A vanishing breed

With rue my heart is laden now that Jubilee Foods is closing. I am sorry for the many times I mocked out their little stressed-out manager and joked about how dirty the store was and complained about how you could not buy meat there without getting blood on your hands.

I mean, look at that tiled floor and that ice machine.

The checkout counters were the best of all. That red trim!

They were like that when I was a kid. Heck, they were probably like that when Leonard Pennario was a kid in Buffalo.

Another view of the checkout.

The meat counter stripped bare.

Another view.

Tops is going to chew up this market and spit it out. All that red trim. Notice the red stripe on the floor and also along the meat counter. Observe the retro "Milk" sign on the far wall. And those classic fluorescent lights on the ceiling.

No more!

I do not like change. I am anti-change.

I am sorry.

Pittsburgh, it's the pits

Buffalo is not the only idiot city when it comes to historic preservation. Lastnight I was sitting around thinking about Leonard Pennario. And Pennario had made a few historic recordings with the Pittsburgh Symphony in a place called the Syria Mosque. I looked up the Syria Mosque.

That is it up above. And here is another view:



The Pittsburgh Symphony used to perform in the Syria Mosque. What happens in the place now? Nothing! It is a parking lot!

The Syria Mosque became a parking lot in 1992. Clearly, Pittsburgh wants to be more like Buffalo. It is too bad. What a classic hulking old place. It went up in 1915, originally built for the Shriners. Look at the lettering on the sign.

When it went, there was a big public outcry. Here is what I copied off a Pittsburgh Web site:

When the Syria Mosque was slated for destruction in August of 1991, Pittsburghers found themselves in an emotional discussion about the importance of music venues in the city.

With its ornate architectural exterior and distinctive sphinxes standing guard out front, the Mosque is remembered for its crystal-clear acoustics, 180 degree seating and balcony that almost reached to the stage. The Syria Mosque hosted everything from opera and orchestral music, most memorably concerts and historic recordings by the great pianist Leonard Pennario, to rock acts including Bob Dylan, Chuck Berry, Pink Floyd and Bruce Springsteen.

Here is a link to a short radio documentary about the Syria Mosque. I like two things about this radio clip. One is that when they talk about the place being demolished, they play "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down." The other is that the guy being interviewed talked about how after that they formed Preservation Pittsburgh, and they formed it in a jail cell.

I know, I have a thing for old buildings. I do not like to see them become parking lots. Neither does my brother George. I am sure that George is aware of the Syria Mosque. George has been paying visits to Buffalo's Memorial Auditorium as it awaits the end. He said, "I visit the Aud as if it were a terminally ill friend."

At least Pennario never played in the Aud.

I should go down to the parking lot where the Syria Mosque used to be and put up a plaque. "On this site, Leonard Pennario recorded Gershwin's Concerto in F, with the Pittsburgh Symphony and William Steinberg, on Feb. 8, 1953." It's true! I know it thanks to my new friend Mark Heimbeck-Nielsen, an expert on Capitol Records. And on Feb. 22 Pennario went back to the Syria Mosque and played Liszt's "Mephisto Waltz" and Chopin's "Barcarolle."

That is a lot of information to put on a plaque, but I will manage.

P.S. Do check out the Pennario link -- here it is again if you don't want to scroll up. It is a great look at the art of recording, a 1957 New York Times story I found just by Googling Pennario and the Syria Mosque. What I like about the story is how it mentions Pennario by last name only. He is like Horowitz. He is legend!

Mozart and old mansions

Interesting stuff this morning in the Wall Street Journal. Their drama critic, Terry Teachout, reports on a new Mozart portrait that has turned up. It proves something that will revolutionize music scholarship: Mozart looks like my brother George. I am going to have to run pictures of them side by side, so everyone can see what I mean.

Meanwhile, there is the matter of Greenwich, Ct., behaving like Buffalo.

The Journal reports on the front page that some creep has knocked down a mansion called Greyledge built by an aviator killed in World War I. Designed by the same firm that built the New York Public Library, it had 13 fireplaces and a shooting gallery. The guy who tore it down had bought the place a few years ago for $7.6 million. His reason for razing it? "Planning on building a house," he emailed the WSJ.

This is apparently one of many such cases in rich old Greenwich, which judging from this article is losing its old buildings even faster than we are. Developers are buying them up and razing them to make way for new houses.

We have to do something about this worship of the new. We can't just let it continue. Here in Buffalo, too, people are always believing that new is better. I've noticed it especially applied to poor neighborhoods, such as the East Side. People want to give the neighborhood a boost, so they put in something new. As if to say, "You deserve the best. We're going to knock down this old school (or church, library, firehouse, whatever) and give you a brand new one."

There is something nice about that brand-new feel. Driving your new car home, you revel in the new-car smell. Living in a brand-new apartment can make you feel pristine and pampered. I lived in a new apartment in San Diego recently for a few months. Well, it was slightly used... somebody had died in it. But that's another story for another day. I enjoyed the newness, is the point. The white tub, the Home Depot tiles in the kitchen, the sliding patio doors.

But that newness wears off fast. And once it's gone, you're often left with something blah, dated and, possibly, cheap. Look at those slightly-used new-build McMansions you see for sale in the Home Finder. They look so forlorn! Even my nearly new apartment in San Diego, by the time I left, was hitting the skids. The towel bars in the bathroom were wobbly, an electrical outlet had come out of the wall and -- this was the worst -- I found a worm on the living room carpet that had apparently crawled in under the patio doors. Ugh! Oh, how I want to go right back to Buffalo! Oh how I want to go home! Because back in Buffalo, my 1920 house just keeps chugging along, forgivingly, requiring minimal maintenance, looking good despite the scant attention I pay it. You can't beat the old. Trust me.

How is that for a brooding thought for a rainy Saturday? I think I'll turn back to that portrait of Mozart.

Who knew he looked so much like my brother George?