One of the things I love about Western New York in general, and Genesee County in particular is the sense of history I get from visiting its villages and towns.
All of the county's of WNY once played such a prominent role in the economic vitality of the nation, not to mention its contribution to culture and politics.
For all the short-sightedness of the city to tear down three city blocks of majestic historic buildings and build an ugly, non-functional mall, WNY is nothing like California, where the words "new" and "progress" are nearly sacred. The idea of preservation is nearly unheard of.
Thankfully, most of WNY's villages are still in tact. There are so much great architecture on display when you drive from town to town (avoiding the Thruway as much as possible).
Yesterday, while searching for a picture of Le Roy, I stumbled across this collection of historic photos of Genesee County.
Above is an old postcard from the collection, a picture of The Batavian Office Building the Masonic Temple on East Main Street.
Years ago, I worked in a
Years ago, I worked in a lumberyard in Orchard Park. We serviced homeowners along with professional contractors of varying skill and experience. One Saturday, a doofer ( do-it-to-yourselfer) was at the counter, extolling the quality of the 100-year-old house he'd purchased and the virtue of the long-dead craftsman who'd built his East Aurora home. He seemed very informed about the structure's history and ownership, and was very proud of his purchase.
Standing alongside him at the counter was a very experienced carpenter named Art. Art was an unprepossessing fella, about 80-something, somewhat below average height. He probably wouldn't have rated a second glance from most people, but among the more seasoned and successful carpenters, builders and contractors who were responsible for the bulk of our sales, he was Obi Wan, Gandalf, John Wayne and <i>Dirty Jobs</i> Mike Rowe rolled into one.
He never talked much (which in itself made him intimidating to most of us who didn't know diddly and talked to try to hide it) and had never offered unsolicited advice to amateurs up to that point. It sounds counter-intuitive, but some of the 'pros' loved nothing better than to give free pointers to homeowners who were trying to do their own work in an effort to avoid paying those same 'pros'. While the momentary flush of superiority might have warmed their egos, I never understood why someone would freely give away their hard-earned knowledge gratis to someone who should otherwise pay for it.
Anyway, Art's natural reticence gave way in the face of monumental cluelessness. "You mind a little advice from an old fella?", Art offered, with not a little sneer. I was instantly grateful to be able to witness the moment, as were the other guys I worked with who daily suffered the all-knowing expertise that doctors, lawyers, and accountants shared about things they had no clue about. The building's owner fortunately took Art's demeanor and appearance into account and accepted.
Art placed his out sized hands on the counter and looked down at his bill as he spoke. He had some damned big hands. "I've been building houses for over 60 years." He signed the bill with the flat carpenter's pencil that he kept between his ear and the callus that had developed alongside his scalp, and put it securely back in that same worn holder when he was done. "I've been fixing other people's mistakes during that time." He folded the receipt just as carefully as he would have drawn a line on a 16' 2 x 12 before he cut it, and put the paper in its place in his obviously well-used business binder. Art knew business just as well as he knew his trade.
He shifted towards the appropriately dressed homeowner, who was sporting sufficiently distressed 'carpenter's pants' with the required shiny Stanley tape-measure clipped to his belt. Art finally looked up at the smug homeowner and said, "I'm not sure of many things, but I'm sure of this. They make crappy houses now, and they made crappy houses a hundred years ago. I live happier in the house I built last year than I would in the hundred-year-old s***houses I've repaired for the last 60 years".
As the appropriately dressed doofer blushed at the counter, Art exited to the appreciative laughter of the people who respected him.
If I were that homeowner I'd
If I were that homeowner I'd probably have to smile and give up a high-five
But
Some people say fallingwater is a wreck