You can have the H when you wrestle it from our cold dead hands
The ballad of the lost Heinz ketchup bottles
Hello hello! Another Wednesday, another week just blazing by, not at all considerate of our desire to slow down time enough to catch our breaths. We need another lockdow— OMG I was kidding! Come back!
Personally, there’s a lot going on. Or maybe I should say professionally? I don’t know. Those two worlds of mine intersect and overlap so much, as they do for most writers, that it’s hard to figure out where you’re standing at any given moment. One of the biggest things is that last week’s newsletter about the loss of the Heinz Field name was reprinted in the Post-Gazette’s Sunday edition at their request. Next week I’ll be taking part in Pitt’s Diversity Forum 2022, talking about using humor to heal, something I’m passionate about. There are a few other things in the works as well. All very flattering and humbling. All very “I’m going to vomit on my shoes for five straight minutes.” Because of who I am as a person.
Let’s get to it!
1. There’s an app for that?
Before we get into Pittsburgh stuff, I must share a quick story about my father. It was his birthday this week and me, my sisters and my mother gave him a bird-watching scope with a cell phone mount that will allow him to take pictures of the million birds that congregate at his multiple backyard feeders where they hash out their plans for world domination.
When I tell you this man tore off the wrapping paper, looked excited for about half a second before dropping his shoulders to ask with resignation, “Am I going to need an app?”*
Because the last gift we gave him was an Ember coffee mug, for which you need an app to set and keep the desired beverage temperature. He loves it now, but at first … AN APP FOR A COFFEE MUG ARE YOU KIDDING ME I AM GOING TO GO PRAY.
God bless my dad.
*No.
2. Ketchup on all the latest news**
Circling back to Heinz Field, I’m sure you’ve seen pictures of the Heinz signage being lowered to half-mast to signify our mourning. but acrisurely, they’re being all-the-way-lowered, giant ketchup bottles included.
Not only that, but … this:
LOL. Watch live as crews remove signage from one specific side of the stadium. I know we all say this a lot, but literally … only in Pittsburgh. We’ll not only take the day off from work to watch the controlled-demolition of a beloved stadium, but we’ll turn the volume up on the slow removal of stadium signage.
“Doris! It’s starting! Grab me an ahrn city! Look at it go. Wonder if that ketchup bottle will be aht ‘der on eBay soon?”
The real question is, how many people are tailgating at Heinz Field watching this live?
Never change, Pittsburgh.
In my opinion, what should happen to the ketchup bottles is they should be erected from the bridge arch at the exit of the Fort Pitt Tunnel so that as you enter the city, it appears as if ketchup is being poured on your car. Sure they’ll create traffic, but I don’t know if you’ve noticed, we already have a tunnel traffic problem. How much worse could it be?
It’s a brilliant idea. Vote Montanez and vote early and vote often. Let me know if I can truck in some voters from Philly too.
** Expert-level pun achievement unlocked. Even Ken Rice is impressed.
3. What’s in an H?
Yesterday was H Day in Pittsburgh and if you think that sounds like one of those made-up days like International Retainer Day or National Stick Out Your Tongue Day, you would be (in)correct. Because yesterday was literally all of those very real things!
Like the sands through the hourglass, these are the stupidest times to be alive.
Somewhere, my father is nodding his head all, “Amen! Apps for coffee mugs! Who ever heard of such a thing? Oooh, the sign just lowered five more inches, Dottie! Come watch!”
H Day is the day Pittsburg got its damn H back after having it so cruelly ripped away in 1891 by the federal government. I know I said this week I’d be sharing all the fun local medical advice I’d found in the news archives, but I fell into an H wormhole so you’re getting that first and next week I’ll share the medical stuff. In the meantime, be sure to regularly move your bowels, as I already mentioned was often the main medical advice for everything from baldness to your heart exploding right out of your chest Alien style. Here lies Peter Wilson. He forgot to move his bowels.
So, Pittsburgh lost its H back in 1891. This from The Pittsburgh Daily Post in January of that year (for the entirety of this history post, however I spell the name of the city in the newspaper name is how their name appeared at that time):
Sing it, Celine.
The next month, there was a letter to the editor of The Pittsburg Press by a Burgher named John Thomas who lamented the loss of the H because
“‘Pittsburgh’ is the old way. It wears the whiskers of time.”
