This August, 150 years after a verdant swath of Penn's Woods was christened Bell Township, there will be a celebration of the generations of families who have carved their names in local history. There will be good food and good friends. Sprawling extended families and neighbors will be gathering to pay homage to the pioneering sacrifices of their ancestors in this northernmost municipality in Westmoreland County. Those were the men who farmed, mined coal, drilled for salt and fired brick, their hands calloused and their backs twisted from the physical demands of excruciating workdays. Those were the wives who helped tend the farms, nurture the children and figure out ways to feed all the hungry bellies that growled at the table three times a day. Life is easier now, but the jury's still out as to whether "it's better" in the eyes of Ella Mary McCullough, who is "more than 100 years old," and Lizzie Olah, who is 95. "I didn't have time to die in those first years," says McCullough, who "never drove a horse and buggy or a car. If I needed to be somewhere I walked. If it was muddy, I walked through the mud. "Everything's easier for people today," she says. "There weren't any roads. If you wanted to stay warm, you had to keep the fire going. "I guess some things made it better and easier, but some things made it worse - it gave people too much time with nothing to do." Olah agrees. "Hard work never hurt anybody, and it's true because I'm still here," she says. "I had a hard life. My mother died, and I had to take care of my brothers and sisters. We didn't have microwaves or furnaces or washing machines or electric stoves and refrigerators. I was always surviving and ... I was always content with what I had and have." Generation after generation, folks like McCullough and Olah have persevered through the trials and tribulations of life in such patch villages as Perrysville, Salina and Tinsmill. Bell Township comprises an area of less than 25 square miles. It is bordered on the north and the northeast by the Kiskiminetas River and Avonmore Borough, and its neighbors are Armstrong and Indiana counties. The 2000 census recorded 2,458 residents, a continued small increase from the 2,353 in 1990 and 2,158 in 1980. Blessed with an abundance of natural vegetation and wide-open spaces, life unfurls at an enjoyably slow pace in Bell Township. To folks like Dolores Colledge, it's nothing short of utopia. "Some city folks might refer to us as country bumpkins," she says from the living room of her Perrysville home. "That's fine with me." Bell Township's rolling hillsides offer a rural ambience and, while there are signs more people are interested in moving there, it's still one of those rare townships without a major housing development. Phil Calandrella has been a supervisor for 29 years and also operates a body shop. "I was born and raised here, in Tinsmill, where my dad was a coal miner," Calandrella says. "But Dad said he didn't want any of his kids down in the mines." After a stint in the Army during the mid-1960s, Calandrella returned home. "I never went overseas, just to Georgia and Virginia, but it didn't take too long for me to realize that life was totally different outside of Bell Township," he says. "I couldn't wait to come home." Calandrella said he and fellow supervisors John Bowman and Charles Kravetsky are interested in "slow growth. More people are discovering Bell Township, and they like it. We're within 30 to 45 minutes of towns like Monroeville, New Kensington and Indiana. "Our tax rate is low, and you can find peace and quiet here. We know we won't be able to stop growth but we do want to manage it. For instance, we've got an ordinance that requires two or more acres if you want to build and just a half acre less if there is public water. "We know water service to outlying areas is coming and so is a sewage system," he says. Calandrella pauses, then says that the best thing about the township is that "the people who live here treat each other like they'd want to be treated." Bell Township is the kind of place "where you didn't spend much time in the house" when growing up, says Colledge's' husband, Bob. "You were either out in the woods or on the ball diamond. Every one of the little towns had a ball field." "You made your own fun," says Dolores Colledge. "There was a restaurant and pool hall in Salina, but you were really responsible for your own entertainment. You walked or you had a bicycle." "The best part was, everybody knew everybody else," adds her husband. "If you were in downtown Salina and you misbehaved, one of the older gentlemen handled it, and then, when you got home, Mom would, er, handle it again." History buffs haven't been able to pin down a specific reason why the township is named Bell. At the time of the 1853 petition to become a separate municipal entity, there was a Judge James Bell presiding in Westmoreland