid.”
Harold Lane was the Castle Shannon police chief for 17 years. He stepped down last month to start a new career as an investigator for the Allegheny County District Attorney’s Office, Baumgarten said.
Lane’s death is a blow to a family that for decades has been a “pillar of the community,” said Keystone Oaks Principal Scott Hagy.
“That’s just very unfortunate,” Hagy said. “It seems like more and more of our kids are getting involved in the military … and it seems like in Western Pennsylvania we’re having more and more of these stories.”
Ryan and Valerie Lane married here in October 2006, McMonagle said. They lived in Camp Lejeune, where they recently bought their first home, she said.
One of Lane’s three brothers works for the Castle Shannon police department. Police officials declined to comment yesterday.
Funeral arrangements are pending. Baumgarten said borough officials will honor Lane according to the family’s wishes. Borough offices will close the day he is buried.
“It’s just too tragic,” he said. “He was a great kid. He loved the Marines, always wanted to be a Marine. … He died doing what he wanted to do.”
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As proud as I am as a former Marine myself of this young white American male who went off to fight for his nation — in a nation full of talkers — this is also a specifically PENNSYLVANIA story.
Back in the “Civil War,” the largest contingent of volunteers was the Pennsylvanians, and they were superb troops (as were the Michiganites). There can be no doubt that the high percentage of German-Americans as well as Scotch-Irish-Americans is part of that.
THE Fort Armstrong Folk Festival is fine arts and crafts festival held along the tree lined banks of the beautiful Allegheny River that uplifts the community’s spirit and pays tribute to Armstrong County’s heritage.
In WWI, I recall reading in the memoirs of one officer who was later influential in Charles Lindbergh’s life. This officer did not think much of some of the Philadelphia Sicilians and Jews, but he praised “my Pennsylvania rural boys” for their steady, loyal professionalism and courage under fire in WWI.
This whole area was first settled by two immigrant white peoples, 1) the fighting Scotch-Irish, who heroically battled the Amerindians, the descendants of those who had genocided the Solutreans, and 2) the Germans from eastern Pennsylvania. The Scotch-Irish came up from the mountains down south of West Virginia, and the Germans came west along what is now Route 30 toward Fort Duquesne, now Pittsburgh.
Some Germans were descendants of the pacifist Mennonites and Amish who had previously learned the hard way that when dealing with the Amerindians, you better NOT be a pacifist if you wanted to live.
My fiancée Margaret Huffstickler’s Pennsylvania German ancestors once spelled their name the un-anglicized and original German way, as “Hochstetler.”
Margi with our two dogs
Jacob Hochstetler was directly off the boat from the German part of Switzerland, and had come here as a Bible-believing, peace-loving Christian. When Siberian Indians, descendants of the Solutricides, burst into his family cabin, and his sons raised their rifles (even the most peaceful Christians hunted for food — meat, protein — after all), Jacob told his sons to put their rifles down, that Christians do not slay others.
Next thing he knew, much of his family was dead and scalped.
That’s when the rubber hits the road……..
Like so many people around here, Margi is both part-German and part Scotch-Irish. These elements are the two valiant white ethnicities that helped found the great region of western Pennsylvania, where my movement is starting.
Maybe, if Harrisburg, Pa. — the sickeningly corrupt, black-dominated capital city — and Philadelphia, Pa, a bastion (to be frank, and that is my specialty, to be frank at a time that calls for it) of Sicilian and Jewish corruption — continue to destroy the white people of this Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, once founded by the virtuous and idealistic William Penn, a God-fearing man, then this area will have to become a separate state, West Pennsylvania, just as West Virginia had to leave Virginia.
Those Scotch-Irish mountain boys in western Virginia, as proud as they were of Virginia and the South, refused to fight for slavery — the spread of no-cost negro labor owned by rich white planters — into their all-white mountains where a man 1) wanted to be paid for his labor and 2) to live — without fear of crime and racial tension – with his own kind.
You better not try to tell a Scotch-Irishman what to do…. or a Scotch-Irishwoman…..
