Childhood memories - Moxie Gardiner

Everything You Wanted to Know About the Infant of Prague

So ubiquitous was the Infant of Prague statue in West Side homes that as a child, I assumed every house in the world had one.

Some readers (mostly non-Catholics) have expressed curiosity about the references in my recent novel, Virgin Snow, to a type of statue known as “the Infant of Prague.” In the story, one of the characters decides to open a shop in her garage where she will create and sell beautiful garments for people to dress their statues, which represent Jesus as a child.

This scene was inspired by an actual Infant of Prague shop operated for years by a woman named Lena in a store front on Buffalo’s West Side. Many was the day that I walked by the window to check out Lena’s new garments, which changed in both color and style along with the Catholic liturgical seasons.

*The crown on the head of the statue symbolizes Christ as king. All photos by Moxie Gardiner*

So ubiquitous was the Infant of Prague statue in West Side homes that as a child, I assumed every house in the world had one. It did not occur to me that others might not, until I actually went to Prague, the capital of the Czech Republic, for a conference. I was traveling with a colleague who asked if we could stop in one of the souvenir shops as we walked back toward our hotel at the end of the day. She said she was hoping to find a small statue made famous by the city. “You mean the Infant of Prague, right?” I asked. She looked at me strangely.

“No,” she said. “I want to buy a statue of the Golem of Prague.” Now I looked at her strangely, as I had never heard of the Golem. So we walked to the Christmas Market on Wenceslas Square (it was early December) and, over a glass of hot Glühwein, we began to tell each other what we knew of these religious figures and their history.

As she began to ask questions, I very quickly realized that despite the number of times I had seen the statue I was familiar with, I didn’t know much about the Infant of Prague. “Why do they call it an infant?” she asked after I described the statue. I didn’t have a very good answer. “Why fancy robes? Why a crown? And what,” she asked finally, “did Jesus have to do with Prague?”

I had my own questions for her about the Golem, a mythical man created out of clay. “He is an important part of Jewish legend,” she said. “But he’s not as elegant as your little king.”

*The globe symbolizes Christ’s worldly domain.*

Years later, while doing research for my novel, I found answers to many of my friend’s questions. No, the Infant of Prague is not a baby, but a representation of Christ as a child. No, the statue does not have its origins in Prague. According to the website of “The League of the Miraculous Infant Jesus of Prague,” the statue was a royal wedding gift given by a Spanish Princess to her Austrian royal cousin in the 1500s, and later donated to a group of Carmelite friars in Prague. The robes, crown and miniature globe symbolize the “world-wide kingship” of the Christ Child.[1]

*Green signifies “ordinary” days in the liturgical calendar. Note, however, the fine gold brocade.*

According to that website, many miracles have occurred through “intercession to the Divine Infant.” During one conflict, it says, all the children of the city were taken to the Church for protection, and by praying to the Infant, they were all saved.

I have since learned that there is a similar story about the Golem. [2] A certain Rabbi Judah Loew of Prague in the 1500s was said to have made a powerful living creature out of mud which he called the Golem, a kind of combination man-monster whose purpose was to defend the Jewish community from violent attacks. Since that time, the Golem has been a popular figure with both Jews and non-Jews. According to several websites, plays, novels, movies, musicals and even a ballet have drawn on the tale of the Golem, including Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. Today, a visitor to Prague can even take a “Golem tour” by exploring various locations in the Jewish Quarter.

When I think back to my visit to Prague, I’ll always remember our mutual surprise when my friend and I discovered we were talking about two different religious statues, and then learning how different the two were—one of the Christ child dressed as a king, the other of a towering man made of clay. What strikes me now though, is their similarities. People of many religious traditions who have felt powerless and persecuted at times throughout history understandably turn to the divine or the mystical for salvation, represented by symbols such as these.

I am curious to know how many of my readers had religious statues in their homes while growing up, or were told stories and legends that embraced the sacred, the mystical or the divine. I would also love to know if religion still plays an important role in your life. Please share your comments, below!

Moxie Gardiner is a writer, gardener, and traveler 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 chair yoga. Virgin Snow is her first novel.

[1] For much more information on the history of the Infant of Prague go to: https://www.ewtn.com/catholicism/library/history-of-the-infant-jesus-of-prague-1329

[2] For additional info on the Golem go to: https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/golem/

“Snow Sausages,” a Christmas Story of Love and Loss, December 1968

Family traditions are an important element of the Christmas holiday season, and the old West Side of Buffalo had some unique ones.

My recently published novel, Virgin Snow, includes the following vignette, which I have learned over the course of several book-signings and discussions has struck a chord with many readers. This story of a family holding onto its Christmas Eve rituals, while coping with a recent tragedy, is something I too have experienced, although much later in life. I share it here to remind us all that the holiday season, while joyful, can also be a time of sorrow for some, and there is no better time than Christmas to hold our loved ones close.

