history

It should be noted though that people today have less to grouse about than 50 years ago.

The average temperature has increased 2.5 degrees per year and while more precipitation falls in the winter, less of it is snow.

That hasn't stopped people from moving to or spending their winters in Florida. I guess hurricanes, alligators, snakes and bugs are preferable to gloves, ice scrapers and salt trucks. Do people wear Uggs in Florida? Just wondering.

When you have resided in the North your whole life there are bound to be memorable winter storms that will stir up comparisons among those who endured them. Batavians of a certain age debate the snowfalls of 1966 vs.1977.

Because of circumstances I experienced, the most unforgettable to me was the Blizzard of 1966.

On Jan. 30^th and 31^st, 1966 the entire Northeast was wracked by a blizzard that blew in from the west. Western New York was especially hard hit due to the cyclonic effect in which winds wrapped around and blew off Lake Ontario and Lake Erie, adding much more snowfall. 

Winds of up to 50 miles per hour whipped snow that was falling, or more accurately blowing sideways, at a rate of one to two inches per hour. The Batavia area was still digging out from a heavy snowfall the week before, which had dropped two feet of the white stuff.

Snowdrifts up to 15-feet high, chain-reaction Thruway crashes, lots of stranded motorists

When the winds finally abated on Feb. 1^st and 2^nd, Western New York had been shut down to travel and motorists were stranded for up to a week. Drifts were 10 to 15 feet high in some places and heavy machinery was needed to open streets and highways.

During the blizzard a chain reaction accident of up to 100 vehicles had taken place on the Thruway just east of Batavia. Drivers had to be rescued and some taken to local hospitals. Cars blocking the Thruway were supposedly plowed off to the median (although the state disputed this) and remained there until they could be towed away.

When the storm began, I had just turned 19 the week before and was home on a break from my sophomore year at St. John Fisher College in Rochester. It was a tense time for me because there was a chance that I might flunk out. From my freshman year I was on double secret probation or whatever they called it.

There were no emails back then and the only way to find out your grades for the first semester was to go to the administration building and get a copy. They would not give them out by phone either. Of course, I had not revealed this fear to my parents who were footing the bill.

Before I returned to college, my mom had invited my aunts and grandmother to our house for a belated birthday celebration for me.

My two unmarried aunts lived together in the longtime family home on Cedar Street and neither of them drove, so they always had to be picked up and taken back. My maternal grandma lived on North Lyon Street and had one of those cars with the ball on the radio aerial so you could find it in a parking lot. Also on hand were my 16-year-old brother Dan, and my youngest brother, 8-year-old Jim, in addition to mom and dad.

Winter storm turns into paralyzing blizzard

As the day turned to evening, the snow and wind increased by the hour. Dan and I started to get nervous when we noticed our parents peering out at the storm and talking in hushed tones with each other. Snippets of the discussion were overheard. 

“...Your mother will never make it in this”... “What do we do about Kate and Peg ?”... Uh oh.

Dan and I had a whispered conversation of our own that went something like -- “Holy cow! It's really coming down. We could be stuck in here with all these people for a week!”

I know. An opportunity for some real family bonding time, right? No. Hey, we were immature selfish teenagers.

To us, this would be just as bad as those stranded motorists being stuck in the bus garage. We'd have to give up our beds and bedrooms and sleep on the family room floor. They'd be watching game shows and Lawrence Welk on the TV. We'd be cooped up with my aunts, who gave off a faint aroma of mothballs.

We needed to get out of there! But how? And where?

We put our heads together and came up with what we thought was a brilliant plan for escape. Two 50-something women couldn't get the mile or so from our house on North Spruce Street to their home on Cedar Street, but we could. There was food, heat and a TV there. What else did we need?

I don't recall if our parents put up any resistance, but they were preoccupied with figuring out how to provide for everyone anyway. A couple less humans in the house was probably a good thing.

'Arctic explorers' make the 'tough slog' to Cedar Street

So we bundled up looking like Arctic explorers Robert Peary and Matthew Henson headed to the North Pole and ventured out into the maelstrom.

I do recall that it was a tough slog even for healthy teenagers. The snow felt like little needles on your face and no plows had been out at all so we were essentially breaking trail down the middle of the road.

We cut through from East Avenue to the plaza on East Main Street where Your Host restaurant and Lane Drugs were (both closed). There was also a 24-hour laundromat (where my friends and I bought cigarettes for 30 cents a pack out of a machine in high school) that was open so we stopped in there to warm up halfway on our hike.

We were amazed to see that the entire parking lot was full of tractor-trailers waiting out the storm. It was eerie to view the snow blowing across the plaza lights, hear the sound of all the semi engines running, but seeing absolutely no moving traffic on Route 5 or 33.

Eventually, we made it to our aunts' house, called our parents so they knew we were safe, shed our boots, long johns, hats, scarves, coats and gloves, and hunkered down for the duration of the storm.

Aunts Kate and Peg were two of the worst cooks imaginable (they prepared ham by boiling it in water), so we took stock of what was in the fridge and cupboards to find out if we could survive. Mostly, I think we were looking for cookies, cakes, chips and stuff for sandwiches. You know, teenager food.

TV news confirms blizzard 'was a pretty big deal'

We settled in to watch some TV and soon the 11 o'clock news came on. The entire broadcast was about the blizzard and we realized that this was a pretty big deal.

As it got to midnight, we expected the TV station to sign off, play the national anthem, and put up the overnight test pattern as was the procedure in those days. But, to our happy surprise, the announcer said that due to the storm they were going to stay on later than usual and show movies for all those out in TV land who were stuck in the snow. Sweet!

I don't recall what movies were shown, but for sure they were in black and white and even more surely they were no Oscar winners. Maybe "The Blob" with a young Michael Landon or "Bernadette of Lourdes" for all the Catholics who were tuned in.

About 2 a.m. the movies ended and the station signed off. I said to Dan, “Well, let's head upstairs and get some sleep.”

He replied incredulously, “Are you crazy? I'm not sleeping in those beds!”

“Why not ?”, I asked.

“There's probably leg hairs stuck to the sheets,” he replied drolly. “Think about it.”

Fifty years later I still chuckle at that comment.

So, we found some hair-free blankets (we hoped) and bedded down on the couches for the night with the sound of the wind rattling the windows.

(Snowfall from the blizzard of '66 on Cedar Street in Batavia, courtesy of the Batavia History Department.)

