Winter is with us, and don’t you know? The magic lure of a long, long hill
Covered with powdery, sparkling snow? Doesn’t the thought of it bring a thrill?
Glimmering snow and a moonlight night, a big bob-sled that looks most inviting.
Hey! For the dizzying, downward flight! Never a sport that was more exciting!
(from “The Coasters”, 1917)
There may not be any snow now, but it’s coming. Out will come the sleds, saucers, and toboggans, as one of the cherished childhood experiences repeats itself again. But it wasn’t always so.
In December of 1879, alarmed at the number of children coasting or sledding down city streets and being injured by accidentally running into passing carriages, delivery wagons, pedestrians, and various immovable objects such as bridges, trees, telegraph poles, and buildings, Bradford’s City Council passed an ordinance to restrict all such activities on city streets.
An Era editorial, written in March 1879, had warned of the danger of sledding. “This kind of sport is becoming a nuisance and its demoralizing effects are felt both in the young and old. Children run away from school to engage in it, and unless a stop is put to it, parents will see their children brought up in ignorance and possibly grow to be cripples.”
That wording was a little extreme but sledding, or coasting, could be dangerous. Frequently, when control of the sled was lost, the rider was dumped out to one side or if the speeding sled hit a telegraph pole, a bridge, or a tree, the ‘coasters’ were flung into the air like so many leaves in a wind storm. Injuries from coasting accidents ranged from painful bruises, scrapes, and lacerations requiring stitches to broken legs, wrists, ankles, and feet; cracked skulls, broken teeth, and concussions.
But did the new ordinance stop any of Bradford’s children? Heck no! Children (and not a few adults) merely ignored the new restrictions and as soon as enough snow fell to make great sledding they took to the hilly streets of Bradford, pulling bob sleds or toboggans in anticipation of a thrilling ride. Popular streets included Pearl Street, Kennedy Street, Elm Street, Center Street, and South Avenue, but even Oak Hill Cemetery was used although the sled riders were in danger of smashing into a tombstone or two.
Not just children were caught up in the fun of coasting. On the cold dark evening of Dec. 17, 1880, as a light snow fell, employees of the Roberts Torpedo Company sneaked a large toboggan out of the company’s Congress Street barn and hauled it up to the top of Elm Street. Seven men got on, arms around the man in front, and pushed off, ready for an exciting ride. They got one. The hill that night was described as “very smooth and slippery” and “the bobsled flew down like a streak of lubricated lightning.” The man in front of the bobsled lost control as it neared Congress Street and the sled swerved from its course, crashed against a tree, then swung around and hit a lamp post. All seven men went flying.
A man named Nick Singleton suffered a dislocated hip. James Hudson received a terrible gash over his left eye; G.R. Gibbons broke his left wrist; four other men were painfully bruised about the head and body. Singleton was unable to walk and had to be helped to his home.
By December 1881, the Bradford Police were so frustrated that no one was obeying the ‘no coasting’ city ordinance that they publicly vowed a “reign of terror” on any man, woman or child found sledding down the sidewalks and streets.
But no one listened.
In March 15th of 1888, an intrepid Era reporter named Charley Melat dared to take a bobsled ride down Marshburg Hill (now known as Route 770, West Warren Road). It was reported to be one solid bed of ice, providing quite an exciting and dangerous ride.
Just a few days earlier, a group of five men had coupled together a pair of bobsleds with a plank, and tested the hill. They were clocked “and made a mile in the remarkable time of 45 seconds.” Melat was game for the challenge and that evening agreed to ride with two boys who considered themselves to be expert coasters. Once at the top and ready to go, they advised him to “hang on and keep your mouth shut” and off they went.
Melat later reported “the sled flew down the road with frightful rapidity: the woods on either side seemed as thick as hedge fence, telegraph poles about a yard apart and a Western cyclone appeared to be traveling up the road at the rate of 80 miles an hour.” Reaching the bottom of the hill safely, the boys invited Melat to take another ride. But Melat was too shaken and too cold to attempt another. “I thanked them,” said Melat, “but said I’d rather walk.”
Sled or bobsleds in the 1880s basically consisted of wooden slats and metal runners. The ability to actually steer the sled with any sort of confidence wasn’t invented until 1889, when a man in New Jersey named Samuel Leeds Allen invented and patented the first truly steerable sled, the Flexible Flyer. In Bradford, it wasn’t until 1907 that Emery Hardware sold the new Flyer advertised as “the sled that steers” although a competitor’s sled called the “safety sled” made in Mount Jewett and later in Bradford, was sold in local stores as early as 1904. But most sleds were the old fashioned variety, which relied on either dragging your feet to stop, leaning to one side to steer, or just hanging on and hoping for the best.