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On Christmas Eve, Cosi McCarthy and her older sister, Little Ange, dragged a half-frozen pine tree out of the trunk of their father’s old Ford Falcon, up the linoleum-covered stairs, and into their apartment, leaving a trail of melting snow and pine needles in their wake. Cosi was thrilled when her mother, Big Ange, said they could stay up past midnight to welcome Jesus’ birthday, grill some meat, and “break the fast” they had all been observing during Advent. At dinner, they had the traditional “feast of the seven fishes,” though all they could afford was pasta with canned clam sauce. “Seven clams on each plate,” said Big Ange. “Close enough,”

As the hour approached, neighbors began to drag out their charcoal grills. Later, after attending midnight mass, they would return to cook spicy Italian sausages to signal an end to the six-week fast. Cosi knew her parents, like others in the neighborhood, usually observed this ritual long after the children were in bed. This Christmas Eve, the first without her husband, Big Ange would let the girls participate.

Cosi decorated the tree with her mother while her little brother Nino slept, and Little Ange stood in the driveway, attempting to light the charcoal briquettes in the rusting grill. The snow was falling in big wet flakes, making the charcoal difficult to light.

“This is effing stupid, Mama” called Little Ange several times from the driveway.

Cosi, in her nightgown, winter coat, and rubber boots, came out with an umbrella. She held it over her sister while Little Ange squirted more lighter fluid and tried again. Before long, the coals were burning brightly. Big Ange came down with a string of sausages, bought earlier that day from Zarcone’s, then went back up to fry onions and green peppers while the girls stood under the umbrella and watched the meat sizzle.

The night seemed magical to Cosi. The softly falling snow, the companionable heat of the coals, and the delightful aroma wafting from the grill, wrapped her in a warm cocoon of love, neighborhood, and family. She stepped outside the umbrella, closed her eyes and let the flakes tickle her cheeks.

“Hey,” said Little Ange, looking at her watch. “It’s Christmas. Wanna smoke a joint to celebrate?”

“Are you crazy?” Cosi hissed.

Their mother appeared out of nowhere, holding a plate of warm rolls filled with the fried vegetables. Little Ange shot her sister a warning but Cosi knew better than to say anything. The snow slowed to a few flakes and Big Ange stuck the string of sausages with a long fork and neatly cut off two for each of them, nestling them carefully in the buns. She had also brought down three small glasses of Whiskey Sours, topped with maraschino cherries, and stood silently for a moment, looking at the glowing briquettes. She handed Cosi the plate of sausages, turned her face to the dark sky, and held up her glass.

“Salud,” said Big Ange, “and Merry Christmas, Johnny, wherever you are. Our little Cositina, you will be proud to know, is on her way to becoming a nun. Little Ange is, well, what you’d expect. Nino is doing OK and I am making a little money. We’re trying our best down here, so if you do see God, please ask him to make next year a better one for the McCarthy family.”

Little Ange drank her Whiskey Sour in one gulp, handed Cosi her sausages, and walked down the snowy street to smoke her Christmas joint.

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Do you have memories of a Christmas like this one, or family rituals you would like to share? If so, please do so in the comments below.

Moxie Gardiner is a writer, gardener, and traveler 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, grows tomatoes, and enjoys a good Zumba routine on winter evenings . Virgin Snow is her first novel.

Whatever Happened to Beggar’s Night?

I have to wonder why the holiday is no longer popular in more Buffalo communities.

Long ago, deep in a West Side neighborhood where every house, on every block, was home to a passel of children, Beggar’s Night (October 30^th) was something to behold. Legions of small monsters, ghosts, and superheroes knocked on the doors of neighbors, sometimes blocks away, in search of candy. Those of us who lived there at that time brought large brown shopping bags to collect our loot, and didn’t come home until the bag was getting too heavy to carry.

Little kids dressing up for Halloween — *We loved Trick-or-Treating on Beggar’s Night.*

A little research suggests that the tradition started back in the late 1930s when city fathers wanted to give the younger children a safer alternative to the hell-raising and vandalizing that was a significant part of Halloween at that time. No one ever told us this was the plan, so we happily went out trick-or-treating both nights, usually in homemade costumes made by our very thrifty and clever mom.

It seems that nowadays Beggar’s Night, for the most part, has gone the way of Michaelmas and Festivus—a holiday still celebrated, but only by a devoted few. In Buffalo, two communities—Kaisertown and Lovejoy—still carry on the tradition with gusto. They even have their own Facebook page providing updates on some of the best places to get candy. Beggar’s Night is also still a very big thing in Central Ohio, with the Mid-Ohio Regional Planning Commission organizing Beggar’s Night activities for the region.

Pinocchio costume — *Apples used to be a special treat on Halloween*.

As a now mature adult, I have to wonder why the holiday is no longer popular in more Buffalo communities, especially if the whole idea is to have a separate, safer night for the younger children. Maybe it’s because communities are no longer experiencing the rowdyism that used to be the hallmark of Halloween. Or, perhaps homeowners got tired of answering the door and shelling out candy two nights in a row.