County. It's speculation, but it's the closest township residents can get to a formal explanation. Bob Colledge's grandfather, Dr. W.L. Fennel, a physician in the township who made house calls via horse and buggy, also dabbled in writing an informal history of the township. His 1920s-era account was typed on an Oliver typewriter, still in his grandson's possession. He outlined his goal in a foreword: "In this short history, we have endeavored to give as accurate as possible, the early discovery and settlement of this immediate vicinity, the conditions of country these early settlers had to meet and overcome, who first came here, how these first settlers were compelled to live and some of the many difficulties that they had to contend with; that especially our young folk may the better appreciate their many advantages and be not only better contented and less inclined to quarrel with their surroundings, and so the better qualified to enjoy the many blessings vouchsafed to them and be ready to imitate their ancestors in making every effort to extend them to future generations." Fennel wrote that Conrad Weiser was the first "white man" passing on the Kiskiminetas River, in August 1748. He was followed by Christopher Gist (a guide for George Washington), who wrote, "I passed down the Loyalhanna creek to a creek called Kiseratis, a branch of the Ohio." Shortly after that, Washington apparently made his first trip up the Allegheny River. Wild animals were plentiful and so, too, were the fish in the nearby river. The township population began to grow. Names like Sparber, Wolford, Yockey, Smeltzer, Hines, Tickle, Carnahan, Kier, Rugh, Paul and Whitesell, began to pop up. Among the earliest settlers, Fennell writes, were George and John Alcorn, who arrived from Ireland. Carnahan's blockhouse was built in 1774 near Salina to provide a refuge for settlers whose villages were the sites of Indian raids. Early township residents lived in timber houses and later built their homes and churches not only of wood but of stone and brick. Of such material was the Old St. James Church built in 1838 as Yockey's Meetinghouse (a community center) and the focal point of the Bell Township Historic Preservation Society. It cost $2,200 to build, and it took church members 10 years to pay off the debt. Originally constructed of wood in 1805, it was replaced 33 years later with the brick structure. The society acquired the building in 1983 to prevent it from being dismantled and to serve the township as a history center. Invaluable documents were stored in the facility. Seven years ago this month, the structure was extensively damaged by fire. The society was in the midst of preservation of the building at the time with the hopes of restoring it. Earlier that same year, it qualified as a historic landmark to be listed in the National Register of Historic Places. Restoration continues, notes William Wolford, the society president. "This is my heritage; my ancestors are buried here," he says on the church grounds, motioning to the adjacent cemetery. "You have to know where you've been to know where you should be going." One tombstone marks the resting place of Mathias Ringle, 1742-1783, a wagon builder with Gen. George Washington at Valley Forge. The restoration effort uses originial materials, wooden beams to original brick, where possible. Such efforts are worth the sacrifice. "You don't just tear history down," says Dolores Colledge of the effort. Adds her husband: "Once you rip it down, it can never be replaced." "Thinking about the past and history doesn't seem to be something you think much about until you hit about 40 years old," Dolores Colledge said. "That's when you realize how much you should care." "It's true, I think we sometimes don't think about how important our personal histories are until it's almost too late," her husband notes. "We need to think about these things when we still have access to our parents, our grandparents, when they can tell us those giant fish stories about the river, or about when the river was full of sulfur." Or salt. In the summer of 1812, Mrs. John Deemer, who lived near Saltsburg, noticed that the cattle frequently went to a spring in the low river bed. She tasted the water and found it salty. She then boiled some mush in the water and found it improved the taste. A local doctor heard the story and wanted to run independent tests. He put a barrel over the spring, piped the water to shore and boiled it in a large kettle, leaving the salt behind. William Johnson, a local driller, bore a well (it took him a year) along the river shoreline, finally striking a salt stream down 280 feet. News spread, and soon there were wells being drilled up and down the river from Blairsville to Freeport. Salina was the epicenter of the salt boom. In 1845, there were about 30 wells in a four-mile stretch along the river just above and