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It can be fully shocking how much of an impact Rochester’s development has had on the landscape around it. More than two centuries of human habitation can cause some major changes; one of the most impressive may be the complete filling in of the Deep Hollow Creek. Once a magnificent natural feature of Rochester’s west side, this heavily-wooded ravine carved a path from Gates Center to the head of the Lower Falls of the Genesee River. The creek at its heart would prove too tempting a solution for the dumping of wastewater, inevitably leading to it becoming a sewer, a dump, a landfill, and finally commercial or recreational land.

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McCrackenville

The gorge at Deep Hollow Creek formed the northern boundary of the settlement at McCrackenville, founded in the 1820s by the McCracken brothers from Batavia. This settlement consisted largely of mills and furniture factories.

The waterway to the west and north of McCrackenville on the map above is what would become known as “Deep Hollow Creek”. At this time, however, it seems to have been called the “Deep Gulf Stream”. McCrackenville’s main street, Broadway [now Lake Avenue] crossed the Deep Gulf Stream via the Gulf Bridge. A bridge at this site was apparently first constructed between 1792 and 1800 by a team of locals; Genesee River historian Bill Davis claimed in a 1984 interview that this bridge was called the “DePaulo Bridge” built by Gideon King and Zadock Granger of King’s Landing. It was this bridge that would see a brief spate of defensive action–though no offensive–during the War of 1812, as we’ll go into later in this post.

Leading to the Deep Gulf Stream was a smaller stream of water from the Erie Canal to the west, entering at a point just to the west of the Gulf Bridge:

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Deep Hollow

By the middle of the 19th century, the McCrackenville settlement had been thoroughly attached to the bloodstream of Rochester’s roads, and it had lost much of its individual culture–though apparently the McCrackenville name was still in vogue for names of places and businesses in the area through the 1860s.

At this point, School #7 occupied rented quarters in roughly the same position as the replacement building would occupy. At the time, this was the corner of State and Brisbane Streets, which would become Lake and Glenwood Avenues. A new building would be constructed for School #7 in 1859.

As you can see, little existed to the west side of the Deep Hollow ravine at this time. This area would begin to fill in during the 1860s and 1870s.

Emerson Street would appear in the 1871 directory; Locust Street in the 1872 directory.

Our first street-name change from old McCrackenville times is Burns Street, which in 1872 is changed to Hastings Avenue.

Next to change would be Brisbane Street: though Glenwood Avenue was originally constructed as a continuation of Brisbane Street in 1875, the “Glenwood Avenue” name won over the entire street as of the 1878 directory.

Champion Street extended across the Deep Hollow sometime before 1875, although the directory steadfastly refused to acknowledge that it went further west than the Hollow.

In 1880, Champion Street residents west of the Hollow petitioned successfully to change the street’s name to “Glenwood Park”, which was extended to the whole of Champion from the river to Fourth Avenue. Having a Glenwood Park and a Glenwood Avenue next to each other created some confusion; I imagine that confusion caused Glenwood Park to be changed to “Glendale Park” in 1889.

Perkins Street would become Ravine Avenue in 1887.

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A Treasure Hunt?

An eerie story takes place at the Deep Hollow Creek on a dark summer night of 1879: a small party of people had been digging around the roots of a tree on the north bank, a “few rods” or approximately 66 feet east of Lake Avenue. When approached, they at first claimed to be digging at the tree’s roots to attain medicinal essences from them; however, in time they revealed their true purpose as treasure hunters.

They related a dream shared with them by the widow of a man, Mr. Benedict, who had envisioned a squaw–an archaic term for a Native American woman, considered a slur–telling him that cartloads of gold lay buried somewhere within Deep Hollow ravine, hidden by an English officer during the Revolutionary War; the Native spirit was its guardian, and she claimed to tire of her charge. Supposedly, the dream ended with a wagon approaching over the bridge, pulled by fiery steeds. After three times dreaming this dream, Benedict decided to see if there was anything to it.

Supposedly, when Mr. Benedict and a hired treasure hunter began their hunt, they drove some poles into the ground at the place envisioned in his dream, near-by the Lake Avenue bridge over Deep Hollow Creek. From the holes issued blue flame, which frightened them–but, what frightened them more was the appearance of that same wagon from Benedict’s dream, driving over the Lake Avenue bridge, pulled by flaming horses.

It sounds like an urban legend, and it doubtless was, but it apparently was enough to draw at least this party and another before it to dig at this spot on the Deep Hollow bank.

Based on the descriptions given in the above article, I attempted to find general locations named in the story. On the below 1875 plat map, red represents the property of May Marsh–erroneously given as Mary Marsh–daughter of the Seth W. Marsh from the article.

The Marsh house would go on to have a grist mill built on its south side, at the corner of Lake and Glenwood Avenues, in 1884; this mill was built by Kelly, Godley & Co.