Homemade Halloween costumes — *Mom made our costumes back then.*

Or maybe it’s because Halloween night itself is now big business, and no longer just for kids. Adults are expected to shell out over $4 billion for costumes this year and 32% of them will either go to a Halloween party or throw one of their own. Even pets are getting in on the act, with Americans expecting to spend some $700 million on costumes for their fur babies.

This year I will be trick-or-treating for the first time in a long time, now that I have a four-year-old in my life. I will be curious to see how kid-friendly Halloween is these days, and determine for myself whether or not Beggar’s Night should regain its rightful place in the list of US holidays to be celebrated.

Did you celebrate Beggar’s Night in your neighborhood? Please share your stories in the comments below!

Moxie Gardiner is a writer, gardener, and traveler 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, grows tomatoes, and practices yoga. Virgin Snow is her first novel.

The Power of Childhood Memories

It is possible to step back into a childlike state of wonder, if and when we choose to do so.

*Glen Park was a great place for a family outing*. *My cousin Jimmy took me on the scary rides.*

One of my happiest memories as a small child growing up in Buffalo was our family’s summer trips to Glen Park in suburban Williamsville, NY. At the time, Glen Park was not the quiet green space it is today. It was a small amusement park, with kiddie rides and carnival games, and if memory serves me right, a miniature zoo with real goats clambering over the rocks near the park’s waterfall!

My favorite ride was the carousel. The sound of the organ music was the first thing you heard upon entering the park, and when you turned the corner and saw the lights, the colors, and the life-sized animals chasing each other as the whole, wild menagerie went round and round, you were mesmerized. My brothers and I would run to get in line, impatiently waiting for the gate to open, so we could grab the biggest, most realistic-looking horse. Even Mom and Dad would join us on the ride, holding the smallest of us secure in the saddle, while the rest of us bobbed confidently up and down.

*The Herschell Carrousel Factory Museum in North Tonawanda, New York. All photos by Moxie Gardiner.*

Imagine my delight then, when I discovered the Herschell Carrousel Factory Museum this summer in North Tonawanda, a small city located halfway between Buffalo and Niagara Falls. One of the first things you see upon entering the museum is the spectacular “1916 Allan Herschell Number 1 Special Carrousel.” Little did I know before visiting that North Tonawanda was once one of the largest carousel-producing cities in the US. (Fun fact: you can spell “carousel” several ways.)

*Who can forget the day you were finally tall enough to ride the rides by yourself?*

I came to ride the “horses,” but decided first to check out the museum itself, to learn, I hoped, a bit more about how these marvelous merry-go-rounds are made. I visited the carving floor and the painting room and learned about the skills that carvers had to develop during their journey from apprentice to master.

But as I made my way through the museum, I was surprised to discover how instrumental Herschell’s factories were in the growth of the American amusement industry at the turn of the century. They produced all kinds of “kiddie” rides, from small roller coasters to miniature trains to bumper cars, and the factories were among the largest producers of automatic organ music in the country. Some of the rides made by the Herschell companies found their way into another one of my favorite amusement parks—Crystal Beach—just across the river in Ontario, Canada.

I did not realize until I visited the museum how those early amusement park experiences—with all the joy and excitement they inspired—could have a similar effect on me as an adult today. Most of us have scores of memorable experiences throughout our lives, especially when we’ve reached a certain age. Why then, do childhood memories hold such a special place in our temporal lobes? Why are these memories so predominant that they tend to blot out the negative experiences that most assuredly occurred during those tender years?

*The Little Dipper was one of the rides that made its way to Crystal Beach, along with the “Dodgem,” later known as bumper cars.*

*What would a carousel be without melodious organ music as accompaniment?*

I have been reminded of this phenomenon from the comments I’ve received about my recently published novel, Virgin Snow, and some of the blogs I’ve written. Many people who grew up in Buffalo remember their childhood as “the very best of times.” A great deal of psychological research confirms that we recall more positive than negative memories as we age, and that this so-called “positivity bias” has beneficial effects on our personal well-being and even our behavior towards others.[1]

That might explain why, even though I was the only customer in the museum that afternoon, I paid my wooden token and took a spin, alone, on the carousel. I rode King Billy, the biggest and baddest white horse, closed my eyes, and was transported back to a summer evening in Glen Park when my feet barely touched the stirrups. For five glorious minutes I was there, and felt those old feelings again.

I left the museum with a smile on my face, a bounce in my step, and a magnet for the refrigerator that features a photo of the carousel. It serves as a reminder to me that it is possible to step back into a childlike state of wonder, if and when we choose to do so, and that memories are not only good for us, but good for those we share them with.

What are some of your favorite childhood memories, of amusement parks or other things? Please share in the comments below.