below Salina. Many early residents of Bell Township also found work in the coal mines of Tinsmill and Truxal. "I remember when the whistle blew, everyone would wonder who had been hurt in the mine," says Olah. "I remember those hucksters with the stuff on their wagons coming around, and the companies would chase them out. "Those were the days when we'd walk to Avonmore just to see the movies. I met Steve (husband) at the ball field. My life wasn't an easy one, but I was always contented with what I had. "Life is what you make it. I like it here," she says. McCullough, too, has a deep fondness for her "hometown." "I liked the farm, living in the country and all the flowers," she says. "We had about 400 acres, and the cattle helped keep all that grass mowed. And I remember when the Ford came along. Wow, that was a lot faster getting around than with the horse and buggy." Meanwhile, at the Outlaw Performance plant near Avonmore, the beauty and glory of those "fast" old Ford hot rods is the mainstay of their business. Dealing nationally and internationally, the factory manufactures fiberglass bodies (and individual car parts for sale) of such legendary street rods as the 1940-41 Willy, and '34-35 Fords and Chevys. The 100,000-square-foot facility houses 26 employees on the township homestead of the Furl Davison family, says daughter-in-law Barbara Davison, the company's president. She is the wife of John Davison, brother of Bob Davison, who started the original company more than 15 years ago. "I really was concerned about post 9-11," she says. "I mean, what we do here is essentially make a toy - a $20,000 toy, but it's still a toy. But business has been good, and I get the sense that some people see this as an investment because the resale will be profitable. "That's about what one of our fiberglass bodies costs ($20,000) when they leave here, and it's probably about that same amount for buyers to put in the engine, transmission, interior and to paint it." The company has established a national reputation and participates annually in more than a dozen car shows. "Customers will come here from out-of-state to pick up their cars and say, 'What are you guys doing way out here?' I just tell them that this is where we all grew up," says Davison. "We give tours here, from seniors to kids, and we tell folks to stop down at the Lone Star restaurant, where they've got Outlaw chicken and an Outlaw burger because we've been ordering lunch from them for so long. And when people wonder why we don't move into a busier area, I just tell them that I can just look out my window and have a view of some really beautiful countryside," she says. Leonard "Lefty" Stover understands entirely. He rose to plant manager at the local Kier family brickyard (which closed in 1982), and has lovingly preserved a house whose door locks are dated 1862. "I think there was an original log cabin that sat up on top of that hill," he says standing on his property. Stover has a deep appreciation for his home. "This is a great place out here," he says, "and everybody should have an opportunity to live out here in the country. I visit my daughter in Philadelphia, but there's nothing like the feeling I get when I make that last turn up to my home. "These were hard-working people here who always helped each other weather the bad days, like neighbors should. We're a small town, and we take care of each other. "I never worked in a coal mine like a lot of other people here because I tried it. I worked in there just barely long enough to know that I didn't want to do that," he says. The 150th anniversary celebration weekend will be held Aug. 1-3 at the Avonmore Crossroads. It dovetails with the annual dinner dance for Bell Township (and Avonmore) High School graduates. The carnival atmosphere will feature fireworks and a variety of musical entertainment. The committee also sponsored an in-school contest for a specially designed stamp to be canceled at the Salina post office. The winning submission came from Dana Huskaliak, a fifth-grade student at the Bell Avon Elementary School in Salina. More than 1,000 invitations to former graduates have been mailed across the country. The Colledges serve as co-chairmen of the 150th celebration committee and are also active in the alumni association that reunites the graduates of Bell Township and Avonmore high schools (now served by the Kiski Area School District). Dolores Colledge takes a long look out her living room window, to a field of greenery rising to a point. "That view changes every season, and it may very well be the best selling point this house will ever have," she says. Deer sleep in back yards, turkeys scoot across open fields, and bears bite through garbage can lids if you forget to seal the remnants of last night's fish dinner. It's all part of the good life in Bell Township.

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