This page is dedicated to all the memories of those  who have shared in that special place they called "Home" at Stoverdale. 

Please email us with your stories and photos and we will be happy to post your memoirs here for all to enjoy.

Beverly standing in front of her house

Then                       and                      Now

Discovering Stoverdale Part 1

By Beverly Hallman Overa

My conscious memories begin with fish sticks.  My mother, Gladys Shearer-Beers Hallman, was of Mennonite background, as are so many in the Central Pennsylvania area.  Although most Mennonites were of Swiss mingled with Scotch-Irish ancestry, the culinary aspect of life was based on New World availabilities, as were many of the Amish recipes.  In other words, my mother cooked ‘Dutch’.   Some of our favorite dishes were potpie, oyster stew, pig stomach, chicken corn soup with rivels, shoofly pie and other dishes that originated from the necessities of living in frontier America.   

But my Mom had a progressive side to her personality.  We also had Tang, the orange drink developed for the astronauts, spaghetti and meatballs derived from heavily Italian Hershey, submarine sandwiches, of which our favorites were from Arndt’s Sub Base near Campbelltown or from Town & Country restaurant in Hummelstown.  She even tried different teas, and from that experiment she gave me a love for Constant Comment and Southern Mint, both of which are still available today. 

Once at the Sunday meal she presented a new food called fish sticks to our family of seven.  At that time, a large package contained twelve large planks, and was expensive compared to her other meal ingredients.  I was the youngest, smallest, and poorest eater, so I got only one of the prized new treats so as not to waste them.  I remember seeing a strange, golden brown rectangle on my plate with the mashed potatoes and peas.  I ate what I knew first, then ventured to taste the strange object that she described as fish.  Didn’t look like fish.  Didn’t smell like fish.  And anyway, I wasn’t really fond of fish.  But that day I was hungry, so I tried it and ate it all up.  It was really good, and I wanted more and said, “Mommy, can I have another fish stick?”  

The table chatter stopped, and all eyes fell on the least of the clan, so easily overlooked in her quiet, frail smallness.  The plate in the center of the table, where the extra golden sticks had lain was empty and my Mother said, “You should have eaten yours sooner.  They’re all gone now.”   My Dad said, “No, Mommy, I have half of one left,” and he gave me the rest of his fish stick.  My brothers and sisters were jealous, and made remarks about my foolishness and favored status.  But I ate it all up and declared that I could eat more of them if they had been available.  That is all the thanks my folks needed, as my health was tentative since birth, and they took this as a sign that I would grow stronger and healthier with this new appetite. 

That event is the first page in my personal memory book.  My life began that day in my memories, and after it I learned numbers up to seven so I could count the members of my family.  After that day I learned that we lived in a place called Stoverdale, my world.  Sometimes we took trips to my Grandparents home in Campbelltown, or my Mother’s aunt’s home in Manheim, or to my Father’s workplace in Harrisburg.  It took longer for me to learn those place names, but when I asked my sister Sandy where we lived she said, ‘Stoverdale, but tell people Hershey.”

To be continued…..