[1] For an interesting analysis of positivity bias see Our Memories Become More Positive With Age | Psychology Today

Wax Lips, Licorice Sticks and an Homage to the Corner Store

One of the things I miss most when I return to Buffalo is the family-owned corner store.

*My grandparents owned one of these wonderful stores before I was born.*

One of the things I miss most when I return to Buffalo is something that is almost impossible to find—the once-ubiquitous, family-owned corner store.

I remember the delightful smell of these homey establishments, their worn wood floors emanating the aromas of the goods inside, their painted screen doors (with an ad for Sunbeam bread!) letting in the fresh summer air.

*Many corner stores were multigenerational, family-run affairs, like this one established by Florence and Frank Ganci in 1926.* *Photo courtesy of the Ganci Family.*

They were usually owned by industrious people who lived above them, behind them or somewhere nearby. You would often find the whole family busy sorting and stacking behind the scenes, while the owner worked the counter and knew every kid in the neighborhood.

Behind the counter lay boxes of penny candy and other small treats. Around the room, deep chests were filled with cold beverages and popsicles, and shelves were lined with an assortment of groceries meant for neighborhood mothers with little ones in tow.

*Nothing evokes memories of shopping with my Grandma* *like marinated olives, rosemary and…*

My first memories of going to a corner store on the West Side are with my Sicilian grandmother. At the time, many of the stores specialized in food that made the first- and second-generation Sicilians in our neighborhood feel at home.

While Grandma would stand at the counter ordering freshly butchered meat (including tripe or pig’s feet—ugh), I would watch the live babbaluci (snails) climb up the sides of the large barrels from which they were sold. I knew that if I behaved, she would reward me with a small box of torrone, a sweet white nougat treat, that forever imprinted the association of “corner store” and “candy” in my brain.

*Remember the excitement of opening your Mallo Cup and finding a 25 point coin?*

Once I was old enough to walk to school alone, I would stop at Mantione’s on the corner of 14^th and Hampshire with the nickel or dime I had earned for returning glass bottles.

I would stand in front of the counter debating which treasures I should buy—a pair of ruby red wax lips (that were utterly tasteless), a licorice stick (I preferred red, which isn’t really “licorice”), a pretzel from the cannister, a candy necklace, Nik-L-Nips in little wax bottles, or one of the large assortment of hard, soft and chewy candies, like peach stones and maple creams. The prefrontal cortex of my 8-year old brain agonized over this decision for 15 minutes while Mr. Mantione waited patiently behind the counter.

*How I loved those caramel creams (notice several are missing)!*

Fast-forward to teenaged summers at the Massachusetts Ave swimming pool and frequent stops at Ganci’s Grocery, a store and “super deli” right across from the pool. No longer a hesitant decision-maker, I would stride up to the counter, past the bottles of LaStrella bleach and bars of Fels-Naptha soap, and order a baloney bomber from Mr. Ganci, his son Frank or daughter Cathy, before running over to the pool. If I had enough money, I’d buy a chocolate-covered frozen banana for dessert (which would be devoured before I re-crossed the street).

*Ganci’s Super Deli had the best bombers and ribs in town back in the ’70s. Photo courtesy of Rick Ganci.*

They were hardly the healthy snacks parents buy and children are encouraged to eat today. But it wasn’t really about the food back then. It was all about the experience of learning to count your money (and your change, if there was any), making choices, interacting with adults in an environment outside the home, and enjoying whatever you bought with the little cash you had. It can truthfully be said that we did a lot of growing up in those stores.

I still like to patronize family-run grocery stores, but they are harder and harder to find. On the West Side back in the day, most kids could look out their bedroom window and see a neighborhood store down the street. Now they are a novelty—like Guercio’s on Grant Street—and run by a family’s second, third or fourth generation.

*What could be a more welcome sight in the aftermath of a blizzard, than to see the lights ablaze in Guercio’s, your friendly neighborhood store? Photo courtesy of the Guercio family.*

Whenever I go back to Buffalo, I still like to pay Guercio’s a visit. The food, the smells, the colorful produce, all transport me back to those trips with Grandma. The only thing missing is the barrel of babbalucci. I’m quite sure the snails are happier.

Do you have a memory of a favorite store from your childhood? How old were you when you were finally able to go there on your own? Please share your stories with me and my readers. We’d love to hear from you!

Secrets of the Scajaquada? Treasures of Tonawanda? Or…

This month I am asking readers, what are the undiscovered gems in Buffalo and the surrounding area that I need to visit this year?

*Buffalo’s Garden Walk is always fabulous…*

In July, I will spend a couple of weeks in a cozy little cottage that’s a stone’s throw from Lake Erie. It’s not far from Point Breeze, where my family rented a similar cottage while I was growing up, and oh, it brings back memories!

While I’m staying there, I like to invite friends and relatives to visit and enjoy the beach, they in turn invite me to visit them in Buffalo, and I never fail to take a drive through the old West Side. This year I have several big reunions to attend on the weekends, so it will be a happy, but very busy time.

