Ava Leone

“Triple Nickel” (The Driftwood Song) lyrics

Where Triple Nickel and 120 meet in the Pennsylvania Wilds, there stands “Camp One More” at 67 Manning Drive. It’s changed a little throughout the years, it’s been rebuilt but it’s still here, and it’s seen many good times with bonfires, friends, and b**r.

In the summer of ‘72, Hurricane Agnes came on through, put a line up on the wall. There was nothing we could do. Every Friday when school let out, Lee’d pick me up and we’d drive down past the lily pond right across from McIssac’s Farm.

We’d go fishing down at Goosetown, play football at the schoolhouse, and camp down at the Flat Rocks most nights. We’d ride our motorcycles, go hunting with our ri**es. Rancy Hollow’s still the best spot around.

It seems steeper somehow since the last time I was out. I’m still young enough to want to, but too old to hunt it now.

I played by the railroad tracks on backstreet next to the weeping willow tree. You hardly ever see a train go through there now. Then I’d meet up with Linda and JC and we’d walk from Sinnemahoning and go swimming in the dam at Wykoff Run.

And when the streetlights came on, we’d turn around and walk back home. Then we’d get up with the sun and then, we’d do it all again.

Sometimes I look back and wonder how us kids ever survived til now. Boy, did we raise hell, but our folks raised us somehow. Jeff would climb up on the old green bridge, then jump off into the Driftwood Branch. Dress up the monument, running wild with all his friends.

Bart and Gary were the fastest in the state putting diamondbacks in a pillowcase. Til the new laws hit, til ‘87 when Bart got bit. In the Screamin’ Eagle, we’d ride around, doing fifty in reverse through town. No one said a word and somehow no one was hurt.

Drank TJ Swann with Gary and Darlene when we’d ride around on Fridays. There was nothing like being stupid and seventeen. In July of ‘85 when me, PJ, & Brian wrecked hard in Castle Garden all on one bike.

And hey, watch your speed on Tunnel Hill cause that bend will get you killed. All the memories we made and all the scars are with me still.

But those days are long gone now and these are the things I think about when Driftwood calls me home every now and then. Things have changed but is it better? Nothing stays the same forever. There’s only a few left who remember how

The commercial hotel stood where the saloon is now. Only photographs encased in glass remain from when it was around.

I thought this town seemed small when I was a kid. It was bigger then, been shrinking since. And I can leave Driftwood again and again, but I know in my soul, it’ll always reel me back in.

So many faces still the same, some have died, some moved away but even decades later here today, I can say I won’t soon forget all the people that I met.

Jerry Hubler and Big Bob would spend all day cutting logs. Then they’d hit the Driftwood bar when they got off. Jerry’d have a couple b**rs, fall asleep sitting right there. The bartender’d wake him up come eleven o’clock.

He’d go on his way back home, wake up at the break of dawn, head out to the woods and live to log another day.

And then there’s Elmer Kephart, don’t think he even had a car, but he could beat you to any bar in town. He’d stick out his thumb and hitchhike and by the time you arrived, he’d be sitting there, one b**r already down.

And Jim Ball knew everything about Driftwood and he would meet Butch Kehl at The Willows for breakfast every week.

So many stories, so many scars, Lee, Jack, and Dave down at Fred’s Bar, Bennett’s Branch turning orange, hanging out at Callahan’s store.

Born just a mile away from camp, the King of Cowboys, Tom Mix, the gold hidden in the mountains, the bucktails on the monument.

Hunting snakes up Nanny Run, get up on the mountain with the sun, wrangle us some rattlesnakes and hope to God we don’t get caught.

Party down at Bloom Saloon. Forty years later, Sherm’s playing tunes. And Barbara ran a tight ship, but she kept the camp equipped.

We’d shoot the breeze with Basil when we could. We always called him the mayor of Driftwood.

Where Triple Nickel and 120 meet, we gather from time to time. Here at “Camp One More” at 67 Manning Drive. It’s changed a little throughout the years. It’s been rebuilt and we’re still here. So here’s to many more good times with bonfires, friends, and b**r.

Where Triple Nickel and 120 meet in the Pennsylvania Wilds…