Archive » January 2024 » Columns

by Mary Ellen Johnson

— Photo from the Guilderland Historical Society

The Hartman family lived in this house beginning in the late 1840s. Hartman family members ran a blacksmith shop on the opposite side of the Western Turnpike. The intersection, now the site of Stewart’s at the corner of routes 20 and 146, is still called Hartmans Corners today. 

What a stretch of the imagination it takes for contemporary Guilderland residents, all 37,848 of us in 2020 and still increasing, to visualize the same 58.7 square miles populated by only 2,790 people in 1840.

A small number lived clustered in the tiny hamlets of Knowersville, then located east of modern day Gun Club Road; Guilderland Centre, as it was spelled in those days; Dunnsville; and Guilderland — each with its own post office and one-room school.

Smaller numbers lived in neighborhoods near Fullers Tavern and McKown Tavern, each also with its own school. The remainder lived scattered on farms spread throughout the town with isolated schools such as Settles Hill.

The main transportation routes were the Great Western Turnpike, now Route 20, which had been improved by planking one side for eight miles by the end of the decade. Connected to this turnpike was the Schoharie Plank Road, now Route 146, which led to Schoharie. Both required tolls for usage. The town’s other roads were dirt tracks, sometimes impassible depending on weather.

Churches serving the town in the 1840s included Hamilton Union Presbyterian Church in a relatively new church built in 1834, St. James Lutheran and Helderberg Reformed, each located between Knowersville and Guilderland Centre.

In addition, short-lived Baptist and Catholic congregations used a building in Guilderland later known as Red Men’s Wigwam. Methodism was attracting many townspeople who were meeting at private homes, at Spawn’s Mill, and on at least one occasion holding a camp meeting on the Chesbro farm. Their first church in Guilderland wouldn’t be built until 1852.

Amazingly, due to the New York State Census taken in 1845, we now know a tremendous amount of detailed information about those who were living here at that time. The state’s 1821 Constitution required  a state census be taken five years after a federal census and this continued to be a practice until 1925.

 

Residents

In 1845, the total population of 2,995 had grown slightly in the past five years, but this statistic was the tip of the census’s statistical iceberg. Broken down by sex, the numbers were practically evenly divided, the 1,501 males outnumbering the females by only seven.

The previous year had seen 51 male babies born while 22 males of all ages died. Forty-two females came into the world, but only 17 left it.

Over the past 12 months, 35 couples married, but there remained 259 single women between the ages of 16 and 45. Of the men, 206 were subject to serving in the militia while the number of persons eligible to vote — all male — was 682.

Also enumerated out of 2,995 were 47 persons of color with an additional three specifically noted as persons of color taxed. Assuming these three were males, they were eligible to vote. New York law allowed almost any white male to vote, but discriminated against African Americans, limiting voting only to those black men who paid taxes.

Citizenship, ethnicity, and place of birth were also surveyed. Out of 2,995 total, New York was the birthplace of 2,559, while 46 were born in New England and seven in other parts of the country.

Among the foreign born were 80 who had immigrated from Great Britain or its possessions, nine from Germany, one from France, and six from other parts of Europe. And one lone person originated from Mexico/South America. Of the 97 foreign born Guilderland residents 50 were designated as un-naturalized aliens. For whatever reason, this doesn’t quite add up to 2,995 total.

Another aspect of the population count distinguished those with special needs with designations that will make the modern reader cringe. In Guilderland, there were neither “lunatics” nor anyone “deaf and dumb.” However, among the townspeople there were three “idiots,” two males and one female, as well as an 8-year-old blind girl whose parents were listed as unable to support her. The town’s Overseer of the Poor would have had to deal with the needs of the four paupers in town.

Children weren’t forgotten. When, in 1812, New York state required townships to establish common schools offering a basic education up to eighth grade, Guilderland had divided itself into common school districts. In 1845, each district had a one-room school, all 10 having a total value of $1,650. Although there were 827 children between the ages of 5 and 16, only 628 were on teachers’ lists and not all of those attended school regularly.

 

Religion

Religious denominations were surveyed and the value of their real estate listed.

For some reason, the Lutheran Church was left out of the survey and perhaps that is why the number of Dutch Reformed Churches in Guilderland was listed as two, when at that time the Helderberg Reformed Churches were valued at $6,600, when there was only one Reformed Church at Osborn Corners.

Up the road at the modern-day entrance to Fairview Cemetery was St. James Lutheran Church and that may have been lumped in to make two Reformed Churches.

