T.M. Conroy
I grew up in Central New York, our family home not even ¼ mile from a vestigial section of the Erie Canal. The canal did not mean much to me in my childhood, more a nuisance than valuable really, with the distance between bridges being about 2 miles. Apart from some hockey, I paid it nearly no attention, except to recognize the barrier it sometimes represented. It did, however, still infuse some history and nostalgia in the small town, with establishments like the Tow Path Inn. Learning local history and culture from the names of the taverns in town, while educational, was also unordered, unstructured and perhaps the best way to learn. No tests and learn at your own speed, based on your age, interest and current level of understanding. It was an early demonstration that learning occurs on multiple levels, with me picking up on different aspects of the stories throughout my formative years. I am fairly certain that I just re-heard the exact same stories, with only my perspective altered, and not the details of the stories.
I ended up as a young man in Albany, and while I am still there, I am no longer young, at least by conventional measures. Until recently, I hadn’t had frequent travels “to Buffalo.” My memories of my early travels “to Buffalo” were mainly around how crazy traffic was from Exits 50 to 55 and what a tremendous invention EZ Pass was. Oh sure, the Maid of the Mist and Rich Stadium, but I had never even taken the Peace Bridge to Canada, opting for Lewiston Bridge or the Rainbow Bridge when I was heading to Canada from the west.
In early 2011, I made my maiden voyage “into Buffalo”, with nothing seeming very familiar. But yet nothing seeming very unfamiliar either, almost as if Expressway and Highway construction really do create some mega-sprawling Suburbanapolis. But somewhere on that drive into Buffalo, and sadly I can’t even say for sure which roadway I was on or where I was on that roadway, there appeared to me something amazingly grand, rising up and commanding my gaze. Eyes back on traffic, but then back to the striking structure. Repeat, repeatedly. What was that building?? Whoa — brake lights – change lanes! What is that building??
An interest in architecture is a nudge while on the ledge of the present, the impetus for a headlong dive into history. And as you learn the history of the building, you begin to learn the history of the city. And you learn the heartache of that city. The 19th century were heady times in Buffalo. It’s natural, simple beauty– undeniable. Further embellished by Burnham, Sullivan, Green, Wright et al, it had a distinguished look and appeal. But with time, Buffalo seemed to be pushed, prodded, maybe goaded into pursuits beyond its own ambitions, and she pursued contrived dreams without conviction. Exploited by the soulless and later betrayed by the heartless, the motto of Buffalo in the latter 20th Century, as for so many blue collar cities, might read, “Tread on Me.”
The Buffalo Central Terminal was The Building I saw on my trip into Buffalo. The history of the building seems a vivid metaphor for the city itself. My best guess is I was on Main Street when I saw it, but I can’t say for sure it wasn’t Kensington Expressway. Since then, I have seen other fantastic buildings around the city. I made a declaration to do a tour of the notable buildings on my next visit, and I will take a close look at the Buffalo Central Terminal. But as much as the Terminal struck me from afar, I think my initial trip into Buffalo was actually more memorable for another reason. Canvassing the Elmwood area– down Bidwell, onto Richmond, across Ferry, up Ashland to the crazy intersection to cut across Delavan and then across St James Place…. So many houses built with skill and pride, maintained and trimmed so beautifully, a true rival to any gift Burnham et al provided. I have never had a porch as nice as the ones I see on so many homes when walking through the West Side.
And so, how does someone who has never lived closer than 150 miles, feel like Buffalo is almost home? Maybe it was the epiphany that I have been tethered to the Erie Canal for my entire life, like a dog chained to a 360 mile long run, has come over me. No complaints, just a realization that my life blood flows in this ancient artery, and that I see Buffalo connected to my home, or part of my home. Or maybe I just identify with a blue collar town in the rust belt. Or maybe Buffalo has preserved so many treasures from its past, it inspires me, as it inspires them.
So, in addition to touring some great buildings during my next visit into Buffalo, I also plan to make a visit to the Buffalo Inner Harbor & Aud and celebrate the western terminus of my run. And then I look forward to a cold beer on a front porch of a brightly painted house and listen to the ideas my neighbors have for our city.
Impractical Cartography 