Everyone has heard tales of the fearsome Buffalo winters, but few, other than those who live there, know the splendor of its summer days. And as glorious as the days might be, they are nothing compared to the magic of the city’s summer nights.
neighborhood pools were open.
When I was growing up on Buffalo’s West Side, summer did not begin on Memorial Day. For us it began the day after school ended, usually around the third week in June when the weather turned from cool to mild. We would take our report cards to the Super Duper supermarket to get free tickets for rides at Crystal Beach, pull out our bikes and hose them down, and fill the kiddie pool in the backyard for good measure. Until we turned 10 we weren’t allowed to leave our block, so we made the best of what we had.
We counted down the days until the neighborhood pool would open (usually as soon as the water warmed enough to avoid hypothermia) and satisfied ourselves with street games like Kick the Can and Red Rover. If we could scrounge up the money, we’d treat ourselves to trips to Ganci’s Groceries for a bag of Bugles and a baloney sandwich, to Pepe’s for a lemon ice, or wait until we heard the melody of Charlie’s Super Cones truck to buy a single twist of chocolate that tasted like velvet on the tongue.
At dusk, we would hear the mothers calling from their porches: “Jooo-eeee!” Carmel-lllooo!” in their peculiar singsong cadence. Children would run, breathless, up to their houses and leap onto their front porches before the streetlights came on, or suffer the consequences. All up and down the block families gathered on their porches, and the evening ritual celebrating the arrival of summer would begin.
with the other Sicilian men.
It often started with the quick flare of a match and the winking red glow of a cigarette, as the parents sat back in their folding chairs. Cars would slow as they threaded their way down our one-way street to avoid hitting the dogs wandering out to do their business after dinner. On the porches, we would hear the older Sicilians punctuating their sentences in Italian, and the occasional clink as a bottle of homemade wine was poured into glasses.
and learn about the world through front porch osmosis.
Our family of 10 didn’t have enough chairs on the porch for everyone, so we kids usually sat on the front steps, eating popsicles Mom always kept in the freezer. Neighbors would drop by to visit and share neighborhood gossip and we sat, rapt, and soaked it all in. Everything was debated on those front porches—religion, politics, long hair styles, the Vietnam War. We learned about the place that we lived and the people we lived with, through front porch osmosis. No one had air-conditioning, the windows were wide open, and there were no family secrets in the summertime.
As we got older, we would sit on our friends’ front porches and huddle off to the side, listening to music on our transistor radios while sand flies from the river pinged against the window screens. We could smell what our friends had for dinner and hear the murmur of their favorite television show. We got to know which families treated each other well and which didn’t. We learned which houses to avoid after the sun went down.
All of my life, I have insisted that wherever I live, I must have a front porch. I still like to sit there on summer nights, listening to the birds and cicadas in the gloaming. But the sounds and smells of the country at night are different from those of the city. Now as I sit on my porch, I am more likely to hear the cry of an owl than a baby crying, and to smell the pungent smoke of a campfire than a puff from a Lucky Strike.
Our recent pandemic has made me appreciate the simple things in life, like sitting on a porch, surrounded by family and friends, trading stories and drinking ice tea. How I look forward to doing this again, if our luck holds out, this coming summer in Buffalo.
―Anna Godbersen, Bright Young Things
Do you have fond memories of summer nights on the front porch? I would love to hear some of your childhood memories, particularly of your favorite place to listen and learn from grownup conversation. Leave me a comment please, and subscribe if you like my blog!
Moxie Gardiner is a writer and gardener who grew up on the West Side of Buffalo, NY. In a previous life she was a journalist, magazine editor, speech writer, and policy wonk. Back in the day she made three solo parachute jumps, flew in an F-15 fighter jet, and crawled through mud pits at the Jungle Operations Training Course in Panama. She now meditates and practices yoga. She is almost ready to publish her first novel, set in Buffalo.
Hi, Moxie – I’ve been looking forward to the end of the month because I knew there would be another blog from you. And what an evocative one it is this month! Summers in “the old days” – freedom to play (once the dreaded “chores” were done), riding bikes or scooters or roller skating on the sidewalk. Unfortunately the only front porches were at my grandmothers’ houses, and we only went there for a week or so every summer (luckily they lived fairly close together so we could see them both with one trip to the neighboring state). We too loved to walk up to the shopping center, to the High’s Ice Cream shop, not only to get an ice-cold treat but to enjoy their air conditioning! Wonderful memories – you always bring a smile to my face with your reminiscences – thank you!!
Hi Betty, thank you so much for reading my blog and leaving a comment! I’m glad you mentioned the High’s Ice Cream stores and their air conditioning. Although those stores weren’t in our area, I remember the few stores in Buffalo that had air conditioning. On hot days we would find any excuse to buy something there! Thanks so much for reminding me.
Loved this! Porches of all kind are my favorite. I used to have a summer school academy on our front porch on Beard. I was the teacher (of course) and my sisters were the students.
Hahaha! I can absolutely picture this. Did you usually give them good grades, or were you one of those tough disciplinarians?
Boy, this one really took me back to those days. We didn’t have a front porch, but we sat on the front steps. There was always room for a friend. My parents would have their coffee and cigarettes there, and my brother and I found a spot there or played on the sidewalk. The tranquility of the evenings is what I most treasure from those memories.
Me too Jean. It seems that tranquility is in short supply these days. Let us continue to treasure our memories.
So, summer in South Buffalo proceeded much as it did on the West Side (perhaps with fewer whiffs of garlic). Streetlights signaled curfew. Most front porches had 2 seats, for the parents; the rest of us sat on the concrete stoop. Ours had a canvas awning, so we could gather rain or shine…to this day, I love to listen to the pings of rain hitting an awning. Loblaws gave Crystal Beach tickets – the only time I was ever paid for grades. Cazenovia Park Pool didn’t bother to open until school was out for the year.
Today, I live in central New Jersey – there is farmland, there are horses, and my neighbors are a melting pot. It is beastly hot by mid-May. (I was discussing this with co-workers yesterday, several of whom are adapted to this climate, by virtue of growing up in MD or TX.) My living siblings have decamped to Buffalo, whether full or part-time; I plan to join them, hopefully next year. If I can find the right house/piece of property, I’ll buy in Elmwood Village, and join the ranks of the west-siders. There is nothing better than summer in Western New York.
So, to riff on “Next year in Jerusalem”: next summer in Buffalo.
Summer without whiffs of garlic? Heaven forfend! Otherwise, yes, your childhood memories sound very much like mine. How wonderful for you that you will be able to return to your roots in Buffalo next year. Perhaps I shall come to visit, if you’ll have me.
Recently I had occasion to tell a NJ co-worker (born and bred here, with a combination of Italian / Russian Jewish roots) that Buffalo was a segregated place: West side, Italian; East Side, Polish; South Buffalo, Irish through and through – and the Irish never had any need for garlic. But then I grew up, and discovered the magic of garlic, so I’m pretty sure I won’t be welcomed back to South Buffalo.
Wherever I decamp in western NY, I’ll welcome your visit.
Same type of thing on the east side (Bailey & Delevan) area. Front porch was an important part of summer. WE had maybe 4 metal rockers, We also had one family that started out playing cards ;after many beers it would sometimes get UGLY; so us kids would be sent inside.
Aside from that; it was very a very pleasant experience. To this day I think it had made me appreciate my condo backyard patio……listening to the hum of traffic and greeting neighbors walking by during these beautiful summer evenings
Thanks Chris. I remember those metal rockers well! My grandmother had a couple on her back porch. I am so glad my blog brought back pleasant memories.