Additionally, there was one Presbyterian Church valued at $900, which would have been Hamilton Union Presbyterian Church in Guilderland, and one Baptist Church valued at $1,200, but this congregation was short-lived.

While there were many Methodist adherents in town, they were still meeting in private homes, at Spawn’s Mill, or on at least one occasion holding a camp meeting on a local farm. Guilderland’s first Methodist Church would be erected on Willow Street in 1852.

 

Economy

Economic activities took up a very large part of the overall census.

Listed as farmers or agriculturalists were 325 persons. Great attention was paid to the quantities of various crops raised, dairy products produced, and numbers of livestock on town farms.

For each crop, the statistics are extremely specific. Corn was planted on 448 ¾ acres producing 33,014 ¼ bushels while the buckwheat harvest was 35,654 bushels grown on 654 ½ acres. One wonders how they came up with these and other production figures that were so specific.

Other crops raised in various quantities included barley, peas, beans, rye, potatoes, wheat, and oats. The individual crops were listed with the amount of acreage planted for each crop and the quantity harvested.

The town’s proximity to the city of Albany must have been an advantage, providing a ready market for much farm produce above what families needed to survive. However, in addition to feeding themselves, farm families also bartered with town merchants for goods that couldn’t be produced on the farm or for services such as having a horse shod.

Their livestock also had to be fed in winter and poultry and hogs at least partially fed all year round from their farm’s produce. What was left after that was their surplus to sell.

In spite of factory manufactured textiles becoming increasingly available at this time, 84 acres were planted in flax with 7,266 pounds produced. Women of the town, using both flax for linen and wool, spun or wove 5,005 ½ yards of cloth in the previous year.

Much livestock was pastured, penned, or put to work on local farms. Counted were 2,567 “neat cattle,” a term meaning bovine, which must have included oxen, bulls, and calves.

It was noted specifically that there were 1,216 cows milked, the milk churned into 89,358 pounds of butter or pressed into 2,813 pounds of cheese. Providing meat were 3,277 hogs.

Power for farm work or travel depended on the 940 horses in town, although oxen continued to be used on the farm. At that time, there were 5,781 sheep that provided a huge amount of wool and fleeces.

In addition to the statistics as to amounts and production, dollar amounts were also listed for each item of production.

Water power provided by Guilderland’s waterways was used for two grist mills, which ground the grain produced on the farms — one at Frenchs Hollow and the other one Batterman’s Mill on the Hungerkill. Together, the processed flour was estimated to be worth $11,134.

Seven sawmills cut the lumber to build or add to existing houses, erect barns, or build bridges. Two tanneries tanned hides into leather worth $2,100.

There was a textile factory at French’s Hollow and perhaps that was where the carding machine and fulling mills were located, providing a market for all or a portion of the wool produced by the town’s sheep.

In 1845, sixteen taverns lined the Great Western Turnpike and the Schoharie Turnpike. There were four grocers and seven merchants, though it was possible that one person may have been involved in more than one activity.

Ten claimed to be manufacturers and 73 to be mechanics. At that time, this category would have included blacksmiths, wheelwrights, or tinsmiths. The statistics concluded with three clergymen and seven physicians such as Dr. Frederick Crounse who practiced in Knowersville.

 

Anti-rent agitation

One statistic that would have been of interest today was not included in what was quite a comprehensive overview of Guilderland in the 1840s would have been which acreage was freehold ownership and which was under lease to the Van Rensselaer interests, forcing the tenants to pay annual rents.

After the last patroon, Stephen Van Rensselaer, died in 1839, his heirs were determined to collect back rents. By 1845, anti-rent agitation had grown so intense that an Anti-Rent Convention convened in Berne with Knowersville’s Dr. Frederick Crounse chosen as chairman.

Guilderland residents witnessed Albany County Sheriff Christopher Batterman, a Guilderland resident himself, lead a group of New York State Militia through town on their way to the Hilltowns to put down anti-rent agitation, which men disguised as “Indians” had resorted to there.

Anti-rent pressure led to a revised New York State Constitution that changed tenure laws, but rent paying under the old, original leases continued for many years for some Guilderland farmers.

The 1845 census is the only New York state census with such extreme detail. It is fortunate to have such a detailed survey of our town from almost 180 years ago when there were few other written records to give a picture of what town life was like then.