In 1886, the Hygienic Mills became property of James H. Gorsline.

In 1888, a massive fire entirely destroyed the mill. Though heat from the fire kept catching the roof of the old Marsh house on fire, firemen were able to prevent it from being destroyed as well.

The mill was rebuilt some time thereafter.

Gorsline’s “Hygienic Roller Mills”, like the Glenwood Mill across Deep Hollow, were powered by cables running from waterwheels on the riverbank.

The mill was operated by Gorsline until his death in 1901, whereupon it became the L. A. Rogers & Company mill.

In 1915, it was renovated to serve as the offices of A. Friederich and Sons contractors, one of the oldest construction companies in Rochester.

A. Friederich & Sons held the property until 1975, when the company went bankrupt; No. 710 Lake Avenue was seized by the IRS for nonpayment of taxes, and sold at public auction.

Niagara Frontier Services Inc. purchased the site and broke ground for a new Tops supermarket in 1976; the location opened in 1977.

A larger Tops would be built at the site in 1999; the store closed in 2018.

The corner where the mill stood at Lake and Glenwood Avenues is now the back end of the defunct Tops grocery store:

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Glenwood Lake

For a brief time in the 1880s, Deep Hollow Creek was a source of harvested winter ice for the “Glenwood Ice Co.”, proprietor Henry East.

Henry East was a butcher and seller of meats on Front Street, at the corner of Exchange Place [Corinthian Place].

Henry East was proprietor of the Henry East & Son Meats & Provisions until 1887, when he stepped down from active business in favor of his son, Henry R. East.

In the late 1870s, Henry East purchased a parcel of land adjacent to the Deep Hollow Creek ravine, at the corner of Glenwood Avenue and what was then White Alley. White Alley was changed to Champion Street in 1883, but would become Malvern Street in 1898. The 1888 Plat Map below has it as Champion Street.

Around 1880, East erected a dam across the Deep Hollow Creek, backing up the waters and causing the ravine to fill in behind the dam. This body of water East dubbed “Glenwood Lake”; beside it he built a large ice-house 80′ to a side, employing thirty men in the harvesting of ice from the artificial lake.

The ice house wasn’t apparently very long-lived, though ice houses rarely were. By the 1892 Sanborn map, there is no sign of the large building by the ravine; the foundation of a new house is being built next to No. 57 Glenwood Avenue.

Henry East would die May 7th, 1897.

The above obituary of Henry East claims he was a prominent figure in the development of the Glenwood area of the city:

“Mr. East was one of the prime movers in the enterprise which changed old Glenwood, that portion of the city bounded by Deep Hollow, the Erie canal and Lexington avenue, from a thick woods of beechnut, chestnut, hickory and maple trees, with many low spots, that half the year were stagnant swamps and ponds, into the level plain, intersected with streets and avenues, thickly studded with houses that it is now.

The business bearing his son’s name, Henry R. East Meats & Provisions on the corner of Front and Corinthian, would continue until its bankruptcy in 1907.

The area of Deep Hollow Creek that was dammed up for “Glenwood Lake” is now Tacoma Park on the corner of Glenwood Avenue and Tacoma Street

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Death in Deep Hollow

As beautiful a natural feature as the Deep Hollow Creek ravine was, it was also a hazard. Sometimes children would drown in the waters, like poor Carrie Hughes who drowned in the creek near the river on May 1st of 1887. More dramatically, the unwary might plummet the full depth of the ravine and meet their untimely end upon the rocks, as happened to James Bowden in August of 1886.

Bowden lived in a house behind No. 24 Glenwood Avenue, fronting on Leavenworth Place. One August afternoon he was out with his wife, looking for a hen’s nest in the underbrush near the edge of the Deep Hollow. He lost his footing, and plummeted sixty feet, breaking his neck and skull on impact with the ground below.

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Fort Bender

In 1924, an exciting discovery was made when excavations were being made for a gas station on the corner of Glenwood and Lake Avenues, in front of old School #7. Rough stone foundations were revealed, believed by local historians to be the remnants of Fort Bender, a redoubt built at a bridge across Deep Hollow during the War of 1812.

The name of Fort Bender came from Hastings R. Bender, a lawyer, who came from Vermont to Frankfort in 1811. In 1814, responding to news that the British naval commander Admiral Yeo was commanding a fleet on Lake Ontario, Rochesterville mustered its defenses. While primary fortifications and artillery were set up at Charlotte by the Valiant 77, Hastings R. Bender led a group of men to fortify the Deep Hollow.

From this position, a fortification could hold the bridge across the ravine against British troops, even destroying it if need be by pulling out its anchors and allowing it to fall into the gorge below. Furthermore, a narrow and hidden vantage point was afforded defenders where they could assault any British vessels approaching along the Genesee.

