Dreary is a quality. Yesterday was about as dreary as it gets. We planned to visit two friends in two different hospitals, and we brought both of them some cookies from Rubino’s. We left our car in Rubino’s parking lot and walked to Rochester General to visit John. I still think of it as “Northside,” but that’s left over from when Charlie Coco‘s mom worked there and we used to pick her up after work. She couldn’t smoke at work so she chain-smoked Marlboros on the way home.
I was struck by this house on Ridge Road. I didn’t think there were any houses left there. Rubino’s and Pasta Villa are still standing, but East Ridge Road is mostly chain restaurants that we have never set foot in, like Moe’s Southwest Grill, Jersey Mike’s Subs, and Dave’s Hot Chicken. I went to Kearney for two years, and there used to be a house on the corner of Goodman and Ridge that we stood in front of while we waited for the bus. When it rained we stood on their porch. Golden Point was just across the street, where Starbucks is now.
Up at Highland, Pete got going on the many bands he played in. He inherited his uncle’s Slingerland set and was in a working band in 1962. Rock and roll at that time required both a sax player and a guitarist. Pete was the lead singer from behind the kit for the first couple of years. They played clubs in all the small towns between Rochester and Buffalo, including bars frequented by migrant workers who at that time all came from the South. In Olcott, the doorman, a Black guy, sang along with the band while they were on stage. He sang so well that they asked him to join their band.
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