Post date: 
January 26, 2024

Print this page

by Dennis Sullivan

— Illustration from the cover of Robert D. Putnam’s  “Bowling Alone”

This is the preface to a paper, “The New Scotland Law and Order League and the Case of Elmer Peter’s Hotel: The Temperance Movement in Albany County, N.Y. in 1905,” that Dennis Sullivan, the village historian for Voorheesville, will present on June 6 at the Voorheesville Public Library. Another Enterprise columnist, Jesse Sommer, will hold a whiskey-tasting at the event, serving liquor produced locally by his company, New Scotland Spirits.

 
While engaged in writing history over the years, I have often wondered if communities have genetic traits they pass on to the generations that come after them, in the same way that people say families do, that is, part of them comes from another world.

In the preface to a book I wrote about the village I live in — Voorheesville, New York — nearly 40 years ago, I alluded to the importance of a community understanding the social DNA it was, if you will, born with.

I called attention to the fact that a lot of people look at history as a series of quaint little artifacts, for example the time the postmaster fell in the creek on the way home from the square dance having quaffed too much of Aunt Trudy’s punch. When the locals are in a group and that story is told, everybody goes, “Ha ha; wasn’t that Bill Finch something!”

In our village history, I wrote that, if that is a community’s approach to history, it makes the past an abstraction by which we simultaneously sever ourselves from the present.

I added, “Community-making becomes impossible or at the very least extremely difficult when people lack a sense of place. Sooner or later life becomes haphazard; anything goes.”

Some people say that that’s what’s going on in the United States today, that Americans no longer have a sense of place because America the Beautiful has disappeared. Thus, in the news we see all sorts of stories about young people struggling with mental-health problems: It’s due to a loss of grounding, a sense of place, the cousin of “having a purpose in life.”

Nearly 25 years ago, Robert Putnam in his American classic “Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community” said America was in for a rude awakening, that we already were a country whose people bowled on separate alleys with no connection between one and the other.

It’s what American sociologist Mildred Newhall spoke about 100 years ago when she coined the phrase “parallel play.” It’s a 2-year-old madly at play sitting next to another kid madly at play in a common sandbox — the two mentally aware of each other but wanting no further exchange. It’s a stage of youth we all go through but cataclysmic when a nation lives that way.

This booklet is about a town in upstate New York at the turn of the 20th Century. It’s a sad story in a way because it involves a cell — the way Communists use the term — of people in our community who sought to stop friends and neighbors from getting together and having a drink after work, gathering the way the Irish do in pubs to talk over the day’s affairs. 

The prohibitionists in our town, mostly from the Methodist and Presbyterian churches, frowned severely on people having a drink, constantly mocking the fool-headed “drunkard.” It was this thinking that fueled the W. C. T. U., the Woman’s Christian Temperance Union, one of the most doggedly committed (fanatical) groups ever to go against drink.

On one level, the temperance movement those churches championed is understandable because many men — after working like dogs at heavy machinery jobs during the industrial era — frequented bars on the way home and got “hammered,” after which they went home and hammered the missus, women treated as less than dogs. The women couldn’t even vote.

In our town, the town of New Scotland, a group of church-goers got together when the temperance movement was running high and sought to stop drinking in our bars and hotels, even in our homes. They called themselves the New Scotland Law and Order League and, like vigilantes, went about rendering judgment on, and simultaneously punishing, tipsy souls as they left the local saloon — like a grammar school principal washing out the mouth of a kid with soap for saying something naughty.  

Mouth-washing for drinking got serious when the United States forbade the production and use of alcohol through the Eighteenth Amendment to the Constitution. The national decree lasted from 1920 to 1933 and, as history says, it was a gargantuan failure. Things got infinitely worse.

One of the leaders of the law-and-order league in our town, say in 1900, was Frank Van Auken, a church-going Methodist whose family was here for generations. He lived at 10 Voorheesville Ave. in the village of Voorheesville — an incorporated village inside the town since 1899. For nearly 50 years, I have lived at 14 Voorheesville Ave. two houses away from Frank’s, though he was long dead when my wife and I came.

I have been inside Frank’s house at #10 many times — it’s been beautifully redone — and, when I give historical walking tours of the village — as part of my job as municipal historian — when we come to Frank’s house, I comment on his involvement in the law-and-order league and shake my head in disbelief. (His granddaughter Gert once had a dance school in the barn out back.)

And as village historian — the town has its own — I’ve been involved in researching and writing about our people and its institutions for 38 years. When I walked down Main Street while writing the history book, I saw people from the past come out of their homes and greet me as if I was Thornton Wilder in “Our Town”; I thought of Voorheesville then as “My Town.” Not hubristically, as those who know me know.

