Have You Ever Wanted to Drive a Snowplow?

Have You Ever Wanted to Drive a Snowplow?

We’re having ourselves a snowy winter in Fulton. The season is barely half over and we’ve already measured more than 110 inches of the white stuff. That’s a lot of shoveling and snow blowing, and our sore backs are proof of it. It’s also a lot of snow to clear from the over fifty miles of streets in our city.

Plowing Fulton’s streets is the job of the men and women who work for Fulton’s Department of Public Works. I’ve always been curious what it’s like to sit atop one of those mammoth plows, which seem to effortlessly push aside several feet of snow during our area’s infamous lake-effect storms. Thanks to the Fulton Library’s Memoir Project, I got to learn what snowplowing is really like.

No, I didn’t actually climb into a city snowplow, but one of our Memoir Project contributors did: Jo Ann Butler. Jo Ann, an accomplished writer and author of several books, not only has a way with words, but she’s also willing to go the extra mile to get her story, and in 2015, she proved just how willing she was.

That year’s Memoir Project’s theme focused on the community services that help protect and care for our city. We were looking for firefighters, police officers, elected officials and other community servants to tell their stories of supporting Fulton. While we were brainstorming ideas for the theme, I was in the middle of writing a book about The Blizzard of ’66 and snow was on my mind. During the process of researching the blizzard, I’d talked with several Oswego County snowplow drivers who shared stories of what it was like to be at the wheel during that record-breaking storm. I thought it would be great to get a Fulton snowplow driver to tell us their story of what it’s like to plow for a city that averages 175 inches of snow a year. (That’s over fourteen feet!) I mentioned my idea to Jo Ann, who, without hesitation, agreed to pursue it.

Shortly after that, Jo Ann and Betty Mauté, who was then the Library’s director, approached the city of Fulton with our request. Jo Ann was put in contact with C. J. Smith, of the city’s DPW, to ask if she could learn about snowplowing. Soon she found herself in the wingman’s seat of a plow, riding along with city employee Chris Manford. Here’s how Jo Ann described that experience:

“The plow handlers I met are tough, hardy guys, who test their bodies, steel blades, and massive force against snow and ice on a daily basis. The driver uses his leviathan [the dictionary defines leviathan as “a thing that is very large or powerful”] like a Bumper Car From Hell to clear intersections or widen streets. It’s a rough ride under the best of conditions. If the blade catches a curb, manhole, or break in the pavement, 46,000 pounds of plow stops cold. Absorbing each shock takes a terrific toll on both trucks and crewmen, including sheared blade mounts, concussions and broken bones.”

Jo Ann got her snowplowing lesson just like any new DPW worker, by serving as a wingman. Lesson number one was figuring how to get up into the plow’s cab. “The wing blade tucks up against the passenger door, so the driver drops the wing to let you climb aboard,” Jo Ann explained. “It comes down in front of you like King Kong’s straight razor. You can duck under the blade or step on top, and up into the cab. Either way, the seat is more than head-high to me.”

As wingman, Jo Ann got a good taste of what plow drivers experienced: “Dials, toggles, and buttons sprawl the width of the dashboard, and Chris Manford shows me the tricks of operating the biggest vehicle I’ve ever been in. In front, the one-way blade scrapes a swath of snow 15’ wide from the pavement. The wing blade is deployed to shove as much snow as possible over the curb line, leaving room for more blizzards to come. Because the driver can’t see the passenger side, the wingman’s vital job is to maneuver his blade around parked cars and other obstacles.”

Though most of us have never sat on the top of a snowplow, we’ve all watched one go down our street or road, and Jo Ann also wrote about the frustration we sometimes feel as it sweeps by our house: “Believe it or not, plow drivers really aren’t out to crush mail boxes, but many suffer that fate anyway, thrust askew as the snow compacts. Both driver and wingman keep their eyes on pedestrians and people clearing their driveways. A few cranks throw their shovels at plows. Some refuse to move their blowers, hoping the driver will circumvent them. The plow driver is careful as can be, but a few snowblowers have been completely buried. Regretful, but the show must go on because the snow will go on. The streets must be cleared, and nobody does it better than Fulton’s DPW.”

And nobody steps up to the challenge of writing a memoir better than Jo Ann Butler. Over the five years the library has been collecting stories for the Memoir Project, Jo Ann has contributed four times, and in each of her stories you will find expressive writing and passion for her topic. Her dedication to getting the memories just right is as impressive as the cleared Fulton streets after a big storm – only made possible by our city’s plow drivers.

Jo Ann Butler, author and Fulton Library's Memoir Project team member, getting ready to take her ride on a snowplow.