When I awoke, I was confused briefly as to where I was. It was daylight and I realized that I didn't hear the wind anymore. I went to a window facing Cedar Street and looked out.

Behold a 'marshmallow landscape' 

My eyes must have blinked several times as I tried to focus on familiar landmarks. But there were none. Everything was white as if Mother Nature had poured bleach over the world.

I was completely disoriented as there was no depth perception at all. The sky: white. The ground: white. Everything: white.

It was then, as I tried to get my bearings, that I noticed some movement off to the south, or left. A small stick-like figure was advancing through the marshmallow landscape. I could discern that it was a person coming up the middle of the street, or at least where there should be a street.

As it got closer, I could tell that it was someone on snowshoes. Dan was now awake and at the other front window. The human snowman was approaching the front of the house and he or she began climbing up and up some more. It was then that we realized that the snowshoer was ascending a drift in front of the house that was at least 10 feet high!

My brother and I simultaneously went “Wow!”

As the Yeti-like creature came down the other side of the drift headed for East Main Street we knew at that moment that: 1. We were going to be there for a while; and 2. This was a storm we would never forget.

Shoveling out, returning to normal

I can't recall how many days we stayed at our teenage refuge, but it was a least a few. Dan and I kept busy during the day by shoveling a path from the house to the street. Our parents called often to check up on us and to ascertain if the street was clear for my aunts to return home.

Cedar Street is a connecting road between routes 5 and 63 so it needed to be travelable sooner rather than later. At some point, huge machines showed up and within a few hours the street was open. We marveled to watch the front-end mounted snow throwers, gigantic loaders and “V” plows do their jobs.

When my aunts returned home my dad had to let them out of the car in the street and Dan and I helped them navigate the thin opening through the giant drifts and plowed snow to get to their porch. They were very appreciative of us caring for their house and we were glad we'd made them happy. It wasn't the last time we had to assist them to the house either, because their driveway was unusable until the spring when the snow finally melted away.

When I did return to St. John Fisher, sweating nervously all the way in the car with my dad, I got the good news that I had indeed passed and would be able to stay. Years later, when I told my parents about my narrow escape from having to leave college, it added that much more to my recounting of my adventure in the Blizzard of '66.

(Top inset photo of Batavia Downs following the blizzard of 1966 taken by Gleason Cleveland, courtesy of Joshua Pacino.)

Photos courtesy of Dave Reilly.

A couple of months ago a friend contacted me and asked if I would like a book from the Union School. I immediately said, “yes.” When I taught at Robert Morris School there was a painting of a very impressive red brick school called Union School. I always thought there was another school on Union Street besides Robert Morris. When I began researching schools for my book, I learned the impressive school did exist in Batavia but on Ross Street.

Here is a brief timeline of the schools in Batavia. As Western New York was settled in the 1700s, the first thing on a settler’s mind was to build a home for the family and gardens or crops to feed them, but no community was complete until a church was built and soon followed by a schoolhouse.

By 1798, there were 1,352 schools in the Holland Land Purchase (the area sold and administrated from the Holland Land Office in Batavia). Within 40 years (by 1838) that number increased almost tenfold, to 10,583. 

The first brick school was constructed in Batavia in 1811. It had the public school downstairs and a meeting place for the Masonic Lodge upstairs. In 1829, the school district was divided between west of Dingle Alley and east of Dingle Alley. That would be the intersection of East Main and Center Street.

In 1839, the districts were consolidated and Batavia’s First Free Union School District 1 was built. In 1861, District 2 was combined with District 1. As a result, overcrowding occurred and the need for a new school was inevitable. The school district purchased land on Ross Street and in 1873 the red brick high school was built. It opened in 1874.

It was demolished in 1926 and was replaced with a new high school, currently the Batavia Middle School. The book I mentioned in this article was from the first high school that had the impressive red brick façade and towers. The book is stamped Union School 1905. The title of the book is, "The History of Little Goody Two Shoes," published in 1900. The book is dedicated "To All Young Gentlemen and Ladies who are good or intend to be good."

In 1911 the district was combined with one superintendent in charge of all schools. In the City School District, there was a high school, five elementary schools, the school for the blind and one Catholic school with students to 12th grade. By 1920, 400 students attended the high school; it was overflowing.

In 1921, 30 students had to go to vacant classrooms at East school. In 1920 the high school was built. There were five elementary schools and only one had been built in the 1900s. Washington was built in 1885 and had four rooms. In 1903 H. W. Homelius built a new school that had two floors and eight classrooms. It opened in 1904. Also built at the same time was Pringle School and William Street School. Washington School was built in 1885. East School and West School were built in 1892.

 In 1925 Jackson School would be built to replace William School and Pringle School. In 1929 Brooklyn School, Robert Morris, and Jackson school opened. In 1939 Jackson School was enlarged and opened as a junior high school. By 1948 all city schools were crowded. Students were bussed to less crowded schools. Parents protested, they wanted their kids in their neighborhood schools.

Temporary schools were created at East School and Washington School. In 1950, city council offered to the City School District a site on Vine Street for a new school. Pringle school closed and was razed in 1954. Lincoln School closed in 1960. Children living south of Ellicott Street went to Jackson School, which was no longer a junior high school. A new school was to be built on Vine Street, called John Kennedy School, named after the superintendent John Kennedy who served from 1890 to 1930.

As public schools were being built, so were parochial schools. St. Joseph School opened in 1882, Sacred Heart School in 1904, St. Anthony’s School in 1930, St. Mary’s School in 1951, and Notre Dame High School opened in 1952. St. Joseph School is currently the only Catholic Elementary School in Batavia along with Notre Dame High School.

In 1961 the current Batavia High School was built on State Street. The high school on Ross Street was changed to a middle school. A new school for B.O.C.E.S. was also built on State Street and opened in 1976. In 1972 the new Genesee Community College was built.

In 2014 Robert Morris School closed. Jackson School became the district primary school and John Kennedy School became the intermediate school.

Even though the earliest history of the various schoolhouses throughout the region had similar stories with varied locations and different building designs, they all were built for the same reason -- to educate the children in what is today our city schools.

I attended East School, John Kennedy School, St. Joseph and Notre Dame High and I taught at Jackson School, Robert Morris School and John Kennedy School. I am currently on the faculty at St. Joseph School.