I’d like to send this essay to every municipal historian in Albany County and to every president of every historical association in every village and town within its bounds, inviting each and all to come to Voorheesville and share stories about the temperance movement in their community during the late-19th and early-20th centuries.

The town of Guilderland didn’t take kindly to prohibition in those days; they voted for drink pretty much every chance they got.

If our convivium does take place — and I am there — my first question to the gathered throng will be: Does your town have a life? And to those who say yes, I will ask: Who were the mother and father of that life, who were its grandparents and those who came before them? Has the social DNA of those times affected who we are today?

In my capacity as village historian, I was asked to provide an historical snapshot of our community in days-gone-by for the “Village of Voorheesville Comprehensive Plan,” which village officials adopted on June 26, 2018.

I did, and in it I said that the Voorheesville of 2018 was different from its self in 1910. I wrote, “Of course, [today] the churches maintain sub-communities which are important to the social cohesion of the whole — though there are changes in that sphere as well — but in the second decade of the new millennium, a face-to-face community-wide sense of community remains absent.”  

When the plan came out, one of my neighbors called this assessment somber, bordering on depressing. Was I saying Voorheesvillians were bowling alone?

And, if that is true, how would we bowlers know? What are the criteria by which to assess such a thing? And how might such a problem be solved? And if we, at the local level, cannot devise ways to respond to community, how can we expect a nation — bowled over by diversity — to set its ship aright?

What follows is the result of my research into what happened in our town in 1905 and, as you will see, some Voorheesvillians were involved. Is what happened then still with us or did the social genes of that era die with it?   

I love Voorheesville and I love our town, despite their disparate selves, and in this love affair I remain perplexed by our law-and-order league of old and by the man who lived two doors down. Are we they? Are they us?

Post date: 
January 25, 2024

Print this page

by John R. Williams

— Photo from John R. Williams

John R. Williams was commissioned to paint the Erie Canal as it looked in the 19th Century, running between the south cliff, known as Little Nose, and the north, known as Big Nose.

Yeah! The Old Men of the Mountain still gather at the appointed restaurants; however, right now this scribe is unable to attend as he is attached to an oxygen hose.

The scribe does have a portable unit and, once he is cleared to go using that, the scribe will be there. Last week there was still, they think, traces of pneumonia rattling around in there.

He will be tethered to an oxygen hose until he can get his percentage to hold, at (this is what the scribe thinks) 94 percent. This may or may not be right; right now it is holding at 91 percent. 

Now to business at hand with notes from a couple of OMOTM.

On the second day of the New Year, the Old Men of the Mountain met at the Middleburgh Diner in Middleburgh.

The OMOTM, because they are mostly old, generally do not partake of all the New Year festivities, not that the mind doesn’t say “Hey let’s go” but the body says sleep comes first and most are sawing lumber by nine.

However, some must have done something because the crowd was on the slight side at breakfast Tuesday morning. As one OF suggested, “Maybe many are traveling and are not around.”

One OF with an older-young body to go with the mind that says he celebrates the New Year by going for a ride on his motorcycle. This year though the OF reported that, by the time he did all the preparation work on the bike to get ready, it was getting late in the day so the OF said he would do it on Tuesday instead.

This prompted another OF to comment that he would start a tradition of his own. The OF said, with all the warm weather and the lack of ice on the lakes and rivers, that he would take his boat out on New Year’s Day.

On New Year’s Days when it is not like this, the OF could rig a sail on the boat and accomplish the same thing by skidding over the ice of the lake. 

 

Erie Canal

An unusual discussion at the table of OFs was the Erie Canal, and for some of the OFs this was a firsthand discussion. Those who worked on the project said it was so ad-hoc that they had to invent tools to do some of the work, and a lot of the ditch was dug by hand.

Not only that but even the surveying tools used, and plotting the direction of the canal were done by rule of thumb. It was brought up that many other canals were being dug about this time but the Erie was the only canal that paid for itself.

One OF’s home was built from stone that was rejected for use on the canal, as was the Onesquethaw Reformed Church, where the OF and his family attended, all built from rejected stone.

It was not mentioned in the note how the stone got all the way to Onesquethaw, which is just a tad west of Clarksville from where the canal was being built. That is a hike and uphill at that.

