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P A I N T I N G S • F R A M I N G • P R I N T S • G I F T S • H O M E / O F F I C E • E S T. 1 9 0 1
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A MONTHLY ROUNDUP OF OUR FAVORITE POSTS FROM CLUBHAUS, BLOCK CLUB’S BLOG OF INSPIRATION, STORIES, DESIGN AND BUSINESS SMARTS. PERFECT FOR ANYONE INTERESTED IN HOW WE WORK, AND WHY WE WORK.
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RUNNERS-UP: ISSUE 33 COVERS
It’s been frigid, but 2014 is a steaming hot pile of excitement here in Buffalo. Issue 34 both celebrates and fist-shakes at the good and bad booms that enter our lives and cities. There’s joy in explosive results, and also letdown. For this one night, however, we focused on the bright lights. Buffalo sure understands a party. Check out our gallery!
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Our only criteria was that it should reflect the beauty of gray in either the natural or manufactured world.
BEN’S TORONTO ART WALK
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BLOCK CLUB GOES “BOOM” AT RECENT LAUNCH PARTY
EDITING TIME: PREPPING “BETTER/WORSE”
48 HOURS IN NEW YORK CITY
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TIM’S WINTRY CABIN PORN
AU REVOIR, SIMONS
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JULIE EXPLORES NONFICTION ILLUSTRATION
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Getting away to New York City for a few days to meet with a client and get inspired.
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KINETIC TYPE IN MOTION
10 PHOTOGRAPHIC MEMORY
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
Issue 35 BETTER/WORSE
CONNECT
14 Issue Contributors
ADVERTISING & DISTRIBUTION advertising@blockclubonline.com
17 Letter from the Editor
SUBSCRIPTIONS blockclubonline.com/subscribe
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The Conversationalists Interview by Ben Siegel Brenda McDuffie, of Buffalo’s Urban League, on serving the City of Buffalo’s disenfranchised minorities.
BRANDING & MARKETING blockclubonline.com
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Breaking Bread Case Study by Patrick Simons A new bakery on Buffalo’s West Side bakes up an alternative business model.
24 Putting My Books on the Shelf Essay by E.R. Barry The mindframe of an eager teacher. 28
A Work in Progress Story and photos by S.E. Bishop Buffalo First’s former executive director reflects on the virtues and dangers of working with best intentions.
38 For Better or Worse Photo Essay by Block Club Vows on the altar. 4v6 Winning the War By Ben Siegel Photos by Steve Soroka The Rogerses have been married for more than 65 years, having stuck by their commitment: for better or worse. 56 The Clinker Deal Short fiction by R.B. Pillay Negotiating with a movie star. 61 Me Likes You Comic by Lauren Barnett
EDITORIAL & CONTENT ben@blockclubonline.com
DESIGN & OFFICE BLOG clubhaus.tumblr.com FACEBOOK, TWITTER, VIMEO and INSTAGRAM @blockclub #blockclub #BCM35 PRINTED SUSTAINABLY. This magazine is printed on FSC®-certified post-consumer and post-industrial recycled paper. Production of this brand of paper consumes five times less water than the industry average, reduces air emissions, frees up landfill space, and saves the world’s mature trees. 731 Main St. Buffalo, NY 14203 716.507.4474 blockclubonline.com ©2014 BLOCK CLUB INC. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercialNoDerivs CC BY-NC-ND 3.0 Unported License. This work may be reproduced and shared for personal or educational use only, and must be credited to Block Club magazine. Such use for commerical purposes is strictly prohibited.
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ABOUT BLOCK CLUB Block Club is a branding and marketing agency founded in 2007 in Buffalo, NY. We work to build and strengthen brands for forward-thinking businesses and organizations. In Block Club magazine, we tell stories about a better Rust Belt. Learn more at blockclubonline.com. BCM 35 13
ISSUE CONTRIBUTORS
Lauren Barnett pg. 61 Lauren Barnett is a comic artist from Buffalo who currently lives in Queens, New York. Her first book, Me Likes You Very Much (Hic & Hoc Publications) was nominated for a 2012 Ignatz Award. melikesyou.com laurenmbarnett.com
E.R. Barry pg. 24 E.R. Barry is 50% writer, 50% educator; she’s done the math. You can find her short fiction and essays in Posh 7 Magazine, The Higgs Weldon, The Big Jewel and Thought Catalog. Tumblr (erbarry. tumblr.com) and Twitter (@ermstheword) follows welcome; real-life follows on a case-by-case basis.
BLOCK CLUB MAGAZINE EDITORIAL STAFF
S.E. Bishop
PUBLISHER PATRICK FINAN
pg. 28 S.E. Bishop is a community activist, photographer, and writer who dedicates this piece to the incomparable memory of their grandmother, the late Sophie Tollini, whose generous spirit lives on in her three children, 13 grandchildren, 14 greatgrandchildren, and one great-great-grandchild.
patrick@blockclubonline.com
EDITOR BEN SIEGEL ben@blockclubonline.com
CREATIVE DIRECTOR BRANDON DAVIS
R.B. Pillay
pg. 56 R. B. Pillay was born and raised in the suburbs of Cleveland, Ohio. He received his M.F.A. in writing from Columbia and was the David T. K. Wong Creative Writing fellow at the University of East Anglia. His fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in The White Review, Paper Darts and Foxing Quarterly.
Patrick Simons pg. 22 Patrick Simons is a former full-time Block Clubber, but remains forever affiliated. He is a loving boyfriend, son, brother and homie. Interests include Frasier, Cam’ron, Ralph Lauren and taking care of his house plant, Fernie.
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brandon@blockclubonline.com
PHOTOGRAPHER STEVE SOROKA steve@blockclubonline.com
DESIGNER JULIE MOLLOY julie@blockclubonline.com
DESIGNER TIM STASZAK tim@blockclubonline.com
CONTRIBUTING PHOTOGRAPHER MAX COLLINS
DISTRIBUTION MANAGER PATRICK SIMONS
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LETTER FROM THE EDITOR
Better/Worse It seems like a dead end, this question: do we want better, or do we want worse? There’s not much to talk about. We obviously want better than what we have, than what the others have, than what we’ve been used to, than all the other “thans” we could list— better is better. The obviousness of this sometimes misses our radar, though. Sometimes we need to be reminded of what we’re doing here; there are more goals than just improvement. We want change to the systems that don’t understand our new city, our new population, our new post-rust identity. That’s more important than sanitized reappropriation. We want improvement to the way we work, the way we think about our outcomes and potential, the way we discuss ourselves in our own backyard and abroad. That’s more important than a facelift. We want better not just because it’s what we think we deserve, but because it’s the duty of a responsible people to move its city forward. We want better because it is our reason for being born into this deluxe sandbox: to build. This statement—“We Want Better”—is more than just a preachy battle cry. At Block Club, it is our mantra. You can see it in our branding, on our ads, and hopefully, if all goes correctly, in the fiber of our work. This informs every step of every project, for every client and for every reader: we want better than what we used to think was acceptable.
If you think of it another way, worse becomes more and more unlikely. Better, then, is not just an evaluation of the end result, but a mantra for the process. Better keeps you moving; worse holds you back. The final product? Who cares. You were moving in the right direction. Now, I hear what you’re thinking. If all of this hard work, development, rhetoric and debate is not for a better final product, what is it for? Is an improvement to process enough of an improvement? I say it’s a start. It’s a place to begin the work. Because on the subjective side of this inspirational conversation is the fact that we have different tastes. Our parameters for better are as diverse as our paths here. We don’t all live in the same Buffalo. We need different things, based on where we live, who we know, what we don’t have. This forward movement must originate in our shoes. We must demand better versions of ourselves so that we can instigate the ripple effect on our concentric lives—our families, our homes, our neighborhoods, our communities, our city and beyond. We must commit to this. Worse won’t go away. It could be our friend if we want. Let worse reinforce your picture of better. Let it be the scratch on the back of your head, demanding more for and from you.
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THE CONVERSATIONALISTS
THE GREAT
DIVIDE THE CITY OF BUFFALO’S BIGGEST INEQUALITIES, AND THE PROBLEMS THEY CAUSE, ARE REVERSIBLE, BELIEVES THE URBAN LEAGUE’S BRENDA McDUFFIE.