Bender and his men threw up a rude fortification at the Hollow; it amounted to little more than an earthen embankment, reinforced with timbers and stones. Atop this bulwark, a four-pounder gun [or two, according to Scrantom’s account], placed at the ready.

Of course, this riverside fortification never saw combat: the British fleet on Lake Ontario had been turned aside at Charlotte by the actions of the Valiant 77. After firing a few warning shots against the fort at Charlotte and a command to surrender, Commander Yeo was shocked to see innumerable American militia appear at the forest’s edge. Unknown to the British commander, the Valiant 77 were creating an illusion of swollen numbers, by appearing at the lake’s shore and pulling back over and over again in different places. To those on the warships, it appeared as though the woods were filled with defenders. Daunted by that fictional resistance, Yeo’s fleet sailed on and Rochesterville remained safe from British dominion.

Rochesterville pioneer, Edwin Scrantom, reminisced in his essay “A Boyhood Adventure” about being ten years of age and romping through the Deep Hollow near Fort Bender:

“Coming up to (the Deep Hollow) we found an earthwork thrown up on the south bank behind which, not far apart, were two small cannon pointed through an opening, and so planted that while a company of men were crossing they could be mowed down like hail devastating a field of wheat. There were also several men stationed here to watch an enemy’s approach, so that when warned, their first work was to remove the plank from the bridge, and then stand to their guns! The road beyond descended a great deal, and was enclosed on each side by thick woods, and we all felt inclined to back out, though neither broke his fears to the rest. Inquiring of the soldiers, they discouraged us, and two of them said, ‘Go back! Go back! What good can you boys do? You may all of you get killed.”

“A Boyhood Adventure,” Edwin Scrantom, 1874

John Werner Machine Works, to become John Werner & Sons Inc., manufactured confectionery machinery from the building that once housed School #7 on Lake Avenue. One can see the excavations being done on its front lawn, below, in preparation for the erection of a filling station:

I couldn’t find any more archaeological work having been done on the site to determine whether it was truly Fort Bender. Despite any doubt that existed, the filling station built there was named Fort Bender Filling/Service Station in honor of the old fort.

As the above states, the Fort Bender Service Station was sold off to Seneca Stations, Inc.; I’m not sure where “729 Lake” came from, this should still be No. 713 lake avenue, which appeared as below:

The John Werner & Sons Inc. machine shop shut down in 1954, with the death of one of John Werner’s sons, Charles Werner. The company’s president at that time and the other son of John Werner, Theodore Werner, died May 1st, 1958.

When the old school-slash-factory was torn down specifically, I’ve yet to uncover; the lot became, and remains to this day, an automotive repair station.

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Kay Terrace

Multiple bridges and roads were built over the Deep Hollow. The first, most prominent of the crossings was Lake Avenue, of course. Later crossings were installed at Brisbane Street, which became Glenwood Avenue, Ravine Avenue, Locust Street and Emerson.

Kay Terrace was one such crossing. This road was built north-south through land contributed by carpenter Joseph Heywood Kay; the road was opened in 1889. The road would pass through the original Kay homestead at No. 73 Rowe Street, which was torn down and replaced with a newer house built at the corner of Kay Terrace.

Joseph H. Kay would have a large frame house built at the corner of Rowe Street [Lexington Ave] and Kay Terrace, No. 69 Rowe Street, later to become No. 167 Lexington Ave. This house would be demolished in 2012 after a two-alarm fire in July 2012, just a couple months after the below Google Maps image was taken:

Joseph H. Kay’s sons, Samuel P. and John R. Kay, would go on to become carpenters with a shop between #7 School and the Deep Hollow ravine; for some reason its address was No. 291 Lake Avenue, even though No. 291 Lake Avenue was also a butcher’s storefront south of School #7.

At some point prior to 1900 this shop would be torn down; in 1907, Richard Kemp would build a bowling alley and confectioner’s shop at this location, called the Lake Avenue Bowling Hall. It is in the back room of this bowling hall that the Kodak Park Athletic Association had its first meetings.

In 1911, confectioner Michael E. Rock would move from his North Clinton Avenue location to No. 731 Lake; from that point on he would be proprietor of the Lake Avenue Bowling Hall. It would become known as “Rock Bowling Hall”.

Michael Rock died December 26th, 1938; his widow, Wilma Schmidt Rock, would carry on the store for ten years after. In 1948, Wilma Rock sold the property to Catholic War Veterans, Holy Rosary Post, to become a clubhouse.

This would become the Bernard F. Meyering Post, named after a Rochester soldier who died in 1945. The latest mention of this post I can find is 1950.

