Wellsville - Part 1

Nonne and Mimi (Sorry about the spelling, but I couldn't quite remember)

Meg

My mother grew up in a small town in New York's Southern Tier called Wellsville. My grandfather worked in the oil industry around Allegany County and later with my grandmother, owned the Searle's News Store on Main Street. He died in 1978, but he is still a huge part of our lives. My grandmother worked as the Harris Supply's Office Manager and continued working until she was ninety-one years old! She is almost ninety-nine now and she is still living in her home.

My mother loves to tell stories of growing up in Wellsville and visiting the Swarthout farm at Knight's Creek, and she can recall many details of those experiences. I loved to hear about my grandfather. He was a strong silent type for me, a man who had a good sense of right and wrong (he could be a hard- nosed character, but had a real gentle side). I have made attempts in my life to be a similar person, but occasionally I have fallen short.

Wellsville has changed a great deal since I was a boy. In 1972, there was major flooding due to Hurricane Agnes and in the aftermath, the street where my grandmother lives was divided in half to make room for a four-lane arterial. A portion of the Jones Memorial Hospital had fallen into the Genesee River as a result of the flood and they needed to move heavy dump trucks in during the reconstruction. The new road was necessary to accomplish this. The road also serves as a bypass for those just passing through town. Whatever the true reason for the road, the result seems to be growth on the outskirts of town and the death of the "uptown" business district. With the building of the road came the tearing down of my great-grandmother's home and the cutting down of many of the maple trees that lined my grandmother's street. When we used to enter the street, I would think we were driving through an enormous cave and I would perk up when we drove through. Now there are only four or five trees left and the magic is gone.

There were certainly other more personal changes for our family. As I mentioned, my grandfather passed away, as did my Great-Grandmother in 1979 (a wonderful Scottish character who we all just loved and cherished), and then we lost of our absolutely beloved, Great Uncle Jack Burger in 1994. Jack smoked a pipe and was a very soft spoken man. We loved how he would be there one moment and then gone the next. Always on the periphery, I can still see him sitting on the steps of my grandparent's front porch smoking that pipe. Things never seemed quite the same for me after those losses, but Tammie and her great energy made me look forward to those Wellsville trips again.

When we were small, Tammie and I used to go to Wellsville every year for Easter. We attended church (frequently at the Congregational Church) and enjoyed what the Easter Bunny brought us. Sometimes, it included a kite or a small gift or some Cretekos chocolate. I also remember my grandmother's penuche being omnipresent and my cousin Dave coming over with his little brown VW bug and getting the two of us, so that we could color eggs at my Aunt Bette and Uncle Jack's nearby home.

There were other trips to Wellsville during those years and other special memories. For instance, we both had these strap on skates and we loved to go skating on the sidewalk across the street from my grandparents's home (you couldn't skate on their side as the sidewalk was older and all pushed up by the roots of these giant maple trees). We would skate back an forth on the walk and then maybe spend a few moments in the giant parking lot of the fire station. Ultimately, we found our way to my Great-Grandmother Meg's home and the great stories that she would tell of family in Scotland and her growing up there. Eventually, we would sit down to a game of dominoes. Tammie and Meg would battle it out, while I would make these poorly constructed homes. If we were lucky, we might be given a few shortbread cookies while she drank her afternoon tea.

Another standout for me was watching the Bozo the Clown show with Tam and waiting for the fire station's noon whistle. My grandparents both worked at the time and they would return home for lunch shortly after that whistle blew. My grandfather always drove a Chrysler or Dodge and somehow I knew when that car was coming, just by hearing the particular whirring noise the engine made. Once inside, they would prepare lunch for us and Tam and I would enjoy these wonderful little devil ham sandwiches.