E
Interview by BEN SIEGEL
ither Brenda McDuffie is a wonderful actor who can mask her understandable, defendable anger at Buffalo’s many economic, educational and socio-economic injustices with a kind smile, intelligent retort and binder full of supporting research, or she has that indefatigable characteristic we all grasp at when discussing the city’s disgraces. As President and CEO of Buffalo’s branch of the Urban League, Mrs. McDuffie—as she answers her phone, accessible by a direct line—is in a better position to grasp the realities that keep the organization’s constituency of ill-served minorities. Ever diplomatic, her answers do not mince words so much as they use them to paint pictures of neighbor-driven support, community-enabling initiatives, and citizen-focused results. Her answers aren’t based on hope alone. They’re based on results, lives changed every day by the services that don’t exist or aren’t accessible to thousands of citizens eager to change and build lives. Mrs. McDuffie is not acting when she smiles; she smiles because of action. BEN Of the Urban League’s five pillars—education and
youth empowerment, economic empowerment, health and quality of life, civic engagement and leadership, and civil rights—which has the greatest deficiency? BRENDA I think if you look at data, the greatest divide, both in terms of income and wealth, is economics. It’s directly related to education, which is a solution. Not only in this community, but across the nation, if you look at how individuals are faring in those groups, particularly where there’s the greatest divide.
Occupy movement, where for the first time in a long time, the 99 percent are talking about this. BRENDA It’s become a topic that people are beginning to understand can’t continue to be ignored. Because we create these larger divides and that is not a healthy community. As we look at what might be described as a revitalization of Buffalo, and the surrounding regions, and we think about those opportunities, if we don’t address the poverty, we would still be the third-poorest city, and guess what, there would be a whole group of individuals in our community who are doing fine, thank you. So that’s not really a healthy community that we’re trying to build. We want to have a community that has all people, that has all kinds of people, who have access to opportunity. BEN So let’s get into that. BRENDA Okay. BEN What is your impression of Buffalo’s current growth? BRENDA I believe during my tenure in Buffalo, and as an adult that has been actively engaged in the community, it’s the very first time that it’s real; that there’s a sufficient level of activity [and] that it’s just not one project. And so, with most things, if you create a mass, then it becomes very real. I think it’s very visible because of the number of projects going on, and people have been excited. It’s a topic of discussion. People are building a momentum that’s building a lot of positive energy and hope.
“I think people want more,” says McDuffie of Mayor Brown. “I think they want to see more visible signs of mainstream dialogue in recent years, with the help of the investment in the community that he should support.” BEN Which I think, thankfully, has been more present in
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photo by MA X COLLINS
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On the other side, what I believe in and what many of us as advocates and those fulfilling our organization’s missions knows, is that we can’t do this unless we create a culture of inclusion in this community where we’re concerned not only about the visible signs of economic opportunity but where we see the real impact; that we see people who are able to access jobs, create business, who are able to grow. Which means people have to be prepared. BEN And are developers and project leaders doing a good enough job with enabling or communicating that? BRENDA No. [Smiles.] Absolutely no. And I’d love to put myself out of work, where I’m seeing so many great things. I am seeing (that) people are certainly beginning to have those discussions. We’re seeing successes. But I’m more interested in systemic change. I’d like to get to a point where this is the way we do business and this is the standard we set for ourselves. We’re not there yet. It’s not only job skills. It’s attitude. It’s behavior. I’m talking about the full spectrum of readiness. BEN Are developers and leaders doing an adequate job of providing available jobs? BRENDA I would hope that as a member of this community you would see the business imperative around having people who are prepared from your community (working for you). If you have public money then you have my money and this is what I’d like you to do. I think you have a responsibility to make sure that people in your community are prepared, and to share directly with organizations, what you’re looking for. BEN Is there skepticism among those who feel this growth is good but ultimately not speaking to their needs? BRENDA I think there is. Where you have communities, whether it be a particular age cohort, or racial or ethnic group—African-Americans, males in particular where you have unemployment rates in excess of 50 percent—guess what, it’s not going to be a project or an employer that changes that. These are things that have been generational. BEN When Mayor Brown took office (in 2006), what did his being the first African-American mayor feel like here, in your work here? And how has he done? BRENDA I think that people were extremely hopeful. I think there was a hope with expectation, and I think people were very happy about it. That Buffalo had come to a place where we would be able to elect an African-American leader
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who was not new to the political arena, and certainly not new to individuals who he had served as constituents. The reality of it happening made people hopeful, and they were looking forward to change. But the thing about the leader, whoever that has been in our city, we’ve actually seen a community that they’re attached with do well. This goes back to (former Buffalo mayor) Jimmy Griffin, and what was happening with people in South Buffalo. And (former) Mayor Masiello, and what was happening in North Buffalo and on the West Side under his reign. I think African-Americans, particularly on the East Side, have had those same expectations. So. How has he done? [Smiles.] I think in terms of meeting expectations, I think people want more. I think they want to see more visible signs of investments in the community that he should support, in areas he doesn’t live in and may not live far from. I think that in terms of leadership of the entire city, I think people are pleased with what they see. If it had not been for an administration that had an open mind and is trying to create a climate of business development and making sure those issues that are addressed for businesses to prosper wasn’t actively engaged, these things wouldn’t happen. One of the things I recognize, and a lot of people recognize, is when your marketplace is very tight, you don’t give other people opportunities. You want your daughter, your son, your niece, your nephew, to get that opportunity (first), and you’re not going outside your sphere. So as opportunity opens up, the mayor’s using his power, his clout, his positioning to insist that opportunities open up. And putting some teeth behind it, some enforcement behind it, without closing down people. I call it accountability, and in business they call it accountability—but we need accountability. BEN What would people on the West Side, who really don’t cross Main Street, be surprised to know about life on the East Side? What does their absence exclude them from knowing? BRENDA They’re alike because they haven’t reached their potential. They are also neighborhoods where you’ll see a concentration of businesses that are available in communities of low-income residents. You have the dollar stores, the rent-to-owns, the tax season places that all of a sudden start up, hair stores—I think that’s kind of generally what you see on those commercial strips.
I get to be with people who are resilient, who persevere against amazing challenges. They want just as much as all of us want for themselves and for their community.
But you’ll also see, which is the same, a lot of small entrepreneurs developing or who have taken root and become mainstream (businesses). But what the media has been able to capture, and what has happened in reality, is a general rebirth and investment on the West Side. We see a lot of housing rehabilitation, a lot of integration and development of new communities of immigrants. What’s interesting to me is that the immigrant community is not locating on the East Side. You don’t see a lot of new commercial establishments with entrepreneurs who are immigrants. So that’s a significant difference, and why is that? BEN And why is that, when you mentioned that there are
pockets of low-income residents in both? BRENDA I think for some reason the West Side is seen as a safer neighborhood, that has stimulated investment, versus the East Side—Bailey, Fillmore—places that have a higher perception of being unsafe. It’s the dominance or the prevalence of crime in those areas, and then the lack of investment. BEN Interesting that you said “perception.” BRENDA Yeah, yeah. But some of it is real. BEN What are misconceptions about the East Side held by those who don’t go or live there? BRENDA That there’s nothing happening. That it’s a kind of burned-out war zone. That if you go to the East Side you put yourself in harm’s way. That it’s dangerous. That all the people who live on the East Side are black. BEN What is the responsibility of someone to help, do, lead, provide for, teach, whatever it is—in assisting the growth— of another community?
BRENDA That’s a hard one to answer because it starts with a family. Families live in neighborhoods. I think their first responsibility is to their neighborhood. But they’re part of a larger community, so as they expand their wings, certainly I do believe in the principle that you are your brother’s keeper. We all have a responsibility to support and develop our community as a whole. BEN Would you agree that there is often resistance to people who live outside of a community coming in and helping? BRENDA I don’t know what we’ve seen that that much. I think as long as you come into the community with the attitude of doing it with the people who are there, and it doesn’t start first with “me”—with people taking responsibility for their surroundings, and then building off of that. But we have a lot of expertise and talent and goodwill in this community. This community is very rich in resources, and so I think people welcome others to come in and help. Especially when you figure out that you’re trying to get to like ends. Don’t get backed up by the means. Focus on what you’re trying to accomplish. You may have different strategies. BEN What is the greatest asset in your constituency? BRENDA The people themselves. I get to be with people who are resilient, who persevere against amazing challenges, and they want just as much as all of us want for themselves and for their community. I think many of them overcome unbelievable challenges, and in spite of it, they’re doing great things. And they’re really contributing to this community. That keeps me going, keeps my passions stimulated. BEN Is self-initiative more prevalent than some think? BRENDA Oh, absolutely. I’m a believer in people having gifts. It’s just a matter of providing an environment in which they can release them. We get to give people that exposure every day. I love people who are known and accomplished in this community who open up their doors and arms to listen and to embrace. BEN What can the majority do to help the minority? BRENDA I think the majority of individuals in the community, if they opened up their minds, provided access to opportunity, it would go a long way in helping everyone, not just the minorities.
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CASE STUDY
Breaking bread A BAKERY THAT’S WRITING ITS OWN UNIQUE RECIPE.