It is cool that the OFs discussed the Erie Canal. Quite a while back, this scribe was commissioned to do a painting of the Erie Canal.

The person that wanted the painting was an expert on the canal and very specific on how she wanted the painting, the period, the locale, the time of year, and very colorful. The painting was to be done as the canal went through Big Nose-Little Nose.

In the scribe’s research, he found that it was this gap in the Appalachian Mountains that made the engineer know the canal could be done.

It was reported by the family to this scribe that the woman who commissioned the painting had it placed over the fireplace of their home and would have her morning coffee and sit and look at the painting for an hour or so before she started her day.

The scribe just thought he would add that. The scribe must also give thanks to Doug Marshall for the notes, and Lou Schenck  for those who made it and they were: Bill Lichliter, George Washburn, Jake Herzog, Harold Guest, Wally Guest, Jack Norray, Lou Schenck, Dick Dexter, Herb Bahrmann, Gerry Cross, Elwood Vanderbilt, Bob Donnelly, Dave Hodgetts, Doug Marshall, but not me.

Post date: 
January 19, 2024

Print this page

by Anuja Konda

The winter season is a time of holiday cheer, community gatherings, and fun-filled activities. Whether you prefer to snuggle up by the fireplace with a good book or spend all day sledding down snowy hills, wintertime is a beautiful season to be enjoyed by all.

Amid the merry festivities, it is also important to maintain healthy habits and remind ourselves of best safety practices. Here are some helpful health and safety tips to make this winter season the best one yet:

— “Sleigh” the Winter Blues

The winter season is often accompanied by reduced daylight and gloomier skies. Lack of sunlight and low vitamin D levels can negatively impact one’s mental health. You can boost your spirits by reading and writing, calling a friend, engaging in physical exercise, and nourishing your body with foods high in vitamin D (such as salmon, mushrooms, and egg yolks). Remember that, even on cloudy days, it is important to wear sunscreen outdoors;

— ’Tis the “Flu” Season

During the colder months, colds, flus, and other respiratory illnesses are more common. One reason is because people spend more time indoors together allowing viruses to pass easily from person to person. You can limit the spread of illnesses by coughing and sneezing into your elbow or upper arm. Also, make sure to wash your hands with warm water and soap for at least 20 seconds throughout the day;

— This Weather Is “Snow” Joke

Winter snowstorms can occur suddenly and swiftly, so it is important to be prepared. In case of a weather-related emergency, such as a power-outage, you should arrange an emergency kit, including a flashlight, first-aid supplies, and you should stock food. Ensure that your home’s heating system, smoke detectors, and carbon-monoxide detectors are all working properly. Additionally, prepare your vehicle by keeping the tank full to prevent ice from forming in it and checking to see if you need all-weather or snow tires.;

— Say Goodbye to Snow- “Flakey” Skin

The winter air can get quite cold and dry, so it is important to hydrate your skin. Diligently apply lotion after drying off from the shower, and use lip balm to protect against cracked lips. A humidifier can help add moisture to your room’s air. Additionally, drinking enough water each day will keep your body hydrated from the inside out;

— There’s “Snow” Place Like Home

Though you may be immersed in winter activities, it is important to take ample rest, by maintaining a consistent sleep schedule. Lack of sleep can compromise your immune system. You should aim to get 7 to 9 hours of sleep each night. Maintaining this routine will allow your body to recover and wake up reenergized to take on the day.

Wintertime is a wonderful part of the year. Enjoy the season to the fullest while bearing in mind the above tips to prioritize your health and safety.

****

Community Caregivers is a not-for-profit agency supported by community donations and grants from the Albany County Department for Aging, the New York State Department of Health and Office for the Aging, and the United States Administration on Aging.

Editor’s note: Anuja Konda, a Community Caregivers volunteer, is a student at Albany Medical College.

Post date: 
January 10, 2024

Print this page

by Frank L. Palmeri

We haven’t checked the “Ask Cranky Frankie” mailbox in a while. Let’s see what the mailman has for us today.

Dear Cranky Frankie:

I keep hearing the word “abomination” lately. It’s all over the place. Everything all of a sudden is an abomination. It’s used so often and in so many different contexts that I’m not even sure what an abomination is anymore. Can you help?