Here is what Margi wrote to a a distant kinswoman about her ancestor:
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My father was Albert Huffstickler the poet, who died in 2002. His father was Clyde Huffstickler, and his family came from King’s Mountain NC. His siblings were Martha and Jack.
I’m sure we’re related; I’d like to find my relatives, but haven’t taken the time yet, but I did do some research.
I’m pretty sure we are all descended from Jacob Hochstetler, who came over with his wife on the “Charming Nancy” in the 1720s. They were Anabaptists (now called Amish), who were being persecuted at that time, from the mountains of Switzerland (hence “Hochstetler” or “high-stander”).
They settled in Berks County, Pennsylvania, which reminded them of the mountains they came from; they were part of the first Amish community in America. Descendants of the family gradually fanned out, some going south to VA, NC and elsewhere. I think the Huffstickler branch started in Western NC or thereabouts. There are Hochstetters in NC who are related as well.
Here is an interesting passage about our first American progenitor; it’s from the url:
“Jacob was taken captive along with his sons Joseph and Christian during Indian massacre of 20/21 September, 1757. Born near Guggisburg, Winterkraut, Switzerland…
“Winterkraut” — you can’t hardly get more Germanic than that! — is still a tiny hamlet near Bern, the capital of Switzerland, which is 70% German-speaking. Many of the Amish are from Switzerland or the Rhineland.
“What is Your Name?” in Swiss-German dialect. The great Pittsburgh industrialist and sometime partner of Scottish immigrant Andrew Carnegie, Frick, was a Swiss-German.
Jacob was born 1712 and came over on the “Charming Nancy”…
John A. Hochstetler, Amish Roots, p. 238
“The Northkill Attack” by Uriah R. Byler
The story of the Native American assault on the immigrant Hochstetler family has been retold and rewritten many times. Uriah R. Byler describes it for Amish school children.
The evening of September 19, 1757, was a happy one for the Jacob Hochstetler family. The young people of the neighborhood were gathered there for one of those old fashioned apple schnitzings which provided the Hochstetler household with apples to dry for the winter and also gave the young folks a chance to get together for the evening. It was a closely knit little group, boys and girls who had grown up together in the same neighborhood. First they peeled and sliced apples for a few hours, probably laughing and enjoying themselves, as was usual on such occasions. Later games were played until quite late, then the good nights were said and the guests went home through the peaceful autumn night. When the last ones had left, the Hochstetlers bolted their doors and went to bed.
The French and Indian War was raging then, and during the last year quite a few white settlers in the neighborhood had been murdered and carried off in captivity. So far none of the Amish had been bothered and the Indians seemed friendly enough. Many times they had come to the house asking for food or clothing.
Tired of the evening’s activities, the entire family was now in slumberland, unaware of the danger that was stalking in the forest nearby. There, waiting patiently, were a dozen Indians. Since soon after dark they had awaited their chance to strike, and now they made ready. They came toward the house. As they were passing the bake oven, the Hochstetlers’ dog began to bark. This awakened Jacob, Jr., who opened the door to see what the trouble was. A shot rang out and Jacob felt a sharp pang in his leg. He shut and bolted the door and now the entire family were on their feet.
In the dimness of the night they could see about ten figures gathered near the bake oven. The two boys picked up their muskets to defend the family. There was plenty of ammunition in the house, and no doubt the Indians could have been detained until daylight and help came. Being nonresistant and not believing in killing, Jacob’s religion absolutely forbade such violence as defending his loved ones.
The stalwart sons implored their father to let them use their rifles, but the father believed with all his soul that when the Lord said to Moses, “Thou shalt not kill,” he meant just that. The Indians next set the house on fire. When the Hochstetlers saw this, they all went to the basement. Soon the burning embers began falling through the floor. For awhile these were extinguished by pouring cider on them. Finally, it was apparent that they must leave the house or perish with it. There was a small window on one side of the basement and through this the family began to leave one by one.
