Category: Streets
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August 14th, 1947, was a hot day. The masonry was baking like it was back in the kiln, and down on the street the temperature was merciless. The heat kept building, and building, all throughout the day. And then, just a few minutes after six o’clock in the evening, it collapsed. In the blind attic…
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Is there a Green Street in Rochester? Once upon a time, there was! The name never made it past the 19th century, but the thoroughfare technically still exists: over the decades, it morphed into South Clinton Avenue south of Howell Street. But to start, it was a simple street laid out between Jackson Street [Capron…
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Every young city lived in fear of fire. Old wood houses were a veritable tinderbox, and there was no dearth of combustion sources; this was an age of wood- and coal-fired ovens, of gas lamps, of railroads putting off sparks, of incautious industry tossing smoldering, chemical garbage into the dumps. These were times when oily…
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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…
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I love tiny places. Small buildings, itty-bitty cafes, pubs and bars, wee ickle shops and teensy pocket parks. Far from being claustrophobic, I find that these finite spaces encourage the fullest use of every inch, from efficiency of purpose to expressiveness of décor. And, in many cases, it forces one to keep in touch with…
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This entry is a bit of a departure; while usually I’m plumbing pretty deeply into the past and drawing up places long gone patronized by persons long dead, this time I’m dropping my line into the shallower end of history’s fishpond. Come with me back to a cozy and familiar café in the heart of…
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When I first began speaking with Lisa Kleman about our respective family histories and their mutual experience as immigrants in Rochester, I was struck by how similar the story of Kleman’s immigrant ancestor was to my own. Both Kleman and I are present-day representatives of the family lines of two determined German men, who came…
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Content warning: this entry contains references to killing birds. If it helps, nobody manages it very effectively. It was the spring of the year 1900, and a strange new bird had been spotted flitting around the streets of Rochester. The unfamiliar avian was black and shiny, whistling a merry tune, and perching atop streetcar wires.…