June 9, 1997

Dear Syracuse B-4,

I've been reading your blog for a year now, and I sure could use your advice!

I am a hamlet about five miles outside of the center of Syracuse. In my youth, I was a sight to behold, if I do say so myself. If you don't believe me, here's what was written about me at the time:

[The village] serves as a center for three classes of people. There are the real farmers, who stretch out into the country for miles. There are the Indians, who come to the village in droves for soda-water, and there are the city folks who have built expensive homes on the upper road and who live there the year round solely because they like the village...It is neither a real country village nor yet a city suburb, but it smacks a little of each." (The Syracuse Herald, September 1, 1918)

People were so eager to see me that Syracuse actually extended a trolley line to make me their final stop! Trains ran every half hour, and on summer days, every 15 minutes. (Post-Standard, May 11, 1902) And once the city residents had the opportunity, they came to visit in droves:

The grove at the Springs attracted great crowds yesterday, who partook of the cold spring water with eagerness. In fact the people could not get to the new resort fast enough, and it is believed that the number would have been augmented had there been the two switches in place at the terminus so that more cars could have been run. (Post-Standard, May 19, 1902)

You have to understand: by this time, I had been discovered. Everyone wanted a piece of me; the paper said I was a community "progressing by leaps and bounds" (Syracuse Herald, August 14, 1911). But before this, back when I was just the outsider to Onondaga Valley, I met a gentleman—let's call him "Hine." Hine became completely enamored with 20 acres of my farm land and decided to settle down with me! He built a red brick Italianate home right along South Salina Street. After he passed, his children stayed in the house and were of such great assistance to me (and Syracuse): for example, after the Syracuse Common Council refused to give the Syracuse Amateur Hockey Club (composed mainly of WWII veterans) a place for skating in the city, Hine's son—who then worked as Town of Onondaga supervisor—turned some of my land into a skating rink, and opened it up to all the kids in the area as well (Post-Standard, Nov 29, 1947)! I don't recall them making any fuss when their new neighbors, McDonald's, moved in next door in early 70s. Or Kmart or Fay's in their backyard shortly thereafter. Even when I started to age and lose my luster, Hine House just stood there faithfully, a reminder of my glory days.

But as much as Hine looked the same, I did not age gracefully. Buses replaced the trolley line in June 1940, six months before the final end of all trolleys in Syracuse (Syracuse Herald-American, June 30, 1940). P&C had split by the early '90s; Kmart left in 1995. My longtime neighborhood drugstore—let's call him "Ned," sweet, quirky Ned—abandoned me in 1995 as well. But there was Hine House, looking every bit the same as it did in 1847. Hine and his pals "Hutchinson" and "Gridley" would actually throw open their doors every so often for historic home tours. Not so much historic town tours, as apparently Hine was one of the few connections left to my past. Granted, I may have let myself go over 100 years, but did I rip up the trolley tracks? Did I build the suburban shopping malls? Did I create the exurbs that replaced my longtime reputation as the last stop on the line?

Needless to say, I was feeling rather low and vulnerable when a new suitor—let's call him "Aldi"—came to town a dozen years ago. He was nothing like Hine—no charm, no character— just a concrete box selling discount groceries. But I heard through the grapevine rather quickly that he was interested in me. Usually his type goes for the younger ones—Cicero, Clay—the ones that have taken away so much from my existence. But this time, there he was, asking about me! Wanting me!

He had his conditions, though: lose Hine. Knock him down, pave him over, forget he ever existed.

An 1847 landmark...would have to be demolished under a proposal made by Aldi Inc., the no-frills supermarket chain.

The company's plans surfaced during the past week as Aldi began seeking permits from the town of Onondaga...to build the store. (Syracuse Herald-Journal, June 9, 1997)

Now, Hine wasn't a threat, of course. Aldi could have moved in the old Green Hills Plaza, where Kmart and Fay's sat vacant, or Ned's old place, or the empty P&C. I mean, I had so much other space available for Aldi, but he only wanted the one place where Hine had always occupied:

The ideal location, [Louis] Kibling [director of real estate for Aldi] said, was between Route 173 and Green Hills Plaza. The Hine site is beyond that, but only by a little.

Kibling added that he did not choose a site with the idea of causing a major uproar.

"If it is (not wanted)," he said, "we'll take our money and go where people want us." (Post-Standard, July 24, 1997)

So he wasn't Mr. Right, but he was obviously Mr. Right Now, and I needed him:

"I've been thinking about this for weeks," [Onondaga Town Councilor Suzanne] Belle said. "The area certainly needs a shot in the arm, certainly needs revitalizing. Perhaps this can be the start."

