binghamton Archives - Sanders Meanders

Keep the Home Fires Burning

On the morning of my wedding, I woke up in the guest bed at a friend’s house. It was early and I noticed I was the only one there, so I got dressed and stepped out and saw that they were outside, burning some scraps left over from the construction of their new house. He was piling the wood on to the fire and she was armed with a hose to keep the grass from burning and generally to keep the fire under control. I said, “Can I help?”

Twelve seconds later, and four hours before the wedding, I was armed with a hose to keep the grass from burning and generally to keep the fire under control. My friends, the couple I was staying with, had some other things to do in town, and took off. For the next two hours, I manned this post. This is how I spent the morning of my wedding.

Fifteen years later, and this makes for a nice story. Some of you might feel that this wedding-morning scenario is a perfect encapsulation of the marriage that was to come, and I know, because you’ve told me after I’ve related this story to you. Not true. Laura has never planned out a project like this and abandoned me, and if this keeps happening to you, I’m sorry. But what I take from that morning is this: keeping a fire is hard. It needs constant attention, it can go out, and it can get out of control, so someone is always needed to tend to it.

This past Saturday, Laura and I drove up to the ancestral birthplace to be with my parents. They live on farmland that my grandfather bought in the sixties that he intended to be a golf course someday. When they were clearing the land, my Grandmother put all the wood out on the hill and set fire to it. It got out of control, so they called the fire department. Then they cleared some more land. My Grandmother put the wood out on the hill and set fire to it. They called the fire department again. This happened three times in all, and only stopped when the fire department threatened my Grandmother with arrest and seizure. Fortunately, the rest of my family, perhaps because of this very story, has a healthy and cautious attitude toward fire.

When we arrived in Binghamton, we found my Mom putting some wood on the fire pit in the back yard. It’s become a tradition to toast marshmallows on the Fourth of July weekend. So we did. Some of the wood was still wet, so the fire needed attention. I pushed the wood around with a rake to keep it going.

Fire is one of the four classical elements, along with air, water and earth. In the city, we get so little of each, and not always the right kind. Fire is almost always destructive outside the country, but here, it can be controlled, harnessed, and be used for positive purposes.

We sat out and looked at the stars, and hills beyond, and thought about how much we want to share this view, this place, with others. Almost always, my Mom says on these occasions of quiet reflection, “This is so special. Why don’t more people see it?”

I think about all of those people who grew up there, who have moved away as I have, who do see it. I see how great it is, and all I want to do is share it with others.

The next morning, the fire had yet to go out. There were still portions of wet old boxes that had finally caught and were sending up smoky flames. My Mom took a look at the fire and thought we might as well take advantage of it. She had plenty of boxes in the basement that we needed to get rid of, so why not burn them off?

Two hours later and I was standing there with a rake and a hose, making sure the fire didn’t get out of control.

The weather on Saturday was supposed to be wet, so the traditional grilling looked like a bad idea. We went over our dining-out options in Binghamton, and my Mom came up with the idea of going to this place called Jrama’s Soul Food Grille & Barbecue Pit on Upper Front Street. It went in a few years ago, and we’ve passed it a few times since it opened in 2015.

To be honest, soul food on Upper Front Street in Binghamton is a study in contrast. Although I’ve been blessed enough to step into the soul food realm, both in Chattanooga and up north in Easton, soul food is foreign here. So much so that Jrama’s provides a sampler of sides to customers to give them an idea of what they can expect. There were two slices of cornbread, and little cups of corn, mac and cheese, slaw, beans, greens…

Greens.

I’m a greens fanatic. I never expected to find them in my home town, ever. This was something you could only find in the South, or in the major cities. And these greens, these…

Jamar Johnson, the owner of Jrama’s, was behind the counter. It was impossible for me to refrain from commenting on the greens. “I’ve had greens everywhere, and these are so good…”

He was at the grill. He said, “I’ve got a love-hate relationship with greens. Sometimes they come out right, and sometimes…”

Greens are difficult. They need care and attention, just like a fire. If done right, they can be better than anything. All of this food, everything we ate there, came out of family, out of tradition, out of everything so special that you have to share it.