Becoming Utterly Bemused

Dear BUB:

Here are three examples of what an abomination is:

— Pineapple on pizza (this really should be a felony, or at least a misdemeanor);

— Taking a classic jam like “In A Gadda Da Vida” by Iron Butterfly or “Light my Fire” by The Doors and chopping it up into a three-minute mess for pop radio; and

— Having a disturbingly high-pitched woman on a high rotation TV ad speak in “uptalk,” where every sentence is a question, so much that you literally have to mute the commercial every time it comes on? I mean it’s so bad? It’s just too bad I can’t stand it? You know what I mean?

****

Dear Cranky Frankie:

I realize the need for constipation medicines, I really do. But why does every constipation commercial have to end with the person dancing euphorically after the product does its job? Isn’t there anyone writing these commercials who can think of other ways to indicate the thankful sense of relief after a long-awaited successful bowel movement?

Feeling Ultimately Low and Lost

Dear FULL:

I know what you mean. If I were in advertising, I would not pay the person who said, “and then, after she poops, let’s show her dancing!” What a joke. Here are some ways I’d like to see a long-awaited successful trip to the bathroom depicted:

— A full-on, top-of-the-lungs, deep-throated all-out shout, like when your team makes the playoffs (“Oh Yeeaaahhhhh!”);

— A sly wink of the eye while sipping a nice beverage; or

— A cartwheel, followed by a jump, followed by a split (and I’d sure buy the medicine that allowed me to do all that without serious injury, haha).

****

Dear Cranky Frankie:

I love the thought of long car trips with my husband. It seems to me that, because it’s just the two of us, it’s the perfect time to really open up to each other and share our most intimate and personal thoughts. What a great way to get even closer!

Yet my husband insists on listening to the radio when we’re in the car. He can listen to anything: music, news, talk, etc. It never ends. There always has to be something coming out of the speakers! How can I let the most important man in my life know that I relish the thought of deep, meaningful conversations while driving, mile after thoughtful, soul-searching mile?

Wondering, Often Not Knowing

Dear WONK:

Can you repeat that? I was changing the station, sorry.

****

Dear Cranky Frankie:

My husband keeps taking my good towels and using them to soak up spills, clean the floor, etc. I keep telling him we have boxes of rags to use for things like that.

He doesn’t seem to get it, though. He’s always using my good towels to clean really dirty, awful things! How can I get him to stop this annoying and destructive behavior?

Praying for Energetic yet Responsible Husband Control

Dear PERCH:

Let me get this straight: You have a husband who does actual cleaning, and you’re complaining? Give me a break! You don’t know how lucky you have it, girl.

Here’s what to do: Put the rags in the spot where the “good” towels are. Then, when he wants to, unbelievably, clean something on his own, he’ll grab a rag and be good to go. By the way, what are “good” towels, anyway? A towel is a towel, period. You’re welcome.

****

Dear Cranky Frankie:

Does this dress make me look fat?

Not Only Wondering, Also Yearning

Dear NOWAY:

There is no good answer to this question, so let’s just move on.

****

Dear Cranky Frankie:

I’ve got this pain in my neck. It’s killing me. Right here. No, not there. Here. Yes, that’s it.

Like a stabbing, shooting pain when my neck is in this position. No, not like that, like this. Ouch! Holy Mother of God! What a pain in the neck, literally. What can I do?

Hurts, And Hurts Again

Dear HAHA:

Consider this: No number from 1 to 999 inclusive has the letter “a” in its printed word form. Have you ever even considered that? And here you are worried about your neck.

****

Dear Cranky Frankie:

Why are so-called “broadsheet” newspapers like The New York Times so popular? For one thing, they are so physically large that it’s hard to use them, even spread out on a table. Then there’s trying to read them on a train or a bus. You spend more time folding them creatively just to follow a story than actually reading the story.

Finally, stories are never continued on the next page, but often dozens of pages later. By the time you get to the page where the story is continued, you’ve moved on to something else. It’s terrible. Yet broadsheets are pervasive in the newspaper industry. Why does printing newspapers in this ridiculously large format continue?

Bothered Utterly Regarding Printing

Dear BURP:

It takes a real man — or woman — to handle a broadsheet on the bus or subway. Back in the day, it was a rite of passage for commuters everywhere. Now with everyone zoned out on their phones all day I fear broadsheet-reading skills may be lost forever. No worries, though: All that paper still comes in handy for lining the birdcage and lighting the barbecue.

****

Dear Cranky Frankie:

Is Dusty Springfield the greatest female singer of all time?

Perusing Other Performers Sonically

Dear POPS:

None other than Sir Elton John had this to say about the iconic and timeless Dusty Springfield: “I’m biased, but I just think she was the greatest white singer there ever has been.”