Town Supervisor Thomas Andino said he was aware the community was concerned about traffic and the house, but added, "I'm looking at the property down there, and it appears this property will not alter the character of the neighborhood."

Councilor Charles Petrie agreed, saying, "I don't see any options."

Councilor Donald Hamilton said, "It would help the tax base of the town of Onondaga."

He added that he visited an Aldi store in Cortland and found it to be clean and inexpensive.

"On the day I was there, they had 10 loaves of bread for $1. I was amazed," Hamilton said. (Syracuse Herald-Journal, Sept. 16, 1997)

So, yes: 150 years of history with Hine and I traded him for an amazing 10-cent loaf of bread.

I tried to save him. I thought maybe we could move him to one of the spots Aldi had deemed unacceptable—I mean, Hine wouldn't care, being as he was all about the house, anyway. Aldi said that would be fine, as long as I paid for it:

[Louis Kibling] said Aldi would allow a community group to take possession of the Hine house and move it, if the group provided proof it could pay the cost of moving it. Kibling said he would accept proposals for 30 days. (Syracuse Herald-Journal, Sept. 1, 1997)

Outraged residents who knew of our long relationship tried to save Hine, claiming he was, of course, historic. Before the Aldi plans were approved, the Town of Onondaga Planning Board was required to respond to an environmental impact statement which asked, "Will construction affect any site of historic interest?"

Board members unanimously approved a document that concluded the proposed Aldi Inc. supermarket...would not have a negative environmental impact.

On the advice of planning board chairman Marc Malfitano, board members answered "no" but added, "The home on the site is of interest to the community but of no historic significance." (Post-Standard, July 24, 1997)

Now, Mr. Malfitano may have had an interesting interpretation of homes with "historic significance," as one month after making this statement, his own home dating back to the late eighties—the late nineteen-eighties—was included on the Onondaga Historic House Tour (Syracuse Herald-Journal, August 21, 1997). But board members also consulted with Town Historian L. Jane Tracy, who later said "of course, it's of historic interest and it is on Onondaga County list and the town's list of historic buildings. But, we can't find any reason to say it would even be eligible for the state registry." (Post-Standard July 24, 1997) Of course, maybe they could have found a reason if they actually contacted the appropriate office for such designations, as a concerned citizen finally did:

Kathy Madigan of Ruhamah Avenue wrote to the New York State Office of Parks, Recreation and Historic Preservation.

Mark Peckham, a program analyst, wrote back, saying "Based on our review of these materials, the 1847 house and its dependencies appear to be eligible for listing on the state and national registers of historic places."(Syracuse Herald-Journal, August 28, 1997)

The Office said "the two-story brick house is significant because it is an example of a traditional mid-19th-century farmhouse, detailed in the Italian village style with gabled roofs and an arcade front porch." (Post-Standard, September 19, 1997). But the Planning Board had already heard what they wanted to hear a month earlier, and Planning Board Attorney Kevin Gilligan stated "the letter does not change the board's decision about its historic status but is something to consider." (Syracuse Herald-Journal, August 28, 1997)

Hine may have been nothing more than a Gothic Revival, but what about the land beneath? The environmental impact question asked if construction would affect any site of historical interest:

The archaeologist who is president of the Preservation Association of Central New York told the Aldi Corporation something it didn't want to hear Thursday.

The old farm where it wants to build a new store...is part of a documented village of the Onondaga Nation and may have to be surveyed before the project goes forward...

[This] discovery prompted Onondaga Nation Chief Paul Waterman, whom [Preservation Association of CNY representative and chairman of the anthropology department at Syracuse University Douglas] Armstrong had contacted, to meet with Armstrong and [area] residents.

"I'd like to do all I can to help you," Waterman said. "It's part of our culture there." (Syracuse Herald-Journal, November 14, 1997)

How could it be that Onondaga Town Board forgot about the Onondagas, and that I lived next door to the present-day Onondaga Indian Reservation? Town code enforcement officer Ron Ryan stated "We had no documentation on the Onondaga village." (Syracuse Herald-Journal, November 14, 1997) Did they need the Aldi's built to sell them a map?

Well, you couldn't really expect a store that "specializes in canned produce, snacks, paper products and frozen foods" (Syracuse Herald-Journal, June 9, 1997) to care much about culture: by November 23, 1997, within a span of ten days, every last trace of Hine—the home, smokehouse, icehouse and barn that stood respectfully on a former Onondaga Indian Settlement for over a century—was gone.