Because it was getting daylight the Indians had all left except one, who had lingered to eat a few peaches. He happened to see the Hochstetlers as they were coming out the window and shouted to his companions, who returned, and soon the entire family was taken. Jacob, Jr. and a daughter were tomahawked and scalped. Another Indian raised his deadly tomahawk over the head of Christian but changed his mind and took him prisoner along with his father. The mother was stabbed to death with a knife and also scalped.
We may well imagine what Jacob Hochstetler’s thoughts were when he and his sons Joseph and Christian, hands bound behind their backs, were marched westward toward the Blue Mountains. Behind him lay his dead wife and two children, amid the smoldering embers of his buildings. When they emerged from the basement that morning into the hands of the Indians, he had urged the family to submit to any fate that awaited them. Jacob was told that they were to be separated and taken to other villages. Sadly they bade each other goody not knowing if and hardly expecting that they would ever see each other again. The father’s parting advice to this sons was: If you are taken so far away and kept so long that you forget the German language, do not forget the Lord’s Prayer.
—————–
The story had a happy ending (at least for Jacob and his sons) – over six months later, Jacob escaped from the Indians who were holding him captive, and was able to get his sons back a few years later. Otherwise, I guess we wouldn’t be corresponding right now. 
Anyway, I hope this is some help. There is a web page someone started for my father a few years ago, and a Cheryl Huffstickler posted on the guest book. She is also from the King’s Mountain branch; I think maybe her grandfather and mine were brothers.
I think there are over a million descendants of Jacob Hochstetler now in the US. I don’t know if they have gatherings; let me know if you find out about any. Hope this is helpful! I would love to hear what you find out……
I just now got a call from a patriot in New Mexico, who told me the local police chief had stated that there are now three hundred Hispanic gangs in New Mexico, the US border is a porous sieve, and no local police department can cope with the Mexican wave of rapes, torture, kidnappings and murders.
I know why this is being allowed: to end America as a white nation, and to use this crime wave,k coupled with the Depression, to create anarchy so the people will accept MARTIAL LAW.
From a post on western Pa. that I did a few months back:
From comrade Warren Schott:
* * *
[You wrote a] great and accurate article about Penna. and Pittsburgh, John. As a resident and native son of the area, I’ll add a few more comments about things which make the Pittsburgh area different or better than most other places.
1. More churches of different denominations than anywhere. And I mean ones you don’t see in a lot of places. Traditional Catholics have their parishes. And, good for me, Orthodox parishes are all over the place. And since these churches were built back in the heyday of the steel industry when the population was much larger, the parishes are generally oversized for their congregations. Walk into any church and people are sincerely glad to have you. It’s not like in some places where people can be pretty cold.
2. Pa. has a reasonable “concealed-carry” pistol law. Basically you go to your local sheriff and he can’t refuse you a permit unless you’re a criminal or a lunatic. Philadelphia tried to get a ban so gun permits wouldn’t be valid in the city, but the state legislature struck that down. There’s lots of hunting. Tons of gun shops and gun shows. Many outdoor shooting ranges.
3. Many of the politicians elected to office are Democrats, but they’re not the type you get in other places. We have some Republicans. Recall every liberal’s arch-enemy Sen. Rick Santorum was from Pittsburgh. But even the Dems here in Pennsylvania support the Second Amendment. Voting for gun bans would be political suicide for any politician around here.
4. All the areas around Pittsburgh are EVEN MORE WHITE. As I mentioned back a few months ago, according to the census my town was 97.8% white. (We have five negroes. Two are elderly. One is a kid. They behave themselves.) I thought that was pretty good, but many towns around here are even higher. For example, my sister-in-law’s town is 99.8% white.
5. There is work here. Medical is in high demand. Public utilities are always hiring — blue- and white-collar. Even the coal mines have begun hiring again due to so many people retiring. The Norfolk Southern railroad hires. Yes, many good-paying steel mill jobs are gone, but the economy is actually better now as far as finding a job than it was 20 years ago. Just as a comparison, back when I got out of college, a minimum wage job would go up and hundreds of people would apply. Now minimum-wage jobs are a dime a dozen.
