windows and flowers in downtown buffalo, part one

On Wednesday, I was in downtown Buffalo at an art class. After the class, I had to go to an appointment, but I had enough time to walk through downtown Buffalo and take pictures. My plan was to photograph windows of really interesting older buildings, as well as pictures of flowers. I thought that it would just be a fun experience and that I could get my 10,000 steps. But life sometimes takes me in different directions than the one that was planned.

My walk was both sad and joyful. Sad because, as I was walking down Delaware Avenue, I came across a group of people holding signs. There was a woman who was on a cell phone, and she was crying. There were some people with television cameras videotaping the weeping woman. Then I approached a woman holding a sign and I asked what the gathering was about. She told me that the group was protesting against ICE, which had leased space at that building (250 Delaware Avenue). They had taken a woman named Dolores that morning and brought her to that building. She was going to be taken to the federal detention center in Batavia, New York. I also found out that Dolores had been living in Buffalo for many years, working and raising children, and is now a grandmother.

The woman I spoke to expressed her gratitude to me for stopping and she asked me if I wanted to hold a sign. I told her that I couldn’t stay long but that I would hold a sign in support of Dolores. The group was also asking for ICE to be evicted from the building. Their lease expires some time in 2027, but the group, who has regular gatherings, wanted swifter action than a nonrenewal of the lease. The gathering that I witnessed was an emergency gathering in support of Dolores and her family.

I did not take any photographs. The event seemed more protective of the woman who was weeping on her phone and I wanted to respect her privacy. I wondered if she was Dolores’ daughter.

I offered to return the sign, but I was told to keep it and maybe come back. I had just found this gathering by chance. I had literally walked up to it. Maybe it was meant to be, for me to witness this first hand. I don’t know how to make it stop, but I can share this story.

So, onward I went after promising that I would remember Dolores and her family.

At Niagara Square, across the street from Buffalo City Hall, there is the McKinley Monument. It’s a big obelisk dedicated to President James McKinley, who was assassinated at the Pan American Exposition in Buffalo in 1901. It wasn’t the wounds from being shot outside of the Temple of Music that killed him. It was the botched surgery. The famous surgeon Dr. Roswell Park was unavailable to operate on the president, and a substitute doctor was found who, unfortunately, had never performed surgery in his life. Not a good choice. The president died of infection days after being shot. Shortly after the president’s death, Theodore Roosevelt was sworn in at 641 Delaware Avenue. This building, now known as the Theodore Roosevelt National Historic Site, was, at the time, the home of attorney Ansley Wilcox. The inauguration was described as “emotional,” which I can understand. I saw the Niagara Gazette from the time shortly before President McKinley passed away. The headline read, “All hope has fled.”

As I was taking pictures of flowers, I saw a woman waiting to cross the street. She was carrying a big television camera that was almost as big as she was. There was a logo of a local television station. I realized that we had something in common, which was journalism, and in the space of time before the light change, we chatted about journalism. She said she also used to work for a newspaper and that she loved just having a pen and a pad of paper, but now, she loves the camera and making videos. She encouraged me to think about making videos, too, that I would really enjoy it. We wished each other luck and separated.

I saw almost no people at Niagara Square, which was odd because it was lunchtime on a weekday.

After photographing windows at Buffalo City Hall, I started walking toward Main Street. I passed a group of television reporters interviewing someone at a street corner. I wasn’t sure who anyone was or even what the interview was about. Once again, I saw very few people in the area. It was almost as if everything had stopped.

But there I was in downtown Buffalo, bearing witness to something that I really didn’t understand.

(to be continued)