Ok I’ll confess. Before the races actually began I was pretty sure I was not going to be having a good time. I was standing around one of several rusted out burning barrels along with a large group of people all wearing Steelers’ Jerseys, listening to Alabama’s “Play Me Some Mountain Music” that was blasting from a nearby DJ tent. Yes, I was most certainly going to be hating this.
After standing there for a while, Tom King, Director of Beaver County’s Tourism Department, came up to me “You must be from the Times. Please be nice to us.” I guess my fancy camera made me appear press-like. It was the boost of confidence I needed though, as my camera wasn’t nearly as fancy as the equipment being toted by the half dozen “real” journalist that were there to cover the event. Having gotten over my lens envy, I explained to Tom who I was and where I was from. “Ok, I don’t know, but still be nice to us.” I got the impression Tom had grown accustom to less than favorable reviews of events in the area. Poor Tom, I thought to myself. I almost felt guilty that I was about to become yet another voice of ridicule.
There were about 100 people gathered for the Beaver County Snow Shovel Riding Championship, an annual event that has taken place each year since 1963. Tom told me a total of 56 contestants had registered, although my unofficial count was a bit lower. Contestant were broken down into 7 divisions: girls 6 and under, boys 6 and under, girls 7-13, boys 7-13, adults, seniors (55+) and a “modified division” which ended up amounting to people sitting on top of shovels that were sitting on top of sleds. Each contestant got two timed runs down the hill.
As the races were about to begin, I decided I should probably be at the top of the hill rather than the bottom of it, mainly because all of the “real” journalists were waiting down by the finish line. So up the hill I went. That’s where I first encountered Tee Henry (more on her later). Out of breath from my climb up Mount St. Old Economy Park, I stood next to Tee as she rounded up one of the initial contestants for the girls’ 6 and under division.
“Now remember to keep your feet up. When you stop, get off the shovel and run until you get to the bottom of the hill!” were the final words of advice from 4 year old Jamison’s father before giving her one swift push. Down she went, before being stopped by a spectacular wipeout. After being thrown off of her shovel like a ragdoll, Jamison just layed there face down in the snow. She had remembered to keep her feet up like dad told her to, but she didn’t run. Mom quickly rushed over with a loud “I’m so proud of you!” — Jamison didn’t need to run. She had made it all the way down to the bottom of the hill on her shovel.
At this point, I was back down at the bottom of the hill as well, with all of the “real” journalists. “Move! You’re blocking my shot!” quipped a cameraman from Channel 11 news, “Get over!” shouted another. I was apparently being disruptive to the ad hoc Snow Shovel Championship press pool. Back up to the top of Mount St. Old Economy Park I trekked.
A delightful mix of Lunch Lady and Den Mother, Tee made sure everyone went down the hill in the correct order so their times would be properly recorded — Tee made DAMN sure everyone went down the hill in order. “Come on come on what do you mean you’re not ready to go down now? If you’re going to go down you’re going to go down now, or you’re not going to go down at all. Now come on!” she yelled to Scott, one of the contestants in the adult division. As Scott began down the hill, Tee’s words quickly turned to ones of motherly encouragement “Wow! Yes! Go! Go! Go!” I’m sure Scott’s time down was significantly faster than that of Jamison, but I still left the top of the hill more impressed with her run.
Finding myself at the bottom of the hill, it was time for yet another expedition up Mount St. Old Economy Park.
It was on this trip up that I discovered Rich Shoup. Honestly he was kind of hard to miss. A contestant in the senior division, Rich was the most eccentric fellow I came across at the event. It really wasn’t his bright white sunglasses that made him stand out, as much as the fact he wasn’t wearing a Steelers’ Jersey. I wasn’t sure what to expect from the “senior division”, although I’ll admit I was a little concerned that the paramedic in attendance would soon be put to work. But Rich showed both Jamison and Scott how it was done; going both faster and farther, ending in an impromptu somersault dismount of his shovel just before reaching the road, and quickly rebounding with a gleeful grin.
I was now at the bottom of the hill again as well. After a half dozen expeditions to the top of Mount St. Old Economy Park, I was exhausted. I had watched the first run of each division, but it was now time for me to go — I had to get ready for my family’s monthly game night (thank goodness for valid excuses).
Each month my brothers and sisters, parents, grandparents, aunt and uncle, cousin and niece, gather together to play some goofy game while eating some random food (this month my partner and I are in charge of cheesedip). I can’t remember who came in first or second or third last month, just like I don’t yet know who will be crowned the Kings and Queens of Mount St. Old Economy Park today. They say it doesn’t matter who wins or loses, and frankly I don’t think the goofy game itself really matters either. It’s the tradition of the event that’s important; that which gives us all an excuse to come together as family, as friends, as neighbors, to enjoy and appreciate each other.
As I reached my car to head home I was stomping my feet to remove the slush from the bottom of my sneakers, when I saw them: dingleberries of snow clinging steadfastly to my shoelaces, just as they did when I went sled riding as a kid — I will go to sleep tonight a tad bit younger than I was when I got up this morning… we should all be thankful for days like that. 
– A special thank you to the new friends I made today, all of whom showed great patience toward a fumbling and ill prepared “citizen journalist,” and to Tom King whose desperate pleas for kindness helped to shape the way I experienced the day.