*But the Open Gardens just outside of Buffalo are equally beautiful. Photos by Moxie Gardiner.*

*I was delighted to learn about the one and only Kazoo Factory and Museum in Eden, NY, from a reader.*

During the week though, when everyone goes back to work, things get quieter and I try to carve out time to explore the Western New York area and all it has to offer. I have my favorites of course—the Buffalo Garden Walk, the Italian Festival, and the Explore Buffalo tours that are always on offer.

But I’m on the lookout for new things and places to write about, and for old things that somehow I’ve missed before. My readers have always been so helpful when it comes to suggestions, so this month I am asking, what are the undiscovered gems in Buffalo and the surrounding area that I need to visit this year?

*I’ve been going to Delaware Park since I was a child, but every time I go I find something new….*

You’ll see from the photos that I love Buffalo’s parks and gardens, lively waterfront, unusual museums, historical places, and local festivals, among other things. While writing a recent blog about fossil hunting, I learned for the first time about the Penn Dixie Fossil Park and Nature Preserve in Blasdell, so that will be a priority. One of my blog readers suggested the Herschell Carrousel Factory Museum in North Tonawanda so I’ll check that out too.

Buffalo's Italian Heritage Festival is canceled this year. — *There is lots to see and do at Buffalo’s Italian Heritage Festival*, *but I go for the food!*

Also for the first time, I’ll have a fish fry at the Swannie House restaurant (the oldest in Buffalo) and tour Frank Lloyd Wright’s historic Darwin Martin House. But that still leaves time for plenty of other excursions!

Does Scajaquada Creek have its secrets, aside from the beautiful lily pond shown in the featured photo? Well, I only recently learned that British writer Shadrack Byfield was wounded there during the War of 1812, and ended up having his arm amputated. I’m sure there is more to learn (especially from the Buffalo History Museum which sits on its banks).

*Kayaking is my favorite way to see Buffalo’s waterfront. Photo by Dean Gallagher.*

I should mention that when my book, Virgin Snow, is published, (with any luck this summer, fingers crossed), I will be back again, probably more than once, to meet with book clubs and readers who like discussing what they read. Hopefully, those trips should afford me additional opportunities to visit places I’m not able to see in July.

Do you have a favorite, little known place in Buffalo, one that others might like to know about? Send me your ideas and suggestions in the comments below. I love to hear them, and you just might see your recommendation mentioned in a future blog!

*And yes, I take time to enjoy the beach, and never, ever miss a Lake Erie sunrise, or sunset, if I can help it.*

Why Buffalonians Will Always Love Spring Break

As long as there are long, snowy months in Buffalo, there will be snowbirds of every age winging their way to the Land of Sunshine.

Imagine, if you will, that it is late March or early April in Buffalo, and daytime temperatures are still hovering in the 30s as they have for the past five months or so. A thick gray blanket of cloud continues to obscure the sun and there are very few green things poking through the half-frozen mud. You are tired of brushing snow from your windshield and avoiding ice wherever you walk. You long to be warm again, feel the sun on your face, and to be shed of the three layers of winter clothing that make you look ten pounds heavier than you actually are.

*The hotel was nice enough, considering the price.* *All photos by Moxie Gardiner.*

At least, that’s how I felt when I was a freshman at Buffalo State College and first learned about something called “spring break.” The school was sponsoring a bus trip down to Daytona Beach, Florida the week before Easter, and the price included a shared hotel room. Once I determined that I’d get a couple hundred dollars back from my tax return—enough to cover both bus and room—I called several girlfriends and signed us up.

*There was, I’ll admit, always a bit of craziness around the pool.*

Having never traveled such a long distance from Buffalo in my life, I failed to ask a few pertinent questions like, how long will the bus trip take (24 hours with stops) how many bathrooms will there be on the bus (one), and how many people to a hotel room (four). Small matters, it might seem, when you are young and adventurous, until the bus begins to smell of vomit after six hours of non-stop drinking, and your girlfriends want to invite new “friends” to spend the night in your hotel room.

*There was a band at every hotel, entertaining us for free! Thought I’d died and gone to heaven….*

At the time, I thought spring break was a new and novel idea, but have since found out that the concept has been around for a long time. The Greeks and Romans, if you want to go back that far, were the first to invent the spring bacchanalia, which included wine, sex, and various forms of debauchery to celebrate the arrival of the vernal equinox. But spring break, in its current form, is attributed to a swimming coach at Colgate University (a fellow New Yorker) who wanted his swim team to get some early spring training back in the 1930s. The idea apparently caught on and many northern college swim teams began making the annual trek to warmer climes.

Now spring break is an annual tradition enjoyed by students in many countries and is considered by some to be one of the more memorable collegiate experiences. For Americans, Florida is no longer the primary destination. The Bahamas, Hawaii, Mexico and Arizona are among the top trending travel destinations for spring break 2023. Florida apparently makes up only 18% of overall bookings.

