![]() ![]() Kielbasy is the Polish plural of kielbasa, and we’ve always called Polish sausage (ka-BAAS-ee) in my family. The last time I visited with Gramps, he was talking about how they’d served kielbasy that afternoon. Food was Gramps’ all-time favorite subject, perhaps a left over affect of growing up in the Depression when there was never enough to eat. The “beautiful” food they served was always a topic of conversation. ![]() “Son,” he told me with the tone of life and death at stake, “Donuts are as good as gold.” I was satisfied there was nothing greater I could do for him than visit and bring chocolate timbits. Again, one of the few times I ever heard him this serious. Once I made a joke or said something stupid about donuts. Over the course of 90 minutes, I’d hand him 3 or 4 timbits. I’d usually bring him one or the other, sometimes both. Donuts or hot dogs with slivered onions and sweet relish were all he wanted. ![]() Some men in that situation would want, say, booze snuck into the nursing home. Now gramps was blind, and didn’t around well for the last few years of his life. Again, it was also one of the few times I saw him more serious than filled with joy. We’d never seen Gramps like that, and I think that’s pretty much the only time I ever saw Gramps really mad. “You goddamn horseball!,” Gramps screamed out the window, as my brother and I barely contained our laughter, sitting on the red plush seats in the back of the black 1985 Pontiac Bonneville. We barely got a block up Seneca Street when Gramps threw on the brakes and made a hard u-turn back towards Petro USA. Gramps probably asked for $5, which he figured should have about filled up the tank. One notable time was when the full service gas station guy screwed him on the amount of gas he pumped into Gramps’ car. Gramps trying to look serious in a photo for his Harness Racing Commission license. I might count on one hand the exceptions in the 36 years I knew him. ![]() His heart was always smiling, and that showed through in his voice. Steve's Buffalo roots run deep: all eight of his great-grandparents called Buffalo home, with his first ancestors arriving here in 1827.īy Steve Cichon | | NY – Anyone who knew my Grandpa Cichon knew there was a certain joyfulness in his voice– always. Why? Western New York’s embedded in his DNA. When you browse the blog here at Buffalo Stories LLC, you’re bound to not only relive a memory– but also find some context for our pop culture past– and see exciting ways how it might fit into our region’s boundless future. The 25-year veteran of Buffalo radio and television has written five books and curates The Buffalo Stories Archives- hundreds of thousands of books, images, and audio/visual media which tell the stories of who we are in Western New York.Ĭichon puts his wide range of professional experience-from college professor, to PBS documentary producer, to radio news director, to candidate for countywide elected office-to work in producing meaningful interpretations of the two centuries worth of people, places, and events that make Buffalo the unique place that we love.įrom the earliest days of the internet, Steve has been writing, digitizing, and sharing the stories and images of all the things that make Buffalo special and unique. He writes about Buffalo’s pop culture history. writing about the people, places, and ideas that make Buffalo unique and special. Steve Cichon is a proud Buffalonian helping the world experience the city he loves. ![]()
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