The trade unions are advertising on TV for apprentices nowadays. But back when I was growing up, we’d kill for an opportunity like that. In those days you have to “know someone” to get into the unions or the mines. I didn’t know anyone, so I left the area to find work. Now it’s more open.
These union jobs pay at least $20 an hour once you get to the journeyman stage. Of course, you’re not going to get rich with a job like that, but it’s better than many office jobs and you don’t go into tens or hundreds of thousands of dollars in college loan debt. A young man could raise a family on that money considering the lower cost of living here.
Pittsburgh still has some steel production; “US Steel” has 49,000 employees in the U.S., Canada, Slovakia and Serbia.
A true standout on the Pittsburgh skyline is the Pittsburgh Plate Glass (PPG) headquarters, which sure shows off its glass.
Frick Art Center. Henry Frick (1849-1919), the great steel and coal/coke magnate, was of Swiss-German descent, a large, handsome man with a powerful physique. Frick, a millionaire by 30 (in 1870s dollars!!), was hardworking, quiet, and reserved — the antithesis of his longtime Scottish steel partner, the ebullient Andrew Carnegie. (After the two had a severe falling-out, they both left Carnegie Steel and it later became US Steel.) Frick left a fortune of about $50 million, five-sixths of it donated for public and philanthropic purposes. Union workers, however, also remember his brutal attempt to bring in 300 “scabs” to break a strike at his Homestead steel plant. To compensate for expensive new machinery that greatly increased worker productivity, Frick proposed lowering wages. In response, the Amalgamated Iron and Steel Workers Union struck the Homestead plant. Frick recruited 300 strikebreakers through the Pinkerton Detective Agency, bringing them in armed barges down the Monongahela River. When the strikebreakers attempted to land, a day-long battle ensued. Ten men were killed and 60 wounded; order was restored only when the governor of Pennsylvania placed Homestead under martial law. Frick was widely denounced throughout the country for provoking the violence, but this criticism was balanced by acclaim for his courage, when, with the help of a secretary, he subdued an assassin who had shot him twice and stabbed him several times. Despite his wounds and loss of blood, Frick finished his day’s work. Not a whiner, unlike so many Jews still bending our American ear 62 years later over a “Holocaust” they say happened on another continent, through another people, and one most people feel Jews helped trigger by their own behavior. It is a classic trait of psychopaths to play the sympathy card dishonestly and cynically for gain, and for the delight in lying.
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I’ll end for today with this guest editorial in today’s Pittsburgh Tribune-Review, a genuine paleo-conservative, NOT neo-con, major newspaper.
http://www.pittsburghlive.com/x/pittsburghtrib/opinion/s_635177.html
10 years later …
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Ten years ago this month, my wife and I embarked on the craziest move of our lives — to Western Pennsylvania.
That’s not a slam. You see, neither one of us had jobs here prior to the move. Finding a place to rent, at least initially, was about as challenging as herding our five cats — which didn’t endear us to landlords. Oh, and the sale of our condo in Southwest Connecticut fell through a week before our departure.
Sitting in that packed-up condo, moving boxes stacked to the ceiling, I pondered aloud the wisdom of our decision. And yet we did it anyway.
Crazy as this all sounds, it was the best move of our lives.
Sure, we both were darn fortunate to find jobs. But it’s not all about luck. For no matter where you choose to live or what you choose to do, you won’t accomplish much unless you first believe in yourself.
Besides that, it’s nice living in a region where people aren’t judged solely by the extent of their bank account. Where friendship isn’t a quid pro quo. And where personal “wealth” is measured not in old money or new but in the depth of one’s character.
The move to Pennsylvania has not been without some adjustments. And I probably won’t acquire a taste for pierogie pizza. Yet each night on the ride home from work, as I gaze at the rolling hills and farms and little towns that I pass through, I feel as though I’ve finally come home. Ten years later and 400 miles away.
– Bob Pellegrino
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