Seeing this year's Batavia High School football team go all the way to the New York State Championship game and Notre Dame, my favorite college team since childhood, go to the NCAA semifinal brought back memories of playing football as a kid.

Short memories. Really short memories. You see, my official football career lasted for one week.

When I was a little kid, even at age 6 or 7, I became a huge Notre Dame University fan. I'm not really sure why.

Perhaps it was being Catholic. Maybe it was because my dad liked Notre Dame, although he couldn't really watch any sporting event without getting mad. He had a sixth sense for identifying which team was going to lose and then spending the whole game complaining that “they were getting gypped.”

I actually used to go to my aunts' house to watch sports to get peace and quiet.

When I was very young I was already cutting out articles from the newspaper about Notre Dame and my heroes Ralph Guglielmi, Johnny Lattner and Paul Hornung. When I was 10 in 1957, I watched every second of the Fighting Irish 7-0 victory over Oklahoma (on our black and white TV), which broke the Sooners' 47 game winning streak.

Around this same time I began to play football in the yard or at the park with my little friends. I'm sure the ball was bigger than some of us could hold onto, but we would run and tackle “like the big guys.” Of course, when I got my prized red helmet for Christmas (as described in a previous story) then it was really “game on."

What I'm leading up to here is that as I played and watched football more and more, I started to fantasize about playing for Notre Dame someday. I would drift off to sleep or get through a dull day at school by imaging myself running out of the tunnel onto that oh-so-bright green field at South Bend, Ind.

I would be dressed in my green and gold uniform and I would run and pass for touchdowns that would have the frenzied crowd shouting my name. The week after that 1957 Irish victory over Oklahoma my parents surprised me by taking me to South Bend to see Notre Dame play Iowa.

That whole experience -- the pep rally the night before, the school band playing the fight song, being in the stadium, the sights and sounds of the game -- all solidified my Notre Dame fandom. Even though the Irish lost the game, I was as hooked as a hungry bass chomping on a lure.

As I got older, I grew taller and a bit bigger than some of my friends. When we would play and they would try to tackle me, I would drag some of them along before they could get me to the ground so they started calling me “Tank.” That only boosted my daydream that I could be a real football player.

So, at age 13 as ninth grade approached, I was headed for Notre Dame High School, which in my mind would be the perfect lead in to Notre Dame University. I passed my physical and as the summer ended I arrived at the school with my heart pounding to get my uniform and walk over to the field on Union Street to embark on my football career.

But as happens in life, fantasy and hopefulness were in for a huge dose of reality.

The head coach was a man who had been our physical education teacher at St. Mary's Elementary School. At some point in the first practice coach blew his whistle and told everyone to gather around in a circle. It was time for a fun little activity called “Bull in the Ring.”

The upperclassmen clapped and cheered and seemingly couldn't wait to get at it. I had no idea what was going on, but I found out soon enough. Two players were called out to the center of the ring and essentially would run into each other until the coach decided that one of them had enough.

My opponent outweighed me significantly and went on in his upper-class years to become a team captain and an All-Catholic wrestler. In a minute I went from “Tank” to “Stank” and spent a long time soaking in the tub that night.

Day two brought two more obstacles: going up against way bigger guys and sunburn. Apparently Coach's view of freshman and jayvees was that they were there to be used as punching bags for the varsity.

With a minimal amount of instruction we were lined up on defense for the varsity to run plays against. At a whopping 135 pounds I was placed at defensive end against a senior who was at least 190. Play after play he would just knock me backward into the dirt like a bulldozer would a sapling.

At the same time, the sun was beating down on my red head and fair skin. I don't remember if sunblock was invented then, but even so I didn't have any. So at the end of that practice I made my way home -- head spinning, mouth and eyes full of dirt, skin like a lobster.

In fact, I was burned so badly, that my mom wouldn't let me go to practice on the third day. I can't say I complained because I could barely get out of bed anyway.

Fortunately, it was the weekend and there was no practice on Saturday or Sunday. That gave me a couple days to heal and rest.

On Monday, I made a gigantic mistake. I had my mom write an excuse note for missing Friday's practice. This was comparable to a soldier's mom writing a note to General Patton.

“Dear General, please excuse my son from the war because he had the sniffles.” What was I thinking? As Coach read the note, he looked up at me with an expression of disgust.

“Really kid (he didn't know my name)? Sunburn? I'll see you out on the field.”

So, my mom had no idea, but her note resulted in me running a bunch of laps around the field in the blazing sun while the rest of the team ignored me like lima beans at Thanksgiving dinner.

The last day of my football career really wasn't a surprise. My fantasies of playing quarterback for Notre Dame University had been ground out of my imagination and beaten into the dust of the practice field. At this point, I was just hoping to survive one more practice.

I made it, but not by much.

The final straw was an innocent enough looking punt coverage drill. We lined up in two lines, the punter kicked the ball downfield and we were supposed to take off and go after the receiver. At the end of my line stood Assistant Coach Tree Trunk Arms. His biceps seemed as big around as a normal person's legs.

As I heard the snap count and sound of the ball off the punter's foot I took off.

Suddenly, it felt as though someone had swung a baseball bat and connected with my helmet. But it wasn't a baseball bat, it was the giant fist of Mr. Trunk Arms. Apparently, he was trying to simulate the contact that you would feel from an opposing team member. Yeah, like having a bowling ball dropped on your head would simulate an acorn falling from an oak tree.

Several seconds must have gone by before I realized that my face was in the dirt. My head was reeling and as I lifted it up my vision was blurry. In the cartoons this is often depicted by a bunch of birds flying around the person's head as they stagger away, and stagger is exactly what I did though I can't recall hearing any bird noises.

To this day I hate to admit it, but I think I was crying. The rest of the practice was pretty much a foggy haze in my brain, but I'm pretty sure neither ol' Trunk Limbs nor any other coach asked if I was OK.

That night, when the mist had cleared somewhat from my noggin, I made a decision. I had been working up to it for a couple days. Not only would I never run out of that tunnel in South Bend, I wouldn't be going across Richmond Avenue to the Notre Dame High School field either. I was done.

I don't remember exactly how I quit, but it was certainly no loss to the team.

A couple of the older players made some half-hearted attempts at shaming, words like sissy and coward might have been said, but I was more relieved than sad. Later on, I did letter in cross-country, track and basketball, so I was able to enjoy high school sports after all.

