CCHS: When We Can’t Say Goodbye

Here’s the Reading Central Catholic High School (CCHS) article that some of you have been waiting for patiently. Before we say goodbye to our school for good, we have to acknowledge its permanent residents.

Most Americans (roughly 66%) don’t believe in ghosts, but spend some quiet time wandering the halls of the CCHS mansion after hours and you might just change your mind. For some of the teachers who spent years at the school and for those of us who stayed late at night for extra curriculars, CCHS held some supernatural surprises—a heavy presence in the air, the feeling of being watched, and the worst, feeling like we weren’t alone.

Here are four of my favorite stories, which were told to us by the teachers themselves back in the day. (If any of you are reading this and want to add/fix details, please leave a comment below.) All of these events took place in the original Luden Bon Air mansion part of the school.

Crash
A teacher on the second floor was busy preparing classwork at her desk after school one day. Most of the students had gone home by this point. The second floor was virtually empty except for the last few faculty members working silently in their classrooms. Suddenly, an enormous crash echoed through this teacher’s room. Jumping to her feet, she ran to the class supply closet, where it sounded like every shelf just fell to the floor knocking down all of the contents. As she threw open the closet door, the most amazing site met her eyes. Everything was still in its proper place. She checked with the other teachers and all was well in their classrooms too. It’s interesting to note that this particular room was once one of the main bedrooms for William Luden’s family.

It’s Just the Wind
“It’s just the wind” my parents used to say to reassure me of every creepy noise echoing in our house. Creaking staircases and the moans of a house settling are things most of us have experienced. 99% of the time, it’s nothing; but that 1% possibility for the unexplainable is what makes us wonder, “What if?”

One day our assistant principal was speaking with a teacher on the second floor hallway, which was lined with the boys’ lockers. The windowless hall led to several classrooms, another hallway into the main school, and the marble staircase to the first floor. As they were speaking, all of a sudden the locks on both sides of the hallway began to swing as if someone had run down the hallways and dragged his hands across each locker. Was it just the wind?

The Joke’s on You
Our senior year Science Fair projects had just been set up earlier in the day along the tables in the physics lab on the third (and top) floor of the mansion. It was late in the evening. The physics teacher was finishing up another long day in the classroom. He was used to being the last to leave the school at night. He finished his daily routine, checked that the classroom was secure one last time, turned off the lights and made his way down three flights of stairs and out to the faculty parking lot. As he opened his car door, he glanced up to the top of the school and saw that the lights were on in the physics lab. He was sure he had shut off the lights. Regardless, he couldn’t leave them on all night, so he made his way into the school again and up to the top floor. When he reached the class, the lights were off. He double checked the room to make sure nothing was causing this strange anomaly. When he was satisfied that everything was ok, he made his way to the parking lot for the second time. As he got in his car, he looked up to his classroom again and there they were—the lights were shining brightly. Convinced someone was playing a joke on him, he rushed back inside and looked around the building but couldn’t find another living soul. Flabbergasted, he went back to the lab. This time the lights were still on, but that’s not what grabbed his attention. All of the windows were wide open and the science fair projects on the tables closest to the windows were knocked over. It appears that the playful spirit of CCHSers carries onto the other side. One thing was for certain, our teacher was not amused.

There’s a Monster in the Attic
Every summer a few teachers and students would care for the school until the new school year began. Performing necessary maintenance, these individuals had access to areas of the school which were typically off limits to the rest of us. One hot summer day, a teacher was working in the attic. As he kept to the task at hand, something caught his eye. It was something that he certainly didn’t expect to find and something that he’ll never forget. In the room stood a young man dressed in a white shirt and white pants. As the teacher tried to make sense of what he was seeing, the young man vanished.

Every ghost story is sparked by rumors—some containing a grain of truth, others altered by time and imagination. According to records, William Luden lost his first wife and a couple of his children. A slightly more sinister take on this fact was that one of William Luden’s sons committed suicide in a stairwell between the second and third floors. This staircase was boarded up years ago.

The mansion was built in 1914. By the end of the last century the electricity was shaky; the heating was bad; the school needed repairs. This alone could cause strange things to happen in the building. But for the people who knew the place, their experiences aren’t so easy to explain away. The Ludens loved their home. Perhaps some of them never left…

CCHS: A Pre-History & Tale of the American Dream

My love of Central Catholic High School (CCHS) started years before I was a freshman. Actually, it started before I ever stepped foot into a school. It all began with a honey-lemon cough drop.

Yes, a cough drop.

Like sunshine-yellow oblong amber jewels, Luden’s honey-lemon cough drops were like priceless gems of candy. Unlike the more traditional gag-inducing, medicine-tasting throat drops, my little sister and I had no problem sneakily polishing off the mini white box of “treats” before dinner.

