In center city Philly, when you're staring at the pavement just off the curb, you'll likely be greeted by an all-mysterious “Toynbee idea� tile. Actually, ‘greeted' is a little misleading. A feeling of peculiarity eventually ceding to a sensation of uncomfortable confrontation is somehow more appropriate. If you've ever mulled over the tiles – you know what I mean. If not, then read on.
A lot has been written on them already. The best, or at least most interesting threads of research come from fringe types on the internet. (Don't trust what the New York Times has to say – those clueless bastards couldn't get past their egos enough to realize that it wasn't a NYC based art project.) Theories range from Bob Dobbs to Sivy “The Birdman� Verna. So, while I can't possibly go ahead and excogitate every piece of of tile lore, I will give the uninitiated a little context. Here goes:
A brief history of the tile
The scene is center city Philadelphia. The time is the early 80's or maybe even the mid 70's. The city is post-industrial, fear-ridden, run-down, dangerous mess. Down around Chinatown, an odd character is frequently seen hanging around near the Greyhound station, plastering up, handing out and preaching information about resurrecting the dead on planet Jupiter. The strange man is largely ignored.
Meanwhile – in a Philadelphia neighborhood called Germantown – and related only by cosmic irrationality - eccentric genius musician, Sun Ra begins telling everyone that he's from Saturn. Jupiter is a nice place – he says. A shadow being once took him to the giant planet. He describes it to an interviewer as, “exexpressibly [sic] beautiful, splendorous, pure happiness...� A rave review.
(In Fishtown – something happened. I'm still trying to figure that bit out.)
Also in Fishtown, lived one James Morasco. A self-described “social worker,� Morasco was the public face of something called the Minority Association. Former Philadelphia Inquirer staff writer Clark DeLeon uncovered these little nuggets when he interviewed Morasco, (by telephone) for the paper in 1983.
A small band of like minded lunatics, the Minority Association was founded around the notion that the molecules of all life – particularly human life can and should be reassembled on the planet Jupiter. Connections to the Greyhound man are solid, while those to Sun Ra remain vague.
Back to resurrecting the dead… How? Why? Don't ask because I don't have a clue. According to Minority Association researchers however, the “idea� was first seeded by British religious Historian, Arnold Toynbee and disseminated through the movie 2001 by Stanley Kubrick.
By the early 80's the mysterious tiles began appearing in Philadelphia streets. That is, quite literally in the streets. Fused and adhered into intersections by tar paper, asphalt, the weight of passing cars and the heat of Ra, our holy life giving sun, the tiles relayed the perturbing message: “TOYNBEE IDEA IN Kubrick's MOViE ‘2001 RESERRUCT DEAD ON PLANET JUPiTER�, or something to that effect.
Along with Inquirer interviews, disheveled preachers at the bus station and odd tiles embedded into city streets, the Minority Association was hitting the airwaves. Broadcasting on shortwave radio at 4 in the morning, their Luna-shift DJ got the attention of young playwright David Mamet. The (very) short play 4AM was inspired by those broadcasts.
Interested yet?
Eventually, the Association moved away from the spotlight, possibly refocusing, splintering or just disbanding. But someone, or some group of someones decided to carry the torch. Little is known of this tumultuous time. Whoever it was had decided to take the operation underground.
And that's where it gets even more interesting.
By the 1990's the Toynbee idea tiles had spread across much of the United States, appearing in cities from Boston to DC, Chicago, Cleveland, Detroit and Kansas City, ( to name only a few ). On top of that, there are at least 3 tiles in 3 South American countries; Rio, Brazil, Buenos Aries, Argentina and Santiago, Chile. (?!!!) Having shunned the media in the early 80's, the tiles had also became increasingly paranoid, often referring to “the cult of the hellion,� a powerful organization apparently standing in firm opposition to the idea of Jupiter resurrection.
The largest tile, or ‘manifesto tile' appeared in front of 16th and Chestnut streets in downtown Philadelphia, (I should mention that the tiles are always placed at an intersection, very Toynbee-like). The manifesto tile said this:
JOHN KNIGHT, OWNER OF "THE PHILADELPHIA INQUIRER" - HELLION JEW - WHOSE HATED THIS MOVEMENTS GUTS - FOR YEARS - TAKES MONEY FROM THE MAFIA TO MAKE THE MAFIA LOOK GOOD IN HIS NEWSPAPERS SO HE HAS THE MAFIA IN HIS BACK POCKET.