Here, here, old man, I’m down with that.

All I know is whenever I hear “I Only Want to Be With You,” “The Look of Love,” “You don’t Have to Say You Love Me,” “Son of a Preacher Man,” and so many more of her hits, I know that there may be other singers as good as Dusty, but there was no one better.

“Anyone Who Had a Heart” would certainly agree with me I’m sure. Long live the great Dusty Springfield!

****

Dear Cranky Frankie:

My son was in his room when it was time for lunch. I wanted to bring him a wrap, but he was blasting rap, which to me sounds like crap, so I gave the door a slap.

I said “come out, Jack.”

He said, “Chill out, Mack!”

I just about snapped, so I left the wrap. That’s life in this flat. Oh drat! One time he even spat. I thought that was that. Oh, snap! It’s not fun, but he’s my son, so what can I do to not be so blue?

Blasting Urban Rock Non-Stop

Dear BURN:

I don’t know about your son, but I think you just wrote a pretty good hip-hop song. If you need an agent, let me know.

****

Dear Cranky Frankie:

I want to learn Mandarin. Can you please help?

Yearning Often, Yearning Openly

Dear YOYO:

I sure can help you learn Mandarin. To begin, go to the produce section of your favorite supermarket. Look for orange mesh bags, or even little wooden boxes, filled with Mandarins. When you get your Mandarin home, you have to peel it.

Usually you can do this with your fingers if you are careful, but keep a knife handy just in case. Once you remove the rind, you should carefully remove as much of the white stringy stuff as you can.

You can then enjoy your Mandarin just as it is, but if you feel a little daring and crazy, here’s a tip: Mandarins make colorful accouterments for those otherwise ordinary weeknight side salads. Learning Mandarin is not only easy, but tasty and fun as well. Bon appetit!

****

That’s all for now, faithful readers. Keep those great questions coming in.

“Say goodnight, Cranky Frankie.”

“Goodnight, Cranky Frankie.”

Post date: 
January 10, 2024

Print this page

by Frank L. Palmeri

As one of the newest members of the Guilderland Fire District, I have a lot to learn. Yet even in the short couple of months I’ve been a volunteer firefighter, I’ve experienced so much. Here, in no particular order, are the top 10 things I’ve learned so far.

— Serving is a privilege

Even though it’s volunteer, it’s still a privilege to serve as a volunteer firefighter. When you are wearing the turnout gear, riding in the truck, or participating in a drill, you represent the district. It is only fair to the taxpayers to show them you are responsible with how you act, how you take care of the equipment, and how seriously you take the responsibility.

Fortunately, the level of commitment at GFD is through the roof. I’m extremely proud to serve with such dedicated men and women. Still, I don’t take the opportunity I’ve been given lightly, and I hope my upcoming training goes well;

— Size matter

Everything in firefighting is big and heavy. The trucks, or “apparatus,” are humongous. The clothes are tough, thick, and heavy. The Jaws of Life (the portable electric one, there is a hydraulic one as well) weighs 55 pounds, making it very hard to wield unless you’ve been eating your Wheaties on a daily basis.

Why is everything so big, strong, and robust? Because fighting fires is serious business, obviously. The only way to be prepared for the worst is to have the best equipment, to maintain that equipment, and to train everyone on how to safely and effectively use that equipment. I for one am very glad I live in an area where fire safety, prevention, and first responding is taken so seriously;

— Everything in its place

I like to work on my cars and motorcycles. It’s fun to fix something and get it running again. But I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to look all over the place for a tool I know I have. It’s so frustrating to waste time like that.

Well, that does not happen at the firehouse. Everything has a place, and everything is constantly verified to be in its place. Part of the “equipment check” we do each week is to make sure every sub-system and tool on each apparatus is there and working properly.

How great is that? When you open a compartment or drawer, you can be certain that what is supposed to be there is actually there. If I could get my garage and tool boxes to be like that, it’d be like hitting Lotto. There is a lot that impresses me about GFD, and organization is at the top of the list;

— Old guys rule

I wondered how, as a retired guy, I’d be able to keep up with the physical demands of firefighting. Some of it is very hard work as you can imagine. I’m starting formal training soon, and I am encouraged by the number of “old guys” who do this kind of work.