How beautiful. And, hell yes “The Whiskers of Time” is my new band name. Our first single is “Bitch, That’s Not the Correct Orthography.”
Some papers and places and businesses embraced the change, but others, not so much. So for a long time, Pittsburg(h) was this weird mishmash of two spellings and it is for this reason that when you search for anything on eBay, you must always include both spellings to be sure you see all the available items. Some businesses said they were in Pittsburgh. Some Pittsburg. The newspapers might have Pittsburgh in their name but Pittsburg in all their advertisements. Just wild.
The official attempt to return the H began in 1908, but newspaper like The Pittsburg(h) Post made the switch in 1906. Here’s December 31, 1905 versus the very next day:
May 15, 1908: The Pittsburgh Gazette Times writes that the restoration effort has begun because the United States Board on Geographic Names got the history wrong back in 1891:
Those efforts remained unsuccessful. A direct appeal was even drafted for President Taft in 1909 as seen here in the August 7 edition of The Pittsburgh Gazette Times:
Don’t know why a local band hasn’t written a song called “Holding Out for the Final H” yet. I guess that can be The Whiskers of Time’s second single. It’s a rock anthem.
Finally, on July 22, 1911, The Pittsburgh Post reports that on July 19 the H was restored:
And everything immediately reverted back to the H spelling. Except no. It was a slow process for some, especially The Pittsburg(h) Press. They didn’t change their name until A DECADE LATER in the middle of 1921:
I guess they were like, “Well, it’s been ten years, Doris. Looks like the new name is sticking.”
Unlike Acrisure. That shit will never stick even if you coated it with space grade super glue and a handful of your mom’s cowlick-smoothing spittle.
So that’s a short history of our H! We lost it. We got it back. We dragged our feet going in AND coming out. Classic Pittsburg(h), the only place in the world where we go uphill both ways or die trying.
4. An IRL poop emoji in Millvale
Last week an Amazon delivery driver was accused of defecating in AND on a Millvale alley during a delivery run.
Okay. That’s the accusation made. Got it. Amazon workers have long been rumored to have such intense schedules and quotas that bathroom breaks become these highly scheduled or never-taken luxuries. That’s one side of this issue. Labor.
After discovering the waste, the owner of the home on the alley chose to … have a hose used to get it off the road.
… that made things worse. It spread to his shoes and the side of his truck.
The homeowner who contacted the media about this says he’s not looking to get the driver fired (sure, Jan) but rather wants Amazon to replace the stuff that got ruined, so I guess new shoes and a new car. Good luck, buddy.
Now, all that said …
“I smelled it and tasted it. I couldn’t get that taste out of my mouth for like two hours,” said Gunde.
There are only two ways to read this. The first way is that the man literally tasted the poop. Either he went into investigative mode, bent down and placed poop into his mouth like a deranged David Caruso (“the shit” [sunglasses] “is about to hit the fan.” YEAHHHHHHH!), or he sprayed what he knew to be poop with such jet-force that the poop water was transferred into his open mouth.
The second way is that he means the stench was so bed and the fecal matter so rotting the air that he could taste it for two hours in which case every parent in the world would like to say that’s not a thing that happens. Ever. Parents have been up-close-and-personal with the foulest most explosive poops and we’ve never said we can taste them after two hours.
So I guess my point is this, whatever happened, I hope Amazon rectifies it and I hope that worker and every Amazon employee are given a chance to relieve themselves in proper places. Human bodies must evacuate.
But if that homeowner tasted poop? That’s just his too bad. Make dumb choices, win dumb prizes.
Specifically poop.
5. Campaigning by meme
Someone, please make it stop.
It’s all so childish and ridiculous. They’re playing stupid games but voters are the ones who will win stupid prizes.
And Dr. A Broccoli is so so so bad at meme wars. It’s like pitting Barry Manilow in a rap battle against Eminem. My mother could do better and as you remember, she once texted me, “How do I make a meme of me?”
Nobody tell her please. My dad is probably like, “I bet you need an app.”
6. And I’m out of space! Have a fabulous week! Embrace the H. Evil-eye the Acrisure signs. And if anyone can steal me those ketchup bottles, much obliged. They’d also look great on my roof.
As always, if you have complaints, you can call 1-800-MUPPETS …
…and scream into the void.