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by PATRICK SIMONS
n 2012, the American Federation of Labor and Congress of Industrial Organizations calculated that on average, CEOs of S&P 500 Index companies in the United States make over 350 times the average wages of rank-and-file workers. “It’s far worse than in most countries,” says Victoria Kuper, one of the three founding members of BreadHive, a worker-cooperative bakery that opened its doors on the West Side of Buffalo in February. While bread and baked goods are the focal point for Kuper and fellow founders Allison Ewing and Emily Stewart, the disproportionate CEO-to-worker pay ratios has them organizing their new business differently. The bakery is a worker-cooperative, meaning it’s jointly owned by the workers, and the profits are distributed equitably among them. “Worker-cooperatives have much higher worker investment, worker retention,” says Kuper. “When people feel they own something, they work really hard for it and they take care of it and they invest in it.” Dissatisfied with the organization of ownership at their previous jobs, the girls felt that their own labor contributed to the quality of product. They saw the worker-cooperative model as a way to change that, not only for themselves, but for the community they’ve only relatively recently become a joined. Kuper, Ewing and Stewart, from Rochester, Atlanta and Nashville, respectively, met through a community baking project that began in 2009 and operated on Buffalo’s East Side. Between 2010 and 2013, the girls were also involved in the Nickel City Housing Co-op, where their cooperative roots strengthened. “Something that was important, coming to Buffalo, that really anchored me here was that upon showing up, there was this open invitation to participate and be involved,” says Kuper. While getting BreadHive up and running over the course of the last year, an open invitation seems to be exactly what the girls have been faced with. The girls have been on the receiving advice from other bakeries, other cooperatives, 22 BCM 35
and other business owners in Buffalo. They’ve even linked up with former owners of Yeast-West, a worker-cooperative bakery that served Buffalo for more than 20 years, until closing in 1996. “We have 35 investors that are in some way tied to our project both financially, and by giving their skill sets to the project, and I think that’s a testament to the strength and the unity of the community and the open arms that we’ve received,” says Ewing. “This new trend of socially responsible business practices is creating an interconnectedness between all the co-ops in town. They all watch each other’s backs. If you reach out to another co-oper in town, you’re going to get some really solid help.” The availability of skill-sharing and skill-building that BreadHive has found in Buffalo is unlike what the company would have experienced anywhere else, they say. Still, like any other start-up small business, BreadHive has been faced with some obstacles to overcome. The biggest: creating a business entity in a system that is not designed for their model. “There really hasn’t been any part of the process that has been straightforward,” says Kuper. “If you look at Spain and France and Italy, [worker-cooperatives are] extremely viable, very successful forms of incorporating. And it’s because they have really great legislative support, governmental support, streamlined processes, funding opportunities, tax benefits—all of the things that historically have needed to be in place for any business to thrive.” Less than two months after opening their doors and turning on their ovens, the girls at BreadHive are excited as ever about their bread and bagels, but what they’re most looking forward to is returning the open invitation they were extended while getting started. “We’re in this to make a living wage and to support ourselves and to build other jobs that have living wages,” says Stewart. “Jobs that are meaningful and dignified and make people feel like they’re growing and learning as well,” adds Kuper. “And we can do that by making the bread that we’re making,” assures Ewing.
photo illustration by TIM STASZAK
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VIEWS
Putting my books on the shelf
a story that made me feel as though I could invent a universe and live in it. A locker clicks shut, ghostlike, in the distance. The last day of high school, 2003, pulling books and calculators and gossipy notes out of my locker and shoving them into a bag that will be be pushed into a corner of my closet marked “memories” and left behind. Taking spiral notebooks gorged with dutiful note-taking and tossing them into big white garbage bags alongside chewed up pens and musty gym clothes. Turning to look at the strangely bare hallway, bags NOTES FROM THE CHALKBOARD. of trash scattered arbitrarily like stones on an isolated riverbed, I feel a familiar pang of grief—that wise, prophesying by E.R. BARRY sense of longing. “This moment is beautiful,” the pain says, “and you will his scene is set in the damp heat of a short never be here again.” and heavy Buffalo summer. I am 24 years I stare at the door. “Ms. Maher,” it says, my maiden name. old, broke, bright-eyed, and so freshly out of “English Language Arts.” I don’t want to go in. I want to graduate school that I could recite my final stand here forever, frozen between expectation and reality. paper—a carefully penned philosophy of education—on If I stay here, I can convince myself that I’ve done something. cue. I am standing in a dim and empty hallway on faux The precipice of a goal feels like a culmination, a destination marble tiles so shiny and slick I think they must have been so sky-scrapingly high, so perfectly out-of-this-world beauwaxed ten minutes before I came here. I am smiling the tiful that it can’t exist it all, not really. I’m off balance again. weak, shaking smile of unsure anticipation. I need to remind myself that this is just a door. It’s only a I carry with me only a box of books—no, I am not car- door with my name on it. rying this box so much as I am balancing it awkwardly on I turn the knob, because I can’t stand out here forever, a cast; I broke my elbow days earlier, and the pain of youth and as I open the door and step into the classroom, I cry. The and irresponsibility every so often shoots through my mere sight of this room—a filthy, chaotic jumble of desks nerves and makes me feel sick. The books in the box are the and bookshelves and boxes yet to be put in place—makes stories that got me through the minefield of adolescence to me weep uncontrollably. I know that this display is melothe relative shelter of adulthood and wove their threads into dramatic, but I can’t make it stop. It is one of those slow-momy being so completely that I cannot begin to pull them tion, heart-stopping, weak-in-the-knees, gotta-scream-orloose. I am thinking adorable idealistic things about how I’ll-burst, vaguely nauseous moments you only read about I want to share these stories with children and make them in the worst kind of fiction. I recognize the absurdity of this, love each word as I have. and I laugh. A slumbering sense of fear creeps up into my A shaft of light shines down the hallway, and sunshine throat, and I suddenly feel 13 again. is bursting through an open door at the other end. I close What if I’m not good enough? my eyes and breathe deeply. The unmistakable smell of I think that if I say the words aloud they will sail out of schooling comes wafting in and out of echoing places, and my brain and into some catch-all fog of uncertain feelings, nostalgia comes on cue. A quiet school, little changed from where they will be filtered and recycled into something more memory, invites it. useful. I do not know it at the moment, but I will ask myself I hear children laughing on the playground outside. this question, in varying constructions, every day over the Elementary school. The smell of the hallway after lunch: next year. This classroom will never quite feel comfortable, boiled hot dogs and mashed potatoes. The comfortable despite all the living room furniture and ornamental rugs I order of holding hands in a line as we walked from room will bring into it. I will never own it, but rather will always to room, following the leader, smiling and giggling with feel like an unworthy squatter, borrowing time and chairs. friends—sweet children who would grow up to ignore me I’ve read the rules of the game—know them inside out—but and make me wish I was prettier. Magic carpet time, sitting I’ve never played. I should be more self-aware, as I sit here cross-legged and listening intently to my teacher as she read arranging my cards and feeling as though I’ve won already.
T
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illustration by TIM STASZAK
My instincts to love and reform and discipline and embrace and understand and separate and encourage and control will wrestle constantly. I should know better. I should be petrified. But! I will succeed; students will ace exams they didn’t think they could pass, will finally understand what a sentence is, will start showing up for school again, will learn to feel good about themselves. I will also fail, of course; students will have melt-downs, will break the law, will choose a drug over their own progress, will use me as a punching bag. These are kids who will never apologize for themselves, brandishing self-love and self-loathing with such synchronicity that it shocks and invigorates me in tandem. They will turn out to be some of the funniest people I’ve met—they have an honest, unreformed worldview born as much of necessity as eccentricity. “Laugh or you’ll cry,” I will find, has a meaning to them that goes far beyond parlance, and so we will laugh a great deal. My instincts to love and reform and discipline and embrace and understand and separate and encourage and control will wrestle constantly; my eyes will sag, and my feet will ache, and my lungs will expand tenfold. I will learn more in my first month as a teacher in alternative education than I did in the two years I studied it. My ability to write a sharply defined student learning objective—a saving grace in grad school—will go unnoticed by students who distrust me on sight because of my race (white), my gender (female),
my perceived wealth (inaccurate), and my level of education (more than they think they can have). They won’t care that my lessons adhere to the New York State standards, and they will rebuff my every attempt to prepare them for a Regents exam they don’t value so they can get a diploma they don’t want. My students will make me angry, and then they will make me love them, and then they will leave. An explorer on an uncharted island, I will write their moments down in my journal, and I will mourn when those moments are done. At the end of the year, a graduating student will thank me for not giving up on her, and those easy words will sound like the most beautiful music. But all that will come in its own time, and right now I’m just as empty as I am full. I’m just a first-year teacher, putting my books on the shelf, hoping someone will want to pick up where I left off. I try to picture the faceless, nameless ninth grader who will borrow A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. I wonder if she will fold the edges like I did, marking the spots where her meaning was made. Once the books are on the shelf, I alphabetize them. I clean the tables and slide the chairs into place. I set a handful of pens in the center drawer of the desk I will call mine. And then I go home to write my lesson plans. BCM 35 25
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Thu., May 8, 6 - 9 p.m.