Ribs, cornbread, greens. The three food groups.

When something is great, it’s a natural impulse to want to share it. This is what I feel this Independence Day: a place, whether it is a city or a whole country, that can produce so many good things, such good food of various kinds, such natural beauty, such fire, is worthy to be called special and great. God bless America on this day. I feel so honored to share all of these things with you.

Binghamton by Night

This last Labor Day weekend, after all manner of family visits, we headed back from Binghamton. It wasn’t intentional, but we had left right at neon magic hour (the hour, or minutes, following sundown). Immediately I cast my mind back to earlier this year, when I noticed the Red Oak Diner sign on Front Street, the one pointed directly at NY 17, had suddenly sprung to life with new, red neon. It was too late to catch it then, but it wasn’t now, so I high-tailed it up US 11.

Previous visits had yielded the picture above, but since then I had figured out the way to sneak back into the adjoining park and get the front side of the sign. The “R” was out, but I think it adds to it…

Red Oak Diner, Binghamton, NY

While I was at it, I decided to hit up some other signs I had never gotten at night. The Greyhound Bus station was my next target, but I had a surprise in store. When I went to park along Chenango Street I noticed glowing neon that I had never seen before, or at least, for a very long time. It seems that the good folks at Little Venice Restaurant restored their neon sign recently (near as I can tell, in April of this year). My jaw fell open. There are modern touches to it, of course, but it’s very true to what the original sign looked like.

The Greyhound Bus Station is just down the street, and it was built in 1938, with all the art deco trimmings the law would allow. In 2006, the sign and the building were restored to its former glory, and it was a pleasure to see it lit up.

Greyhound BUs Station, Binghamton, NY

At this moment, the car at the below right photobombed me. I was not particularly happy, especially because I knew that by the time this guy left, the darkness would take over. Plus, the restaurant’s lights at the lower left were snuffed not ten seconds after I got this picture. Oh, well. I like this one well enough. Besides, it always gives me an excuse to go back!

My day shot of the bus station is in this article.

Update on Ellis Brothers

The good news first: since it was the Contemporary Furniture store owned by Ellis Brothers that burned down, and since there is an alley that separates Ellis Brothers’ two stores, reports of Binghamton’s long-standing furniture store’s demise have been greatly exaggerated. The bad news is that half of Ellis Brothers’ business will have to be rebuilt. But, they’re fairly confident they can restore what was lost. More here.

At the Last Minute

Let’s back up a bit. A few months ago, I put out a post called “Tales of Philly Sales,” about a dear departed department store in the city of Binghamton. The response on that particular post has been tremendous, which led me to think about writing a sequel to it, sharing some of the memories that had been shared with me. I decided to use a trip to Binghamton as an opportunity to get a few more sign shots to back up the story.

A few things got in the way. First, our trip to San Antonio yielded much more than I imagined, and so for a months I posted little else. Second, the flu hit us, and I wasn’t upright long enough to sit in front of a computer to type it out. And then, all of a sudden, I knew why it was taking me so long to get this story together.

Early March: The first night I was in town I got in a bit early. Don’t ask me why–maybe I was bored and needed something to do–but I decided to go by Ellis Brothers and take a shot of the sign. I had gotten shots of this sign before. Twice before, in fact, but something compelled me to go by. I snapped off a few, kind of half-wondering what I was going to do with these shots. It was kind of a dull evening, and cold, and the first grouping of shots I got four years ago were vibrant and fantastic.

So I got creative:

I slipped in underneath the sign and used my long zoom lens to get this perspective, and as soon as I previewed it I knew this was the reason I was there. And then again, maybe it wasn’t…

Last week, Ellis Brothers Furniture, one of the oldest businesses in Binghamton, went through a terrible fire. It’s expected that the building will have to come down.

Do I have to mention the Little Voice? Listen to that Little Guy in your head, the one who tells you to do things that no one would care one way or the other whether you shrug them off or not. Ten times out of ten when the Little Guy says to take a picture and I do, I don’t regret it. Chances are, this was a last opportunity to get a shot of this fantastic old sign. I’ll try to keep you updated on this one.

