Buffalo - For Real

I just received a video on the City of Buffalo, New York from my aunt. In five gently narrated, beautifully filmed minutes, it imparts a glow and polish on an often maligned rust belt city that also happens to be my home town.

I left Buffalo just before I turned 7, so my early childhood memories are made up of time spent with my family in a modest house in suburban Kenmore and visits to my grandparents' place closer to downtown.

As a kid, I knew nothing of the history of the city, but Buffalo at one time was filled with wealth from its strategic location on the Erie Canal and Lake Erie, fueled by plentiful electricity generated at nearby Niagara Falls. Before so many Americans went west, Buffalo was a real place to be, and the wealthy businessmen and civic leaders built some amazing monuments to the city's prosperity.

The video celebrates Buffalo's "good bones" -- the infrastructure and cultural treasures that make it actually a pretty nice place to live if you like those kinds of urban amenities. There are Frank Lloyd Wright houses (Darwin Martin House in photo), a world-class symphony, an internationally recognized art gallery, beautiful parks, rows of century-old houses and other historic treasures. It looks picturesque and desirable on film.

It's also quite cold in Buffalo, but the video touches on it at the end, showing people playing in the snow, making snowmen, and hinting about being "lucky to be snowed in."

Between the images, the story and the compelling soundtrack, it certainly makes you want to visit. Maybe it's time to go catch up with some family.

My Dad Would Be 84 Today

My father was born 84 years ago to a modest-income family in Buffalo, New York. He grew up with his father away much of the time, during the depression. H was taller than everyone else in his family. He was a "nerd," being interested in technology, science and books--but didn't wear glasses. Then, he lost both parents as a teenager, to different illnesses. Not a great start in life.

My father served briefly in World War II at age 17, but a friend accidentally shot him through the middle (luckily, missing everything), so home he came. The 6-foot-3 overweight kid came home a slim, handsome 6-5 man, and things started to move. Dad went to college on the GI Bill and then through dental school. This began a career that included private practice, teaching at the University of Alabama at Birmingham and later the University of Southern California, and finally, a series of lectures. The University of Buffalo, his alma mater, has an annual award in his name. That, by any measure, is professional success.

As an increasingly successful professional in his 20's and early 30's, Dad got interested in British sports cars, and ended up owning and racing a number of them, including three Austin Healeys and a rare (and tiny) Berkeley. The latter was recently restored in the Midwest and is pictured above. Dad's love of cars was passed on to me, but I'm a writer, not a racer or a wrencher.

My parents' marriage was not successful for either of my parents, but they both made good connections later that lasted many years.

My father died suddenly the day before he was to have surgery to repair an abdominal aortic aneurism--a life threatening condition. I think he knew the risks going in. He and I had great, long phone chats on his birthday (June 1) and Father's Day (mid-June). In my adult years, we became close in spirit, if not in distance.

I'm sorry he's missing out on his great granddaughter and seeing his grandkids become adults. I'm used to him not being nearby, but I'm still unhappy he's not around. He knew how to fix anything, had a lot of interesting things to say, really cared about me--and celebrated my successes. I sent him every auto story I wrote during his lifetime (hundreds) and a number of books in my car library are signed gifts from him.

His car, in my mind, will always be an Austin-Healey. Someday, I may even get to drive one.

From Dad I learned to be honest, to work hard, that focusing your attention leads to great results, that it's important to spend some of your time doing what you love and much more. I wish he was still on the other end of the line.

Googling My Grandfather

I remember my grandfather fondly (my mother's dad). Of course, he and my grandmother were inseparable, so they were normally referred to in the plural (Nanny and Grampy or, as we got older, Nan and Gramp).

My grandfather came up the other day while I was talking to a friend, and I suggested that she Google him. That phrase sounds a little weird -- creepy even, doesn't it? In any case, my grandfather, who was born in 1902 and died in 1985, wouldn't know a google from a giggle. He did the latter often. He loved puns--especially bad ones, like Marlene Dietrich in the bank ("I want to make a loan.")

My grandfather was an attorney, but he worked for many years doing title searches. This was important work back in the day, and he was a recognized expert. Now, they send out a paralegal with a laptop, but Israel Dautch knew how to do it.

He was the soul of gentility and gentleness. He adored my grandmother, who was a fiery, fundraising little Jewish woman who at one time was recognized by David Ben Gurion himself for all her efforts to help the State of Israel (which came into being during her watch). My grandfather would say, "I wear the pants in this family. I ask my wife where she wants to go and then I TAKE HER THERE!" Always a laugh, but it was true. And it was perfect.

I think about Grampy often, and remember his kindness and humor. Oh--when I googled him, I found one entry--for their house in Buffalo. I contacted the man who posted it and he was excited to hear about their "Vermont Modern" style house (in of all places, Buffalo, New York.)

So, the man died before the Internet was used by anyone and is listed now only for his house. And the latest word is, the house in question may not be theirs after all.