Mon., June 12, 6 - 8 p.m.
Mischler's Florist and Greenhouses
Mothers of Fair Trade
Plan Your Perfect Summer Garden Party
Discussion on gardening and terrarium building.
Movie night featuring women artisans from around the world.
Iced tea brewing with TeaLeafs, a local vendor and DIY table setting ideas!
Join us! All events are free and open to the public.
A Work in Progress Story and photos by S.E. BISHOP
The former executive director of Buffalo First reflects, with words and photos, on a position of public service, a mission of progress and a new appreciation for what it means to want better. That even the best of intentions have their consequences.
When I was a kid, I spent every Sunday at my Grandmother’s house in rural Western New York. It was on those eight acres of sacred ground that Gram instilled a Protestant work ethic into the core of my being, and those of my siblings. Whatever the task to be accomplished, she would look us in the eye and gently recite, “Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men.” We came to expect it, along with a crisp $5 bill, a sign that although our treasures were laid up in heaven, she also appreciated the work of our hands. Decades later, my grandmother’s wisdom in verse form had been well established as my code of conduct. It came as no surprise that when I was appointed executive director of Buffalo First, a small nonprofit organization that works to build a more diverse, equitable and sustainable new economy in Buffalo, I held tightly to the conviction that my work was not for the sake of self-glorification, but rather in service of the greater good. In hindsight, it was clear that my small-town upbringing coupled with the age of idealism—up until this point—allowed me to hold such a privileged perspective; 28 BCM 35
but I couldn’t be more grateful. It is what enabled me to dedicate the first year of my tenure to re-aquainting myself with a city that I, like many of my generation, had come to disavow. In those 12 months I learned more about the heartbeat of this American city, wrought with entrepreneurial ingenuity from every corner of the globe and determination, that had long since been abandoned for the convenience of modern day instant gratification, than in the previous 24 combined. Still, it was apparent that many of the old hallmarks remained intact. Segregation was the most striking. Excuses shrouded in historical context and thinly veiled racist remarks gave the feeling that Buffalo was far too comfortable being a pre-Civil Rights era enclave. Not even Ani DiFranco’s chastisement of her hometown in lyrical form, played to audiences since the early ’90s, has ever been able to result in any productive conversation on the subject, let alone the gravitas to tear down the proverbial Berlin Wall that runs down Main Street, separating East Side from West.
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The impact of poverty on the community was virtually inescapable. Buffalo continued to flirt with the top ranking of povery rates for a major city nationwide. Upon my return to Buffalo in 2009, the Queen City ranked third in the country, behind two other struggling Rust Belt cities, Cleveland and Detroit. The most recent report from the Census Bureau, published in December 2013, gives credence to the recent economic upsurge, while maintaining that poverty remains a persistent challenge. Buffalo now ranks sixth poorest city in the United States and the second in New York State, second only to Rochester, at a 29.9% rate of poverty compared to 35 precent five short years ago. Meanwhile, the political establishment that had always warranted skepticism from the people, for its leading role in perpetuating the status quo and making corruption commonplace, kept chugging along. It was clear that unlike progressive cities like San Francisco, Buffalo was well behind the times in terms of community-based economics, transparency in governmental affairs, and its pronouncement of people other than white, heterosexual men qualified candidates for public office. Parochialism was the pervasive-ism. At every turn, forward-thinking and innovative ideas were being derailed, replaced with conventional, static plans that fulfilled the requirement of putting cranes in the sky. Big developers were all too willing to capitalize on this definition of progress and prepared the shovel-ready sites that would be heralded as proof that Buffalo was a city on the rise. At the same time, funding for Buffalo’s thriving arts and cultural scene was undergoing sharp budgetary cuts under the auspices that government should function more like a business—whatever that means. With that in mind, it was time to get to work. Since its inception in 2006, Buffalo First’s directive has been to counter the prevailing corporatized global economic system with a more humane, relationship-based one, in which people are prioritized, much more than profit. In such a system, independent and socially conscious enterprises are empowered by informed citizens to make decisions that are congruent with their most closely held values, and vice-versa. At the time, the complexities associated with these social and economic ailments seemed insurmountable. Our counterparts across North America—for the most part—were unable to provide a clear roadmap for how 30 BCM 35
to address these issues through a localist lens. Rooted in communities that could not be more dissimilar to the city of Buffalo, participants in Local First initiatives were oftentimes affluent, highly educated, and Caucasian. This left me and my allies to wonder if Buffalo First was an organization for and by one particular socio-economic class—upper-middle-class white folks. Our first task then was the most difficult. We had to translate our theory of change into meaningful action. Priorities that confronted the criticisms of the localist movement instead of shied away from them were essential. They were numerous and varied. Low-income communities called into question the fiscal burden of localism. Communities of color felt sorely underrepresented. Immigrant and refugee business owners pointed out that none of our materials were in any language other than English, and that our overall branding did not convey their distinct cultural heritage and background. Queers noted that assimilation was not acceptance, and therefore resisted being incorporated into an organization that felt exclusive. Others were skeptical about how a capitalistic system could ever be anything but exploitative. Everyone was keen to call into question the role of locally owned businesses in gentrifying neighborhoods from Fillmore Avenue to Grant Street. We listened intently to the critiques of our community. And we decided that we would either have to adjust operations to function in a manner that reflected the needs of those we proclaimed to represent, or we would have to stop pretending that we were doing so. Consciousness-raising amongst the organization’s leadership and membership therefore became deeply integrated into both our internal meetings as well as our regular programming. Admittedly, in trying our best to strike a healthy balance between an organic and intentional process, we miserably failed many times over. Instead of being recognized as facilitators of community economic development, we were (more often that not) perceived as practitioners of paternalism at worst and Buffalo boosters at best. No matter how deliberate our intentions, the court of public opinion oftentimes renders a very different verdict. This is based on a myriad of factors, none of which are wrong per se, and reflect the life experience and political analysis of the person or group scrutinizing the actions being taken (in the name of). It is important to remind ourselves that our intentions
We are not our work. No matter how intimately we interact with a certain issue, or how many hours we spend organizing around it, it is not who we are. We are far more expansive than that. are based on our own set of life experiences and point of view. It is healthy and necessary for us to be confronted, for the sake of the common good. And, it is important to remind ourselves that such actions are not an attack on our personhood. We are not our work. No matter how intimately we feel toward or interact with a certain issue, or how many hours we spend organizing around it, it is not who we are. We are far more expansive than that. And still, there are times when we are unable to detangle and differentiate between who we are and the work that we do. Thus, when our actions are called into question, we feel deeply wounded. We are defensive instead of receptive. We are emotional instead of rational. We are critical of the one doing the critiquing, instead of understanding it as a chance for honest self-reflection. A true Buffalonian is guided by a great feeling of love. Over the past five years, I have witnessed the indomitable spirit of the expat, repat, transplant and lifelong resident— those willing to roll up their sleeves and never say die on behalf of the place they proudly call home. They are unrelentingly loyal, treating their city like a family member they are ready to defend at any given moment. No longer playing into the inferiority complex that has loomed overhead and cast a dark shadow over the city. They are handing down a new legacy to a generation in the waiting. One built of their own sweat, born of their own idealism. This is not Gotham City. This is Buffalo. In Buffalo, there are no villains. Just as there are no heroes. The “good guys” won’t be wearing white; and, those assumed to be holding us back aren’t all dark figures. There are a billion reasons to be done away with silver bullet solutions, typically offered by saviors du jour who remedy complex systems in single bounds. That is not to say that equal weight can (and should) be given to every issue. In an ideal world, it is inferred that community gardens, localism, preservation and other ubiquitous issues would be dutifully dealt with at the same fervency as homelessness, education or poverty. Unfortunately, in one of the poorest and most violent cities in the country—with finite people power, financial re-
sources and support systems—it is not unreasonable to set a community agenda based on the greatest likelihood of real change for the greatest number. All issues are not created equal. At the same time, the prioritization of some does not mean the others are any less valid; they are merely not as urgent. Nevertheless, there was important work to do. We championed campaigns that strategically furthered the overall vision statement of the localist movement: a global system of human-scale, interconnected local economies that function in harmony with local ecosystems to meet the basic needs of people, support just and democratic societies, and foster joyful community life. The first success was the passage of statewide Benefit Corporation legislation, which would forever change corporate law in New York State. Effective as of January 2012, benefit corporations legally support the right of entrepreneurs and investors to make decisions that are in the best interest of all stakeholders, not merely the greatest return for shareholders. In fact, enterprises that seek the new classification are actually required to create material positive impact on the environment and society to meet higher standards of accountability and transparency. The new delineation is emblematic of how pre-existing law can be altered to address the woes of our current economic system, in this instance, the concentration of power. We also advocated for years, alongside members of the Canal Side Community Alliance (CSCA), to negotiate a set of high road economic development principles to guide current and futuristic plans at the Buffalo waterfront. The statement of principles includes provisions that will assist in securing quality jobs for local workers, a commitment to environmental sustainability and innovation, in addition to concentrated plans to build in an appropriate manner with regard to urban development and affordable housing. Most importantly, found within the statement of principles is a provision to safeguard the community from the possibility of another attempted “big box” swindle. The BCM 35 31
