A few days ago I recieved this great email from Bob Morea, who shared his memories of staying at Schmitt's Mountain Rest (now Pierce's Landing) in possibly the late 1950's to early 1960's.
Dear Mr. Francz...
I was using “Google Map” to get a rough idea where a dear old friend of mine moved (Greentown)...
and figured I’d poke around the map in the vicinity of the Water Gap/Stroudsburg/etc
just for a trip down memory lane.
I’m 60 now, and remember well my folks’ one- or two-week jaunts up to Schmitts Mountain Rest
(yes it was still called “Rest” until our last trip or two up there).
I can’t pin down the exact years; I was still running around in my “Mickey Mantle” uniform though.
We stayed in all the buildings: the Honeymoon Cottage down the hill, the Cabins,
the new Cabanas up by the new pool...
and in the last trip, this newly-independent boy even weaseled his own room upstairs in the Main House.
I can still recall the Main House like it was yesterday... the huge L-shaped dining hall (family-style of course),
the two unexplainably comforting sitting rooms, the staircase going upstairs to the guest rooms,
the wonderful smells of an old country house with old padded furniture, and – on queue – the day’s next meal.
We were there when one had to brave the steep stairs and cross the road to that old
ICE-COLD mountain-water-fed pool, and we were there the year that the new pool opened.
Adolph and his wife were old-school Germans...
and GOD could that sweet old woman cook – she barely ever left the kitchen all season!!!
Adolph ruled the staff with a iron fist ...including grandson Hans
... loving like a true grandfather, but Hans was learning how to honorably represent his family.
Even the guests’ kids, including me, knew not to mess around when Mr. Schmitt was there.
The waitresses were college students on summer break,
and at the tender ages of ten or so, I must have been bitten by crushes a hundred times!
There was always a German Shepherd (of course), named Prince... he was the best!
There was shuffleboard and badminton, and the kids got the honor of being personally assigned
by Mr. Schmitt to ring dinner bells through the property in and around all the buildings,
announcing each meal.
... and not one kid ever missed the chance – sometimes two kids had to share one bell !!!
The Rec (recreation) Hall was the nightly hot spot...
two rooms paneled in glossy knotty-pine tongue and groove,
with checkerboard floor tiles and lantern-style fixtures.
Entertainment comprised band night, talent night, movie night, costume night, horse racing night
(kids got to move ponies-on-sticks along a vinyl “track” on the floor).
The back room of the Rec Hall was the game room:
it had a ping-pong table, a shuffleboard table and a bowling game (complete with corn meal),
and a pinball machine.
The main room had the upright piano, a corner (beer only, as I remember) bar,
and maybe a dozen casual BYOB table setups that were always filled every night with the
nicest people from everywhere – most of whom had established close friendships over the years,
and planned “next year’s vacation” to coincide with each other.
My folks (we were from Jackson Heights, Long Island) got especially chummy with two couples:
the O's from neighboring Astoria, and the J's from Lindenhurst, New Jersey.
Fred O. was the sweetest man... he was “Mr. O.” to me of course,
but I distinctly remember his wife’s nagging voice yelling, “Fred....” .
He was a gaunt quiet elderly gentleman with severe emphysema who one day overheard me,
then about 8 or 9 I suppose, bemoan how no one would watch me swim in the old pool down the hill.
I didn’t understand things then, and had no idea that Mr O. could possibly die
trying to get back up the stairs (I’m assuming you know the staircase I’m talking about).
But he took me to the pool and, with much wheezing and many stops, we later made it back up.
And then there were the J's...
Patrick J., the alcoholic self-described Irish tenor (he sang “Galway’s Just a Dream Away” on talent nights),
his frustrated wife Stephanie, their accordion-playing son Bill whom they had driven to a nervous breakdown
while trying to survive college, and ... their daughter, Marilyn.
Marilyn was a shy pixie of a girl, 17- or 18-years old or so, who caught the eye and captured the heart
of my brother, Jerry. I was the altar boy at their wedding a couple of years later.
The Schmitts, I’m sure, were getting tired and on in years ... and seemed to be priming
their son Willie and his wife (Marie?) to take over the reins at some point.
Even at my age, it was quite evident that the place wouldn’t be the same afterward.
I assume that this is what led to the resort’s eventual demise.
I regret not having my folks’ picture albums and envelopes...
there were dozens of pictures of the place...
especially of the professional 8x10’s of Costume Night (and the teenage waitresses, lol!).
It was a great place ... a wonderful vacation spot for families, run by a wonderful couple.
Best part was after eagerly volunteering for and finishing a “chore” for Mr. Schmitt...
that (supposedly) stern old “Kraut” used to lean down, shake my hand,
give me the warmest smile, and a wink from behind his glasses, and say “Good job, Bobby.”
...miss him as if he were family.
Good times, Mr. Francz... very good times.
Bob Morea
Massapequa Park, NY
