the beloved historic snack-making company known locally as tom sturgis pretzels is one of the only businesses in the first book for this project which is still in operation today. that's a rare aspect, and a crave-worthy one, too, on top of showing that this business truly matters to the community, which is a part of why it's still churning out pretzels for locals. and that also means there are lots of pictures here and on the facebook page for the project because the plant is cooking pretzels on such a regular basis.
tom sturgis joined the world in pennsylvania in 1934 and lives in cumru township. below is an exerpt of his poem from volume one of the labors of our fingertips: poems from manufacturing history in berks county.
the lesson at the end of this excerpt is one which audiences and anyone else who reads this story enjoys for its depth mixed with wit. this memory came from a question which is asked in all interviews for the project-- some version or another of wanting to know if any certain memories, whether exciting, tragic, funny, or just very worthwhile stick with them from many years ago across long-lost industries.
tom sturgis joined the world in pennsylvania in 1934 and lives in cumru township. below is an exerpt of his poem from volume one of the labors of our fingertips: poems from manufacturing history in berks county.
the lesson at the end of this excerpt is one which audiences and anyone else who reads this story enjoys for its depth mixed with wit. this memory came from a question which is asked in all interviews for the project-- some version or another of wanting to know if any certain memories, whether exciting, tragic, funny, or just very worthwhile stick with them from many years ago across long-lost industries.
people in the community also love this for the fact that it's a food poem! we need more of those in life, agreed.
*
so many of the memories in my life
take shape in the form of pretzels,
the salt of them, the bite and break
of them as the hungriest bellies wait.
my great-grandfather, julius, began baking pretzels in lititz,
lancaster county, in 1861. four locations later, we’re the oldest
pretzel-making family in the country.
in the early days, i estimate they would
have made 1,000 pounds in 8 hours,
moving the dough on a wooden
peel, flipping them in the oven—an art in itself. i started
my pretzel-hours at age 12 in 1946. hearths are mostly
in the past, and so are the tanks
of straw water, what we used
to stain the dough darker after
all of that time in heat. a good
twister could curl 32,000 pretzels in a single shift. some
could do it almost without looking. but eventually, machines
had twisting skills, too. now, an extruder
cuts out 28 pretzels so fast, precisely.
one memory i still carry with me, though
is this: my dad picked me up for work—
i don’t like your attitude, he said. he spit chewing tobacco.
it landed in a speck on the windshield. he pointed to it, said,
this is what you know.
the rest of the windshield is what you
don’t know.
take shape in the form of pretzels,
the salt of them, the bite and break
of them as the hungriest bellies wait.
my great-grandfather, julius, began baking pretzels in lititz,
lancaster county, in 1861. four locations later, we’re the oldest
pretzel-making family in the country.
in the early days, i estimate they would
have made 1,000 pounds in 8 hours,
moving the dough on a wooden
peel, flipping them in the oven—an art in itself. i started
my pretzel-hours at age 12 in 1946. hearths are mostly
in the past, and so are the tanks
of straw water, what we used
to stain the dough darker after
all of that time in heat. a good
twister could curl 32,000 pretzels in a single shift. some
could do it almost without looking. but eventually, machines
had twisting skills, too. now, an extruder
cuts out 28 pretzels so fast, precisely.
one memory i still carry with me, though
is this: my dad picked me up for work—
i don’t like your attitude, he said. he spit chewing tobacco.
it landed in a speck on the windshield. he pointed to it, said,
this is what you know.
the rest of the windshield is what you
don’t know.
*
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