From the Shadow of the Steel Mills
David M. Moll
Director of Public Safety
I grew up in the shadow of the steel mills on Bethlehem, Pennsylvania’s infamous South Side. That’s where all the poor people lived. The Hungarians, Slovaks, Poles, Italians, Windish, Germans, Irish, Ukranians and all the rest of the ingredients of the great “melting pot.” Literally, it was the “other side of the tracks” since the main line of the Lehigh Valley railroad went by about a block from our back door. Looking back, the one thing all those people had was pride . . . the pride of their homeland and culture, the pride of being new Americans, and the pride that came with knowing that they had put their families in a place where opportunities abounded, where literally anything was possible.
For as long as I remember, I had to work. From simple jobs for the neighbors to my first real job at a ladies’ clothing factory, right through my college years, I always had a job.
My mother was the daughter of non-English speaking Hungarian immigrants. Their door to the “Promised Land” was the frightening experience of a less-than-first-class ocean voyage and a trek through the processing center of Ellis Island. My grandmother, who lived with us, had no education and no job. My grandfather died before I was born, after 20 years of painful disability from a steel-mill accident that left him unable to work. There was no worker’s compensation benefit in those days. My mother quit school in the seventh grade to earn money to take care of her mother and father. Her first job brought in 25¢ per day. My father was a down-to-earth Pennsylvania Dutchman with a third-grade education. He was gone a lot, working as a bartender at the American Legion. He died when I was 14.
For as long as I remember, I had to work. From simple jobs for the neighbors to my first real job at a ladies’ clothing factory, right through my college years, I always had a job. My list of jobs was long, but they all gave me one thing besides spending money – they gave me discipline. This structured environment, combined with the “tough love” and encouragement of my mother and the disciplined template of a Catholic education, kept me out of trouble and on the path to college. Yes, college – first a dream, then a goal, then a promise and finally a reality – came true primarily because of the love and support of my mother and her constant reminder that education was the key to success in later life, my ticket out of the South Side.
The hard work paid off. I cruised through grade school, had a great experience in high school, and was accepted to three universities: Villanova, Lehigh, and Penn State. I chose Penn State because it was furthest away. I had never been west of Harrisburg and I figured this would be a real adventure. Penn State’s tuition was very low at the time. I got a small scholarship, but I was a resident student and needed money for room and board, living expenses, books, and all the other expenses of college life. So, I kept working. Still a freshman, I landed a great job as a lab technician for geochemical researchers that continued the entire four years I was in college.
But I found out, as I got older, the jobs got tougher. I didn’t have a Christmas vacation, a Spring Break, or a summer off . . . I worked them all. I missed a lot. The summer of 1969, I was working on the electrical crew of the Ingot Mould Foundry at Bethlehem Steel, a proud member of the United Steel Workers of America. I couldn’t go to a little party called Woodstock, taking place just 45 miles away, because I worked that weekend. The “Summer of Love” was a summer of dirt, noise and heat for me. But, that was the summer before my senior year at Penn State. The end was in sight!
Not long after graduation, I realized that what I thought was the end of something was, more significantly, only the beginning of something else. It was the start of a new life with endless opportunities. College had opened the door to so much, it was almost overwhelming. Problem was, I really didn’t know what to do with myself. I loved earth science, but there were so many more possibilities. Opportunities in other fields seemed to just come my way. It was as if people recognized that I had a good education and a good work ethic and they wanted me to work for them. So, I tried a few things, made good money and was happy; but I wasn’t fulfilled.
The turning point came when I made a trip to Alaska in 1976. About three months after returning home, I packed my ’74 Volvo station wagon and my wife and I headed north for what we thought would be a two or three year “adventure.” Well, it turned out to be 21 years in the Land of the Midnight Sun. Alaska was, and is, a rugged place with a bitter climate and a penchant for attracting rugged individualists. But it turned out for me to be, above all else, a Land of Opportunity. One thing led to another, and soon I was working at the University of Alaska. Here I was, back at college – this time as a staff member. I found out that the one thing that had really given me all of my opportunities – education – was an opportunity in itself. That was in 1984. I have been a university administrator ever since, and I wouldn’t think of doing anything else. I owe my life to education, and I’m giving my life back to it.
My mother is still alive, but in the dark clutches of Alzheimer’s. She doesn’t know me anymore. But I’d like to think that sometimes, in a small moment of clarity, she catches a glimpse, a fond memory, of the son that became successful because of her. She taught me discipline, she instilled responsibility and morality in me, and by championing my education she made me what I am.
What of the South Side? Hardly a shell remains.
My old grade school? Torn down long ago.
The railroad? Bankrupt and the tracks torn up.
The steel mills? Bankrupt, abandoned and derelict.
My old high school? Still going strong. Go Crusaders!
And Penn State? Well, I think you know about Penn State . . . it’s
a great university, and
they play a little football every fall . . . and on New Year’s Day!
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