Each one of them is testament to eating healthy (most of the time), staying active, and keeping mentally fit. One of my buddies at the firehouse is 72, and exercises for 90 minutes every morning. This guy is tough, reliable, and a pleasure to work with. To see so many guys in their “golden years” remain so physically active is a revelation to me. Age truly is just a number;

— Never go in alone

One night we had a call-out to an adult living community where a carbon-monoxide detector had gone off. This can be deadly. So I stood at the door to the building, and as each of my qualified team members went in, they handed me their badges. This way I knew exactly how many of us were inside a dangerous situation, and how many needed to come back out.

Doing it this way makes sure everyone is accounted for. You never go in alone, anywhere, period. Even so, the SCBA (Self Contained Breathing Apparatus) that class A firefighters wear to provide breathing air contains a feature that, if the firefighter should go down and be still for any length of time, an ear piercing alarm goes off. That way someone else — never go in alone, remember — can attend to him or her. In a way, “never go in alone” is a great metaphor for life;

— Pull your own weight

Let’s face it, in any organization some jobs are better than others. It’s no different in firefighting. Recently I spent seven hours on a cold, dreary December day pumping out basements after a two-day deluge of driving rain. Part of that time was spent clearing out muck, stone, and root-filled drainage ditches with a shovel.

Did I think years ago that hard labor in rotten weather conditions would be part of my retirement? Heck no. But one look at the thanks on the faces of those we helped was all it took to make it all worthwhile. I love being able to directly help my neighbors like this. There is so much volunteer firefighters do besides fighting fires that it’s almost unbelievable. Truly, we are here to help;

— Do tasks the right way

The secret to success is doing the simple things correctly, over and over, until they just become habits. Take fire hoses. There are all kinds and all sizes for specific purposes, I’m learning. Rolling up a hose is an art form. After it’s cleaned and dried, both inside and out, it is tightly rolled up from the male end to protect the delicate threads on the fitting. Rolling it up very tightly, which is a lot harder than it sounds, assures that when it needs to be deployed quickly, it can be quickly rolled out like throwing a bowling ball. And once it’s deployed, it is imperative to get all the kinks out so that full water pressure is assured.

I never would have thought there was so much thought, art, and practice in just dealing with hoses. It has been a revelation to me. Now I won’t ever be able to have a messy or unevenly wound garden hose again;

— Clean your ride

GFD takes pride in maintaining the expensive apparatus that the taxpayers have paid for. Any time there is a dirty truck — even after returning from many hours fighting a fire, pumping out basements, dealing with an auto accident, or whatever — if there is a speck of dirt on that vehicle, we all pitch in and wash it, right in the firehouse.

It’s like a dance with hoses, brushes, squeegees, and chamois. Many hands make short work, and when we’re done we take pride in how clean and sharp everything looks. One of the pickup trucks we have is 11 years old and it looks brand new. It is so gratifying to be part of an organization that takes such pride in maintaining the very expensive equipment that has been provided for us;

— Business is business

There is a very social aspect to firefighting. I’ve made some great friends in my short time at GFD, and we’ve had a lot of laughs together. The men are real “guy’s guys,” the kind you can just hang out with and be yourself. We share jokes and stories and laugh so hard sometimes it hurts. Even the few women we have fit right in and get along with the boys real well.

It’s really fun to have such camaraderie with my co-workers. But, once that call comes in, like a light switch, we go from social to professional in the blink of an eye. Truck assignments are made, turnout gear is donned, and we are out the door. The entire time we are out, we are on it, focusing entirely on the job at hand, until the work is done.

The senior members lead the way, the newcomers help the best we can, and we do what we have to do. I had missed very much being on a team getting things done when I retired. Now I have that feeling again;

— Firefighting is apolitical

Our country is split down the middle politically. This division causes a lot of stress. I abhor culture wars and all this kind of stuff. Undoubtedly, one of the best things about being a volunteer firefighter is that it is totally apolitical.

When we go out on a call, it doesn’t matter what party anyone belongs to, or what religion they are, or anything else. We go out to help, period. Same for police, EMS, and military. We all serve the public the best we can. Being involved in the trenches now, dealing with the public under often terrible circumstances, has given me new respect for uniformed professionals and first responders. To be a part of this great legacy in some small way really makes me feel proud. To all the men and women in uniform: You rock, and thank you for your service.

Any time in my life that I’ve volunteered to do anything, I’ve gotten more out of it than I’ve put into it. Being a volunteer firefighter takes a lot of hard work, training, and dedication, but the satisfaction of working with such great people and directly helping the folks in my community makes it all worthwhile.

Post date: 
January 5, 2024

Print this page