*The tire blew to smithereens, which created a bit of excitement.*

*But after chilling out for several hours, we were back on the road again….*

With one or two exceptions, (like the time our Blue Bird bus blew a tire and went skidding off the road into the North Carolina wilderness), my spring break experiences were fairly tame by modern standards. We partied, of course, listened to bands, played volleyball, and went swimming in the ocean. But my favorite thing to do was catch fish and bring them to a local restaurant, where the kitchen would clean and prepare your fish and serve it with sides for about $5. All very innocent, as I said.

*Motorbikes of all kinds ply the hard packed sands of Daytona Beach.*

How then, has spring break taken such a bad turn in recent years? According to recent articles, on South Padre Island, police report an average of 25 arrests per day during the typical spring break week. In Panama City, where the spring break season extends through March and into April, there were almost 700 arrests in the first few weeks of March alone. In Miami, multiple weekends of violence have left two people dead, hundreds arrested and dozens of guns confiscated by law enforcement officers. Whatever happened to drinking a few beers and nuzzling under a palm tree?

*Me and my catch of the day (the fish, that is).*

It is a shame that what was once a rite of passage for college kids—where getting too sunburned was your greatest concern—has in some places become dangerous and potentially deadly. I hate to be one of these people who talk about how things were so much better back in the day, but in this case I think they might have been.

That said, I don’t think it will matter much to Buffalonians. As long as there are long, snowy months in Buffalo, there will be always be snowbirds of every age winging their way to the Land of Sunshine.

Did you ever participate in spring break? What was it like for your generation? I would love to hear your stories.

Life in Buffalo—375 Million Years Ago

My uncle’s goal on these field trips was to teach us about paleontology…as well as something about life in Buffalo before the Buffalo Bills. (Photo of Eighteen Mile Creek by Doreen Regan)

*Often we would find imprints of brachiopods in the shale, but sometimes we were lucky enough to find an intact specimen, like those above. Fossil photos by Moxie Gardiner.*

I had the great good fortune to have a science teacher for an uncle. He loved his work and taught his nieces and nephews about the world at large as well as the part of it we lived in: about soils and rocks, the importance of the summer and winter solstices, and how to identify harmless snakes and move them without getting bitten, among other things.

He enjoyed taking us on field trips on his days off, and one of his favorite places to explore was Eighteen Mile Creek, a tributary of Lake Erie that meanders south of Buffalo, mostly through the town of Hamburg. As a science teacher in the Buffalo City Schools, Uncle Ed knew all the places where people were permitted to go fossil hunting. His goal on these trips was to teach us about paleontology, the study of fossilized plant and animal remains, as well as something about life in Western New York before the Buffalo Bills.

*Inside the small round balls of pyrite a fossil could be found.*

Eighteen Mile Creek is so-named because its waters flow into Lake Erie at a point 18 miles southwest of the former village of Black Rock, now a neighborhood on the western edge of Buffalo.[1] I remember as a child clambering down the shale cliffs behind my uncle, into the gorge formed by the creek. While in places the cliffs rise 100 feet or more, the creek itself is wide but not very deep, a perfect place for wading on a hot summer day while we searched the cliffs for ancient life.

*Crinoid stems are all that remain of an ancient sea flower.*

My uncle had a knack for simplifying complex subjects in a way that made them meaningful for children. All of the fossilized creatures we would find in the layers of thin grey shale would be from the Paleozoic Era, he would tell us, and they lived not in the Great Lakes but in a body of water known as the Devonian Sea. Rather than have us try to memorize the Latin names of the fossils (what 11-year-old would remember athyris spiriferoides?), he would tell us the “common names” of what we were finding.

*Trilobites were ancient crustaceans now found between the shale layers of Eighteen Mile Creek*. *We had to handle these very gently so as not to break them.*

He described how at the bottom of the Devonian Sea lay a magnificent coral reef not unlike the Great Barrier Reef of Australia. The drab, grey fossils we were looking for—brachiopods, pyrite, crinoid stems, and the most sought after prize of all, trilobites—were once as colorful and beautiful as any ocean creatures we might see today. If we found one of these precious relics, he instructed, we were to wrap them carefully in newspaper and put them in a metal box, so as not to break the tiny creatures embedded in the fragile shale. We stuffed the harder, calcified fossils we found near the creek bed and lakeshore, into our pockets.

*My uncle called theses bryozoans, Devonian plants with thin, flat branches.*

I remember going home at the end of the day with our small treasures, my head filled with images of small marine animals clinging to rocks, and of plants waving their fronds at the bottom of a sea where I now walked. I still have those fossils, safely tucked away, wrapped in very old newspaper.