JOHN KNIGHT SENT THE MAFIA TO MURDER ME IN MAY 1991. (unreadable.....) JOURNALIST ALL OF THEM GLOATED TO MY FACE ABOUT MY DEATH AND KNIGHT-RIDDERS GREAT POWER TO DESTROY. IN FACT JOHN KNIGHT WENT INTO HELLION BINGE OF JOY OVER KNIGHT-RIDDERS GREAT POWER TO DESTROY. I SECURED HOUSE WITH BLAST DOORS AND FLED THE COUNTRY IN JUNE 1991. N.B.C. ATTORNEYS, JOURNALISTS AND SECURITY OFFICIALS AT ROCKERFELLER CENTER FRADULAENTLY .....(unreadable)..... UNDER THE "FREEDOM OF INFORMATION ACT" ALL.... ORDERS OF N.B.C. EXECUTIVES GOT THE U.S. FEDERAL DISTRICT ATTORNEYS OFFICE AND GOT THE F.B.I. TO GET INTERPOL TO ESTABLISH TASK FORCE THAT LOCATED ME IN DOVER ENGLAND.
WHEN BACK HOME INQUIRER GOT UNION GOONS FROM THEIR OWN EMPLOYEES UNION TO SEND DOWN A "SPORTS JOURNALIST" -WHO - WITH BASEBALL BAT BASHED IN LIGHTS AND WINDOWS OF NEIGHBORHOOD CARS - AS WELL AS MEN OUTSIDE MY HOUSE. THEY ARE STATIONED THERE STILL. WAITING FOR ME. N.B.C., C.B.S., GROUP "W" WESTINGHOUSE. TIME. TIME-WARNER. FOX. UNIVERSAL - ALL OF THE "CULT OF THE HELLION" EACH WERE MUCH WORSE THAN KNIGHT RIDDER EVER WAS. (MOSTLY HELLION JEWS). WHEN K.Y.W. AND N.B.C. EXECUTIVES TOLD JOHN KNIGHT THE WHOLE COVEN GLOATED ON HOW THEIR SOVIET PALS HAD FOUND A WAY TO TURN IT INTO A.....
Alright then.
Sun Ra died in Philadelphia in 1993. Again – that has nothing to do with anything.
A reflection
A couple of things have drawn me into the mysterious world of the Toynbee tile. The first is an inherent personality trait that attracts me to this sort of thing. I love a good mystery – especially one entirely enmeshed in paranoid delusion and international intrigue. Add a sci-fi kick and local twist and you've really got my attention. The second thing that sucked me like a freak to a furry convention was the fact that I live in the heart of tile country.
One afternoon my interest was piqued enough to ride my bike down to the address listed on a particularly revealing tile placed on a street in Santiago, Chile. The Santiago tile named an address on the southern edge of South Philly. I decided to pay the place a visit.
Theories abound
The ride down to 2624 S. 7 th street was inspiring summertime adventure. A beautiful afternoon in the city, people were out enjoying the day in true South Philly style. Kids played in open fire hydrants, immigrants were building things, and locals drank beer on their stoops. I must have weaved around 2 dozen double-parked cars and a hundred broken bottles on my way to the mystery address. When I finally arrived, I was disappointed to see that the “experimental tiles� that I read so much about, had long since been paved over. Tiles or not, the trip was far from a bust.
I felt out of place strolling up and down 7 th street, scoping out the infamous address. The house was closed up unusually tight for a hot summer day. In the upstairs window I spotted an old computer and a few other boxes with protruding wires. The house wasn't in particularly great shape – but it didn't look like it was about to crumble into the pavement either.
A little disappointed, I was all set to leave when I decided to take a different approach. Walking up to the group sitting on the stoop closest to 2624, I opened my mouth and spoke: “excuse me, this is kind of a weird question but…�
South Philly-ites are eminently approachable folk. The people on the 2600 block of south 7th were unusually trusting of outsiders asking about tiles embedded in intersections across America and to speculations about their mysterious neighbor. One lady – a self-described “South Philly greaseball� recounted to me her 30 years living on the block. “It used to be all Jewish down there.� she told me as she pointed north towards Snyder Ave.
