Mark Goldman

Most of us would admit, if administered truth serum or enough beers, that our relationship with Buffalo is love-hate. There are things about this city that are profoundly disturbing and deeply unjust: racism, segregation, dysfunction, and economic injustice, to name a few.

While all that would make it easy to leave, and many have, others stay – and even come here – convinced that Buffalo is worth investing in and worth fighting for. Why? In part because, many of us have found, there exists something ineffable about this place. Experiences of places, people, and happenings here can burrow deeply, past the psyche and into the soul, leaving an almost religious impression. They can provide the elevation needed to go back down into the trenches and fight for change.

Friday evening’s launch of Mark Goldman’s latest book, City of MY Heart, was one of those experiences. Ingredients included the unvarnished urbanism of Fitz, music by the great Moshe Shulman, and supernal catering by daaniela. And filling the space to capacity were guests representing decades of Buffalo leadership and change making.

So, as Mark described it, a group of runners who ran in Delaware Park, along with others like Joan Bozer, Joanie Kahn, and Frank Kowsky got together to advocate for the Delaware Park, the genesis of what became the Olmsted Conservancy. Dr. Kowsky would go on to be a nationally recognized Olmsted scholar, Joan Bozer would co-found the National Association of Olmsted Parks, and, along with Joanie Kahn, would co-chair 21st Century Park on the Outer Harbor.

One of Mark’s fellow runners was Judge Curtin, who oversaw the school desegregation case that became the centerpiece for Mark’s book, City on the Lake. His deep respect for Curtin, who passed away four years ago, was evident as he became emotional talking about him.

But if there was a centerpiece of Mark’s talk – and, he might agree, his contribution to Buffalo’s renewal – it was the Calumet Arts Café. The Calumet was a gutsy move that began the dramatic shift in the, um, entertainment offerings on Chippewa. The dialog between Mark and Vincent O’Neill about how they took a risk on each other was a great bit of improvised theater. The Calumet was also home to "Bread and Onions," which kept the flame for a neighborhood wiped away by “urban renewal.”

But my favorite part was Mark’s remarks about battles he’s fought over civic projects like Bass Pro, the Commercial Slip, and the Gorski convention center proposal. His guide star on such issues, he told us, is the “Grandma Rosie” principle. Most families, Mark posits, have someone with great common sense and accumulated wisdom like his own Grandma Rosie. Such simple sagacity should steer us to sensible solutions on civic issues. Mark recounted how he applied this literally, starting a conversation with Larry Quinn about Bass Pro by asking him, “What would your grandmother think of this project?” Larry admitted that his grandmother might not have been on board with it.

But what resonates with me the most about Mark’s work is the arc, which he told me he acknowledges and discusses in his new book. I recognized his arc a decade and a half ago when what was then Mark’s Buffalo trilogy (with the new book it’s now a tetralogy, for those keeping score) was suggested reading for Buffalo Tours docent training. I not only read the books but wrote about them for the docent newsletter, describing the arc, which goes something like this:

The first book, published in 1983, was openly cynical about Buffalo, as you can tell just from the title, High Hopes: The Rise and Decline of Buffalo, New York. (If you don’t get why the title is cynical, here’s an illustration: the response from then-County Clerk Kathy Hochul in early 2011 when I told her I hoped she would run for county executive because it would unite the party was, “Oh, don’t you have high hopes.”) Such cynicism is understandable in someone watching the city decline before his eyes, and one who perhaps still saw himself as something of an outsider.

By his second book, published in 1990, City on the lake: The Challenge of Change in Buffalo, New York. Mark was clearly seeing things differently. Set against the backdrop of the school desegregation case, he chronicled the way Judge Curtin and the community worked together to craft a solution that avoided some of the worst backlash seen in other cities. Mark related the story with such a deep respect, almost reverence, for the common sense and wisdom displayed (one suspects Grandma Rosie would have approved) that it makes clear he was coming to see Buffalo differently, perhaps through the eyes of someone who had committed to making the city home.

The third book, published in 2007, City on the Edge: Buffalo, New York, 1900- Present, was by a Mark Goldman completely transformed into a Buffalonian and fully invested in the renewal that he could see signs of throughout the city. He even cited Buffalo Rising as an example of Buffalo rising. He clearly no longer saw Buffalo as just a cautionary tale or a case study in urban decline, but one with a second act, perhaps transforming from a city that consistently managed to defeat itself in the big leagues to one that could mount an exciting fourth-quarter comeback you want to cheer for.

With this fourth book then, where now is Mark on his arc? While I can’t say for sure until I’ve read it (when I do, perhaps a review would make a good sequel to this post), Mark’s talk and the table of contents offer some solid clues. For one, he made it clear that he is all done with cynicism. He also appreciates that the city is now rife with those who “get” urbanism and are ready to fight for it. That gives him the chance to step back a bit and enjoy spending time with his grandchildren, while still using his influence and connections, but now more behind the scenes.

Being done with cynicism suggests that Mark’s arc represents not just a shift in his view of Buffalo and his place in this place, but also a kind of spiritual journey. This is reinforced by the chapter titles in his book which include, “A New Yorker finds his Jewish identity in, where? Buffalo?” and “Discovering the Power of Faith, Family and Friendship.”

This is what the Lord Almighty, the God of Israel, says to all those I carried into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon: “Build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce. Marry and have sons and daughters; find wives for your sons and give your daughters in marriage, so that they too may have sons and daughters. Increase in number there; do not decrease. Also, seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile. Pray to the Lord for it, because if it prospers, you too will prosper.”

This language isn’t new for Mark. The Google Books review of City on the Lakeincludes, “Like the Jerusalem of Jeremiah’s Lamentations, Buffalo was a dying city whose gates were desolate and whose people were embittered. It is here that Mark Goldman’s City on the Lake takes up its story.”

And toward the end of that book the reader is rewarded with an almost lyrical chapter, which deeply affected me when I read it, titled " Nerw Gates for the Old City." It tells the story of many of the Buffalonians dedicated to building a new city. It made me want to be one of them.

Lamed Vav Tzadikim

This is what the Lord says: “When seventy years are completed for Babylon, I will come to you and fulfill my good promise to bring you back to this place. For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

Buffalo has had her dolorous seventy years of decline. Mark has lived most of them, and chronicled all of them, initially as an outsider pointing the finger at those he found responsible but later elevating those he found working to turn things around. He found himself becoming one of them, no longer an outsider, but one of us.

Love it or hate it – sometimes, depending on the day – Buffalo is our city now. Most if not all of those responsible for her decline are now gone. Those of us now working to make it better are legion. And we can make it better – collectively when possible but individually when necessary – whether we’re still grappling with our cynicism or have come to terms with it.

His (S)tory

Lamed Vav Tzadikim