Source:Four-corners-southwest
Douglas Naylor. "The four corners of Pittsburgh: Shanty resident lives in peaceful quiet with birds and books." Pittsburgh Press, Apr. 11, 1932, p. 17. Newspapers.com 146916694.
{{subhead|Shanty Resident Lives In Peaceful Quiet With Birds and Books
JADED world travelers—and there are some in Pittsburgh—should explore the old home town.
In the four corners of the city they'll find about as much novelty and historic interest as at the ends of the earth.
Not an old-timer who boasts of the "good days when," not a city official who prides himself on statistical knowledge, knows the exact boundaries of Pittsburgh—unless he has had access to the one accurate map that exists. Take it from the men who made the map.
But it would pay anyone to explore.
Down in the "Old Shoe," the southwest corner between Crafton and Carnegie, you would meet old-timers whose ancestors helped to create the epic of colonial life; or call at the shanty of an unemployed man who has managed to checkmate Old Man Depression in a singular way.
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IN THE Northeast corner, beyond Highland Park, you can prowl through the weird catacombs of the underground filter lakes; and then gaze at the historic site where Heinz made kraut for "Product No. 1."
In the southeast, below Homestead, you could find a miniature Vesuvius in which two victims have met a terrible death—or talk with an old man who marched through Pittsburgh at the head of a tribe of Indians when he was five years old.
In the northwest corner, this side of Bellevue, there is a watchman who sits contentedly at the top of the world—the world of Pittsburgh at least. Or did you know that Brashear Reservoir is 113 feet higher than Herron Hill?
But back to the southwest corner. Down there one finds "old residenter" families such as the Bells, the Toes, the Silks and the Jacksons. Odd names, those, and the facts are stranger still.
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IN A cottage at 202 Morange Road standing on what once was part of a great estate—in the family 103 years ago—are two brothers of Dr. Chevalier Jackson, famous throughout the world as a laryngologist who perfected a method of removing foreign bodies from the lungs with his bronchoscope.
His elder brother, M. Stanford Jackson, and the younger brother, Dr. Shirls B. Jackson, retired oculist, live in a cottage the three built when they were young, on the edge of the Morange estate, now partly occupied by St. Paul's Orphanage.
The three brothers were born in the city, but spent their youth at the Idlewood Cottage Hotel, a former summer resort owned by their father.
Shirls Jackson recalls the days when his brother, Chevalier, was carrying on his experiments with the bronchoscope at his office in the city.
He would have stayed in Pittsburgh, says Shirls, if some wealthy patron had founded a clinic for him here. But Philadelphia heard about him, and someone over there was quick to recognize the value of his work.
Shirls Jackson recounts many tales of Delaware Indians, wild game and anecdotes of early settlers.
He chuckles when telling about a revenue officer who rode up to the clearing of one Old Timer in the neighborhood, during the Whisky Insurrection. The gun-toting settler squinted at the warrant.
"Wal, I reckon ye kin go in this ol' barn o' mine," he told the officer. "But I don't see anything in the warrant that says you'll come out!"
The revenue officer postponed his search.
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THE PARLOR of the Jackson home is filled with beautiful antique furniture. The pre-Civil War grand piano of hand-carved rosewood is evidently priceless.
Over the hill from the Jackson home, along Chartiers Creek, is a row of cabins. The earliest resident calls his home "One Bum Shanty."
Unemployment for 28 months has not broken his spirit. The reason is evident:
He has a cozy home, good food, a comfortable bed. He is a nature lover. When he dines out of doors in the summer, wild birds come and light on his table. Steven Smith of Somerset County, tells his story:
"I got disgusted with the soup line in Pittsburgh, so I came out here. A factory gave me some old boards, and I built this shanty last fall. I found an old stove, and a bed.
"I get my meat from the butchers in Crafton. They give me plenty of good beef and fresh sausage. The bakers in Carnegie give bread to any needy person.
"This land is owned by a lawyer. He said I could stay here as long as I wish.
"I have some good pictures on the wall. They are paintings I found on junk piles.
"I tamed wild birds last summer by hanging fat meat in the trees.
"My special pet is a thrush. Spring has come and I am looking for him back any day now. He used to come hopping along the path. I taught him to jump up on my foot and to eat out of my hand. I used to be sittin' here last summer, with that little feller on my foot, wishin' that some one of The Pittsburgh Press would come out and take our pictures.
"I am sittin' pretty in my little shanty now. It is better than taking a chance in the city."
Steve's taste in literature is modern—as his picture proves.
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STEVE'S neighbor down the "avenue" has an Army padlock on his door. He carries a worn discharge paper for John T. Curtin.
No more residents will be admitted to the small settlement, now restricted to three shanties. The owner of the undeveloped land does not care to see the colony expand into a city of jobless.
