On The DL

Schuylkill River Secrets, Mon., Dec. 3, a la carte dinner 6 p.m., storytelling 7:30 p.m., free, reservations required, White Dog Café, 3420 Sansom St., 215-386-9224, whitedog.com

by Tami Fertig

Mon., Dec. 3, a la carte dinner 6 p.m., storytelling 7:30 p.m., free, reservations required, White Dog Café, 3420 Sansom St., 215-386-9224, whitedog.com

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Early Philadelphians couldn't get enough of the untouched, unspoiled Schuylkill River. They built their homes near it, went swimming and fishing in it, planted exotic gardens overlooking its banks. But the fun didn't last long. In the late 18th century, settlers began polluting the river, which eventually became too stinky to love.

In honor of the oft-overlooked Schuylkill, and to chronicle its best of times and worst of times, local author Beth Kephart lets the river, quite literally, do the talking. Composed of poetry, historical footnotes and old drawings and photos from the city's archives, her new book, Flow: The Life and Times of Philadelphia's Schuylkill River (Temple University Press, $23), takes the river's point of view on the major milestones of its life.

At the White Dog Café this Monday, Kephart will share these stories, many of them largely forgotten. Did you know, for instance, that brave souls used to go ice skating on the river, near Boathouse Row? Or that in the early 20th century, they were no longer permitted to do so, because "pollutants interfered with the freezing process and the ice was no longer trustworthy"? By that time, the river had already begun to serve as a veritable garbage disposal, where people dumped sewage and slaughterhouses flung offal.

"You turned your backs on me," writes Kephart, speaking as a rightfully indignant Schuylkill. "You robbed me of my dignity and birdsong, of fat-fisted flowers and azalea springs. Mostly you robbed me of the idea of myself as a river."

Despite the tsk-tsk tone, Kephart ends Flow on a hopeful note, describing how a life-affirming river otter popped up in the Schuylkill in 2005. "He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen," she writes. "He might have kept going from river to river, but he came here, to me."