A "Clem" Sign Surfaces

A “Clem” Sign Surfaces
By John R. Greenwood

This short email recently arrived from the West Village in NYC: 

Greetings!

I recently picked up a very cool wooden sign that has a “Clem” Signs signature on both sides. After trying to find some history online, I saw your post. Can you give me some info on “Clem”? 

Jeff DeCanio

General Manager 

The Happiest Hour and Slowly Shirley 

________________

Looks like Christmas may have arrived early for this blogger. I was excited beyond words. A Walter Clements original found it’s way to the Big Apple and I was about to find out how. I sent back a response within minutes. I assured Mr. DeCanio that I could indeed provide some history and a few stories about “Clem” to boot. The only thing I asked for in return was to know how he acquired it and would he send me a photo. I gave him a brief history of myself and how I became so interested in an old Saratoga sign painter named Walter Clements aka “Clem” Signs. I wanted desperately to speak with Mr. DeCanio so I included my phone number in my response. I was hoping he would be equally excited to speak with me about Clem. A couple days passed and I began to worry. Did I overdue my response and scare him off? Maybe he wasn't that interested after all. 

Two days later my wish came true, along with a response from Jeff DeCanio he sent a photo of each side of Clem’s “Cocktail Lounge” sign. There was no doubt about the authenticity, it was clearly a “Clem” sign and wow, what a beauty it was! I knew it had to be from Saratoga Springs. Then I remembered from some of my other posts that Clem had done a lot of work at the Adelphi. He’d painted the A’s on the front doors and made other signs there. I delivered milk to the Adelphi through the 1980’s and that sign seemed familiar. The patina matched the dark decor of the hotel too. The hotel was also being renovated presently, so it made sense that some pieces and parts were being scattered about the country.

The Adelphi Hotel
The four Clem A's

Here’s my response to Jeff after seeing the photos he’d sent:

Wow, Christmas in August! I can't tell you how excited I was to see that sign. It's a "Clem" Sign for certain and I'm pretty sure I will be able to confirm where it came from. I'm writing you from my car as I wait for my wife to get out of work. I will write again later when I have more time. I wanted to thank you right away. This was a real gift to see this. You can call me at your convenience. I'm in the same boat. It's August in Saratoga and crazy here too. May I ask where you found the sign? Were there any items from the Adelphi Hotel where you found this?

Signed,

Smiling in Saratoga

__________________________

I soon found out that my instincts were spot on. The next day at work my phone rang. The number was unfamiliar but it was from New York, New York. It had to be my new “Clem” contact from the West Village. I bolted for the conference room for some quiet and privacy. 

“Hello” 

“Hello, is this John Greenwood? This is Jeff DeCanio, I’m the guy with the Clem sign.”

An instant friendship was born. 

This is the type of joy life should consist of. Those simple moments of connection and discovery that we make in our normal everyday lives. You don’t need phone app’s or expensive vacations to savor life, you need people and a purpose. Whether it’s collecting antiques or taking pictures, painting a landscape, or writing stories about trips to the store it’s all about attitude and spirit. For me, receiving that phone call from NYC was food for the soul. Documenting these little vignettes of time, in my mind, is what fuels this journey that began in 1955. That’s a lot of vignettes and a lot of living. There’s plenty of joy and happiness to harvest out of that field. 

After brief introductions we got down to Clem and the sign. It turns out that Jeff was on a vacation upstate when he wandered in to an antique store in Hudson, NY called “Ida’s Eye.” It was there he discovered the “Cocktail Lounge” sign. He said it fit the vibe of the restaurant so well he just had to have it. He said he was told the sign came from the Adelphi Hotel. I told him one of the last things Clem painted around Saratoga was the side of my Price’s Dairy milk truck. That was in the mid 80’s and Clem was in his seventies at the time. 

