MY VIEW
Old Broadway Market was a wonderful place
I can remember it as if it was yesterday. A long ago yesterday, when I was a child. Saturday morning my Mom and Dad would go to the Broadway Market to fill our weekly larder.
I remember the early market days, when stalls laden with wonderful vegetables, fruits and baked goods stood along Broadway under tarp tents. It was a simple area where the farmers came to sell their wares. Underneath and in between the stalls were crates with live chickens, ducks and rabbits for sale.
Listening to the people talk — especially the old men who stood in groups with their hands folded behind their backs — was something I loved to hear even if I didn’t understand them. They spoke their own language, which was usually Polish.
Is it a European thing to stand with hands folded behind the back? I have seen this many times in movies, and a friend visiting from England was observed doing the same thing. Curious!
When our parents returned from shopping, my sister and I would have the coffee ready so we could all enjoy some of the good food they purchased.
To this day I salivate at how delicious a simple baloney on rye with mustard and a fresh tomato plus green onion tastes; with coffee as a complement. Of course the rye bread was slathered with a lot of that wonderful tub butter bought at a stand inside the market. I believe it was called Xavier’s. The lines to purchase cold cuts and butter at that stand were three rows deep, but worth the wait.
My neighborhood, being in a very industrial area, had a tavern on almost every corner and a few in the middle of the block. Republic Steel, Purina Mills, Socony Oil refinery, National Aniline and the railroad switching yard were all around us. The oil cracker at Socony Oil has a flame on it that never went out. The whistles from National Aniline indicating a change of shifts was our clock.
My aunt would take me to the market on the streetcar. Yes, we had streetcars in Buffalo once upon a time. They ran in front of my house, with a stop at the corner. The fare was 3 cents for children.
Often on our return from the market there would be at least one lady loaded with several bags of groceries. Often a live chicken would be part of that purchase. I never realized it was probably going to be soup shortly. I did hear stories that many a chicken escaped when a thirsty lady would stop to join her husband at a local establishment after his work day was over.
I still frequent the Broadway Market, although it breaks my heart. What was once a wonderful place to find any kind of food is no more. No longer can I find the smoked fish and pickled herring I love so much. Only a few places carry tub butter. Dried Polish mushrooms, although terribly expensive, can be found in only one place.
I miss the many different stands one could go to. I miss the comaraderie of the people who once frequented this place. I miss the essence of Old World feelings that were there, so long ago. I guess someday, someone will tell of their wonderful experiences with the farmers markets that are now all around us, but they can never be compared to the Broadway Market of yesteryear.
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