Memories of an unusual house guest

In April 1968, I was an editor of The Jambar, Youngstown State University’s student newspaper.

The nights and days after April 4, the Thursday evening when Dr. Martin Luther King was assassinated in Memphis, run together.

I remember sitting in a poetry class during which the instructor, Frank Polite, broke down in tears.

I remember him offering the paper a poem he wrote, “Black Butterfly,” which we incorporated into a memorial page.

At some point, I came down to The Vindicator and introduced myself to Catesby Cannon, the city editor, and begged for the loan of a photograph of Dr. King delivering his “I have a Dream Speech,” which we used as the backdrop for Polite’s poem.

And I remember making a night-time run to the print shop that The Jambar used on Glenwood Avenue, not far from the Old Furnace Road entrance to Mill Creek Park.

We delivered our last copy on Wednesday night to the shop, and the city was under curfew that night. A Youngstown police cruiser had Glenwood blocked at the old Isaly’s plant on Mahoning. I explained why I had to get to the print shop — I was on deadline! — with an urgency and naivete that had to amuse the policeman. He told me it was a bad idea to drive up Glenwood at that particular time. But if I did so, I was on my own, and if I were stopped by National Guard troops patrolling the area I better not tell them that he let me through.

I guess if I were running for president, I might recount how I drove up Glenwood hunched lower than the steering wheel while bullets ripped through the roof of my 1965 Rambler ragtop. But actually I delivered my copy to the shop quickly and drove without incident to the North Side house that a bunch of us rented.

Those were somber and sobering times. But sometimes it’s easiest to remember the lighter moments.

What I most vividly recall from that weekend happened at that house on Broadway, a half block from Wick Park and in the shadow of what was then the Park V apartment building. It was the overnight stay of Pete the Penguin. (No, not the costumed mascot later generations have come to know and love.)

Just weeks earlier, YSU’s student council bought a Hobart penguin from the Pittsburgh Zoo for $150 and placed him in a Plexiglas and cyclone fence enclosure outside the library.

A Phi Sigma Kappa fraternity brother, Frank Braden, was the student council member responsible for bringing Pete to the campus, and he took a personal interest in the penguin’s safety.

Rumors of trouble in the city made Frank concerned for Pete, who would be virtually alone on campus for the weekend. Could he bring Pete to my house? he asked. Frank was a pretty persuasive guy, but I don’t think it would have taken much to convince me that it would be cool to have a penguin in the basement for a day or two.

Meet Pete

The basement was large, damp and empty. We put a tub of water in one corner and bought a bag of frozen smelt at the Sparkle Market at Elm and Madison. Pete, who was about 18 inches tall, arrived in a cardboard box and from the sound of it, he would have preferred to have stayed on campus.

We carried the box into the basement, set it down and ran up the four steps to a landing and four more steps to the first floor, closing the door quickly behind us.

It wasn’t long before we heard thump, thump, thump, thump, scuttle-scuttle-scuttle, thump, thump, thump, thump. Rat-at-tat-tat. Rat-at-tat-tat.

It is amazing how quickly a penguin, not thought to be the cleverest of birds, can figure out how to hop up the stairs and rap on the door demanding attention. And penguins have a temper and attitude far larger than their size.

We banged back and shouted and Pete could be heard beating a retreat, first to the landing, and then, after more shouting, into the basement.

Through the night, men and bird reached an accommodation. He would stay in the basement long enough for us to feed him some smelt, and we would manage to run up the stairs and close the door before he could catch up.

I believe he only stayed a night, but maybe it was two. I’m not sure how we got him back in the box, but I know it didn’t involve picking him up. And I distinctly recall that as soon as he left, I hosed down the basement. Penguins are very efficient processors of smelt and they do so indiscriminately.

My Pete’s arrival marked the third time that YSU was host to live penguins. Files show that Pete I lasted about two years before drowning under the ice at Crandall Park while chasing a fish. His replacement, Pete II and a mate, Penny, were sent to retirement at the Cleveland Zoo after only a year in the early ’40s. Our house guest, Pete III, arrived in Youngstown March 25, 1968, and was supposed to spend the summers at the Pittsburgh Zoo. Vindicator files don’t show how long that arrangement lasted. I like to think that one summer he just decided to stay in Pittsburgh, but my gut tells me things didn’t end that happily.

Anyone know? Please drop me a line: mangan@vindy.com.

X Dennis B. Mangan is editorial page editor of The Vindicator.