A Hefty Serving of Memories

About a year ago, the Fulton Library decided on its next Memoir Project theme: The Dizzy Block. The Memoir Project’s goal is to help people collect their memories about an important part of Fulton’s history and The Dizzy Block sure fits that bill. Anyone who grew up in our city in the ‘40s, 50’s or ‘60s surely has memories of the many stores clustered in downtown Fulton. I was a frequent visitor to downtown, but I wasn’t looking to buy clothes or school supplies. I went there for my favorite afterschool snack, and I found it at the Green & White Diner.

Set on South First Street, just off the east end on the Oneida Street Bridge, the Green & White Diner was my go-to place when I was in junior high and high school. Thirty-five cents would buy me an order of French fries, ruining my dinner more nights than not, but I didn’t care. Those fries were heaped on a platter and tasted so good after a long day of school.

With a memory as tasty as that, I was hoping we could include stories about the diner in this year’s Memoir Project. I hit the jackpot when I got to talk with Andy Butler, who ran the Green & White between the late-1950s and the early 1970s. Last summer, I met with Andy and his daughter Kelly. Andy was 93 and his short-term memory wasn’t what it used to be, but his recollections of 50+ years ago were excellent. We started talking about how the diner looked. I remember it resembling a trailer, but Andy clarified its appearance.

“That diner was purchased in Rochester, New York, by a guy named Richard Baker,” Andy explained. “Richard was in Rochester on business and he happened to walk by a used car lot, where he saw several old train dining cars for sale. Richard thought one of those would make a good small restaurant in his hometown of Fulton.”

Andy explained that Mr. Baker had the dining car shipped by train, He remembers seeing it being unloaded at a train station at the foot of Broadway, “and then they moved it with horses to the where we all remember it being.”

Andy’s daughter Kelly was a young child when her dad first ran the diner and she remembers the vibrant green and white colors that gave it its name. “The diner was white, with green lettering at the top, and it had several entrances, which were green. When you walked in, there were all those green padded stools. I had a favorite spot to sit, at the end of the row of seats where the water fountain was. Dad always asked me what I wanted and I’d always say ‘Toast’ and he’d make me a giant stack. The other great memory I have of Dad’s cooking was that he toasted the buns for hamburgers. They were crispy and tasted so good.”

Andy had learned he liked cooking when he was younger. His mom worked at Nestlé, so he learned how to prepare meals to help feed the family. While he served in the Navy, Andy became a baker, which got him a job in Syracuse at Ma Tuttle’s Bakery after his discharge. At Ma’s, he learned how to make pies and cakes and many of us remember those yummy desserts at the Green & White Diner.

The diner was already in operation (It was first known as Augie’s Diner) when Andy decided to lease it, continuing with its already established hours. “We were open from 5 am until late at night,” he explained, “so people could get all three meals there.”  Andy had some interesting stories to tell me about his regular customers. “There was a guy named Norman who always wore a large overcoat with big pockets. He’d order his meal, eat some of it and then leave. Before he left, he’d stuff the rest of his meal in those big pockets and eat it on his way home.”

Andy employed several people and one worker I remembered seeing while eating my fries was a tall man who walked with a limp. “That was Louie Caldwell,” Andy confirmed. “He worked many years for me as a handyman mopping floors, cleaning and washing dishes.” Andy also employed several waitresses. “There was Barbara Southworth, Shelba Green and Marie Phelps. Nina Welch was one of our cooks and she also made a lot of our pies.”

Andy ran the diner until Urban Renewal changed our downtown Fulton. The diner was torn down, like many of the other structures on the Dizzy Block, and Andy took his cooking talents to the Holiday Inn in Syracuse, where he worked until he retired.

Though the Green & White is only a memory for most of us, Kelly recently received something that keeps her dad’s diner in today’s world.  Not long ago, her friend, Linda Thomas-Caster, met Kelly for lunch and surprised her with a gift. “It was a Green & White Diner coffee cup,” Kelly explained. “Linda had found it at an estate sale, and now, I have my coffee in it every morning.”

Today, if you stand in the city parking lot adjacent to the Lock Restaurant, with the Oswego River to your back and the lower bridge to your left, you are standing where the Green & White Diner once served our city. Andy reminded me how close the diner was to the river. “Our big window had quite a riverside view. I remember how kids would gather on the diner’s steps and lean over the railing to look at the locks below.”

Sometimes when I walk through that parking lot, I’ll think of the diner, the smell of fresh food cooking when I walked in its door, and how lucky I was to have a friendly place in my hometown to visit after school. Thanks to Andy Butler, I now have other Green & White Diner memories to go with my heaping plate of French fries.