Of course, my childhood daydreams were just that. No player from Batavia, and there have been many good ones at NDHS and Batavia High School, ever played for Notre Dame University. Not to mention the grades needed to get into that venerable college that I didn't come close to achieving.

In fact, St. John Fisher where I did go just had intramural football back then and I didn't even play. A couple teams asked me, but in one swing Assistant Coach Tree Trunk Arms left an indelible ache that killed any notion of football ever holding any glory for me.

Photo  courtesy of Dave Reilly.

The snowy season is the perfect time to explore a museum (or two, or three). And Genesee County is the perfect place to find interesting information and interactive fun just waiting to be discovered. From surprising local history to immersive experiences to a whole gallery dedicated to the dessert that changed the world, we’ve rounded up a few great museums to set your sights on.

Get ready to warm up while you brush up on your local historical knowledge. The hardest part is deciding where to start!

Holland Land Office Museum

What better place to begin your journey than in Batavia, NY – called “the birthplace of Western New York?” Step into the Holland Land Office Museum, an 1810 stone building bursting with artifacts and information that tell the story of the area and those notable people who impacted it in a major way. See the Medal of Honor earned by Charles F. Rand, a Batavian who was to first soldier in the nation to volunteer for the Civil War. View an original gibbet used in hangings up until 1881. Combine your visit with a stop at the Batavia Peace Garden, located right next door.

In the spirit of the holidays, the museum currently has a tree wonderland exhibit where visitors can explore nearly 50 well-decorated trees, pictures and festive displays. The 2018 theme is “Favorite Holiday Movie,” so get ready for a trip down memory lane! The museum also hosts monthly trivia nights on the second Thursday of the month.

JELL-O Gallery Museum

Did you know JELL-O was invented right here in Genesee County in 1897? Follow the JELL-O brick road and see where it all began! Explore the history of “America’s Most Famous Dessert” while you enjoy old TV commercials and ads, famous JELL-O works of art, and lots of wiggly, jiggly fun facts. A stop at the museum isn’t complete until you browse the gift store and take home a souvenir in every color.

Rolling Hills Asylum

No plated glass, no guard rails, no barriers. Just pure unfiltered history at Rolling Hills Asylum. Once housing the Genesee County Poor Farm, the addition of the infirmary in 1938 sealed the fate of poor unfortunate souls who were sent there. This unusual museum provides a more hands-on experience for guests, allowing them to get up close and personal with its past. Take a history tour, a flashlight tour, join a guided ghost hunt, or spend several hours exploring during an overnight lock-in. Special events like painting parties, movie showings, and dinners are also offered year-round.

Genesee Country Village & Museum

Centuries of American history come to life (literally) in this living history complex of more than 600 acress in Wheatland (Monroe County). Sixty-eight authentic, historic buildings dot the charming Genesee Country Village, with thousands of artifacts housed throughout. Find yourself immersed in 18^th and 19^th century life, as you browse homes from early settlers in the 1800s up to affluent members of society in the 1900s. Visit with farm animals, interact with costumed interpreters, attend a special event -- and don’t forget to swing by the on-site brewery for a swig.

Harford House Barn & Livery

The Harford House Barn & Livery museum resides in the former 1880 Harford Hotels Livery Stables in Downtown Bergen. Inside the barn, guests can browse interesting, life-size tableaux depicting a blacksmith shop, a general store, school classroom and more. Presentations are also available by village Historian Raymond MacConnell for those curious to learn more.

Historic Le Roy House

More than 100 years of unique history can be found in this mansion-turned-museum! Built in 1822, the home was once owned by the Chancellor of Ingham University -- the first female university in the United States to grant a four-year degree. As you tour three floors of period-designed rooms, learn about local abolitionists, see a real open-hearth kitchen, and enjoy hands-on activities for the kids. The building itself is a sight to behold – listed on the National Register of Historical Places!

Medina Railroad Museum

The Medina Railroad Museum (in Orleans County) is the largest freight depot in the country, with the largest collection of train artifacts and memorabilia housed under one roof. Browse the exhibits before hopping on a scenic train ride or themed seasonal excursion. Throughout the year you’ll find rides that travel along the Erie Canal, zip past fall foliage, take you to the North Pole to meet Santa and his reindeer – or allow you to hop aboard an Easter Express and meet the big bunny himself.

Tonawanda Indian Reservation Historical Society

Immerse yourself in the lives of local Native Americans. The history of the Tonawanda Band of Seneca Indians is celebrated throughout the hallways of the Tonawanda Indian Community House. Wander the halls as you explore large-scale photographs and illustrations that display the history and heritage of the Reservation. Learn about the tribe and the history of the Seven Nations, and don’t forget to see the chief’s headdress on the second floor.

Le Roy Barn Quilt Trail

Who says a museum has to be enclosed? Barn Quilts of Le Roy began as a bicentennial project for the town and has grown to feature more than 100 handmade quilts on display on barns throughout the area. Step-on bus tours are offered by appointment or you can hop in a car with some friends or your family and take the driving tour yourself! The quilts represent the pride of Le Roy, a town rich with heritage.

Alabama Museum

Local history can hold some surprising secrets…did you know that the town of Alabama, NY used to have three-gun manufacturers in town? The Alabama Museum resides in an old schoolhouse and features everything from a hammered dulcimer to an old doctor’s buggy. Browse the artifacts and get an understanding of a little local history, dating back to the mid-1800s. You can also grab a copy of the Alabama Cookbook for your home or as a gift. The 70-page cookbook includes cooking tips, favorite recipes from the locals, and some recipes from the 1895 Alabama Cookbook.

History buffs need not stop there! See all of the local museums within Genesee County and find more fascinating facts here.

Teenagers have most likely been doing risky adventures since ancient times. It's their way of rebelling and trying new things.

Prehistoric teens might having taken dad's newly invented wheel for a joyride down the highest sand dune. Or they could have covered some cave paintings with graffiti.

In the '50s and '60s in Batavia, drag racing on the Creek Road or jumping off the Walnut Street Bridge into Tonawanda Creek were things kids would do that parents certainly wouldn't have been happy about if they had known.

One of the rites of passage into daring teenhood that my friends and I did was climb the Batavia Water Tower on Ellicott Street.

If you lived or worked in Batavia between 1939 and 2003 you would have seen the Water Tower jutting above the city skyline. Located on Ellicott Street behind the E. N. Rowell Box Factory and Engine House #1 of the City Fire Department, it was on the bank of Tonawanda Creek and very near to downtown.

