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Excerpted
from Central
PA magazine, June 2007
Dino Might
by Lori Myers
He rises out of the sea’s depths like a goliath, charcoal-gray, with a menacing dorsal fin and hundreds-foot-long tail that with one swish could make rubble out of buildings and scrap out of Humvees. He has a knack for stomping crowded business centers, striking terror and havoc in all who dare to cross his very wide path. His roar is mind-numbing, his personality not exactly dainty, and he once tried to make monkey meat out of King Kong.
In Japan, he’s called “Gojira.” In America, “Godzilla.” Both mean trouble when you’ve got nowhere to run and hide. All of that scary stuff is just fine with 14-year-old Evan Stultz of Harrisburg, who has been fanatical about the 50,000-ton monster since the age of 5.
“I was huge into dinosaurs,” Stultz recalls. “My dad brought home the video of Godzilla’s Revenge. I liked when they fight and smash buildings. I became a fan.”
In fact, Stultz is such a fan that two years ago he started the area’s first Godzilla fan club, a small but growing group of the young and a bit older, who meet periodically at the Comix Connection in Mechanicsburg. Sitting behind a desk amid the comic books, posters and action figures, Stultz holds court for aficionados like himself who can rattle off film names, directors and story synopses from the more than 20 Godzilla films produced since 1954. Stultz’s favorite films contain either lots of monster action and destruction or a dark allegory about the nuclear age. The Japanese versions are the real deal, he says, and are also the ones that pay true homage to his beloved Godzilla.
“In the American versions he was a weakling,” Stultz remarks. “He was a radiating iguana. He didn’t destroy anything. They shot him with a missile and he fell over. The Japanese version was successful. People liked the monster, and it had kind of a message.”
Unlike many youngsters who yearn for the latest gadget or athletic shoewear, Stultz was thrilled beyond words when his father, Tony, took him to Japan in November 2004 for the premiere of Godzilla: Final Wars. Stultz sat 15 rows back alongside actor Robert Scott Field, who had starred as Android M-11 in a previous movie, Godzilla vs. King Ghidorah. For Stultz, the moment couldn’t have been more perfect. Even an announcement showing Godzilla destroying a mobile communications tower — a warning to the audience to turn off their cell phones — was superb. Nevertheless, Stultz’s inner critic calls the special effects and storyline of that film “sub-par.”
Despite the lukewarm review, Godzilla can do little wrong in the eyes of his followers. Indeed, some of the fans at Stultz’s gathering can’t quite pinpoint what it is about their idol that they love. But for Kirby Keefauver, 42, of Dillsburg, it comes down to the creature’s savage power.
“It’s the rawness of character,” Keefauver muses. “He’s a lot more entertaining than other film monsters. He has a unique roar. He’s indestructible. He has evolved over the years. Starting with the fifth film, he started being a good guy. I’ve been a fan for 30 years and at one time I had a Godzilla screen saver.”
Keefauver’s favorite G-film is the 1964 Godzilla vs. The Thing. Two years ago Keefauver was one of about 150 people who viewed Godzilla: Final Wars at an art house theater in New York City. This year, monster fans are planning to invade the nearest very big theater when Godzilla fills up an IMAX screen, featuring a pollution monster called Deathla along with a battle that extends from South America to the Big Apple.
“Yoshimitsu Banno is making it into a 3-D Godzilla project,” says Stultz, as other fan club members nod in agreement. “It’s a remake of Godzilla vs. the Smog Monster.”
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Doors to the Past
by Noreen Livoti
To some, windows are just windows, lights simply illuminate rooms, and wrought iron exists only to decorate gates. To those at the Architectural Warehouse in York, these items also tell of the rich history of this region.
“They don’t make things like they used to,” says Mark Ritter, manager of the warehouse.
Since 1975, Historic York, Inc., a nonprofit preservation organization, has been committed to architectural preservation and adaptive reuse of historic properties. The warehouse, opened by Historic York in 1985 to continue this project, “rescues” and sells items from historic buildings that may otherwise be thrown away, such as mantles, hardware and lighting fixtures.
“People use heat registers for stepping stones in their gardens and iron grills as art,” says Ritter. “We have had someone buy a porch railing and two posts and made a bed frame, and chimney pots with a large floor grate as a garden table.”
Ritter notes that while many of the items, such as stained-glass hanging lights and stair railings, usually dating from the 1870s to the 1960s, are more traditional, the warehouse has had some unusual items. “We have sold an outhouse,” he admits.
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Common-Sense Self-Defense
by Melissa Frisoli
Bruce Lee once said, “Showing off is the fool’s idea of glory.” At Get Real Martial Arts in Mount Joy, this concept is not only taught, it’s lived. The Get Real studio offers a self-defense class with no rituals, no titles, no politics and definitely no egos.
“Get Real Martial Arts focuses on liberating people from the traditional martial arts moves and maneuvers,” says Tom Ridgeway, president and head instructor. “We teach concepts that are totally individualistic of the student.” He teaches Jeet Kune Do, a combat system developed by martial artist and actor Bruce Lee, which focuses on the concepts of street fighting rather than specialized martial arts styles.