provision clearly identifies a goal of at least 50 percent of dedicated space at Canalside must be reserved for Buffalobased businesses, as a means to encourage investment from the Buffalo-Niagara area and to make sure that the community remains the beneficiary of its own revitalization. In addition, Buffalo First helped to accelerate the purchasing of local goods and products through our hallmark Think Local First campaign. We recited—until we were as blue in the face as the promotional stickers we adhered to independent business’ doors—that compared to national competitors, locally owned businesses return nearly four times the amount of money to the local economy. And, we touted the fact that locally owned businesses were much more responsive to civic needs, and actively contributed to the vitality of communities in an unprecedented way. We’re glad that we did. Today, Buffalo is often all too proud to buy local. Furthermore, we emphasized the importance of supplementing localist purchasing with financing, lending, and investing. Our series on Community Capital became the impetus for the first Buffalo Bank Transfer Day in November 2011, at the apex of the Occupy movement, in which more than $100,000 in community assets were transferred from some of the world’s largest financial institutions to local not-for-profit credit union, sending the clear message that the 99 percent would no longer finance the unethical practices of big banks. This success was largely dependent upon the organization’s ability to reject the shortsighted view outright. Systemic change became a non-negotiable. And, conversations regarding race, class, power, and privilege informed our plans more with each passing year. This was the crucible from which Rust Belt localism was birthed and rose to national prominence. We were eager to share our story with the broader localist community. In late 2012, we won our bid to host the Business Alliance for Local Living Economies (BALLE) prestigious annual conference. Our application spoke to an extensive values-aligned plan that incorporated our greatest aspirations for the collective movement. We made the bold declarative that Buffalo, not Berkeley or Brooklyn, would be the chief architect of the new economy. America derived its ingenuity from the Rust Belt, and we predicted that it was where it would be reborn. We invited ourselves, and the move32 BCM 35
ment at large, to create not a conference, but a microcosm based on our highest ideals. It was clear that if the localist movement wanted to remain relevant, it was going to have to start getting real about who it represented and why. The micro had become macro. We had planned for good, but the result was much better. BALLE declared it the best conference in their 11-year history before they ever left city limits. Results of the exit survey tell a similar story. The Buffalo community ranked first in the exit survey for what attendees most enjoyed about the conference, outshining nationally acclaimed visionary speakers and content that had been planned with the leading minds of the localist movement. It continues to serve as a vivid portrait of what can be cultivated when egos are castrated in pursuit of a common purpose. Just as the conference was far too expansive to credit any individual or organization with its success, so it is with Buffalo’s resurgence. Thanklessness goes with the territory. Many contributed, in all types of ways, without any recognition. They are the master horticulturists who maintain the neighborhood garden on their street; the small-business owners who open up shops in once flourishing business district because they know that the greatest days are ahead and not behind it. It is the preservationist who makes a small investment and restores a historical building to its glory days without much ado. It’s the block club president who listens intently and then devises a plan to fix the problem without a second thought. It’s the woman or man who sees that something just isn’t right, and then makes it right. A nameless, faceless revolution is what we need. The whole is greater than the sum of its parts. As our city embarks on this new era, the Queen City would be best served if her proponents made that their mantra. In the words of American writer and anarchist philosopher Elbert Hubbard, “One great, strong, unselfish soul in every community would actually redeem the world.” It is fairly simple. But, it is deceptively difficult. The redemption of the world—and our city—hangs in the balance, as lost souls trade greatness for mediocrity, strength for acclaim, and selflessness for self-aggrandizement. Such tradeoffs come at a high price. Such tacit endorsement of the old paradigm, with antiquated gender and power dynamics, undermine the potential for real systems change.
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This isn’t just wishful thinking or some sort of pleas- To date, this is the single largest financial contribution antry. In recent years, scholarly works and academic insti- made by an outside foundation to Buffalo in the name tutions have published extensive research on cooperation of a more equal, just and democratic society, based on as a natural human instinct. contributions of diverse communities to create meaning One such example is the Harvard Business Review’s ful economic opportunities and sustainable wealth crearticle, entitled The Unselfish Gene. In it, Harvard Uni- ation. versity mathematical biologist Martin Nowak discusses This is not a matter of happenstance. This is an exemplathe evolution of cooperation. His research on evolution- ry case study on how to seize a once-in-a-lifetime opporary biology details the shift in the intellectual processes tunity and deploy strategic planning methodologies and attached to human motivation. organizing tactics to further a progressive agenda that will Nowak states: “Perhaps the most remarkable aspect of transform Buffalo and have reverberations on her neighevolution is its ability to generate cooperation in a com- boring cities and suburbs for years to come. petitive world. Thus, we must add ‘natural cooperation’ as Let the doing be done by doers who have the foresight a third fundamental principle of evolution beside muta- to thoughtfully consider what it is they are doing. And, let tion and natural selection.” them lift up as many voices as is reasonable, so that if the Cooperation and its application are also—unsurpris- planned doing does not resonate, it does not have to be ingly—found in the discipline of economics. In 2009, undone; it can simply not be done at all. Elinor Ostrom won the Nobel Peace prize for her presentation on how commons can self-sustain for centuries Which leads me to where I am today: not doing. in well-developed and functioning systems. The example (Or, at least not doing nearly as much.) given was that of Spain’s farming community managing Somewhere between the leading and the learning I their access to water through self-regulated irrigation came to the decision to step down as executive director districts. of Buffalo First. I have since been in quiet contemplation about the fact that my own soul’s salvation is as, if not It has flourished for over five centuries now. Whether beginning a new project or championing a more, important than the redemption of the world. As I cause, honest self-reflection on personal motivation can- continue to progress as an individual, I have realized that not be understated. Evolutionary biology tells us that we a lot of my striving has been in an effort to live up to the have it within our own humanity to overcome society’s dictation of traditional measures of what it means to be competitive proclivities. And, as I had to learn through “successful”. Deeply skewed towards output, these metrics many missteps and musings of mentors, even actions that focus on our long list of accomplishments first, foremost are taken on behalf of commons need clarity of intention. and almost exclusively. Thus, indoctrinating us with the The road to injustice is paved with good intentions. The belief that in order to be deemed a productive member of road to disinvestment, poverty and privatization are all society, we must contribute—we must do. paved with the same. The road to inequality is even paved For better or worse, we begin to attach feelings of selfwith the best of them. As is the incessant need to do. worth to our contributions, rather than the people that we The Open Society Foundation recently awarded four are and want to become. local nonprofit organizations a two-year, $1.9 million This space is ultimately limiting, as there is only so grant. But before they did, Open Buffalo had to engage in much one person can do. More importantly, we aren’t able a broad-reaching community planning process that lasted to fully express our truest and most honest selves. We are half a calendar year. They enlisted the expertise of com- confined to play a specific role. Most likely, not of our own munity leaders, grassroots organizations, entrepreneurs, choosing. However, the chance to be—to take stock of artists, innovators and the general public. By the numbers, that which drives our motivations and inspires us to act— the proposal incorporated the commitment of 15 non- is the key component in making the vision of a changed profit organizations to help in the implementation phase city, and world, manifest. of the plan, 89 collaborating partners, 195 advisory com- Being also reminds us of our inherent self-worth and mittee members, and the input of over a thousand Buffalo dignity. No one can take it from us. And, actually, it is residents. beautiful to stop, look around and realize that the rela34 BCM 35
tionships built and bonds formed include our experiences of doing, but they do not define them. Our close friends and confidantes love us, without condition. Perhaps then, it is an exploration into that which enlivens us that is our highest calling. It asks us to consider the realms of possibilities that we had neglected for so long. It reinvigorates our senses. Isn’t that a worthwhile venture? If it seems that this story reads backwards to forwards, you’ve been paying attention. It has taken me years to get to where I am right now, unattached to defining myself through the title on a business card or a list of accomplishments. I am more than fine with expressing myself through this piece of writing, tomorrow through a photograph, and the next day…well, who knows. Self-actualization is the first step in radical societal transformation. Soon after I resigned from Buffalo First, I went to visit my grandmother at the assisted living home she moved to the year before last. She was still as sharp and perceptive as ever. I knew that whether she had words to speak, or ears to hear, her presence alone would ease my uncertainty. On that day, I distinctly remember how overjoyed she seemed. The only insight she offered was in the form of
self-care. She wanted to make sure that I was taken care of. She wanted to know that I was getting the proper amount of sleep. She asked if the food I had been eating was nutritious. She hoped that I had taken enough space and time for myself. Before I left, Gram said to me with sincerity of heart and smile on her face, “I don’t care what it is you do next, Sarah. You just have to stay here in Buffalo with me.” Suffice it to say, she has never had to ask me twice. I thought back to her recitation of Colossians. And, I was reminded that the work was ever only accomplished after our stomachs were full and we had visited for a good length of time. On that day, as on this day, Gram reminded me through her simple line of questioning what she had made clear over an entire lifetime: relationships matter the most. They are what nourish us through the difficult times. They are what sustain us in the best of times. They dare us to be honest, open, true and accountable to ourselves and to one another. They beckon us to respond to humanity’s greatest calling—to love. And, most importantly, they foster the empathy that drives us to link arms alongside of one another and fight like hell to bend the arc towards justice, if only for a brief moment. BCM 35 35
FOR BETTER OR WORSE Photos by BLOCK CLUB Words by BEN SIEGEL
There are nerves walking the plank—the aisle, the road, the line. There are doubts, and there’s wonderment, and joy, and lots and lots of questions. Will this work? Am I, are we, right? How will I change, and what do I want? The plunge is made easier by the declaration, however. You’re not doing it alone. It’s a bigger story than your tale, as peers and elders will tell you, as you’ll tell those who follow. You’ll take longer breaths knowing that those who want best for you, who know your risk and trust your gain, will be there for you. And doing it in this sacred space, under this canopy, will ground your bond with a sense of place, to which you also have a relationship. We all want the best for each other, and we want the best in return. Commitment to whomever, whatever, wherever you’re going—this is what everyone desires. The humility in announcing your risk: this is what we respect. So take your next step. Trust your reward on the other end, where you’ll pass the favor on to the next lucky one daring enough to be so bold.