Built in 1938-39 as a project for W. P. A. (the Works Progress Administration was renamed the Work Projects Administration) at a cost of $175,000 ($3 million in today's money) the tower was short-term insurance in the event of a break in the city's water supply.

Just shy of 200 feet high (17 stories) it was believed at the time of its construction to be the tallest water tower in the United States. The blinking red lights on top were to alert low-flying aircraft. It held 1.5 million gallons, or 13 million pounds, of water.

In 1983 it was repainted at a cost of $89,000. In 2003, the 65-year-old rusting structure was no longer needed and was disassembled and taken down at a cost of $114,000.

From the day it was finished, the Batavia Water Tower must have been a challenge to the teenage ego, or maybe even to younger youths; in 1952 four boys between the ages of 10 and 14 were discovered up there by police in broad daylight. They told police they wanted to see Lake Erie, but were disappointed that they couldn't even see Lake Ontario.

For my friends and me it was akin to Flick in “A Christmas Story” accepting the “double dog dare” and sticking his tongue on a frozen flagpole. None of us really wanted to go up the tower. But, in the code of teens, none of us could get out of climbing it if someone else did without severe repercussions to our reputation. In other words, we'd rather be scared than called chicken.

I don't know about the others, but I had to block out my fear of heights, which I still have to this day. Not exactly as bad as Indiana Jones and snakes, but worse than flying on a commercial airline.

At least we weren't brazen enough to climb in the daytime. That would have resulted in a ride in a patrol car immediately. Plus, half the fun was getting away with it and not telling your parents until you were 40.

So, we would sneak back there in the dead of night. The darker the better. First, there was a fence to climb over. “Danger” and “Warning” signs were posted on the fence, but that just made it more inviting. Then, you had to hoist yourself up to a spiral staircase, which wound around the core of the tower. That part was actually not bad as it had solid steps and handrails, so if you didn't look down it was bearable.

At the top of the spiral stairs was a circular walkway which went all the way around. This part also had a railing and I could handle it if I kept my back against the wall and didn't look over the side. Those who have a fear of heights will identify with the weak feeling I would get in my legs just watching one of my braver buddies look down over the railing.

I imagine there was a fine view of the surrounding area from there in the daytime, but all we could see were the lights of downtown and surrounding buildings like the Doehler-Jarvis plant, a tool-and-die company, just to the south. (It employed 1,500 people in its heyday and closed in 1981. The buildings were later razed to make way for parking around the ice-skating rink.)

The biggest challenge though was negotiating an arced ladder that had no handrail and which curved over the top and took you up to the lights on the apex of the structure.

With trembling hands, up we would go. Once we grabbed onto the lights flashing in our face like a drowning person to a piece of driftwood, we could relax for a few minutes and enjoy our conquest. We would light up a cigarette (another thing our parents would frown on even though most of them smoked, too) and gloat in our accomplishment.

One time, we had to snuff our smokes quickly and remain very silent as we observed a policeman on foot checking on the cars in Mancuso's used car lot just below the tower. We had to stay up there longer than usual while he completed his rounds and finally left. We undoubtedly breathed a sigh of relief and tried to enjoy the moment without thinking about the trip back down.

Going back down that curved ladder was absolutely the hardest part for me. You could not negotiate the ladder going over the edge without looking down at least briefly. If that cop had still been there he could have probably heard my heart pounding.

Once back on the walkway, you could begin your descent of the spiral staircase. Holding tightly onto the railings, I would try to look straight out and not down.

As I got to the bottom of the stairway I would almost be running and then as I hopped onto the ground a huge feeling of relief would wash over me -- “I made it, I'm still alive!”

As I walked home, I would tell myself, “OK. That's it. I don't care what the guys say or how much grief they give me, I am never going up there again.” Of course, I did care, and the next time I'd go again. Except for the force of nature, I'm not sure there is anything more powerful than peer pressure.

It was more than 50 years ago, and I don't remember how many times I climbed the water tower. Certainly five or less. But, considering my fear of heights it's still a perverse badge of honor of my teen years.

When the Batavia Water Tower was being taken down in 2003, my dad was a resident of the New York State Veterans Home and I would go to Batavia twice a week to visit him. When the last of the tower was lying on the ground waiting to be taken away to scrapyards, I stopped by there and got as close as I could.

"Hah! You're not so high and mighty now are you?” I laughed.

But still every time I go out on a bridge or the balcony of a high story hotel room, I know that tower is laughing back at me.

Photos of the Batavia Water Tower courtesy of Judy Stiles at the Genesee County History Department.

Photos and article submitted by Anne Marie Starowitz.

I have been in a classroom since 1955. As a kindergarten student at the East School on Main Street in Batavia, I was evaluated by a checklist of questions: Could I tie my shoes, skip, and did I play well with others? We all know that has changed over the years.

My next memories were at St. Joseph’s Elementary School, where I learned Gregorian chant and how to diagram sentences. We didn’t have a gymnasium so recess was definitely my favorite subject because it was

Traditional teaching was the norm, a teacher at the front of the room lecturing and students taking notes. D’Youville College was different in the late ‘60s. First of all, very few students owned a typewriter; our papers were handwritten or if you were lucky your roommate had a typewriter.

You lined up in long lines to try to get the required courses for your major. It took weeks to get your grades in the mail. When I graduated the job, market was flooded; I was one of thousands who wanted to be teachers. The Vietnam War influenced many students to stay in college. 

I was so lucky to land my first job at the Wolcott Street School in Le Roy.  I finally had my own classroom. I was not the student anymore; I was the teacher. I had my stack of ditto masters and I was ready to create my worksheets. How lucky to have the hand-operated Ditto machine available to make my copies. As the children would say those dittoes smelled so good. 

I wanted to be a hands-on teacher. My first year in third grade the Social Studies curriculum was learning about the regions of the world. The first area I had to teach was the deserts of the world. So, I brought in sand, bought every possible cactus plant I could find and prepared a display on a long table. We did a mural with a map to go behind the table. The children created a papier-mâché camel. They were so engaged.

I wanted the children to feel what it was like to live in a desert. I turned the thermostat in the classroom to about 85 degrees. I did not know my thermostat controlled the 12 classrooms on my floor. I bet those kids (and the other teachers) never forgot the lesson on deserts! I was lucky that I was given the opportunity to try new things. I always believed if you were excited to be a teacher, your students would be excited to learn.