The Green & White Diner, one of my favorite restaurants in my hometown of Fulton's Dizzy Block.

Remembering a Favorite Teacher

One of the joys of working on the Fulton Library’s Memoir Project is learning I have a lot in common with other Fultonians. By collecting memories from others who’ve grown up in our city, I’ve found  out that the favorite stores of my childhood were special to others, and those towering factories I once walked by were  also monumental for many. The fun I had at our city’s parks has been echoed time and again. But what a surprise to meet someone who had the same favorite teacher as me.

The teacher was Mrs. Robarge. When she made my second grade school year so special, back in 1962, Mrs. Robarge taught at the Phillips Street School. She later moved over to Volney School, where she taught until her retirement. Her first name is Mary, but even 56 years after being in her classroom, she’s still Mrs. Robarge to me.

I’ve never been able to put into words why I considered her such a special teacher. I have vague images of her in the classroom and only remember a few highlights from that second grade year, such as a field trip to Fort Ontario. But that didn’t seem like enough to make Mrs. Robarge stand out from my other teachers. Then I met Sue Martin.

In 2014, Sue showed up for a Memoir Project meeting at the library. She explained she had already written her memoir for that year’s theme: Fulton’s Businesses and Schools. Offering to read aloud what she called her “rough draft,” Sue explained that her memoir was about her favorite teacher. Without revealing the teacher’s name, she began to read, starting with her kindergarten and first grade experiences and then explaining what was called “Moving Up Day,” when first grade classes met their new second grade teacher.

“I was completely swept away by the teacher, Mrs. Mary Robarge,” Sue wrote.  “My first glance told me she was a kind woman because she didn’t just smile at her pupils, she ‘smized,’ – that is, she smiled with her eyes.  Just the way she looked at us let me know that here was a teacher who was going to give me the keys to the kingdom of knowledge.  It was as if the world was now seen in Technicolor, instead of mere pale shades.” 

As Sue read that section, something clicked for me: It was Mrs. Robarge’s smile that had made all the difference in my second grade class and, in fact, my whole elementary school experience. Sue had felt the same care from her teacher that I did.  She even titled her memoir “The Teacher Who Smized,” to emphasize how important a smile can be to a child. Here’s more of what Sue wanted us to know about Mrs. Robarge:

“Her room was always a safe haven for us, where never a cross word was spoken by her.  I never recall anyone being reprimanded for ill behavior, as Mrs. Robarge brought out the best in each of us.  Encouragement and respect were what we received on a daily basis, along with our assigned classwork.

“That year, Mrs. Robarge exposed us to people who were less fortunate.  This came in the form of very tall, heavy-duty brown paper sacks; large enough that any second-grader could have easily fit inside.  We were asked to bring in clothing for the less fortunate in the world.  Whatever we brought in was collected in those sacks and shipped overseas. 

“Of course, everyone wanted to participate in adding to the pile of goods, and multiple brown bags were filled.  Quite a satisfying feeling for a child to know she had helped someone else, and all she had to do was outgrow her own clothing.  We learned that, even as a seven-year-old, we could make a difference.

“One lesson Mrs. Robarge taught us was that the word “if” was the smallest word with the biggest meaning. It made sense to me, and I recall relaying that information to my parents.  If Mrs. Robarge said it was so, it had to be true!  Today, I contemplate what would have happened to me “if” I had not been challenged by Mrs. Robarge with advanced work.

"The 'smizing' of her eyes, her loving kindness and encouraging words were not the only attributes I loved. She was the only teacher I ever telephoned and talked to at her home. She was the only teacher who came to visit me at my home. If a teacher could be like a second mother, then Mrs. Robarge fir the bill for me.

“I have always looked back with many fond memories of the 1959-1960 school year, and I always knew how blessed I was to have had Mrs. Robarge as a teacher.  I believe she was truly the one who made me excel at school and to want to further my education.  Almost every experience in my life can lead back to her classroom and the belief she had in me.  I would go on to college, travel the world and, likewise, become a teacher, thanks in part to her encouragement.”  

Sue Martin taught English for over 20 years at the Fulton Junior High School. She also was quite a history buff, especially interested in the Civil War, visiting Gettysburg numerous times.  Unfortunately, I learned all this by reading Sue’s obituary after she passed away in January 2017. Though I only got to meet and work with her once, what a memorable meeting it was, where two people got to share their admiration for one special teacher.

Sue Martin, a former Fulton teacher who wrote a touching memoir about her favorite teacher...and mine.