FRANKLIN, Pa. — As I approached this idyllic Western Pennsylvania town last Saturday afternoon, admiring the gorgeous fall foliage along Route 8 North, I was greeted by something quite unfamiliar. Sadly, it was a sight not unusual today in small-town, rural, once-traditional, no-longer-wholesome America. There on display this cold, rainy weekend was a Witch Walk.
Yes, a Witch Walk.
The little town of Franklin, Pennsylvania, is the county seat for the beautiful, mountainous Venango County, nestled in a valley along the confluence of the Allegheny River and French Creek. I’ve been here countless times to fish, hunt, or catch a play at the Barrow Theater, dine at a nice restaurant, peruse an antique shop, attend the annual Autumn Fest. The quaint town of roughly 7,000 has quite a history dating back to its founding in 1795, named after Benjamin Franklin. Gen. George Washington trod through here, as did President Woodrow Wilson, who wrote some of his Fourteen Points in an old, big white house up Main Street and to the left, owned by his brother. The place once harbored a sizable number of wealthy industrialists connected to the steel industry in Pittsburgh and to the booming oil industry up the road in nearby Oil City. (READ MORE from Paul Kengor: The Dodgers of Perpetual Indulgence Strike Out)
But last weekend, Franklin harbored an altogether different element: witches. A whole cabal of them.
Witch Walk in Franklin, Pa. (Paul Kengor/The American Spectator)
Last Saturday from 4:00–7:00 p.m., Franklin hosted a “Witch Walk” in its otherwise normal Rockwell-esque downtown section. What haunted the streets was an image that old Norman certainly never drew up for the Saturday Evening Post. Like so many small towns, our annual festivals and parades no longer look like Norman Rockwell portraits. No longer do respectable folks don suits and nice hats; instead, it’s tattoos and body piercings.
Or, in this case last Saturday, pointy hats.
Oh, yes. Pointy hats, black caps, the whole shebang, all decked out in full costume, playing the part — no, embracing the part. They were swarming all over downtown Franklin. One might be inclined to mentally picture these ladies as overweight, middle-aged, post-menopausal women lounging around coffee shops sipping lattes and griping about their husbands. But on this cold Saturday afternoon (what’s the old saying — “colder than a witch…”?), these witchy women were the real McCoy. Many seemed to be seeking a closer resemblance to the Wizard-of-Oz witch rather than, say, the perky “Samantha” (Elizabeth Montgomery) of early 1970s Bewitched fame. They were genuinely scary looking. You wouldn’t want to run into one of these dames in a dark alley after midnight. At least not without a bucket of water.
One might also be inclined to refer to these ladies as pagans, but I think that would be unfair to ancient pagans. The typical Witch Walk gals are mere pikers compared to, say, Moloch and the boys. But, nonetheless, their growing presence across America is disturbing.
Among the phenomena of our post-Judeo-Christian America has been a proliferation of self-identified witches. That’s not a big surprise, one supposes. After all, the largest group chronicled by demographers who study religion are the “nones.” That is, those who, when asked their religious affiliation, check the “none” box. Like atheists and agnostics, the nones are rising while people identifying with traditional religious beliefs are declining rapidly. And many of the nones are gravitating toward “wicca.” And, no, this isn’t yet another toxic development slithering out of large, Democrat-run cities; this is a rural red-state thing. (RELATED: Notre Dame Sells Tarot Cards and Witchcraft Guides)
Venango County, for instance, voted Donald Trump over Joe Biden 70–28 percent. The Franklin Witch Walk was actually sponsored by the local business community. “It’s just a fun event to bring people downtown,” glowed the president of the Franklin Retail & Business Association. “Our stores stay open late for the evening. It’s just fun. This is a safe event. We work with the city to make sure it’s safe for the businesses and the customers.”
Lighten up, folks! Grab a broomstick and come join your friendly local witches buzzing around town!
To be sure, good folks in Franklin rose up to protest this idiocy. Many businesses refused to participate. The local churches objected, especially St. Patrick Catholic Church. For daring to raise its voice in opposition, the parish was blasted with vile statements from maniacs on social media.
Regrettably, of course, this craziness most certainly isn’t confined to little Franklin, Pennsylvania. In fact, that’s my main concern here. It’s shocking how mainstream these witch gatherings have become, particularly in little towns.
Google “Witch Walk” and get information about the tempest gathering nearest you. They’re everywhere, some of them channeled into “Witch and Wine” festivals, with doors tossed wide open to “transgendered” witches and all sorts of weirdos. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve driven through small towns and happened upon “witch stores” across the street from the vape place and “body art” shop.
Welcome to the New America, boys and girls, where perversity and depravity are embraced and celebrated.
Saint Augustine said there’s a God-shaped vacuum in each of us. That means that when traditional Judeo-Christian beliefs are abandoned, other beliefs try to fill the vacuum, whether paganism, wicca, or whatever. But as so many of these lost souls will discover, such beliefs will not satisfy. For, as Augustine said, it is a God-shaped vacuum. It isn’t the shape of a pointy black hat or broomstick.