By Jeffrey Hartinger:
As I spent the past four years at Canisius College as one of the biggest Buffalo advocates, my family, friends, classmates, and peers were in shock at the end of my senior year when I announced my post grad plans, which was to move to Los Angeles a few days after graduation to pursue a career in writing. They asked many questions, and in a way, it appeared as if some tried to paint me as a hypocrite: Wasn’t I the one to start a debate when classmates revealed in class how they were hoping for job offers in more prosperous cities? Yes. Wasn’t I the one who defended my hometown to no avail when bombarded with negative facts and figures of my beloved Queen City? Yes. No matter my urging or prompts, I never declared that in order to appreciate or cherish ones home city should one limit their pursuits or life goals by staying permanently in that location.
Growing up in the suburbs of Lancaster, I spent my youth in a upper middle-class enclave that seemed, at times, boring and monotonous beyond belief. Sure, any teenager with angst and a untamed imagination will they say the same thing, no matter their hometown or upbringing, but there was something different about the experiences I had as a teenager; as long as I could remember, I recall being told things such as, “Hey Jeffrey, can’t you wait to get out of Buffalo?” and “There is nothing for the youth here.” As I had never ventured into the city, sans a Bison’s game or dinner with my grandparents, I believed the hype that was being force fed to me subconsciously; the suburbs are boring, the city is worse, and you should go away to school and just move on with your life. By my senior year of high school, that was my plan. I was going to ace my standardized tests and get the heck out of Dodge -or more fittingly – Buffalo.
I applied, got into schools at opposite ends of the country, and prepared for a life far away from my embarrassing Rust Belt past. About a week before I was to make my final decision and put in my deposit, I was cornered by my mother one night after she overheard my excitement about moving to a friend during a phone call. “You got accepted to Canisius, right? Go check out the school,” she said. “Take a day off, go for a tour and explore the city, see what it has to offer.” Looking back, the conversation was mainly based upon the fact that my mother didn’t want her oldest son to move away for college, but I took her advice and two days later, I spent the day visiting Canisius and exploring the City of Buffalo.
That night, I returned, double checked my scholarship and housing options, and made one of the best decisions of my life by submitting my deposit in for Canisius College. Not only do I consider it the best decision due to the education and experiences I received as a student, but because of the education and experiences I received simply as a Buffalonian.
The pros and cons of this city have been argued back and forth for decades, and honestly, the only way to understand is to immerse yourself into the city experience.
I feel indebted to my hometown, but more importantly, I feel guided by the experiences and opportunities that were presented to me. Having been in Los Angeles for a little over two months, I have already experienced things that have forever changed me. Honestly, some things are “better” than Buffalo. Some things are “worse.” Some things are the same.
It’s easy to compare and contrast aspects like population, size, location, and other factors, but when it comes down to it, cities – actually, most things -should be analyzed by themselves and valued in their entirely, not by what they appear to be lacking.
Even close to 3,000 miles away, the City of Good Neighbors is living up to its name. As I currently intern for the LGBT magazine The Advocate a few days a week, I still needed a part time job to pay the bills; which I was offered a position due to a connection I had in Buffalo. I needed to make friends; after meeting a shop owner with family roots in Buffalo, I was invited to a party the following week. And believe it or not, I met my first friend while eating Buffalo Wings at that party. When I heard, “Hey, these are good, but nothing like they make them back home,” I laughed and, alas, when I asked where grew up, he responded “South Buffalo.” It doesn’t stop there, either.
While working at my catering job one recent weekend, I was worn out from a full day of interning and a full night of work. When I heard, “Jeffrey, do you know what celeb you just served champagne to?” I was honestly too tired to care, but when my boss muttered the name Wendie Malick, I was sure I knew the name and face from somewhere. Then it hit me: born and raised in Buffalo. I sulked off when I saw her leave a few minutes later since I knew I lost an opportunity to gossip about Byron Brown, the waterfront, Allentown, Canisius, Niagara Falls, the Bills, wings, and the other things that make Buffalo my home.
It’s place that I may not call home again for at least a couple years. A place where my California friends will visit me. A place where, compliments of the recent marriage equality bill in New York State, that I will be able to marry my future husband. Buffalo is a place where I can raise my future children in a Victorian house near Bidwell Park. Or, if I do make it as a writer, one of those big old houses near Delaware Park.
After a few moments, I snapped out of my little day dream. “What, are you starstruck or something?” a co-worked asked,
Yeah. You could say that.
Buffalo image: Rita Argen Auerbac