As your mother probably warned “it’s all great fun until someone gets hurt” and each winter saw dozens and dozens of sled related accidents. Here are a few:
In February 1893, two boys named Hayes and Rook persuaded a little girl named Pearl Graham to join them on a fun ride down Elm Street. Just as their sled reached Congress Street, a horse and cutter driven by Arthur McKeown was going past; an inevitable collision injured the three children and badly smashed the cutter.
In January 1896, little Johnny Peake’s sled collided with a telegraph pole on Pearl Street and he was thrown a considerable distance. His right foot was broken at the instep.
And once cars and trolleys became more common on city streets, the severity of accidents increased.
On Jan. 18, 1922, seven year old Dorothy Stives coasted down Cliff Street straight into the chauffeur driven car of F. A. Miller which had just started down the South Avenue hill. The high stone wall prevented the driver from seeing the little girl; the same stone wall prevented Dorothy from seeing the oncoming car. Dorothy was knocked unconscious; the sled was crushed. For a time it was believed that her skull had been fractured, although it was not and she recovered fully – but her injury created an uproar in the community.
The next day, an editorial in the Era pleaded “how long are the citizens of Bradford going to be indifferent to the loss of life and limb of their children while following the right of every child to play and be happy? Citizens of Bradford, either instruct your council to pass special ordinances to make safe coasting on the streets or to provide money to equip places on the neighboring hillsides. This casualty of little Dorothy will reoccur until you give youth back its heritage — the right to play in safety. The next time it could be your little boy or girl. The time to act is now!”
Just two days later, a boy named Victor Spignard was nearly killed when a bobsled that he and other boys were riding down Center Street crashed into the front of a trolley and he was thrown under the car. He survived, but public outcry increased.
Five days later, a meeting of City Council discussed the possibility of creating a ski and toboggan course on Sanford Street. Permission to use the area had already been granted by the Davis estate which owned the property and Paul Lyons, the city engineer, had already staked out the area. All that was needed was approval of city council, and $300 to build the course.
But the city refused, not wanting to be held liable for any injuries. Instead, a compromise was reached. Under the direction of the Bradford Community Service organization, two streets: Sherman and Center, would designated for coasting during certain hours. Boy Scouts would be stationed at each crossing with red and white flags, and stop traffic when a sled rider was coming. Three weeks later, the plan was put into motion. Two scouts were each posted at the bottom of Sherman and Center Streets; the first shift from 4 to 6 p.m., and the second from 7 to 9 p.m., Monday thru Thursday.
But the plan only lasted a year, and soon children were back to sledding down city streets once more. Tragedy struck three years later, when fourteen year old William Hannum (son of Dr. Oscar Hannum who would later own and operate the Hannum Home on the corner of Minard Run and High Street), was killed when his sled hit a car operated by Congress Street resident C.E. Hill. Hannum had been coasting down Sherman Street, about 5 p.m. on Jan. 24, 1925.
Witnesses say that Hill was driving slowly, and attempted to avoid a collision, but the boy’s sled went directly in front of the automobile. The boy died two hours later of internal injuries. An inquest declared a verdict of accidental death.
Another child, four year old Pat Hannon of Davis Street, was killed in January 1938 when he sledded down Edna Avenue, crashing into a car on Williams Street. Other accidents that month occurred on Tuna Avenue, Rosedale Avenue, South Avenue, Tibbits, and Grove Street.
The deaths of these two boys didn’t completely stop children from coasting on the streets, but it certainly slowed. Interviewed by the Bradford Era in 1940, Lawrence Heddens, manager of the C.J. Johnson Company which manufactured safety sleds, explained that the demand for sleds had dropped off considerably in the past 15 years. He believed it was due to the increase in automobiles, which made it hard for children to coast on streets.
But while dozens of children were injured over the years, it wasn’t all doom and gloom. Thousands of children have enjoyed coasting – or sledding – or sliding – safely on Bradford’s hills, streets or otherwise in absolute joy as they made the ‘dizzying, downward flight’ on a sled, coaster, saucer, or go-devil. And who among us can forget that moment of excited anticipation as you push off at the top of the hill?
Today, a popular site for coasting is at Allegheny State Park, or on Pitt Athletic Field off West Washington Street, where dozens of children and adults can be spotted on a good snowy day — Never a sport that was more exciting!