When I taught in Batavia I again worked with a wonderful principal, Andy Steck. He supported my teaching style. He accompanied my class to New York City and always supported my trips to Albany. I retired in 2007 and for the next 11 years I continued to teach. I borrowed teachers’ classrooms who were ill or at a meeting. In 2017, I changed from a substitute teacher back to a classroom teacher.   This time I am very happy to be on the faculty of St. Joseph School as their second-grade teacher.

My life has come full circle.

Times have changed and with the passing years many programs have come and gone. Technology has impacted the way we teach and how the children learn. Nevertheless, the teachers are the same as they were back in my day, 46 years ago when I was a first-year teacher: Teachers are in the classrooms for one reason, the children!

Ann Marie Starowitz is author "Back in the Day: Snapshots of Local History,The Way I see It!." The book is in its final printing and is available at 20-percent off the original price at the Holland Land Office Museum bookstore.

"The Stories Behind the Businesses (The Way We Were)" chronicles what writer Darlene Warner calls Oakfield’s “carefree years,” and tells the stories behind the businesses which put Oakfield on the map.

“I am totally enthused about this book,” Warner said. “Wherever possible, I asked family members to write their own family stories, and this resulted in fantastic histories about the businesses in Oakfield in the 1950s, ‘60s and ‘70s that only they could tell.”

Warner has covered earlier years in previous books she has written, she said. 

"The Stories Behind the Businesses" contains 65 stories, including hardware stores, grocery and dry goods stores, gas stations, car dealerships, dairies, a pharmacy, furniture stores, a flower shop, plumbers, laundromats and pizzerias.

“You name it, we had it here,” Warner said. “The stories are wonderful.”

Readers will discover how Al Hilchey got the hardware store; what it was like living at the Arnold House; that the bowling alley once had bleachers; why Cuzzy’s was called the “Eland Dairy Bar”; who had the first self-made car wash; and the interesting ways some business owners were paid.

The book also discloses when the shoemaker’s shop was demolished and what happened to the cobblestone; which grocer taught a young boy about food and self respect; and who was a former cowboy and could do some soft shoe.

“We had restaurants and hotels and so much more,” Warner said. “Plus, it was our ‘carefree years,’ where children could play outside until dark with never so much as a worry for their parents. Many people have commented to me that this was great fun for them, reminiscing over old memories. Thus, this has been a fun book to work on all the way around.”

The book, which sells for $20, is the latest in a series of books about Oakfield, all of which are on sale at the Historical Society’s Research Center, 7 Maple Ave. Or this newest book will be shipped for $6.70 more.

The book is also available at the Haxton Memorial Library, and after Dec. 3 at the Oakfield Family Pharmacy.

The Historical Society is open from 1 to 3 p.m. Sundays.

On Dec. 1, the Historical Society will be open from 11 a.m. to 3 p.m. during Christmas in the Village. During that time they will also host the Oakfield-Alabama Central School Art Show. Residents are urged to come in and vote for their favorite artist.

The Historical Society will also be an ornament stop for the Oakfield Betterment Committee.

Tracy Ford reprised his role as the Rev. John Henry Yates during the Batavia Cemetary Association's annual Ghost Walk, which gives guests an opportunity to be treated to a lively lesson on Batavia's history.

This year's addition included Gregory Hallock, director of GO ART!, as Eli Fish, the former local brewer who has come to life again, so to speak, in the brewery and restaurant now occupying the former Newberry's building downtown.

Diana Buckman, also pictured below, played Nannie Hunt, whose sons Thomas and Joseph served in the Civil War, with Joseph dying in battle in 1862. She read a letter from Hunt's daughter Martha about Joseph's death.

Once again, the event was a sellout.

Louis Buono, left, owner of the McDonald's franchise in Le Roy, is remodeling his store and in the new design there won't be room for the historical photographs he had on display before.

Most of the photos are going to the Le Roy Historial Society, but one, of Le Roy police officers with a patrol car and motorcycles, has been donated to Le Roy PD for display inside the station in the Village Hall. Accepting the donation is Officer Greg Kellogg.

Press release:

Capture a piece of the historical Daniel A. Van Detta Stadium at Woodward Field while supporting the Batavia City School District Foundation Inc. on Oct. 13.

From 9 a.m. to noon that Saturday, the Batavia community is invited to own a piece of the historic ground of Daniel A. Van Detta Stadium at Woodward Field by making a monetary donation to the Batavia City School District Foundation Inc. Any monetary donation to the foundation will be accepted.

All present and former staff, students, athletes, spectators, and members of the Batavia community (including Notre Dame alumni), are encouraged to participate in this event!

It will take place just prior to the groundbreaking for renovations included in the Batavia City School District’s 2020 Vision Capital Improvement Project (https://www.bataviacsd.org/Domain/437).

Members of the BCSD Foundation Inc. will be on hand at the Union Street entrance to collect donations from those entering the stadium, located at 120 Richmond Ave. This event gives people the opportunity to not only support the foundation, but to have a part of the City of Batavia’s athletic history.

We encourage your participation and look forward to you stopping by the Daniel A. Van Detta Stadium at Woodward Field on Saturday, Oct. 13. Shovels will be available for your use.

For more information about the event, please contact Julia Rogers at foundation@bataviacsd.org. For further information on the BCSD Foundation Inc. please check out www.bataviacsd.org/Page/7364.

On Wednesday, Oct. 3, at 7 p.m. Pulitzer Prize winning professor of History from New York University Steven Hahn will discuss his latest book "A Nation Without Borders" at Genesee Community College.

This is an important reinterpretation of 19th century America — a kind of coming-of-age story especially significant for its contribution to the scholarship on the Civil War period.

“A massive and masterly account of America’s political and economic transformation between 1830 and 1910 . . . Hahn describes his book as telling ‘a familiar story in an unfamiliar way.’ It is much more than that. Attempting a synthesis of a century’s worth of American history is a daunting task. Writing one as provocative and learned . . . as this one is a triumph, nothing less.” – David Oshinsky, The Washington Post

The lecture will be in room T102 of the Conable Technology Building; it is free and open to the public.

