Frazier Farm

On a gentle trip to Uniontown for Friday night fish, we travelled on Vanderbilt/Leisenring Road for about the gazillionth time. But this time, maybe due to age slowing me down, just lazing along, listening to the rhythm of the left turn signal clicking, I reflected on how many adventures that road had led me to in my octo-decade existence. From 1952 through 1956, I suffered with my Tri-Town classmates, a big yellow bus ride to the steps across from the post office and company store.

Then, the walk up the hill to Dunbar Township High School. While West Penn light rail right-of-ways crossed the road a couple of times, trollies that ran to Dickerson Run were no longer active. Sometime around 1979, I helped my son map out the overgrown trolley path for a high school history research paper.



The trolley trail followed along the road through forests and fields. A partial concrete bridge over a small stream is still visible. I recalled several episodes of traffic delays on the winding road through farmlands due to ducks, goats, cattle, peacocks, chickens and buffalo.

Sometime around the early 80’s, my brother-in-law purchased several fields of standing hay on a farm along the Leisenring road that he identified as Frazier farm. I volunteered to help him harvest the hay – a dumb decision on my part. I also thought about my grandson Jimmy, a complete outdoorsman, riding with me and spotting a pen of legally raised whitetail deer, which I had passed maybe a hundred times and never noticed.

But my association with the road, or rather the areas around it, happened many years ago, and one event convinced my mom that I might have some earthly value. We regularly bought fresh eggs at a Frazier farm, (different farm) located on a high hill leading down to the Leisenring road. With the egg prices today, I hoped I could scrape enough finances together to even mention eggs in a column.

Dad drove the car, I think it was the green Dodge, so I was probably 7 years old. Mom was in the passenger side, and I was between them. There were no such things as seat belts or bucket seats.

We came from Connellsville on Duck Pond Road, and Dad pulled off the road at the farm. I sat in the car with Mom while Dad went to the house to purchase the eggs. I was fooling with the radio when my mother yelled, “The car! It’s moving!” Dad had set the emergency brake but it slipped off, and the car was rolling on the downhill grade that would quickly become the steep hill leading to the main road.

I grabbed the wheel, slid over and jammed my foot on the brake pedal as hard as I could. The car stopped and I held the brake until Dad appeared at the driver’s door, white as a ghost. He reached in and pulled the emergency brake handle and Mom grabbed me for an immense hug.

For a while, I was her celebrated hero, and that’s OK, because she was always mine! Yeah, a lot of memories along the Leisenring road. Roy Hess Sr. is a retired teacher and businessman from Dawson.

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