The building at No. 731 Lake would become the Friendship Tavern sometime before 1954. Aside from being a bar, restaurant, and bowling hall, the Friendship Tavern was also well-known as a home for live Irish traditional music sessions. Notable attendees include the Dady Brothers.

The Friendship Tavern experienced a devastating fire in late September, 1969:

Sometime between 1981 and 1988, No. 731 Lake would become Dirty & Co., a bar with a primary focus on darts-playing. In 1988, it was also the parking lot where the body of murder victim Nicola Gursky was found; the bar battled a poor reputation after this incident.

By 1992, Dirty & Co. had eleven light-up dart boards. In 1997, Dirty & Co. went out of business. At some point, the building was torn down, leaving a long strip of grassy land on Lake Avenue’s west side.

Returning to the Kay family; [yes, that’s right, this section was about Kay Terrace] Joseph H. Kay would die June 5th, 1902.

His sons John and Samuel would carry on in the carpentry field, eventually founding a box company, Kay Box and Lumber Company.

The Kay Box & Lumber Company would become the Traders Box & Lumber Company in July of 1907:

At No. 31 Kay Terrace is a church built on landfill that was once Deep Hollow Creek. Originally built in 1928 for the Christadelphian Church, it is now Iglesia De Cristo Yo Soy La Puerta.

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West of the Canal

The Deep Hollow Creek travelled from the west side to the east side of the Erie Canal via a culvert.

In the 1890s, a siphon would be seasonally placed in the canal bank, allowing waters from the canal to flush the Deep Hollow Creek below. This was necessary now and then; the waters of the Deep Hollow Creek had become gradually thicker and more noxious with the settlement around it. An injection of fresh water during the summer would help to prevent a buildup of the sludges of domestic and industrial pollution on its banks.

By 1888, most of the creek on the west side of the canal was buried as part of the West Side Sewer.

Dr. Rossiter Johnson, an author from Rochester, spent the first 28 years of his life [roughly 1840-1868] in this area; his novel Phaeton Rogers recounts his boyhood playing in the Deep Hollow:

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Hollow Filled

Due to Rochester’s development around it, the Deep Hollow Creek was gradually filled in, bit-by-bit. A combination of being filled purposefully and becoming an impromptu dump eventually saw the deep ravine become the featureless, flat lots of land we know today. As Susan Huntington Hooker, wife of nurseryman Horace Hooker put it in a letter to the D&C, “every lot owner in Rochester makes his lot as flat as a flounder.”

But even by 1916, a majority of the damage had already been done to the Hollow. Deep Hollow ravine was but a stubby shadow of the former grand rift which stretched all the way to Gates Center from the Genesee’s rocky bank.

One significant step towards filling in the Hollow was using the creek as a natural drainage route for west side sewers. Late in the 19th century, extensive sewerage was installed in the area; it was decided that the sewers would disgorge their waters into the Deep Hollow, and the creek would carry the wastewater east to the Genesee River.

Over time, the open sewage pouring into the Deep Hollow Creek caused unpleasant smells, which became a complaint of neighbors to the ravine.

The sewer kept being expanded and expanded, but most often at the expense of the Deep Hollow. More and more of the waters were piped through the ravine, and then those inevitably buried. Meanwhile, both residential and industrial neighbors dumped garbage wantonly into Deep Hollow. This continued for literal decades–consider that this below complaint is from 1968, at which point the A. Friederich & Sons company had held the property for 53 years. I have no doubt the dumping was largely unchecked during that period of time.

The solution seems to have been the same across the board for the sewers and dumps of Deep Hollow: cap it off with earth. Nowadays, there is a flat set of lots where the dramatic geographical feature once reigned; largely recreational activities take place on former Deep Hollow land, with some commercial lots and one church. What’s underneath them, though, is anyone’s guess; garbage of all sorts, most definitely.

But now you know that if you ever went to the Lake Avenue Tops while it was extant, you were parking in a lot paved over the old Deep Hollow ravine, and entering a store built over an old mill. If you go to Dunkin’ Donuts, you’re entering what was once a Wendy’s built on reclaimed Deep Hollow land in 1978. If you attend Iglesia De Cristo Yo Soy La Puerta, you are in the former Christadelphian church, also built upon reclaimed Deep Hollow Land. To me, that knowledge lends a new layer to the ground beneath my feet.

I still think I’d rather have a nice ravine with a creek, though.

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A Deep Hollow Feeling

Overall, it was far too easy for Rochester to lose yet another one of its grand natural features. Even as everyone lamented the ruining of Deep Hollow Creek it redoubled. In more ways than one, this unfortunate story is echoed in the burial of Thomas Creek and its scenic Palmer’s Glen, proving it was no isolated phenomenon but a repeated mistake of urban development.

Knowing this truly makes one appreciate the efforts of those people in Rochester’s past who worked tirelessly to preserve the natural spaces Rochester enjoys today.

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