The Yale-educated Hahn had none other than Southern historian and scholar C. Vann  Woodward (Nov. 13, 1908 -- Dec. 17, 1999) as his academic advisor. Hahn is also a recipient of the prestigious Bancroft Prize, which is awarded each year by the trustees of Columbia University for books about diplomacy or the history of the Americas. It was established in 1948 by a bequest from Frederic Bancroft.

Hahn was awarded the Pulitizer Prize for History for his 2004 book "A Nation Under Our Feet."

"This is big news for GCC," said GCC Associate Professor of History Derek D. Maxfield in an email. "He is our third Pulitzer Prize winner in three years. Copies of his book will be available for sale (and signing)."

I have been writing articles for more than 10 years. I have written about our early history, businesses, people, schools, transportation to name only a few topics. There is so much history surrounding us.

You can go to the Holland Land Office Museum, our county museum or visit the Batavia Historical Cemetery on Harvester, go to our Richmond Memorial Library, or visit our county Historian, Michael Eula, at the Genesee County History Department.

Deciding to clean out our attic, I discovered another place surrounded by history. As I entered our crowded, dusty attic on that first day, I was immediately taken back to an earlier time. I found, in the back of the attic, our daughters’ cribs and their toys. Opening bins of their toys reminded me of their faces on Christmas morning. Where did the time go?  

I felt I was in a time capsule and was landing at different decades. The cribs were taken to the dumpster but the memories stayed. I landed next to bins that said, “Jenn sort,” and “Jes sort.” I opened the bins and smiled at what they have saved and wondered why I was still storing them.  

There were bins filled with photographs, not organized, just sitting haphazardly in a bin. Every picture took you to that time and in my mind, I relived the memories. One particular album caught my eye. It was filled with just 8-by-10 pictures. In the '70s you could have your child’s picture taken for $.99 for an 8-by-10 picture at J.J. Newberry’s or W.T. Grant Co. department stores. I found our daughters dancing recital costumes and soccer jerseys.

My next landing was very bittersweet. A bin of memories my mom had given me many years ago that I don’t remember ever seeing. How did she do it with six children and found the time to save articles about us growing up. There were programs that I had been in along with many pictures. There was even my medical history with shots and my allergy testing. So that brought me back to living on Highland Park and then Evergreen Drive. 

I found my wedding gown and wedding pictures. I loved my simple gown and the cherished memories of that day. I laughed when I saw one picture of my brothers’, one in a plaid jacket and the other in plaid pants. That landing was such a sweet memory, especially the picture of me dancing with my Dad surrounded by family and friends. So many pictures of him and me on important events in my life, my Communion, my Confirmation, my wedding, my retirement, and our daughters' baptisms. Did he know how much those pictures meant to me, did I ever tell him? 

My next landing were the pictures of my students and the cards and letters they sent me. I would always have them write their name and date on any gifts they gave me. I had a file on every class. In the early years, they were remembered on slides and in the later years in a PowerPoint (presentation). I hope they all knew what they meant to me. So many children, so many years, so many memories! 

Now our children are married and we are blessed with grandchildren. There are no words to describe what those children mean to us. They also had fun in the attic last year when they played with their mother’s toys and wore the old-fashioned hats. 

My last landing was also my most recent memories. The pictures were from our parents' memorial services with CDs that chronologically displayed their lives through pictures. Losing our parents filled me with a mixture of sadness and so much happiness. We were loved, just like we love our children and how they love their children. It is a cycle that will always continue.

I’m done for now in the attic. It was quite a ride. I realized that everything I saved was a part of my history.

I know you all have someplace similar to an attic that holds your memories. My memories have reentered my heart in a different way, an older way.  Now when I look at old pictures I remember the history. I am glad I took a memory tour in our attic. It just made me realize how lucky I am to hold these cherished memories. When there are days that don’t seem to go the way I hoped, maybe I should revisit our attic.

People like to make discoveries. It makes them feel important, that they've found something unique. Children especially like to have something to show off and I was no different. When I was about 9 or 10 I tried to get something I found put in a museum -- the Holland Land Office Museum.

As it turned out, the thing I found belonged in a dumpster, not a display case.

It all started because of jealousy. A kid I knew had uncovered an arrowhead in his backyard or somewhere. The local museum had it displayed in a case with his name by it and every time I saw it I turned green with envy. Why wasn't it me who unearthed something while digging around as kids do?

I loved that museum. They had antique guns, a drum from the Civil War, an actual hangman's noose from the old jail -- great stuff. But nothing contributed by me, David Reilly. Every time I went there I imagined a card with my name on it next to something that every visitor would remark about.

One day while prowling around the attic of a house where we were renting an apartment, I found an old, dented, beat up bugle. I ran to show it to my mother and asked if it could be a valuable souvenir, possibly from the Civil War. She didn't think so, especially since if it was valuable no one would have left it in the attic. Of course.

Crushed, I trudged back upstairs. But as I went to put the bugle back in the cobwebs, a seed of a scheme entered my mind.

What if my mother was wrong? After all, wasn't our house on Ellicott Avenue? And wasn't Joseph Ellicott the man who was the land agent for the Holland Land Company and the one who made the plans for the city of Batavia, New York? And wasn't my favorite museum down the street named The Holland Land Office where Joseph Ellicott had his office for many years?

That bugle could have been his! Or at least belonged to someone that he knew.

I thought, “Maybe if I take this bugle to the museum they will put it in a case, type up a card with my name on it, and finally I'd be famous, at least in Batavia. Nah, they'd never fall for it. But on the other hand... oh why not give it a try?”

The next day I went to the backyard, rubbed some dirt on the bugle so it looked like it had been dug up, and nervously headed for the museum. I hung around in front playing by the cannons for awhile trying to get up my nerve. Finally, I entered.

“What can I do for you young man?” the elderly woman at the desk asked.

“I found this bugle and it's got dirt on it and it was in my backyard right across the street on Ellicott Avenue and I dug it up and I bet it was lost there by Joseph Ellicott or at least by someone he knew look see how old it is can you put it in the museum?” I spewed out the words like my voice was trying to win the Indianapolis 500.

“Oh,” the woman said thoughtfully. “Ellicott Avenue you say? Well, that's right close by isn't it? What is your name young man?”

“Oh boy!” I rejoiced in my mind. The neatly printed card next to my donated bugle was looking pretty clear to me now.

“David Reilly,” I replied, “and I live at 20 Ellicott Avenue where I dug it up.”

"Well, David,” the woman said, “I'm going to show this to our museum experts and we will check it out very carefully. You come back next week and we'll let you know.”

