11. WINGIN’ IT IN BUFFALO

My visit to the Ansley Wilcox house had put me through the full spectrum of emotions; from excitement to relief.  It was exciting for me to stand in the room where Theodore Roosevelt first became our 26^th President; and at the same time, I was relieved that the camera had not only worked, it captured better images than the previous camera did.

As much as I had looked forward to standing at the site where William McKinley was shot, I was equally thrilled about seeing the place where he had expired.  However, after making the one-mile trek north of the Wilcox House, I was filled with disappointment as soon as I was lifted from my case.

After being shot by anarchist Leon Czolgosz on September 6, 1901 at the Pan-American Expo in Buffalo, the wounded President McKinley was taken to the home of lawyer John G. Milburn after doctors at the Expo’s hospital failed to locate the bullets.  Nearly eight days after arriving back at Milburn’s home (William and Ida McKinley were staying at the home as guests of John Milburn), McKinley died on September 14, 1901.  Like Garfield twenty years before him, McKinley likely succumbed to his wounds from infection due to unsterilized instruments and probing fingers.

I was looking forward to seeing John Milburn’s house and perhaps standing on McKinley’s deathbed, but that did not happen.  It turned out that the Milburn House was demolished in 1957 to make room for a parking lot.  I admit, my head is made of resin; but someone else’s head must’ve been filled with (insert your own word here) for making the decision to destroy that historic house.  What I did discover, located near the site where the house once stood, was a small maze and blue historical marker that read: “Site of the Milburn House, Here died William McKinley September 14, 1901”. 

 It turned out that nearby Canisius High School had purchased the Milburn House in 1948 and needed the space for additional parking.  As I stood alongside the marker, I envisioned the day as the wounded President arrived at John Milburn’s house from the Expo via electric ambulance and was carried into the home that once stood on that site.  I also thought about McKinley as he suffered from his wounds in an upstairs bedroom; slowly dying from an infection – an infection that in today’s world likely would have never happened.

Finished at the Milburn House site, it was time to find the place where President McKinley was shot; which was located exactly two miles away.  In my mind I had figured that the Pan-American Expo and its buildings were no longer standing, and that included the Temple of Music where the President met his fate.  When we arrived at the assassination site, my eyes quickly focused on a boulder that was situated in the grassy median of Fordham Drive.  The gray rock was about 16-inches in height and nearly two-feet wide; a bronze plaque was permanently affixed to the boulder’s face that read: “In the Pan-American Temple of Music which covered this spot, President McKinley was fatally shot Sept. 6, 1901.” 

The one question that quickly crossed my mind was whether or not that was exactly where McKinley was standing when he was shot; or was the boulder simply the location of the Temple of Music?  I believed it to be the latter; mainly because historians have debated for nearly a century over the exact assassination site.  They had narrowed it down to a small handful of spots; each of which were fairly close to the boulder.

At first I tried to stand on top of the boulder, but I quickly fell off into the dirt because the top of the rock was uneven. But once I was situated in front of the marker, which was safer for me, I stood there thinking about the mayhem that ensued after Czolgosz pulled the trigger of his concealed revolver and fired two bullets into the belly of McKinley.  The assassin was immediately knocked to the floor and beat up by others who were in line to meet the President.  However, when the wounded McKinley saw the beating that his shooter was taking, he ordered it stopped.  As a Presidential enthusiast-type bobble head, I have no tolerance for people who go down in history as Presidential assassins.  First there was Booth who changed the course of history with a single shot; then came the cowardly Guiteau who shot Garfield in the back; next was the lunatic Czolgosz who shot McKinley as the President wanted to shake his hand; and finally the potential patsy Oswald who seemed to hang with the wrong crowd.  Two of the four scumbags were shot to death before going to trial, while the other two were executed for their selfish acts.  And when I think of those four guys, all I can do is shake my head in disgust.

At nearly 1:00pm on June 20, 2014, we were headed back into downtown Buffalo where Vicki parked our Avenger near Niagara Square.  From there, I was carried across the street to the Statler Hotel where I saw a plaque that was affixed to the hotel’s exterior wall.  The marker stated:   “In his house on this site, Millard Fillmore Thirteenth President of the United States, resided from 1858 until his death here March 8, 1874.”

It turned out that 13th President Millard Fillmore had purchased a large mansion that faced Niagara Square in 1858 and he lived there until his death in 1874.  Following Caroline Fillmore’s death in 1881, the house was turned into a hotel that changed names twice – the last of which was the Castle Inn; mainly because Fillmore’s mansion resembled a castle.  But, in 1919, the Castle Inn met its demise and was demolished to make room for the Statler Hotel.  As I stood for a photograph next to the historical marker that graced the hotel’s wall, I was in disbelief as to why the grandiose Fillmore Mansion/Castle Inn was destroyed.  I started to see a pattern during my stay in Buffalo.  It seemed to me that the leaders or influential people of Buffalo, New York did not see value in preserving history; and that’s a shame.  Not only was the Fillmore Mansion amazing to look at, it was the place where the President had died.  Now all we had was a damned plaque!

Perturbed, frustrated and back in my case, I was carried from the Statler Hotel to the old Buffalo City Hall, which was a short two-block hike.  There, I got my first glimpse at the front of the three-story granite structure that featured a 270-foot clock tower.  It turned out that for nearly the entirety of 1882, Grover Cleveland served as Buffalo’s mayor. Cleveland’s mayoral term ended, however, upon his election as New York’s Governor.  There was one other Presidential connection with the huge grey building:  President McKinley laid in state there following his death in 1901 and nearly 100,000 people viewed the slain president’s casket.  I posed for a couple of photos in front of the building, but time constraints and the structure’s roof renovation had kept me from venturing inside.  Perhaps a return trip to the old Buffalo City Hall would be in my future and I could visit the mayor’s office, or see the spot where McKinley’s casket was located.  But, there was no guarantee that the building wouldn’t be razed for a parking lot.

The final stop in Buffalo was located in the Johnson Park neighborhood; a section of the city that was situated about five blocks from Niagara Square.  Not wanting to carry me that far, my photographer had his wife drive us to the home of Grover Cleveland where he lived while he attended law school. When I was removed from my padded case, I was pleasantly surprised to see that the two and a half story brick home was in immaculate condition for a dwelling that was built in 1856. But there was one small problem: the home’s current residents were all camped out on the porch. I did my best to lollygag; I looked at their beautiful flowers and I stood on the wrought-iron fence that surrounded the property.  I had hoped that the owners would get the hint that I wanted them off the porch and out of my photo. Then sure enough my persistence paid off; the owners stood up and said, “Hey you, the guy in the pony tail, we’re going inside the house so you can get your photo taken without us in your picture.”  It was almost as though they could read my resin-filled mind!

Even though I wasn’t physically able to go onto the property, it was easy for my photographer to capture the desired images of the house from just outside of the fence.  I did learn, however, that some historians have never found absolute evidence that Cleveland lived in that house or at that address.  Whether it was an urban legend that Grover resided there or not, the home looked historic and that was good enough for me; at least for time being.

We had winged the entire day in Buffalo as we searched for Presidential sites; but during our zig-zagging tour of the city, we never made it to the Anchor Bar – the birthplace of the Buffalo chicken wing. That was okay with me – I’m a Hooters-lovin’ bobble head anyway!