Press Releases, Memos and Important Notices

 

 

Tuesday, September 13: Nonprofit Volunteers - Legal and Management Strategies for Success, Live via Simulcast, 4 sub credits click here for more information and to register

Tuesday, September 20: Evolving Support Cases: Discovery, Deviations & Add-Backs, Live via Simulcast, 3 sub credits click here for more information and to register

Friday, September 23: Immigration Law Forum, Live via Simulcast, 5 sub & 1 ethics credits click here for more information and to register 

Tuesday, September 27: Enrolling in Medicare, Live via Simulcast, 4 sub credits click here for more information and to register

Wednesday, September 28: Real Estate 101: Buying and Selling Residential Real Property, Live via Simulcast, 5 sub & 1 ethics credits click here for more information and to register 

Thursday, October 13: Understanding Social Security Retirement, Live via Simulcast, 3 sub credits  click here for more information and to register

Tuesday, October 18: Consumer Financial Services Law Update, Live via Simulcast, 5 sub & 1 ethics credits  click here for more information and to register

Wednesday, October 19: Thorny Issues in PA Landlord Tenant Law, Live via Simulcast, 4 sub credits  click here for more information and to register

Thursday, October 20: LLC, S Corp, C Corp, GP, LP, LLP or other form? A Guide to Choosing the Best Business Entity, Live via Simulcast, 3 sub credits  click here for more information and to register

Tuesday, October 25: 20th Annual Family Law Update, Live via Simulcast, 3 sub credits  click here for more information and to register

Thursday, October 27: 23rd Annual Auto Law Update, Live via Simulcast, 3 sub & 1 ethics credits  click here for more information and to register 

          Sometimes I manage to get my timing totally out of control. I was considering the fact that I'd missed one column and hadn't managed to connect with colleagues to write the next one. Then I fortuitously met Elliott B. Sulcove, Esq., in the hallway at the Court House Annex.

Did you know that Elliott is an accomplished 'DIY' hobbyist? Elliott was my 'go to' person when the pots, holding the trees in the concrete planters on Lincoln Way outside of the Court House, refused to drain. At least one miniature Alberta Spruce had died, drowning in the plethora of rain. [This was several years ago]. Elliott, by phone, promised to meet me with a battery driven drill and a long bit to drill drainage holes.

          The other day, he admitted that, after my call, he had visions of having to go through the concrete walls of the planters to fix the drainage problem. When we were actually performing the task, Elliott learned that there were plastic pots inside the concrete pots that were the source of the problem. Elliott accomplished the fix easily. As Elliott described his vision of drilling the concrete, having it pulverize, approaching the Court House with a drill and bit in hand, and having the Borough police quickly turn our job into a terrorist arrest, I recalled an episode from the days when I owned the farm...Elliott then asked I share my tale, so here goes.

          I owned a farm in the suburbs of Newburg in Cumberland County from 1968 (yes) until 1986 or so. I operated a regulated shooting grounds, stocked pheasants and had permits for possession of various feathered creatures. Since I had a kennel for gun dogs I was training, it wasn't long before the fly fishermen found me. They generously donated several Bantam chickens to roost in my trees and work on my bugs. Once a year, two game protectors and two state police officers would descend on the farm to harvest their grizzled necks. These are ideal for fly tying and much desired.

          The two state police officers quickly discovered that I had a small water heater, called a hot tap, in the kitchen. The sink was conveniently located near the second front door of the house. They then began the habit of pulling in my drive at odd hours, knocking, announcing and then entering the house, and helping themselves to coffee. To appreciate the need, at that time from the Blue Mountain entrance of the Pennsylvania Turnpike to the Carlisle State Police Barrack a distance of about twenty-five miles, there were no public restaurants, Sheetz or public access to coffee on any of the reasonably direct routes, especially after eight at night.

          Instant coffee, creamer, cups and sugar were always readily available. I was an enabler...and, during most of this epic, I was a single parent in an isolated area, who was attending law school. So it was not unusual for more of the state police patrollers to stop in around 11 p.m., if the lights were on, say thanks and walk out...I did have about five or six regulars. They were, however, merciless, calling me the enemy, etc.

          After completing law school, the traffic slowed as I was able to keep more regular hours, but it was no surprise when I arrive home one evening to find a note stuck in my telephone. "Call me, (signed) Monk", it said. (I'm not sure to this day I can recall the names of the men who were checking on my safety).

          Now I knew at the southern border of my farm there was an area called West Creek that was populated by families who were not keen on following game laws religiously. There had been some words when the trespass notices first were applied. They also had a dim view of some of the other laws that abound.

          On my farm, there was a vacant brick one room school house half way up the hill. A paved road, called West Creek Road, bisected the farm, leaving the school house on the upper side. Windowless and door less, the building would have been a perfect deer blind as the deer came down to get water near the house.

          So, I called Monk at the Barracks. Monk started his tale with the fact that the Barracks had received brand new tear gas guns. Then he told me that one of my neighbors had walked off work release in Carlisle. A road crew working on the pavement in the area of the school house, (read that checking pheasants, quail, rabbit, squirrel and deer), noticed the girl friend of the escapee walking into the school house and reported it. So, the Staties loaded their new guns, got a posse together and headed from Carlisle to the school house, a distance of twenty miles. They arrived, at least ten of them, and promptly surrounded the building, some on the road below the school house, some along side and some slightly up the hill. After a quick hail, and knowing that I probably would not object, they tested the new tear gas guns, lobbing several canisters through the openings. A heart beat later, the State Police helicopter came over the hill and paused directly above the school house, which was in an opening in the woods. By now I was laughing uncontrollably. It is true...the down draft from the helicopter pushed the tear gas out of the school house and all of the surrounding officers experienced the joys of being gassed, some running but still not escaping the cloud of their experiment. [The prisoner was not in the school house, but that's another tale].

          I was sharing this story with a friend on Sunday. I had been a bit crazy again and had decided to paint the handicap ramp that had been installed at my house while my father was still living. The pressure treated lumber was looking sad. I decided it should look nice and fresh, so I bought my first spray paint gun, and several gallons of paint. Of course, I ran out of paint so, on my third trip to Lowe's in as many days, I found some new painters' drop cloth with the paint tape installed. This looked perfect for blocking the spray that would go through the spindles and decorate my hostas, rhododendron and lawn. White on the plants just did not seem to be appropriate for landscaping the front yard. I bought the product, installed it on the exterior of the spindle handrail ramp and then spray painted the interior spindles. Directions said I could safely leave the drop cloth in place for up to twelve hours. It was soaked with fresh paint, and I had plans for a day's road trip.

 

          I went on the road trip with my friend and we enjoyed a Sunday drive for about six hours. When we returned to the house, my friend and I began to remove the drop cloth. In between each spindle was a beautiful sheet of white paint connecting the spindles. The drop cloth had acted like a form for the spray paint. I had to cut out each spindle, noting that some had too much paint. I also complained that there had been no warning on the package! Nothing in the directions of either product had led me to suspect that result. I was told that I needed to let you know that I'm still collecting tales.

          How about some of yours? Please share...by e-mail, telephone or in person!