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© 2004 Jason Cohn, www.jasoncohn.com Introduction Essay for Pennsylvania 24/7 In Penn's Woods By Dennis Roddy When William Penn's sons needed to grow their colony westward, they struck a deal with the native tribes: They would lay down their money for whatever land a man could travel in a day and a half. The Indians assumed they meant a man walking. The Penns hired a group of runners who, by the time they dropped from exhaustion, had begun a land grab that 40 years and two wars later would push the border beyond the Alleghenies. It was a state made for the robber barons who followed. Pennsylvanians poked tunnels through rock, carved canals in the soil and, when nothing else worked, came up with a railroad that pulled canal boats on flatbeds up mountains and then simply dropped them down the other side. Penn's boys wanted space, and succeeding generations found ways to fill it. James Carville famously cracked that my state is "Pittsburgh and Philadelphia separated by Alabama," but it is better described as a promiscuous assemblage united by its differences, hewing to the political far-middle until, at places such as Independence Hall or Valley Forge, they feel pushed too far by the hand of authority and speak truth to power, often through the medium of gunpowder. I mean, we once had an armed rebellion about a whisky tax. Our fights often are not over large things, but small things that matter in big ways. The state budget is six months overdue as I write this. That's nothing. The legislature has argued just as bitterly-and for years-about the official state dance. One faction demands a polka. The rural center wants square dancing. Our internal boundaries are often less geographic and more phonetic. Depending on your region, you can "redd up the room"-a Scots-Irish expression used in the west; "outen the light"-a legacy of German-speaking Amish who settled the center; or drink some "worter"-a Philadelphia tradition born of tossing stray r's into words that don't have them. Between Pittsburgh, my wife's hometown, and Johnstown, the resilient little mill town in which I was born, there exists what I call "the scrapple line." Scrapple is a mixture of cornmeal and parts of the pig that stubborn German farmers refuse to surrender to the scrap pile. It is formed into blocks and wrapped in packages that are mercifully spare in content details. It's best served fried with maple syrup and minus discussion. Search as you will, scrapple will not turn up on menus east of the Ohio border until you reach the Summit Diner in Somerset County. From there on, you are in scrapple country. Bon apptit and phone your cardiologist. Between Pittsburgh and Philadelphia, a sandwich is a political statement. In the last election for governor, the Republican from Pittsburgh and the Democrat, a former Philadelphia mayor, argued over which is better: a Philly cheesesteak or a Primanti's sandwich, which is meat, coleslaw, and French fries all scrunched between two impossibly thick slices of Italian bread. The Democrat from Philly won the governorship and we get along fine with him. He's a moderate, after all. But, if it's all the same, I'll take my sandwich with the French fries inside. Maybe with a glass of worter. DENNIS RODDY, a columnist for the PITTSBURGH POST-GAZETTE, has covered politics and other disasters in Pennsylvania for 30 years. Browse    View All    In Penn's Woods    Hearth & Home    Hard at Work    Pennsylvania at Play    Reason to Believe    Our Town Photos: 143 Photographers: 44 Towns: 64

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