“Now the Chinese have it.� Interruped Franny, a gregarious young guy who sat on the step above her. He didn't mean his comment with any prejudice, but more as a matter of fact. He was right too… ( Except I'm pretty sure it's actually Vietnamese immigrants .) Details. The stoop lady went on.
“2624, That's Sivy's house. The Birdman.�
“Birdman?� I ask.
“Yeah, he collects the birds.� She says cradling an invisible sparrow in her closed palm. “And other things, he collects all sorts of things out here.�
“Out back too.� Says Franny.
The elderly lady sitting in the reclining lawn chair nestled at the curb pipes in, “It's a mess back there. O' you should see it.� She dramatically overempshsizes. “The vines. You should see the vines and the trash back there. I told him I'm gonna call L&I if he don't do somethin' about it.� She takes a sip from her lemonade and recedes back into silence.
Property records show that 2624 South 7th street was purchased in 1988 by Severino Verna, owner of the Verna Funeral Home and husband of Philadelphia City Council President Anna Verna. Sivy, the Birdman Verna is a relative of the two. (possibly a son who spent a few too many scarring moments at his Pappas funeral home?)
“So what does he do with the birds?� I ask again.
“He collects them.� The lady on the step says, and in a moment we're off the subject again. “Yeah, and before that it was Joe and his wife.�
“Railroad Joe.� Said Franny. “He worked for the railroad. I bet he's the guy you're looking for.�
The word railroad shot through me like a revelation. A railroad worker. Working on a rail line would give the tiler the ability to reach cities far and wide without a need for deep pockets. I had puzzled over the ability of a (likely) financially strapped, paranoid recluse to visit cities across the country seemingly at will. The railroad explained it. Feeling the momentum of the afternoon, I rode back home.
The next day, work was particularly slow – so I decided to play detective. I started with the radical deduction that Railroad Joe probably worked on a freight line, not a passenger carrier. Putting together time and place, that carrier would have had to be Conrail. They were the only railroad operating out of Philly at the time with a far enough reach. I've since gotten firm confirmation, that my detective work was spot on. Neighbors later verified that Railroad Joe worked for Conrail.
That's a nice theory and all – but how valid is it? Fortunately Railroad geeks are among the most fanatically obsessive folks on the internet. While many of them specialize on single railroads, or on specific states or regions, after some digging I found a comprehensive pre-Conrail/CSX merger United States rail system map.
The map serves as a color-coded chart of every rail line the United States at the precise time that the:
1. Toynbee tiler was active
2. Railroad Joe, resident of 2624 South 7 th street – was an employee of Conrail.
To make an already long story a little bit shorter… take a look for yourself. (The map can be found attached at the bottom of this article) The dark blue lines represent the Conrail network. I have placed black dots over cities where (you guessed it) Toynbee idea tiles have been reported. With diabolic consistency, where Conrail ends – so too end the tiles. Tiles exist up to the edges of Conrail serviced cities… but no further. Take a look for yourelf. If nothing else, it's pretty damn neat. (The sole North American exception is Kansas City, which lies just a couple hours beyond the Railroad's western-most stop.)
Open-ended conclusions
So this is my contribution of the moment to the mystery of the Toynbee tiler. Hopefully, the Conrail connection will bring all you researchers out there a little closer to to the secrets stuck beneath those bizarre little placards. But as with most leads – even strong ones – questions still outnumber answers. Here are my top few of the moment:
1. Besides the address, what is the connection between Railroad Joe and Sivy? (who some are convinced is the current tiler)
2. What is the relationship between either of the above two and James Morasco?
3. Whatever became of the Minority Association?
4. What the fuck is up with South America? (and Fishtown for that matter)
The answers to these questions hold the key to the whole mystery. As for the last question, a search over at ellis island records (free registration required) turned up a few Morasco immigrants from Brazil. A google search turned up a few contemporary Brazilian Morascos. Could James Morasco be the portal to South America? Who knows.
My obsessive behavior has actually borne some other fruit. A couple of West Philly types are in the middle of producing a documentary chronicling their search for the Toynbee tiler. We've shared some information and I was recently interviewed on camera for the upcoming film. Keep your eyes out for it. I'm the weirdo drinking another great Philly creation, Yards IPA. That's all for now.
---
anyone with information on the tiles, the tiler or with anything to contribute at all should visit the site: http://www.resurrectdead.com and let the folks over there know about it. Thanks.