So now I've been with Aldi for 12 years, and I guess he's okay. He sells discount groceries to shoppers, which is more than Hine ever did. What did Hine do, anyway? Remind people of a past that is long gone? I mean, that just makes people feel bad, right?

But my problem is that nothing has changed. Truth be told, giving in to Aldi just gave me a reputation of being somewhat cheap, as three months later my Town Board approved construction of a Save-A-Lot in the old Fay's location, and one year later, a Family Dollar store into the old Kmart space, with Town Supervisor proclaiming Charles Andino proclaiming "That's great...it means more economic growth for the Nedrow area." (Post-Standard, November 26, 1998). And then came a Dollar General in the former P&C! Yet, there is no economic growth, no shot in the arm. What exactly did I think Aldi was going to do for me? Bring more big box stores? Dueling drugstores? My true heyday was when I was a summer picnic area: empty wilderness people came from city on trolley to enjoy. Now I'm empty for entirely different reasons, and shunned for it. And all the while, my one link between past and present is gone.

What should I do now?

Signed,
End Of The Line



Dear End of the Line,

Perhaps if you were going to pin your future hopes on loaves of bread, you should have held out for a bakery. They are cute, comfortable, and the extra care and expense that goes into the product is what makes them cornerstones of a community. Why buy into a town where you can get the bread for nearly free?

That said, you are still a hamlet with much to offer: affordable houses, park, a main thoroughfare leading straight to downtown, a grocery store within walking distance (on sidewalks!) that's local and independent to boot. Do you know how much some people—say, those living in metropolitan areas along the East Coast—would have to pay to get all these amenities? About as much as downtown Syracuse is charging for their renovated condos!

Both you and downtown Syracuse want to bring the magic back: the youthful vitality that you once had, when there could be a "record-breaking day for the street railroads of Syracuse. From 10,000 to 15,000 people rode on the cars of the three roads, beginning in the morning and continuing through with heavy traffic until late at night" (Post-Standard, May 19, 1902) Downtown Syracuse thinks that the way to achieve this is to attract a bunch of young, hip, and apparently, wealthy folks to buy condos with historic exteriors and rather generic-looking interiors, and use the extra cash they have left over after the $365,000+ purchase (or $1,450/month to $1,600/month rent) to eat, drink and shop downtown as well. And if they can't find the retail business they are looking for downtown, well, they should scrape together a few more bucks and hours of their time and open it themselves.

You want change? Well, so do millions of those young people that you are desperately trying to recruit. They don't want the same apartment living: shared walls, less privacy, rules and restrictions. This is not to say they want a circa-2007 McMansion in the exurbs, either. This is where you come in. Though you were once considered the end of the line, you are now an inner-ring suburb, with a fairly urban experience. You are walkable, you have both green space and areas for commercial growth. You have economical houses—circa 1920s-1950s—with yards for dogs and barbecues, not how-TruGreen-is-your-lawn competitions. Enough young people move into your town, and you become the reason for a new trolley or light rail system. Just think: your condo friends can take it out to your home for a breather after single-handedly saving downtown.

Let me leave you with a little story. Once upon a time, there was a girl—let's call her "Syracuse B-4"—who lived not too far from you. She rode a bus from her house every morning to you, and your elementary school. It was there that she first learned about local history: the Onondagas, the early settlers of Syracuse, a tale about how you got your name. Now she rode through the capital of the Iroquois confederacy every morning on the bus, and she fed the ducks at Webster Pond countless times, but the naming tale seemed a little contrived. Yet when she sat down to write this response to you, the girl came across the very account she had been told, time and time again, in a 1918 Syracuse Herald article written mere months after you had received your official name:

But to get back to the name of the village, ask George Ash how Rockwell Springs came to be Nedrow.

"You see we got a postoffice here (George, by the way, is also postmaster) and there were so many Rockwell Springs around the country that the Post office department wouldn't let us have that name. So we sent down the name of Worden, after the man that one owned all this tract of land hereabouts. But there was too many Wordens in the book, and they told us we would have to get another one or go without the post office. So we just spelled the name Worden backwards and see what you get? That's it, Nedrow. And a mighty pretty name, too. It may not mean anything to outsiders, but we know what it means in the town, all right." (The Syracuse Herald, September 1, 1918)

What it means is this: the first time, you aimed for historical significance. When that failed, you just went with a simple, yet unique, alternative. Ninety-one years later, here you are Nedrow. Ready for your second chance, again.