Exciting news! This newsletter is a guest post by local writer and educator David Rockower. We hope you enjoy it!

Downtown State College in the ’80s. Photo by Pat Little

In 1982 I was itching to ride my new Mongoose BMX bike beyond the neighborhood streets. I’d explored all of Holmes Foster, but the lure of taking it downtown was growing. Permission was granted but only when my pack of (mostly older) friends rode alongside. After my parents gave the thumbs up, I disappeared for the better part of the summer. Downtown State College and the surrounding neighborhoods were a different beast back then. College Avenue, Allen Street, and Beaver Avenue were lined with local businesses. There were other hidden gems in the alleys. I explored them all, and many of the employees knew me by name.

By the time I was thirteen, I had a green light to be anywhere I wanted, as long as I was home for dinner and then again before dark. After receiving my weekly allowance, I had visions of candy, video games, slices of pizza. My first stop on the routine tour of 1984 State College was Kaye’s Korner, a convenience store that, to us, was a straight up candy store. It sat at the corner of Allen and Beaver—where the Growing Tree is today. We’d load up on Lemonheads, Fireballs, and Hubba Bubba. With our remaining change, we peddled for the arcade.

The author in the early ’80s

Playland was my home away from home in the ’80s. Three levels of arcade games and pinball machines. An employee sat behind a desk, exchanging bills for quarters. I loved it when he did a lap, walking through the establishment like a gunslinger. I could get a look at his change belt, hand him a dollar bill, and he’d press some fancy button that spit out four shiny silver quarters—cha-ching! I wanted to work there just to be able to wear that belt. I could get lost for hours playing Mike Tyson’s Punch-Out, Street Fighter, or Pole Position. If I needed a break, I wasted a few quarters on The Riverboat Gambler pinball machine. Groups of us would battle it out in the Russia vs. USA bubble hockey game. Playland was alive with the sounds of laser strikes, robotic voices, chimes, bloops, beeps, crashes, shattered glass, and artificial crowd-cheering. It was an assault on my teenage senses, and I couldn’t get enough. When our eyes hurt from staring at screens, we sat out back in the alley and talked.

After scraping together what little change we had left, we ventured to HiWay Pizza and bought a slice or two. The toughest kids in the group layered their slice with red pepper flakes. From there, I’d peddle to the Alley Bookstore, at the corner of West Calder Way and Kelly Alley. The owner sold books and baseball cards. He’d often tell me about his trips to auction, where he would bid on cards, stamps, and books. I felt so important when he invited me to help him slide baseball cards into the plastic sleeves he kept in three ring binders. At the end of the summer, he gave me a Ted Williams card. Though it was bent and distorted, I kept it propped on my dresser for over a year.

I loved looking through the cassette tapes and records at City Lights, Arboria, or The National Record Mart. After a windfall of birthday money, I remember buying my first two cassette tapes: Survivor and Huey Lewis and the News. Later, when I got my driver’s license, I spent hours at Paul & Tony’s stereo, dreaming about installing speakers in the trunk of my car.

Campus Casino Photo by Pat Little

In high school, I learned to play pool, and Campus Casino became a new hangout. Just down the street from Playland, it offered a limited number of arcade games but several pool tables. After watching The Color of Money with Tom Cruise, we all thought we could hustle one another, so we could afford new bikes, or more likely, just eat more slices of pizza. I remember waiting in long lines to get into Cinema 5, The Movies, and The Garden Theatre. We saw some classics at these theatres: Return of the Jedi, The Karate Kid, Ghostbusters, and Back to the Future.

Downtown State College in the 1980s was a teenager’s utopia. I explored, laughed with friends, interacted with business owners, and made endless memories. Recently, my friend introduced me to the work of State College native, Chris Baronner, who established a site called Forgotten Valley. I have Chris’s poster (available to purchase at Webster’s) framed, hanging in my home. It showcases hundreds of State College business logos—most no longer in operation, a few (like Rapid Transit) still chugging along.

Chris Baronner’s Encyclopedia of the Forgotten Valley poster, for sale at Webster’s

No doubt, State College has changed. I hear people reminiscing about the past and how our town will never be the same. Though I have wonderful memories of my childhood and teenage years, my kids grew up in State College more recently, and they had equally fulfilling—albeit different—experiences from my own. They had more opportunities for organized sports, clubs, and activities. And they still benefited from a town that offered many of the same beautiful parks, world-class sporting events, and endless hiking trails. State College was, and is, a bodacious, totally radical place to live.