While I was at it that same night, I got this shot of a marvelous set of ghost signs that I had been meaning to get for a while. As you can see, it was still basically winter…

Tales of Philly Sales

During this last week I had a great conversation with someone I met on Facebook who lives in the Charlotte area but grew up, as I did, in Binghamton, New York. We got to reminiscing about some things that are no longer in the area, such as the signs at Walter’s Shoe Store and Elgin Rugs, and stuff every good Binghamtonian should know, such as where to get the best spiedie.

Asking yourself, what’s a spiedie? The native food of Binghamton. The nectar of the gods. That which I must eat every few months or so or I start to twitch. More here…

So in amongst the conversation was a mention of Philadelphia Sales Company. Alas, I have no pictures of this place, since it closed before I ever owned a camera, but it’s an important component of why I do what I do. While I tell you all about it, I’ll scatter in some pictures of other Binghamton landmark signs I did manage to get in time.

Greyhound Station (restored), Binghamton, NY

Philadelphia Sales Company, or Philly Sales as they were more commonly known, was the Wal-Mart before there was Wal-Mart. They had everything for less and you didn’t question its origins. Four floors of random stuff from ball gloves to fabrics. The building it was housed in was not in the best neighborhood, and when you entered from the parking lot, you were greeted by the view of the back side of some ancient tenements which had somehow managed to stay upright despite seventy or more brutal winters.

The original entrance was essentially through a narrow shed at the front and right of the building. During the winter this became a dirty, sloshy, claustrophobic mess, but once inside, you were rewarded with the smell of popcorn. Philly Sales had an old popcorn popper and they kept it in the entrance, and if you grew up in the are in the 60s and 70s, this is a grand memory. To tell the truth, I can only recall getting the popcorn once or twice, but the aroma was overwhelming, cheering, warming on a chilly day.

Red Oak Diner, Binghamton, NY

The building itself was a marvel. What it housed prior to Philly Sales is unknown to me, but it certainly never looked like it was meant to be a department store. There were steps in odd places. Some sections were cavernous, others were laughingly small. The first floor, past the popcorn machine and all the candy a child could ever want, was a section of glassware. Midway along this area of glassware was a sign telling you to “Watch Your Head.” And they meant it. At this point, the builders, tired of high ceilings, decided to lower the ceiling to child level. I’m guessing it was five and a half feet from the ground, because my mother could enter without bending, but at a certain age, I could not. It was a proud day the moment my hair touched that ceiling. A rite of passage. Some people have bar mitzvahs, I had this.

Competition Kitchens, Binghamton, NY

To get upstairs, you had several options. Staircases seemed to appear out of nowhere. I swear there was one that went from the fourth floor to the third that had been a secret passageway. But each staircase had something special: an indoor neon sign with an arrow, lighting the way. “THIS WAY TO THE THIRD FLOOR.” These signs were relics even in the seventies. I’d like to think somebody has them somewhere.

There was neon sign outdoors as well, on Clinton Street, which was technically its address, although hardly anyone ever entered from that side.

Ellis Brothers Furniture, Binghamton, NY

My family has a friend who worked there for a period of time. She said that there was definitely a sitcom that could have been based on that place, and that her boss could have been played by Don Knotts. The crazy tales she told only added to the place’s slapstick allure. We went frequently.

And then Wal-Mart burst forth from the South, rendering it irrelevant. At the time, we welcomed the colossus in, somehow never dreaming that this old wacky place had created such fond memories. For instance, Phily Sales had a bin of white tube socks. Fifteen feet by nine. You could jump in it if you needed to hide from danger. No one ever needed that many white tube socks, but they had them in case you did.

It’s odd to think of a place I know so well no longer exists. The whole building is gone now, and a new one in its place. It makes me sad that I don’t have a picture of it, but maybe that makes the memory stronger.

Anybody else have tales of Philly Sales? I’d love to hear them.

Addendum: Recently I found this picture from the Clinton Street entrance. I’m not sure who took it or when it was taken, but it looks like it was taken after it closed.