Pa.’s deep rural-urban divide | Morning Newsletter

Morning, Philly. Expect a cloudy start to the week.

As major service cuts to SEPTA draw nearer with Pennsylvania’s budget entering its eighth week overdue, the battle lines in Harrisburg are becoming clear: It’s the Philadelphia region vs. everybody. Below, we dig into the state’s perennial rural-vs.-urban divide.

And three years after a Fairmount fire killed 12 people, neighbors say the property has been forgotten by the city. Read on for these stories and more.

— Julie Zeglen (morningnewsletter@inquirer.com)

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The impending service cuts SEPTA says it will be forced to implement this month have resurfaced the bad blood between politicians in rural and urban parts of Pennsylvania.

Fighting words: Rural Republicans say policies put into place by Democrats in Philly and its surrounding counties have long stifled their communities’ economic growth. Those Democrats argue Southeastern Pennsylvania generates more revenue than any other area, and gets only a fraction of state funding in return.

Long-standing divide: The tension stems from the commonwealth’s earliest days. Pennsylvania is a geographically and economically diverse state, and in recent years, many of its political power players — from committee chairs to mayors — have come from the populous and left-leaning Philadelphia region.

Chaos theory: Still without a state budget, insiders suggest SEPTA’s forthcoming service cuts could force an agreement between the two sides amid the simmering resentment. “Out of chaos, you might be able to get something,” former State Sen. Vince Fumo told The Inquirer. “Now, everybody’s playing hardball. But the s— hasn’t hit the fan yet, and maybe you gotta let it.”

State politics reporter Gillian McGoldrick explains the latest, plus the history of the rural-urban divide.

Plus: See an updated rundown of everything we know about how SEPTA could change on Aug. 24.

In January 2022, nine children and three adults were killed in an early-morning fire in Fairmount. More than three years later, neighbors say drainage issues and fly infestations at the destroyed North 23rd Street property serve as an “emotional reminder” of the tragedy.

They report difficulty navigating city agencies when seeking support. Complaints to 311 and the Department of Licenses and Inspections seem to yield little recourse. Philadelphia Housing Authority, which owns the property, says ongoing litigation has prevented repairs from moving forward.

But now, finally, progress is being made as the agency seeks regulatory approvals, funding, and permitting to rehab the building.

Reporter Ximena Conde has more details.

The mural at 41st and Wallace Streets depicts now-18-year-old Jordyn Battle’s smiling face at age 11 staring at the reflection of a joyful infant version of herself, surrounded by flowers.

Hundreds gathered at Fireman’s Hall Museum Sunday to memorialize eight firefighters who died in the Gulf Oil refinery fire in South Philadelphia. How long ago was the fire?

A) Five years

B) 10 years

C) 25 years

D) 50 years

Think you know? Check your answer.

💡 Learning: Tips on how to parent an adult kid still living at home.

🐈 Recalling: The best (worst?) products the Always Sunny gang tried to sell.

⚕️ Considering: Five priority actions for leaders of the city’s behavioral health system.

Hint: In Bucks County

WENT OWN

Email us if you know the answer. We’ll select a reader at random to shout out here.

Cheers to Eileen Weigand, who solved Sunday’s anagram: Frankie’s Summer Club. The beer garden is tucked away in a former University of the Arts courtyard near 15th and Pine. Call it the secretive sequel to Bok Bar.

Photographer Kaiden J. Yu captured moments from a Sunday at Holy Redeemer Chinese Catholic Church and School, the first Catholic church built specifically for Chinese Americans in the Western Hemisphere.

Think back to the night that changed your life that could only happen in Philly, a true example of the Philly spirit, the time you finally felt like you belonged in Philly if you’re not a lifer, something that made you fall in love with Philly all over again — or proud to be from here if you are. Then email it to us for a chance to be featured in the Monday edition of this newsletter.

This “only in Philly” story comes from reader R. Scott Heaton, who remembers the magic of a Shore mainstay and a fake ID:

I stood anxiously in line, my new identity racing through my mind: name, address, date of birth. Don’t forget the zip code. It was the summer of ’75 and I was about to enter a new world. I had heard so many stories about the famous Anchorage Tavern (“7 for 1”) in Somers Point, and tonight I was going in — I hoped.

The line moved quickly up the steps and onto the porch. The bouncer at the door had biceps as big as my head and not a trace of a smile. Here we go, I thought — deep breath, stay cool. He stared me down and mumbled, “ID.” I offered him the simple paper driver’s license I have memorized, and he swiped it from my hand.

Time froze. He looked at it. He looked at me. My heart pounded, adrenaline pumping. Finally, he nodded and handed me back the ID. Am I in? What do I do? I grabbed the license and made a beeline toward the door before he could change his mind.

The wooden door with the single portal window swung open and I walked into a sea of bodies, stale beer, and cigarette smoke. I felt like I had just died and gone to heaven. “You made it!” my buddies cheered as I took a long look around. At that moment, I was overwhelmed with this feeling that something had changed. There was no going back now. I wasn’t a kid anymore.

As advertised, the beers were ordered in multiples of seven. The bartenders worked like magicians behind the bar. The seven-ounce glasses were a blur as they poured one Ortlieb’s after another from the tap until, with one quick move, they would grab seven at a time between their two hands and carry them to us. Sing-a-longs of “Runaround Sue” and “Pennies from Heaven” went on through the night. The place was alive.

We repeated this on a nightly basis that summer, and every night was its own adventure. But nothing ever came close to that first night.

A lot has changed since then — thank God for that. There was always a certain recklessness associated with the ’70s that’s still hard to explain. But for those of us who lived it and survived it, we wouldn’t change a thing.

As I sift through these feelings of nostalgia for a decade I’ve never lived through, I also wish you a great Monday. Thanks for starting it with The Inquirer.

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