“Most martial arts classes teach students to stay and fight until their opponent has completely given up,” Ridgeway says, “but we teach our students simple, direct techniques that help avoid a full-fledged fight and a potentially dangerous situation.” Specific moves and maneuvers vary from student to student and are largely based on size and stature.
“We teach the theory of ‘aliveness,’ which means defending yourself against a fully resisting opponent,” Ridgeway explains. “Some of my students come just to get a great workout, others are absorbed with the concepts.”
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Recipe for Intrigue
by Tiffany Derewal
While it may still be flying under the pop culture radar, a curious literary genre has been whetting appetites worldwide: the culinary mystery. Specializing in clever food-pun titles, culinary-mystery authors blend the ingredients of a mystery tale — murder, scandal, kidnapping — with elements from the realm of cuisine.
“At the time, I thought it was a novel idea,” explains Tamar Myers, who created a prolific culinary mystery series, “Pennsylvania Dutch Mystery With Recipes.” She sees the books, with titles such as Hell Hath No Curry and The Crepes of Wrath, as literary comfort food: “They’re the kind of mysteries readers take to sit back with a cup of tea and some cookies. They don’t keep you up at night.”
Set in a fictional Central PA town, Myers’ series was inspired by the culture and traditions of her mother, whose Amish roots extend back to the 18th century. Her protagonist, Amish-Mennonite bed-and-breakfast owner Magdalena Yoder, solves crimes between batches of shoofly pie.
Not surprisingly, Myers cooks up a title first, then develops her plot — a privilege she makes sure is written into her contract. The first books included Amish family recipes but now feature recipes from a variety of culinary traditions. “My mother wasn’t such a hot cook,” Myers explains jokingly. Regardless of one’s taste in reading or cuisine, however, it’s no mystery that the crème brûlée in Custard’s Last Stand is to die for.
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Notebook:
Soccer Vocabulary
By Steve Kennedy
 Two years before the latest World Cup, I attended a professional soccer game in Germany with my kids, both of whom had played the sport since they were 7. They enjoyed it. I was utterly bored.
I don’t remember any of the goals the visiting team scored (the home team got none), but I do recall that the German soccer vocabulary list I had downloaded from the Internet was useless. I did, however, learn the slang word for “ref” — every time I asked our German hosts what the crowd was chanting, it was directed at him — and various ways in which it can be combined unflatteringly with parts of the human anatomy.
This year is my 12th consecutive season on a camping chair at local youth soccer league games. Despite such long-term contact with the sport, I could still benefit from a glossary to decipher the yells I hear from the other people on the sidelines. I know soccer players sometimes hit the ball with their heads, but am unsure if that’s what the coach is urging a player to do when he yells, “I want a head on it, Ben!”
Still, an explanation at least comes to mind for that one. What am I to make of “Get on your horse, buddy”? Is this polo? Or the urgent admonition, “On your back! On your back!”? To a casual observer, that doesn’t seem to be a position from which a lot of good kicks are made.
I figured out that “Mark!” is not a player on the team but has to do with “marking your man.” I’ve used mnemonic devices to attempt to keep track of who’s who on the field (Kutz is number 8, because when I went to the Kutztown Folk Festival, I ate a lot) — though I once thought for a second that there was a French novelist on our team when I failed to hear the comma in “Get the ball, Zach!”
Since the elementary level, the parents and coaches have been urging, “Talk to each other!” but I’ve never heard anyone on the field asking, “So Doug, whad’ya wanna talk about?” I must have missed the class where they explained “Burn it! Burn it!” or “Man on!” — not to mention the arcane concept of “offsides,” which will forever be a mystery to me.
Yes, it’s been explained to me that it’s when an attacker gets ahead of the furthest-out defender (not that I would notice that). But if a team just stationed their defenders way out, wouldn’t it prevent the offense from ever getting within shooting distance of the goal? Apparently I’m not the only one who struggles with this. The parents who said, “I think it all depends on who kicked the ball” and “That wasn’t offsides, that was overenthusiasm” at a recent game may have similar issues.
There are bursts of intelligibility from the sidelines as well (“C’mon, just kick it!”). Occasionally, even creative language emerges (“If he’d have stuck out his tongue, he could have tongued it in” after a near miss at the goal). And I love the social conventions the coach observes with the refs (“Subs, sir!”) and players (“What did I tell you, gentlemen?”), which give the enterprise a quaint Edwardian ring.
By this time, my admission that I am not a dyed-in-the-wool sports fan will come as no surprise. Nevertheless, I have sat on the sidelines of less-than-professional-level soccer (and occasionally softball and basketball) in heat, wind, drizzle, cold and snow flurries. The truth is, I’m incapable of much interest in a sporting event unless I have DNA in common with one of the players, even if he or she is sitting on the bench (or the ground).
It’s been a slowly acquired taste. I used to try to sneak some reading in during lulls in the action (softball is especially conducive to this), until I missed my eight-year-old daughter hitting the only double of her Little League career.
After that I stopped reading at sporting events, except during warm-up and halftime, but my daughter, now in college, tells the story of the missed double as if it happened last week. I won’t do that again. Besides, unless it’s professional play, the game is just too exciting.
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