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FIRST
Trinity Church, BUFFALO, NY PREVIOUS, CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT
First Presbyterian Church, BUFFALO, NY St. Joseph’s Cathedral, BUFFALO, NY St. Paul’s Cathedral, BUFFALO, NY Corpus Christi Church, BUFFALO, NY Calvary Episcopal Church, WILLIAMSVILLE, NY St. Stanislaus Church, BUFFALO, NY Calvary Episcopal Church, WILLIAMSVILLE, NY Unitarian Universalist Church, BUFFALO, NY LEFT
Hunters Creek Bible Baptist Church, HOLLAND, NY COVER
The Blessed Trinity Church, BUFFALO, NY
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Winning the War By BEN SIEGEL Photos by STEVE SOROKA
They went to the dance that night, to the Policeman’s Ball, a grand affair that attracted the whole city of youth, and like all the other young pairings that night, like all the couples- and homeowners- and parents- and grandparents- and great-grandparents-to-be, they each wanted one soulful glance. Just a look in each other’s eyes that would set the course of their lives in motion, on beat to the songs the band played, evening favors we now call “standards,” where moonlight and pounding hearts and mirrored lakes were mentioned. That magic moment. That single look. Louis had it. Pauline got it. Destiny. “He was gorgeous,” she says, putting her hand, palm down, out to reiterate her pause on the story. “You have to understand that.” They danced, with fewer steps between them than years—Pauline is two and a half years Lou’s elder—and they danced with the others, a motion in tandem with their young peers on the formal dance floor. This was the ritual of the evening, of the day. There were rules. There was distance. It was playful. “Every time we would pass each other, you’d think we were just introduced to somebody new, so you’d smile or say hello. Forget it,” Pauline says, her hand now thrown in the air. She’s expressive when she tells a story. Lou, on the other hand, is not. “He ignored me completely.” 46 BCM 35
On the couch, some generations later, in their condo in East Amherst, where they’ve lived for the last 37 years, three times the length of an impressive contemporary marriage, she turns to her Louis. He is to her right, quiet as a studious young man, deferring to his better half, as he might say, or his other half, the part that gives him sense, and her, hers. He sits in near silence, though he’s not ignoring the story. Looking forward, blind in one eye and dealing with noticeable health concerns elsewhere on his body, he appears checked out. Indeed, he is tuned in. He was there for this story, is there still. “He ignored me completely,” Pauline finishes, and looks to her right after smiling to me, on her left. “Louis?” her non-verbal deference suggests. “Yeah,” he whispers, shrugs and smiles before looking to his left. Yeah, he ignored her, he can rationalize with a shoulder shrug today. She smiles it off. That’s because he wasn’t really, even if it set her expectations a twirl that night. She later came to find out he couldn’t see well, and never wore glasses. When New Year’s Eve soon approached, another night for dancing to give chance to something next, the familiar runaround of schoolyard matchmaking would help bring them together for real.
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“I had another very dear friend who went to Bennett High School,” Pauline continues. Her friend would help make the connection, the friend of a friend who knows the other’s bestie who could confirm so-and-so’s attendance— The Arrangement. Take away a dateline, it sounds tribal. Nervous that Lou was otherwise engaged with a regular girlfriend the night of their missed connection at the Policeman’s Ball, Pauline conveyed through her Bennett friend that she’d indeed be interested if Lou were available. “So I said, ‘Tell him I’ll go out with him.’ So he called me. That was the beginning,” Pauline proclaims. “That was the beginning,” Lou answers, loud and clear. Just as a wedding’s poetry is but the prologue to a marriage’s novel, so too is the story of a newlywed’s vows and the 65-year commitment that follows. Some have to believe in these miracles; others see evidence as their fact. Entering into a covenant with another person is pivotal. Your entire life changes. Decisions become conferences, changes become plans. It means, among other things, that you’ve submitted to the idea that there’s more out there for you, the individual, and that even if you are content with yourself, you can’t visualize your portrait yet. Contrastly, it also means you’ve decided this is the person because of whom you’re willing to stop looking. The person you were looking for. Some will settle for a life alone, but no one desires it. Marriage isn’t always the frame, but companionship is but a powder in our bones. The Jerry Maguire Syndrome—of relying on another to complete you, rather than complement or support you, or be your companion—is easy to critique. But there is a point on that poker. Complete me or not, it is hard to talk about a marriage’s agreement without addressing what it admits. We find ourselves in reflection, in another’s reflection of us. And when we see shades we didn’t know were missing, we jump at the chance to see what else is available, again and again, every day. This commitment isn’t about reaching the same finish line. The end of the race is not important; it will let you down as soon as you’ve caught your breath. The bond of a marriage is about doing it together. Picking each other up off the ground. Lifting each other up the stairs, up to the stars. Not giving up. Not doing it alone, in silence. This resonates with me as a soon-to-be 32-year-old, unmarried and unsure of its purpose, depending on the day. Marriage is a huge risk. It can fail miserably. Divorce, 48 BCM 35
everyone, including cockroaches and mice, knows, is as likely as not. Just looking at the numbers, of the many who are yes, still married, there are many who are no, not happy. To be married is not to be happy. To be married is not to be in a healthy, secure relationship. No, to be married is to be promised to each other, to be in a debt. To be happy, secure, healthy, productive, is to work at the maintenence of those goals. It is not a race, though. Time will tell, I tell myself, others tell themselves. Be patient and things will come to you. If you go to them. If you ask your friend with the other friend who knows his friend to set you up. Everybody wants to be the next Pauline and Lou Rogers. I want to know why, and how. In sitting with this couple, whose personalities I do not dare rationalize the way I might a less-lived subject, the way I would of myself, I trust what they’re telling me, in one story and the next. Commitment is about survival. On the early side of their 65 years together, Pauline and Lou lived like most other young couples do in Buffalo. Their first apartment together, after Lou’s return from war and their subsequent wedding ceremony, was located on Elmwood Avenue. It was then a commercial strip but nowhere near the bustle of today’s district, they reiterate. “You couldn’t find housing anywhere,” says Pauline. Friends of theirs who had married and already found their starter home had suggested they take their apartment, which Lou and Pauline grabbed. It was near Cole’s restaurant. “1094 Elmwood,” she continues, about the Elmwood of the late 1940s. “It was a neighborhood. There was a grocery store on the corner. It was not like it is today, [but] we lived on Elmwood so you always heard the trucks, and all the cars, all the sirens and all the everything. I mean, it was a very busy street, even then. But it was just different.” They stayed for two years. “We had no money,” says Pauline. They had little furniture. But they lived, in youth and joy. Marriage had done that to them, made them tolerant of the little they had to speak of. They had dated since 1942, two years before Lou would enter the military and leave for a four-year service in Europe. They’d learn to flirt and communicate with each other, which would come in handy once separated. “My father suggested I take typing lessons,” says Lou.