So, how do cough drops relate to a high school, you may be asking?

In the back room of his parents’ jewelry shop at 35 N. 5th Street in Reading, PA, a young William H. Luden worked with a pharmacist to develop a menthol cough drop that was different from the medicinal red versions available to consumers at the time. In 1879 20-year-old Luden was not only an inventive entrepreneur but a savvy business man as well. In a time when other pharmacists sold their goods door-to-door, Luden convinced local merchants to carry his cough drops on in-store displays, much like the candy counter displays you find in grocery and mom-and-pop hardware shops these days.

Cough drops led to other inventions including the delicious 5th Avenue chocolate bar (similar to a Butterfinger only much, MUCH better). Luden made his own confections and offered a variety of candies, chocolates, and marshmallow treats. Business demands required him to expand and relocate his factory twice within 20 years, its final home in the 200 block of North 8th Street where it continued production for 100 years. Reading was already a hub for industrial products; Luden’s business brought hundreds of additional job opportunities to the growing city.

If you venture downtown these days to the somewhat scary sections of the old, dilapidated factory complexes, close your eyes for a minute and imagine what it once was a hundred years ago—a bustling section of the city where workers rushed to and from work and thousands of commercial and residential products shipped out daily to cities around the world. It was a time when productivity, job opportunity, industrialism and capitalism drove the city’s development. It was a time before gangs and crime took hold of these same streets.

Immensely successful, Luden retired in 1927 and sold his company in 1928 to Food Industries of Philadelphia, a holding company of the Dietrich family, who continued his endeavors. In the 1930s Luden’s was shipping millions of pounds of candy to 26 countries!

William H. Luden’s individual success led to homes in Atlantic City, Palm Beach, Miami, and, of course, in Reading* where his Bon Air mansion is set on a quiet, tree-lined hillside overlooking Reading, PA. Built in 1914, the Indiana limestone faced building features an elegant two-story entrance complete with a marble staircase and wrought iron railing. Evoking the feeling of the Newport, RI mansions—the playground of the era’s rich and famous, the Bon Air mansion’s impressive wrap-around verandah has a breathtaking view of Reading’s rolling hillsides and the home’s perfectly manicured grounds. Erected on the outskirts of the rapidly growing city, it was more than a home; it was a palace in an otherwise blue collar town. It was a symbol and reminder of the American dream.

Career and financial success, while impressive in its own right, is not the end all. Luden, a husband and father eight times over, experienced quite a few personal tragedies, not the least of which were the deaths of his first wife and a couple of his children. By 1940, the grandiose and profitable era which Luden helped usher in was coming to a swift close as America was on the brink of World War II. Luden’s factories abandoned their efforts feeding American consumerism and began producing cough drops and chocolates for our soldiers and the war effort.

In 1939, the pastor of Reading’s St. Paul’s Church purchased the magnate’s mansion with the intent of turning it into Berks County’s first centralized Catholic high school. Over the years, the original mansion was expanded upon with the addition of over 15 classrooms, a cafeteria, locker rooms, a gymnasium and stage. The integrity of the mansion portion of the school was preserved and if you wander its halls to this day, you can still experience the grand architecture with decorative European elements, Luden’s personal library, dining room (now the office), and the living room (part of the expanded library). Though the Bon Air mansion became Reading Central Catholic High School, it has always been a home—first to the Luden family, next to the CCHS family of thousands of students. Every member of the CCHS family knows that this building is more than just a school. Walking into its halls on the first day of freshman year, the building’s history and amazing beauty hits you like a ton of bricks. This is no school. It’s a house—and an unforgettable one at that from its tucked away basement corridors to the bedrooms-turned-classrooms and to certain (invisible) members of the Luden family who still call it home today.

With the closing of CCHS now imminent, the CCHS family isn’t just losing its building. We are losing our home and a very real symbol of what it means to achieve the American dream. Every student, alumnus/a, and member of the faculty and administration is a part of William H. Luden’s legacy. He transformed the pharmaceuticals of his time, built an empire that lasts to this day under the Hershey and Johnson & Johnson umbrellas, and supported the local Reading community as a kind and generous employer and benefactor.

The next time you’re in a CVS or Rite Aid pharmacy anywhere across the U.S. and stroll by the cough drops, take a moment and consider the Luden’s brand. The best and longest lasting products usually start as an inspired moment from a “nobody,” not a major corporation spending millions on product development. William H. Luden lived the American Dream. He turned a hunch into a profitable reality benefiting millions all over the world. And it all started 125 years ago in a tiny, forgotten historical remnant of the Industrial Age, a mere dust particle on America’s map which time is blowing away. A little town with a rich 278-year history starting with William Penn's sons. A town which some locals are trying desperately to hold onto while others are trying desperately to escape. A town whose brilliance has faded but remains a diamond in the rough. A town called Reading, PA.