All week long I couldn't sleep, paced the floor, and thought incessantly about that bugle. Finally, the big day came. I walked to the museum, marched straight to the lady's desk and looked imploringly into her eyes.

“What can I do for you young man?” the woman asked.

My heart dropped to my stomach. She doesn't even remember me? But wait. She's old; at least 90. She's just forgotten.

“I'm David Reilly. I brought in Joseph Ellicott's bugle last week.”

“Bugle? Oh yes, of course. I wouldn't forget a thing like that. We took a very close look at it I can assure you.”

My stomach felt like butterflies were having a gymnastics competition. “Yes! I'm in! I've got it!" I thought. If there was such a thing as a high five back then I was giving myself plenty of them mentally.

“Unfortunately, David, that bugle is no more than 20 years old at most. Are you sure that you dug it up in your yard?”

"Oh boy. What now?" I thought. "I'm done for on the display case. Can I get arrested for lying?"

But I proceeded nonetheless.

“Oh yes ma'am, it was way down there," I told her, then blurted out this realistic tidbit: "I thought it was gold when I first saw it."

My palms were sweating so badly now that they were leaving streaks on the sides of my corduroys.

The lady reached into the drawer of her desk and pulled out the bugle. She handed it to me with some of the dirt still clinging to the sides. She wiped her hand on one of those little old-fashioned hankies.

“Well, young man, I'm sorry that we couldn't use your discovery, but it's always nice to see someone your age so interested in history. If you ever come across anything else be sure to bring it in.”

I took the bugle and managed to utter a quick “Yes, thank you ma'am” before making a hasty exit.

As I slunk back home I could almost hear the guffaws of the museum staff as they mocked my find of the “bugle of Joseph Ellicott.”

Looking back on it, the museum volunteer probably had a little laugh after I gave it to her, then put it in the drawer and never thought about it again until I came back.

As I clumped up the back steps, I chucked the bugle into the garbage can where it clanged forlornly, never to be seen again.

As I went through the kitchen my mom stopped me. “Where've you been Dave?” she asked.

“Oh, just down at the museum,” I replied.

“Again? You must have been there a hundred times. Anything new down there?”

“Nope. Nothin' to toot about anyway,” I told her and headed off to check out that new comic I had stored under my pillow.

PHOTO: Bugle shown is for illustration purposes only; it is not the bugle David found.

Genesee Community College's History Club will begin its fall lecture series on Wednesday, Sept. 5, when Kevin R. Pawlak speaks on "The Jewels of War: Robert E. Lee, George B. McClellan and the Battle of Antietam."

The free lecture will take place at 7 p.m. in Room T102 in the Conable Technology Building at GCC's Batavia Campus, located at One College Road. All are invited.

The History Club will host a lecture on the first Wednesday evening of every month this fall as part of its Historical Horizons Lecture Series. 

Pawlak is the author of "Shepardstown in the Civil War."

The Battle of Antietam is America's bloodiest single day. In totality, 12 hours of fighting on Sept. 17, 1862 left approximately 23,000 casualties. During this lecture, Pawlak will assess the dramatic events of the Civil War battle from the unique perspective of the commanders on the field.

(Photo of author Kevin R. Pawlak, courtesy of GCC.)

Ryan Duffy is 18 months into his job as director of the Holland Land Office Museum and members of the Genesee County Legislature have taken notice of the improvements he's made to the local history destination.

Several members praised him Monday after he give his annual review report to the Human Services Committee.

"Two years ago or three years ago there was significant activity and concern about the museum," said Robert Bausch, chairman of the legislature. "I just want to compliment you. The issues that we raised are being addressed and addressed in a positive way. I just want to congratulate you."

During his presentation, Duffy laid out some of the activities at the museum, which include continuing the just-completed History Heroes summer camp, cataloging more than 8,000 items at the museum, bringing in more groups to use space at the museum for meetings, bringing in more guest speakers, and starting a Java with Joe morning speakers series.

Duffy also brought back the annual antique show at Batavia Downs, which this year had vendors from as far away as Syracuse and Binghampton and brought in 450 visitors.

The museum also continues to grow as a tourist destination. Duffy said in 2017, nearly half of all people who visited the museum were from outside Genesee County.

Duffy also suggested people start thinking about their Wonderland of Trees decorations. This year's theme will be "favorite holiday movies."

"You’ve done fantastic," said Legislator John Deleo. "You’ve energized everybody including the board."

During his presentation Monday, Duffy also mentioned two recent acquisitions by the museum.  

Top photo: Six pictures of Gen. Emory Upton. The larger picture on the left is from the West Point yearbook when Upton was an instructor at the academy. The other five are of Upton during the Civil War, showing Upton as a young lieutenant fresh out of West Point through the end of the war when he was a brevet major general (brevet means a temporary promotion usually awarded for valor or exceptionalism; Upton was a brigadier general prior to the brevet promotion).

The photos were obtained from a private collector.

"The pictures show not only the change in himself over time but also his change in rank," Duffy said. "We didn’t have anything like that before. We had later things of him but not something tracing his career. We had the beginning and the end but not the middle."

Bottom photo: A painting of Henry Glowacki on a piece of ivory. Glowacki was a prominent citizen of Batavia in the second half of the 19th century and he had a pretty fascinating biography. Born in 1816, the son of a Polish general, Glowacki was promoted to major in the Polish Army at age 17. He was probably part of the November Uprising, when a group of young officers rebelled against Russian rule of part of their homeland (source). The officers were banished from Poland. He intended to make exile in Illinois but he came into contact with David Ellicott Evans, then manager of the Holland Land Office. Evans hired Glowacki, though he was still only 19 and didn't speak or read English. Within four years, he mastered the language and studied law under H. J. Redfield and he married Mary Redfield. He passed the New York State Bar in 1840 and became a prominent local attorney. He was chairman of the local Democratic Party, a recruiter during the Civil War, a Village of Batavia trustee, an original trustee of the NYS Blind School, and he donated land for the first hospital in Batavia.

Prior to obtaining the painting -- about the size of an egg -- the only pictures HLOM had of Glowacki were as an old man with mutton chops, Duffy said.

Museum staff located the painting while attending an antique show. It is etched on the back with Glowacki's name and his date of birth and death.

The museum already possessed his Polish army uniform and a paperweight he used while employed at the land office.