“This was a difference between Lou and all these other guys: he behaved like a gentleman,” says Pauline. “And, I think he liked the fact that I had nice, long nails.” “The school was on Colvin. I always made a detour, usually growth and the financial security of a two-income home. it was to her house.” They both smile at the thought. His reticence over her desire for more schooling and Pauline shakes her head, in both dismay and delight. professional work was about stability of the homestead, about what he could provide for their home and what she “He never went to typing lessons,” she says. “I’m glad I didn’t,” says Lou. could provide for the family—maybe, somewhat, in addi “He still,” Pauline gestures a single-finger method, tion to the social mores of the time, which would other“‘types.’ He evolved when he went into the army, and we wise have kept Pauline in a housecoat and Lou in his car. corresponded very seriously. He never put anything in But it also had to do with his demeanor toward her. print that indicated anything (about his feelings for me). There was, and is, a gentlemanly way he referred to his wife. He never put anything on paper, never wrote ‘love’ at the Pauline recalls when during their courtship, Lou would end or anything. But I knew he loved me.” be the only boy of her male friends, with whom she had “Never put anything on paper that you might be sorry shared a sibling-like rapport, to hold the door for her, for later,” says Lou. That he echoes what she says is cute; dressed nicely for her, pulled her chair out, and so on. He was unique in that way. that they are on the same page is the point. In their correspondence, a relationship is left to adapt “This was a difference between Lou and all these other over water and time. Because of it, in Lou’s estimation, guys who, you know, I was really close friends with. He there’s a payoff. behaved like a gentleman,” says Pauline. “And, I think he liked the fact that I had nice, long nails.” “That’s how we won the war,” says Lou. When he’d return and marry Pauline, setting up home “I what?!” Lou didn’t hear this. in their starter apartments, life would hit its regular grind. “You liked my long nails!” Pauline responds, louder. Milestone days fade to everydays. “That’s what he said at the time,” she says to me, quieter. Lou became a traveling salesman, working on the road And what did you see in Pauline, I ask Lou. for 40 years. Their time apart from each other was diffi- “I knew that she appreciated my efforts,” says Lou, cult for Pauline, raising their three sons at home with brief having returned to his previous volume. weekend windows of family time. Pauline confides again. This strain was one of a few difficulties, which, while “He doesn’t want to reveal too much,” she says. “We not ultimate turning points, had certainly wiped the gloss were talking before you came: I’m the positive one; he’s of marital bliss from the pictures they had envisioned as the negative one.” newlyweds. Lou heard that. “I always tell people I was a single mother, because come “It takes two to tango,” he says. She smiles. Monday he was gone,” says Pauline. “He was a great father Back to business. on the weekend, but he wasn’t there much. So that trou- “He did not want me to go to school. He thought it bled me a lot.” would be too much, and so that was a big, hard time for us to get through,” says Pauline. “But I said, ‘I am doing this.’ “She was a good single mother,” says Lou. “The sink always broke, or the dishwasher wouldn’t It was very hard for me to do, but I had to do it. I don’t work, or the kids got sick on Monday morning,” says think he was sorry afterward.” Pauline. Because his work was independent, and without Arguments were obvious, from time to time, and for health insurance or much long-term stability, Pauline rational and irrational reasons—this is to fight. had grown eager to become employed outside the home, “I walked out of the house. I took the car and I went for should anything happen to her Lou on the road. a long ride,” says Pauline of this particular disagreement. It “If anything happened to him, what was going to be- had to do with her identity, but also their children. With come of us?” says Pauline, who had worked before having Lou off on the road, despite doing so for money, Pauline children, and who was interested in both her own personal had effectively raised their kids with little of own her proBCM 35 49
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fessional ambition in check. This was a fight she was willing to stand for, though one she knew would have a common resolution. “I think it was the hardest time for me.” “We had lots of arguments, and really, we hardly ever agued before it was necessary,” says Pauline. “We did argue about the kids, because I was their single mother. I was the good cop, and he was the bad cop.” “And we never argued about money,” says Lou. She recognizes what Lou was able to provide to the conversation, let alone the household. She does not tell the story as a way of selling him or the situation short. It is a mere reflection. “He was a good dad. He gave up smoking because they couldn’t stand it.” Compromise is essential to commitment. In accepting all that someone is, flaws and all, you accept that you are flawed, too. You must learn to concede when you’re wrong, sacrifice when you’re needed, and compromise when you want resolution. This means letting go and trusting. Giving in, not giving up. Easier said than done, sometimes. Worth the effort, always. “Listen,” says Pauline. “You go through these things. And you live through them.” At this point in their lives, a milestone like their lives feels like a flash. Sixty-five years of marriage, 90 breathing years for Lou as of last October—these are mere numbers, but their value proves what is clarified when you learn to sift the silt. There is always something to sort out. “I’m a liberal democrat,” says Pauline. “He’s a democrat, but how liberal he is, I don’t know. We don’t discuss politics too often.” Lou pipes in: “You should never discuss politics or religion.” He is adamant. Though they both self-identify as being Jewish, Pauline comes from an Orthodox background where Lou’s upbringing was of the liberal Reform sect—the former’s traditions would not equate the latter’s with the same faith. Their differences are in personality and perspective, though their bonds—both naturally occurring and reinforced through a marriage—speak for themselves. “We are different people, in many ways. And we developed a marvelous family. We have these three wonderful sons: Clifford, Donald and Ken,” says Pauline. A smile the 52 BCM 35
size of a dancehall spreads across her face. “This is what they call bashert,” she says, leaning in to see if I understand. “Do you know this expression?” I do. It is a Yiddish word, which I’ve heard from my family’s elders from time to time, and others of their generation at temple, the same temple where I’d probably come across Pauline and Lou at some point in my youth, generations circling each other. Their son, Ken, a contemporary of my mother’s, arranged our meeting for this interview. Arrangements are made in all kinds of ways. The exact definition of bashert I cannot pinpoint, but it swirls around my bagel-and-kugel-trained vocabulary. Is it something about time? About commitment? Is it about doing the dishes without being told, not disrupting the synergy of an efficient household? I nod, nearly a third of Pauline’s age, sure of its mythological emphasis. It feels most important to this interaction with a level of commitment that seems far too oldfashioned for those of my age bracket. Sixty-five years is an abstraction to those who haven’t lapped it already, in lifespan let alone length of marriage. She confirms her answer to the unasked question of how: how has this all has worked? “I say it was bashert that I met him.” She smiles, leans back, and puts her hands in her lap. I leave their house, sure of their wisdom as anyone’s, if not for their memories then for their preciousness. Theirs is a lovely, sweet, inspiring story, with a happy ending to date. But unexpectedly, respectfully, it is unassuming, too. Their lows were not so low, compared to the stats and folklore. Their highs were in line with the lives they set out to live. That their story isn’t riddled with more heartache and rebound is not a letdown of storytelling; it is testimony to the strength of idealism. Pauline and Lou’s commitment has suceeded because it remains true to their bones, to their goals, to their hopes and wishes and most importantly, to their desires of each other. A commitment to necessity. I look up bashert when I reach my car, honoring their wisdom. Pauline and Lou’s longevity, the result of their commitment, holds more truths than my iPhone can muster at the moment, but the answer confirms what I hope is the answer I can trust. “Bashert:” says the dictionary online. “A person’s soul mate, considered as predestined or ideal.” It was meant to be.