* Luden built two mansions in Reading. The first was a brownstone located at 709 N. 5th. The second was Bon Air situated at 1400 Hill Rd.

Images: Image #1: Luden's Cough Drops today (By: Andrea Kohalmi)

Image #2: William H. Luden (Posted By: http://berks.pa-roots.com/books/montgomery/l16.html)

Image #3: Luden's Bon Air Mansion (Posted By: http://www.goreadingberks.com/religion/catholicfaith/history/cchs.asp)

Image #4: The Bon Air Mansion's wrap-around verandah on my wedding day.

Resources: http://www.candyfavorites.com/blog/tag/william-luden/ http://www.cchscardinals.org/19771041193135867/site/default.asp http://www.goreadingberks.com/religion/catholicfaith/history/cchs.asp http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_H._Luden http://berks.pa-roots.com/books/montgomery/l16.html http://candyprofessor.com/2009/11/20/ludens-penny-candy-part-ii/ http://www.ludens.com/our_story.aspx http://berks.pa-roots.com/library/business/a-f.html http://readingeagle.com/article.aspx?id=55001 http://www.jamparanormal.com/case_005 http://www.thehersheycompany.com/brands/5th-avenue/candy-bar.aspx?cat=cat#/1859 http://readingeagle.com/article.aspx?id=54964: An interesting side note from this Reading Eagle article dated August 15, 2007: "When it celebrated its centennial, technically a year or two late, in 1981, Luden’s had enjoyed 100 years of uninterrupted prosperity. But within a few years, its owners had put it up for sale, and Hershey Foods Corp. (which subsequently changed its name) came up with the best bid. Hershey reduced not only its work force, but the plant itself, halving its space and tearing down a number of the buildings. However, it continued to see value in operating the facility, the Hershey Reading plant, which produces candies including the 5th Avenue bar and the York Peppermint Pattie. But Hershey ultimately decided to shed the Luden’s brand, and since 2001 it has been traded from one corporate owner to another. It resides under Johnson & Johnson’s suite of consumer goods."

A Tear (CCHS & Life on a Personal Note)

(Taking a break today from the Berks Catholic posts to reflect on a more personal aspect of it.)

Death is a part of life. We all know that. We all expect that.

Death comes in many ways. From the end of an era to the passing of someone close to you, it closes one chapter in your life and begins another. Having lost many friends and family and survived life’s unexpected and tasking challenges so far, two of the most important lessons I’ve learned are that time doesn’t necessarily heal the pain and one can never forget. Then again, these aren’t always bad things.

After about a week or two, news of my cherished high school’s closure finally sunk in over the past couple of days. Today I found out that the individual dreams and aspirations of several old friends of mine came to an end. And, this afternoon the last of my childhood pets passed away.

When trying to offer solace, I often find myself saying, “It could be worse.” Applying that logic to my own circumstances, my thoughts can easily conjure a hundred more desperate and sad scenarios. After all, it’s only a school and a pet. I could’ve lost my home and a person, right?

You see, my alma mater and dog (Lexie) are tied together, symbolically anyway. My family got Lexie when I was in high school (yes, she had a very nice, super-long life). The point is that within one week I’ve lost two important pieces of my past. Figuratively, high school is a place where we transition from childhood to adulthood; literally, the building is our home away from home during our teen years. Whether we like it or not, the CCHS teachers and administration were very much a part of our extended families. Lexie was a member of my family and the spoiled baby at that. Just like school provided us an escape from our personal troubles at home, Lexie was my family’s silent therapist as she would always be willing to console and play with us.

Digging deeper, it’s important to note that I’m not just living in the past or dreaming of better days gone by—because they certainly weren’t better. I love my family and life today. The thing is that seven years ago my husband and I made a decision for our new family that physically severed the ties to our pasts.

When we moved to California, we left behind our individual families, our friends, the home we created as well as our childhood homes, the familiarity of our hometown, and all the places that meant something to us—Gring’s Mill and Lausch Parks where we used to go for walks and just muse about life and music, CCHS Stadium (the place where we fell in love over football season ’93), Berkshire Mall (the only place we could really go to hang out when we were teens), Arby’s @ Fairgrounds (Jeff’s 1st job), Boscov’s East (my 1st job), the list is endless.
California was a fresh start and was a dream come true since we finally got out of Reading—something we always wanted. Seven years later (and it didn’t even take this long to figure it out), Reading had everything we wanted for our family (except viable jobs for us—a big issue, yes). Most importantly, it was an inextricable part of our joint histories.

As I’m constantly reminded by native Californians, what’s not to like here? Quite frankly, nothing! It’s breathtakingly beautiful, there are hiking trails a-plenty, wine country is in our backyard, and within a few hours you can be in the desert, mountains, or ocean. Though our “new” friends are few; they’re wonderful. Our life is everything we always dreamt of, but it’s not home. Why? Because our families are “home.” And home isn’t here; it’s 3,000 miles eastward.