As an adult, I have since learned that the Great Lakes are a paleontologist’s dream, with fossils plentiful all along the vast shorelines, thanks to the glaciers that scoured them from the hardened Devonian sea bottom, and the waves that now deposit them on the beaches. I’ve also recently learned about a place called the Penn Dixie Fossil Park & Nature Reserve in Hamburg, on what was once part of the quarry of the Penn Dixie Cement Corporation. According to the Reserve’s website, it is ranked as the #1 fossil park in the U.S. and welcomes guests from around the world.[2]

The Fossil Park is temporarily closed until April 2023, but when it reopens, I plan to visit. I read that you can keep whatever fossils you find during your explorations. What better way to relive my childhood memories of a mind-expanding educational experience, and honor the memory of Uncle Ed, science teacher extraordinaire.

Have you ever looked for or found fossils on the beaches of the Great Lakes or along one of its tributaries like Eighteen Mile Creek? I would love to know if you share my interest in these small relics of the past, or if you have ever simply stumbled upon them. Please let me know in the comments below.

*To this day I have no idea what this is, but I believe it is a fossil, not just a rock. It appears scaly, like an ancient fish. Any paleontologists or science teachers out there who can help me?*

[1] An excellent scientific and historical tome on the subject is Geology and Paleontology of Eighteen Mile Creek by Amadeus W. Grabau. This book, Grabau’s master’s thesis at MIT, was originally published in two volumes in 1898-1899, and has since been republished by the Hamburg Natural History Society. I have no idea if my uncle ever read this book, but I hope he did. He would have loved it.

[2] For more information about the fossil park, visit https://penndixie.org/fossil-hunting/

The Year I Met the Buffalo Bills

It was a beautiful summer day in early August, 1963. The Buffalo Bills, a young team that had been admitted into the American Football League just four years earlier, were wrapping up their annual summer training and getting ready for their first game of the season. The excitement in the city was palpable.

My Dad, a diehard fan of the team since day one, had seen an ad in the Buffalo Evening News for “Meet the Bills” day, with field events in the afternoon and an intra-squad game that evening. It was an opportunity to watch the veterans compete against the rookies, and to meet some of our hometown heroes. I was thrilled when Dad decided to take me to the event to get some autographs (FYI for those under 30, you couldn’t take a “group selfie” back in the day).

I was just a wee thing at the time, but I remember going to the old “rock pile,” otherwise known as War Memorial Stadium, a venue significantly smaller than the 70,000-seat Highmark Stadium in Orchard Park where the Bills play today. My Dad explained to me who everyone on the field was and what position they played, and pointed out who he considered to be the future superstars (as it turned out, he was right on most counts).

There was Lou Saban, Buffalo’s storied coach, on the field talking to players. Number 15, Jack Kemp, the quarterback, was warming up his arm, along with his back-up quarterback Daryle Lamonica. In the field events, Billy Shaw (a future Hall of Famer) and Pro-Bowler Tom Sestak would compete in the 50-yard dash for linemen. Cookie Gilchrist would show his stuff in the 50-yard dash for running backs, while Elbert Dubenion would compete against other receivers. It was really fun to watch Ed Rutkowski and Gene Sykes and other defensive backs compete in the 30-yard backward run. “They look good,” said my father, admiring the show. “This year they might go all the way.”

*The list of field events for Meet the Bills day in 1963. Note that first prize in each category was $15!*

After the competitions were over, we went down to the fence that surrounded the field where the players were signing autographs. There were lots of fans holding pieces of paper out to their favorites, like me hoping for an autograph. Many of the kids were big enough to play junior league football themselves, and I had a hard time pushing my way through the crowd and up to the fence, but my Dad put me on his shoulders and had no problem elbowing his way to the front. Then it was a matter of getting a player’s attention.

“Here’s how it done,” my Dad told me. “Hey, Jack Kemp!” he shouted. “If you’re not careful, you’ll have more blue freckles than brown ones with all these pens in your face.” Jack Kemp looked up, laughed, and signed my autograph book. “He’s not as good as Lamonica,” whispered Dad, searching the field in vain for his favorite Buffalo quarterback. Lamonica went on to star for the Oakland Raiders, and Kemp, despite not being my father’s fave, had several excellent seasons with the Bills and was awarded the AFL-MVP award in 1965. He later became a US Congressman and a Vice Presidential running-mate to Bob Dole, so I guess he was popular with some people.

Dad and I left “Meet the Bills” day bearing a half-dozen precious signatures and we watched every game that season on TV. (Dad hasn’t missed a Bills game yet.) The 1963 team ended with a 7-6-1 record and finished tied for first in the AFL East. In 1964 and 1965, they not only won their division but defeated the San Diego Chargers each year for the AFL championship. In 1966, they lost to the Kansas City Chiefs in the AFL title game and missed playing in the first Super Bowl. My young self was convinced we would win the Super Bowl the following year, but instead followed five years of mostly losses before the picture brightened again.