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SHORT FICTION
The Clinker Deal We all split a few bottles of some very nice wine. Well, really, wine is wine. What do I know about wine? It has a nice taste to it, so I call it a nice wine. Whether or not a wine expert would agree with me, I do not know. by R.B. PILLAY
I
do not know when I started referring to Ajay as “Rajah.” Likely around the time he became a full partner at his law firm. Here in Singapore, he is considered to be a prominent and well-respected figure in the Singaporean Indian community. Still, you might wonder what kind of father calls his son “King.” Though Ajay is my child, he cares for Bina and myself as if we were the children and he was the parent. I know well what the filial obligation entails; it was I who, some time ago, tended to my own mother—for a full year, in fact— when Amma was sick and dying back in India. In that respect, Ajay is correct in seeing to the needs of my wife and myself. He provides us with our flat. He employs a full-time servant on our behalf. The car I drive is paid for by him. We live comfortably, but in my darker moments, I feel this comfort like a bird contemplating the bars of its golden cage. We are, from the moment we open our eyes in the morning to the moment we close them to go to sleep at night, surrounded by his largess. Bina, I suspect, takes it as her due, and this is her right as a mother. I, however, wish to be able to point at something and say with pride, “This is mine.” But what am I to do? I am an old man. I have few years ahead of me. For all the effort I spent pursing my dream, I have had so few successes that I might as well have passed the time on a beach, drawing figures in the sand. 56 BCM 35
One of the few large-scale employers of Indians in Singapore during the post-war years, particularly us Malayali Indians, was the British Naval Yard. I believe the British preferred to employ Indians over Chinese because they, the British, worried about the reputation of the Chinese to organize and strike whenever they found themselves displeased with their working conditions. With such a large population of Malayalis circulating there, the Yard turned into a kind of social hub for our community. Though I never worked at the Yard, as a young man, I found myself drawn to the Singapore Malayalam Library, a cultural center where we gathered for poetry readings, kathakali dance recitals, and theatrical performances. Like many actors, my first experiences on stage came from productions in secondary school, but even at that early age, classmates advised me that I possessed a gift for acting. On a whim, I decided to join a small troupe of enthusiastic but unpaid fair-to-middling actors that performed regularly at the Singapore Kerala Library. Whatever cash we raised from ticket sales was just enough to cover the costs of costumes and sets and whatnot. True, we charged little for admission. This was not the result of any high ideals; rather, we merely hoped to entice those who might otherwise avail
illustrations by JULIE MOLLOY themselves of more reliably entertaining entertainments. Still, we showed promise and even received a positive, albeit short, write-up in The Strait Times for our staging of Tagore’s Kabuliwala. The reporter singled out for praise my starring performance as the merchant Khan from Kabul. This review expanded my dreams like an air pump filling a balloon. The dockyard stage now seemed too small for my talents, so I left to pursue a career in Tamil films. Because I had a sort of leading-man look at the time, I went on auditions solely for the main parts, the heroic figures. Always I found myself beaten out for these parts by top actors like Sivaji Ganesan or M.G.R. After many years of rejection, I returned to Singapore, eventually settling into a position as a radio operator aboard a merchant vessel. But there was still some air left in my balloon, so to speak; after I retired from life on the high seas, I began to audition again, mostly for minor roles in minor films, and actually was cast in a number of parts in Singaporean and Tamil films. I played the Government Official or School Principal or Army Captain, you know, figures of authority, but corrupt or inept. For example, in my most recent film, a Singaporean production, I was the Head of Security in a shopping center. We filmed in Ngee Ann City, one of the big luxury malls on Orchard Road. The crew set up their cameras and gear and whatnot after all the stores closed, and we sometimes filmed late into the night. The whole experience was a jolly good time. Sure, the movie is not great, not really artistic, but it is an entertaining film nonetheless, a romance with light comedic elements. I am not a main character, but I had a few lines. As the Head of Security, I and a subordinate provide some comedic relief by being silly, loutish fellows who are always at odds with these young kids who hang out at the mall. The casting director gave me the part because he saw a film I had done recently in India, an action film in which I played a Corrupt Police Captain on the take with a gang of criminals. Near the end of that film, I get killed by the main villain, the very leader of the gang. I had many lines. That was quite a good film.
My knees ache frequently. Arthritis. The doctor suggested taking out my old knees and replacing them with new ones. “No!” I replied. “I will die with the knees I was born with.” It is possible that my arthritis is related to my diabetes.
Doctors are funny sorts. They give you a pill and say, “Take this. It will control your diabetes.” Well, the pill also hurts your liver and kidney, and now both must be carefully monitored. This is the state of modern medicine. So, when the doctor sends me home with a list of foods and drinks I should not consume on any condition, I am naturally suspicious. Really, if a person is careful and reduces the portions, everything on that list can be enjoyed. A nice mee goreng from the hawker stalls or a cigarette at the park or a Kingfisher or whiskey with a friend, these are the slight pleasures that brighten our lives. Arrange them throughout your days as you would put up a string of festive lights, and you will die a happy man. Because of this blasted diabetes, Ajay is refusing to pay for my travel to India for a new role, the first starring role of my career, in a biographical film based on the life of Sivaji. After years of losing parts to one of the all-time greatest actors in the history of Tamil cinema—no, in the history of cinema, full stop!—what an honor it would be to play the man himself. The role has been split between a handful of different actors. I would be the elder Sivaji and even have the honor of reenacting his death. But when I was in Tamil Nadu playing the Corrupt Police Captain, I fell ill near the end of filming—quite ill, as a matter of fact. It was the opinion of the doctor there that my diet was playing havoc with my diabetes. What cheek this doctor had, standing at my bedside and blaming me for feeling sick! But Bina took the side of the doctor. Once I was well enough to return to Singapore, she told me that I was forbidden from traveling abroad in the future. Just like that, my wife transformed, as if by some dark spell, into my warden. When the role of Sivaji was proffered, I appealed my sentence to Ajay. “Can you not see how much this means to me?” I asked him. “Acha,” he replied, “what good is following your dream if you sacrifice your body in the journey?” “What good is this body if I cannot use it to follow my dream?” I replied, which I feel was a quite snappy retort. Still, he refused to fund the trip, so I was forced to seek the cash elsewhere.
One of the producers of the mall film and I became friends in the course of the production. He is a real nice guy, and we have some mutual associates. The two of us were eating lunch at this posh spot near BCM 35 57
Ngee Ann City—the food was quite expensive, and in my opinion, not very good for the price, but as he was happy to pick up the tab, so I am not complaining—and he runs into a friend, who decides to sit down at our table to catch up. We all split a few bottles of some very nice wine. Well, really, wine is wine. What do I know about wine? It has a nice taste to it, so I call it a nice wine. Whether or not a wine expert would agree with me, I do not know. I suspect the producer and his friend also thought the wine was nice, because the two of them ordered many bottles of the stuff and ended up getting quite drunk. I, on the other hand, know how to handle my liquor and was only mildly tipsy. Midway through the second bottle, the friend starts telling the producer about how he knows all these guys making loads of money by facilitating the procurement of clinker—a material commonly mixed with cement—for a large American construction company. A bottleneck had developed between the suppliers and this company, so the company had begun to employ a number of middlemen to transfer the clinker to them. No boats or trucks or heavy lifting was needed as those arrangements had already been made. All that was left to do was to sign some papers and confirm the transfer of funds to the supplier. Such a small amount of work, along with a minor holding fee of a few thousand dollars to retain the clinker for delivery, would result in substantial compensation, he emphasized. The friend was trying to get the producer interested in this proposition, but the producer was a bit skittish on the scheme. At the bottom of the third bottle, I told the friend, “Listen, I am far more in need of the payout than the producer here. Let me assist you in this venture.” So the friend and I shook hands on the deal and became partners. To secure the retainer, I signed a promissory note with a Chettiar. The interest was outrageous, but my cut for the deal would easily cover the loan, the interest, and leave more than enough to get me to Tamil Nadu before the start of principal photography on the Sivaji biopic. In short order, we had a consignment of clinker set to ship to the U.S. The contract was signed, the price agreed upon, and a letter of credit—the L.C.— established for the value of approximately $7 million. Next, the cargo had to be loaded and delivered. But before loading the cargo, the shipper wished to have the L.C. confirmed to ensure, first, that it was genuine and, second, that there was enough money in the bank—perfectly understandable precautions. Well, the American bank informed the shipper that 58 BCM 35 34
they had no letter in their records. We assumed then that the error lay with the opening bank, OCBC, but no, they confirmed that the L.C. has been delivered. Well, my partner and I began to wonder what kinds of shenanigans were going on here. He departed posthaste to New York City, the location of the American bank as well as the final destination of our freight. Upon the arrival of his flight at the John F. Kennedy Airport, he went straight to the bank, not even stopping for a brief nap or meal. Exhausted and bedraggled, he demands to meet with the bank manager, a nervous little man who is quite slippery with his responses to my partner’s queries. After some back and forth, the manager confesses that he was told to deny the existence of the L.C. by none other than the United States Department of Homeland Security. The quantity of clinker ordered by our buyer apparently set off a red flag because—and this was certainly news to us—clinker is apparently an ingredient for a type of bomb currently popular with some terrorist fellows the Homeland Security has been monitoring. In addition, our shipment was traveling through Dubai, and while the head of the construction company was a U.S. citizen, he is the naturalized variety whose birthplace is somewhere in Nigeria. Homeland Security looked at these circumstantial flags and decided, just like that, to vanish our clinker deal into thin air, a magic trick where the rabbit dropped into the hat had no chance of ever being pulled back out again.
Recently, I took my grandson Gopal, who is just nine or ten years old, to the Singapore Zoo. As we stood in front of the enclosure for the white tigers, watching them bask lazily in the afternoon sun, Gopal asked me to close my eyes and imagine the white tiger. Quite an easy task, I believed, having had the model right before me a mere moment ago. Then he asked me to count its stripes. I could hear a mischievous smile in his voice, and try as I might, I was completely unable to do so. Something he learned from a teacher or classmate, I suspect. When I was young, my dream of becoming a film star lay before me like a white tiger, real and substantial and just within reach until someone asked me to count its stripes. Though I have never been closer to the realization of my dream than I am now, it feels less distinct than it ever did, and I now fear I shall die for real before I have the chance to pretend to die as the great Sivaji. Yes, the clinker deal fell apart. A lifetime of disappointments provides no armor for the next one, but while I still breathe, I hope.
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