Living so far away we’ve missed the most important days of our family and friends’ lives—graduations, weddings, births, baptisms, funerals, family reunions, class reunions, holidays, and just hanging out with them—going to a concert or two, having a glass of wine over a great conversation, and offering a physical shoulder to cry on when it’s needed most. As our parents get older and siblings lives’ evolve, we’re not there to help them. Our children are growing up fast and their grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins are missing out on valuable time with them.

With CCHS’ closure in a matter of months and Lexie gone, two important pieces of my childhood history will have died. Yes, life will go on; it always does. And great memories help me cope. And yet, even if just for one moment, I’d love to walk the halls of Central and hug Lexie one last time to say goodbye to them and to an era.

Cherish every second of today for tomorrow it may be too late…

Saying Goodbye

In a few short months silence will echo permanently in its three floors of winding hallways. The once bustling corridors of students pushing their way to class—some begrudgingly, others enthusiastically—will be mere memories haunting the emptiness. A history we thought would live on for our children and our children’s children will come to an end.

Reading Central Catholic High School (CCHS) in Reading, PA isn’t just any school. Most are built for the specific purpose of educating students. As such, certain elements and conveniences are built in and modernized for the faculty and pupils. But half of CCHS is a historic landmark. It had a history long before any student ever set foot onto its property. (But that’s a story for another day.)

After years of dwindling enrollment, this private school succumbed to the recession and its inevitable fate was sealed by the Allentown Diocese. While I understand the decision to merge CCHS with (its arch-rival) Holy Name (HN) from a business perspective, there has been a vehemently vocal push from some members of the HN community (and less vocal but staunch CCHSers) to reject becoming a unified school under the Berks Catholic title and remain “Holy Name.” True, this is a generic union of two schools with long, fascinating histories. However, what these “good” Catholics are forgetting is that the CCHS institution is losing everything—its building, its traditions, its memories, and more—by moving into the HN building. It’s a necessary move in order to keep secondary Catholic education alive in Berks County, but it’s one that I’m sure current CCHS students, parents and alumni are finding a difficult one to accept.

The closure of CCHS feels like a death in the family. You see, CCHS is so much more than just another school. It’s our school. It represents everyone who wandered its halls. Awkward teen-dom was survived there. The most impressionable and important years of our lives leading to adulthood were spent in its halls and classrooms. It defined who we were then and who we are today. Though with each passing year its memories are fading, CCHS will forever live on in our hearts.

Closing the school is a necessary “evil” in this economic climate and makes financial sense, but CCHS is more than a business. It’s filled with thousands of individual stories. I met my husband in Freshman Homeroom #2. I made friends and lost friends in its halls. Fates were decided. Dreams came true and some were dashed. Hearts were broken, but lifelong friendships were made. Limits were pushed; detentions served (and in some cases using a toothbrush to scrub the sacred marble staircase—more on that in another blog). Academic, athletic, and personal challenges were faced head on; we won some and lost a lot. In these four vital years, we entered as children and left as adults.

Central lives on through each of us. We may not have a spectacular one-of-a-kind building to call our home anymore or CCHS homecomings at the football field on St. Lawrence Avenue, but we carry the school’s spirit, its lessons, and its memories in our unforgettable tales and our lasting friendships.

I can’t believe I’m saying this to Catholics who are supposed to support each other and their communities. It’s time to put aside differences and understand that CCHS and HN will live on as Berks Catholic.
• Centralites: The decision has been made. The school is closing. Remember the past, but look to the future.
• Holy Namers: It’s a merger, not an acquisition. Both schools need to blend. Get used to it.

New traditions will be forged. New opportunities will come to pass. And as long as both schools’ alumni live, the wonderful memories and traditions of CCHS and HN will live on through our stories, our actions, and our efforts to preserve both identities while peacefully compromising to create a better, richer community for the future Berks Catholic students, who ultimately are our future in Reading and beyond.

We are adults. Our children learn from our actions in what we do and say. More importantly, the leaders of tomorrow learn from their parents first. Shouldn’t we set an example for our children by teaching them that compromise is a necessary way of life? In a situation like this feelings on all sides are going to get hurt and no one at the moment is going to be 100% happy with the decisions and choices that are made. But twenty years from now Berks Catholic alumni will be grateful that private, college prep education was available in their backyard and, more importantly, provided a solid, moral foundation for their lives.

The situation could be worse. Both schools could close in this economy and Catholic education—along with both CCHS and HN’s rich pasts—would be nothing more than a forgotten page in Reading’s quickly vanishing history.

Image:
The title page of our 1996 yearbook foreshadows the state of the school today.