It has been nearly 60 years since I met my first Buffalo Bills. The team has had good seasons—even great seasons—including competing in four straight Super Bowls. They have had excellent coaches like Saban, Chuck Knox, and Marv Levy, and the current one, Sean McDermott, looks to be following in their footsteps. And of course they had superstar players in O.J. Simpson, Jim Kelly, Bruce Smith, Andre Reed, and Thurman Thomas. They’ve also had some terrible seasons, but at no time did I ever know a true Buffalonian to give up on the Bills.

As my Dad would say, there are no “fair weather fans” in Buffalo (OK—no jokes about no “fair weather” in Buffalo either). The view at the end of the season was always optimistic and “next year” was always going to be “our year.”

Now leading the charge for Buffalo is quarterback Josh Allen, a swoon-worthy young man who seems to be able to do it all. Having come close to reaching the summit of the league the previous two seasons, the Bills seem on track for another shot at glory. And there is talk all over Buffalo that “this year” will be the year our Bills will win the Super Bowl for the first time. If so, I plan to head back to Buffalo to get some autographs. Or at least a selfie.

Are you a Buffalo Bills fan and do you have a particular season you love to remember, or a favorite Bills player? Or have you, like some people, given up on the NFL altogether? I’d love to hear from you, in the comments below.

Gimme That Summer Lovin’

It’s hard to underestimate the impact of the long Buffalo winters on young romance.

As you know, faithful readers, I love to reminisce about the summer days of my Buffalo childhood, filled with daily trips to the neighborhood swimming pool, games of kickball in the street, and popsicles on the front steps when the sun dipped low over the Niagara River. But this month I’ve decided to write about summer memories of a different time of life, unique to Buffalo only in their intensity.

I’m speaking here of summer love.

*Come summertime, even the neighbors begin to look interesting…*

Yes, these steamy affairs happen everywhere, but it is difficult to underestimate the impact of the long Buffalo winters on romance. Gazing upon a potential love interest dressed in a sweater, jeans, parka, gloves and the obligatory Buffalo Bills knit beanie, does not exactly send the heart aflutter. Come summertime though (defined by some Buffalonians as temperatures above 40 degrees Fahrenheit) the clothes come off and the city comes alive.

*“Gimme some skin” took on a whole new meaning* *in summer.*

After about eight months of cold and gray, summer seems to happen almost overnight. All activity moves outside and suddenly there are people everywhere. Seeing all that flesh after so many months of bundled up darkness makes the heart race, the palms sweat, the hormones jump, and, well, you know the rest.

When I was a young teenager, our social scene was at the Massachusetts Swimming Pool. We would bring our transistor radios, lay our towels by the pool, get the juices flowing listening to songs like “Wild Thing” by the Troggs and “Hello I Love You” by the Doors, and dream of being dunked by the hunky guys who actually had chest hair at age 15 (in our ethnic neighborhood, we were blessed with more than our fair share of these fine specimens). I swear that summertime smell of suntan lotion, chlorine, and warm concrete had an aphrodisiac effect on our young libidos. (If I could figure out a way to bottle that smell, wouldn’t I make a fortune?) Add to that the shirtless guys playing basketball next to the pool and there is little wonder summer “attractions” happened quickly, and frequently.

*Sometimes the flirting could get outrageous.*

Once in college, the mating scene moved to beach parties by the lake, picnics in Delaware Park, outdoor concerts, and when we reached legal drinking age, to any one of Buffalo’s many bars. If you had no luck by 4 am when the bars closed, you could always try again at a late-night food stop like the Mighty Taco (although the morning after might be even more embarrassing after a few bean burritos).

Yes, the summers are “hot” in Buffalo, but as songs, movies, and TV shows affirm, summer flings (the kind that “don’t mean a thing,” as they sing in “Grease”) are a phenomenon everywhere. So I wondered if there was something more than cold winters that prompt this, i.e., a scientific reason why people are so attracted to each other during the summer months.

*Didn’t the guy with the guitar always get the girls?*

It appears there is. Scientists say that when skin is exposed to more sunlight, our bodies produce dopamine, serotonin, and MSH (sometimes called the “happy hormones”). Warm weather apparently tells our mammalian bodies that our period of hibernation is over, to move outdoors, and as the blood quickens, to start searching for ways to sate our appetites. The visual stimulation of summer, of course, cannot be overlooked. Meeting someone on a beach in a bikini, or jogging shirtless and sweaty in the park, is more likely to lead to amorous arousal than working on a term paper in the cold Buff State library.

*Yes, you can find your forever love while riding mopeds together to the beach.*

Do summer romances ever last? Well, that depends. If you find that you are attracted to more than your love interest’s bronzed body, that you enjoy talking to each other as much as, um, other things, then yes, they can last. But until you see your summer sweetheart looking up at you lovingly, in that parka and Buffalo Bills cap while shoveling snow, I wouldn’t make any commitments.

Have you ever had a summer love? Did it last? I would love to hear from you in the comment section, below.

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