Pennsylvania Oddities

Like his father, Erasmus Godfrey Rehrer seemed destined for success. After serving honorably as an officer in the Union Army's  engineering corps and attaining the rank of captain, he entered the coal mining business. As superintendent of the Tremont Coal Company, Captain Rehrer, along with two partners, saw an opportunity to strike it rich. After discovering a previously unknown vein of coal near Donaldson, they formed their own company, obtained a lease on the land and sunk all their savings into drilling a tunnel. And that's when things went horribly wrong.

It's impossible to say how many generations have been enchanted by the beauty of Wildcat Falls in York County, but it is known that hundreds of years ago the Susquehannock tribe had a village here, where Wildcat Run cuts a magnificent gorge through the rocky hills before taking a 150-foot plunge on its short course to the Susquehanna at a point across the river upstream from Marietta. It was here, on the site of the old Indian village, where a hotel was erected in the late 19th century.

Though largely forgotten today, the Wildcat Falls Hotel was a local landmark. During the early 20th century, cottages and cabins were erected  along River Road, and the locale became a popular weekend getaway for many York and Lancaster County residents. But even after the last traces of the once-prestigious hotel had disappeared, there were still a few locals who kept a close watch on the grounds. One of them was George Wilson, who, for decades, upheld a little-known  local tradition-- decorating the grave of an unknown Confederate soldier who was hastily buried at Wildcat Falls after a scouting mission gone horribly wrong.

Across the river from Pittsburgh, on the southern banks of the Monongahela, lies the suburb of Homestead. Here, on a quiet street, lived a quiet boy named Charlie Cawley, a teenage genius who seemed destined to one day join the ranks of Thomas Edison, Alexander Graham  Bell and Cyrus McCormick in the pantheon of great American inventors-- until he inexplicably slaughtered his mother and siblings one fateful night in 1902.

Somewhere just over the Columbia-Luzerne county line, on a hill overlooking the scenic valley north of Beach Haven, lies the mortal remains of one of the most eccentric citizens to ever call Salem Township home. Benjamin Remaley passed away in 1885 and the age of 75, but not before making out a detailed will with several bizarre stipulations-- like his demand that two holes be drilled into his coffin so that he could escape-- if necessary-- from evil spirits.

But that's just one of the many strange final requests made by the ornery farmer. And had Benjamin Remaley not been such a quirky fellow, his moldering bones would be slumbering in a graveyard instead of hidden somewhere on the foothills of Knob Mountain.

Old-time railroaders in western Pennsylvania often told tales about Wild Tom Skelton, whose ghost was fond of standing on the tracks as the locomotives bore down on him, leaning on his long gun with a forlorn look in his eyes, cursed to search for all eternity for his beloved Maria. The tragic tale of Tom Skelton is one of heartbreak on the wilderness frontier of present-day Indiana County, but what is the true origin of the story of Wild Tom Skelton's wandering spirit, known throughout western Pennsylvania as the Ghost of Packsaddle Gap?

The coincidental timing of the science fiction craze and the Cold War inspired millions of Americans to keep their eyes glued to the night sky for Soviet missiles, flying saucers, and all things in between in the decade following World War II. Just three years after the Roswell crash, a peculiar UFO sighting in Clearfield County on March 15, 1950, made national headlines.

The fact that this "flying saucer" was seen by Dr. Craig Hunter, an amateur pilot and technical director for a supply firm specializing in scientific instruments, added a touch of credibility to the claim. But not everyone was convinced of the authenticity of Dr. Hunter's story, however; some insisted that Hunter had fabricated his story, and had based his drawings of the spaceship he had seen on a drawing published earlier that month by a magazine. So what is the truth behind Dr. Hunter's spectacular story?

The trials and tribulations of Albert Large, a Civil War-era hermit who found peace living inside a hilltop cave... that is, until his hideaway was discovered by nosy locals.

In a lonesome spot on North Mahanoy Mountain, near the No. 3 Reservoir on Waste House Run, lies a grave with a peculiar history. This is the final resting place of Jost Folhaber, a Jewish-German merchant who became the first known murder victim in Schuylkill County. This spot, known locally as "Peddler's Grave", has been one of the Coal Region's best-kept secrets ever since Folhaber's gruesome death in the summer of 1797.

Peter Hauntz was the stage name of James H. Sharp, a Civil War veteran from Clinton County who rose to prominence during the latter half of the 19th century as a master puppeteer, ventriloquist, magician and stage performer. Trained in the German tradition of the famed Eisenstadt Puppet Theatre by Professor de Rotschkoff-- a man who believed the key to making realistic puppets was by using real human blood-- Sharp's performances included a variety of characters so realistic that, to this day, some aren't sure whether they were wooden puppets, or living, breathing human beings. 

One such character was Herodia, a young gypsy ballerina who Sharp claimed had climbed into his wagon to hide from her evil parents one night in 1873. Herodia performed with the Peter Hauntz show for four years-- before disappearing as mysteriously as she had arrived. 

In 1884, a peculiar series of murder trials took place in Cambria County. Two men, both of whom were named Mickey, were convicted of murder in the same week. Both men not only shared the same first name, but also the same handicap-- they both had wooden legs. But  what makes this bit of historical trivia even more interesting is that  both judges in these respective murder trials, Judge Dean and Judge  Johnston, were also peg-legged. The court clerk who made out the juror's  orders also had a wooden leg, as did the county treasurer who cashed the orders. One of the witnesses was peg-legged, while one of the jurors  had not one, but two wooden legs. In total, there were nine artificial limbs in the Cambia County Courthouse during a single week in March of 1884.

But it is one of these two convicted murderers, Mickey Smith, who went  on to achieve infamy after pulling off a daring escape from the Cambria County Jail in Ebensburg. This escape led to a massive manhunt and a spate of Mickey Smith sightings all across the state for years to come.  And, strangely, no one knows for sure what became of the peg-legged escape artist. He was never caught.