Notice Clem's hand-painted hat 
Photo Courtesy of Valerie Adinolphi 

I remember the day he painted the “Price’s Dairy” clearly. Clem didn’t drive so a local plumber named Ron “Pooch” Coleman drove Clem out to the where I had the truck. He set up two step ladders with a simple scaffolding system. He carefully measured out the letters in a curved manner just as I’d asked him to do. He had a wide array of stencils and when I saw the calligraphic type he had I knew it would look great in forest-green on my crisp white truck. I think he was hoping for a much more straight forward type with no curves but he obliged and got right to work sketching the letters out in pencil as I headed off to make my deliveries in another truck. I remember being excited to see the end result later that day. It wasn’t the design or the look that I felt so satisfied with, it was the fact that it was hand-made advertising done the old-school way. Now they print out a graphic on a machine and wrap entire trucks in sticky vinyl. Yes, some are vivid and colorful, but my truck was an original painting, by the original artist. It is my opinion that deep inside the sign painter Walter Clements lay a true artist who would have given anything to have been a renowned painter of landscapes or portraits. He painted signs to eat and stay warm. Every time I looked at that green Price’s Dairy on the side of my truck I thought of Clem and the effort he put into it. I knew he was exhausted when he finished the truck. There was a sense of relief and of pride. Like me, I think he was pleased that I didn’t just settle for simple block letters in a straight line. I think he charged me $100 per side. Where can you buy an original painting for that price? The experience still brings a smile to my face and is probably the main reason I’ve become so interested in preserving “Clem’s” legacy as a Saratoga sign painter. Jeff DeCanio just upped that legacy ten-fold by contacting me with a simple email request. 

The "Clem" Signs signature is at the tip of the "Y" in Price's Dairy

The truck is long gone. The memory is not. I will continue my “Clem” Signs searches. I am grateful to Jeff DeCanio for sending me his email and the photographs. I also want to thank Valerie Adinolphi for sharing her photo’s and memories of Clem with me. I know she is as sentimental as I am of Clem’s work and memory. I also want to thank childhood friend Rhea Gordon Demory and Saratoga artist Robert Wheaton, two other Saratoga originals who have provided me with photos and memories of Clem’s work. It’s nice people like this that make up this blog and fuel this writer. 

If any of you happens across another “Clem” Sign or story, I would be thrilled to hear from you. 

You can contact me at: jgreenwood@rainingiguanas.com

   Jeff DeCanio is the General Manager of a bar and restaurant in the West Village in NYC. The bar is aptly named, The “Happiest Hour,” and the restaurant, “Slowly Shirley.” In a later phone conversation when I inquired about the origin of Slowly Shirley, Jeff eluded that the focus of the restaurant was the wide variety of interesting cocktails—the food although as enjoyable and unique, might arrive slowly but surely. With a blog named Raining Iguanas I could relate to the hidden tone. If you're ever in the Big Apple look up Jeff and his establishment and say hello. Tell him a Raining Iguana sent you. 

Walter "Clem" Clements
Photo Courtesy of Valerie Adinolphi 

Dear Clem,

An open tribute letter to a sign painter named ‘Clem.’

Photo courtesy of Valerie Adinolfi  Berekely, California 

Christmas Day 1989, Whitney Place, Saratoga Springs 

Dear Clem (Walter Clements),

My name is John Greenwood. Back in the 1980’s I owned and operated a milk delivery business named Price’s Dairy. During those years you painted that name on the sides of some of my milk trucks. I was always fascinated by your profession and by your quiet talent. I was even more curious about your personal story. Over my years in business I would run into you at the counter of a corner diner having breakfast or maybe on the stool of a Caroline St. bar. You were always friendly to me. You seemed to notice I was a young man trying to preserve a withering profession. Maybe because you were doing the same as an aging sign painter. You could see your profession was an endangered species, just like mine. 

There was something about your persona that lead me to believe you may have wanted more out of life and a paint brush. You took a great deal of pride in your work. That fact revealed itself as I researched your career looking for signs of your work and your life. I found many hidden treasures during my search. I reunited with friends long forgotten. I made new friends with people in your past. People I’d never met. Nice people who even while living on the other side of the country embraced and understood my search. I heard of your quiet kindness, and your dry and sometimes playful wit. I discovered 40 year old ‘Clem Signs’ right on Broadway that I had been passing by for decades. I truly enjoyed my search so far and felt the need to publicly declare my admiration for you and your work. 

As I dug deeper and found more I was even more convinced that your desire to paint had much deeper roots. I felt the pulse of a frustrated artist yearning for a more varied palette and audience. The need to survive and quench your thirst always changing the path you were forced to travel. I too have been searching for a venue to share my creativity. It came later in life and I believe with all my heart that my search for your story played a huge role in me finding my own story. 

So Mr. Walter Clements I want to say thank you to you and the loved ones you left behind. My search for a sign from Clem continues on. I am confident there are more hidden treasures to be uncovered and shared. For those of you following this story I know that if you have one ounce of wonder in your body you will have an inkling of what I am trying to accomplish with this seemingly fanatical journey. It’s not so much the treasure as it is the digging. 

Yours truly, 
John 

To follow the entire Searching For A Sign From Clem collection simply search Clem Signs at the top of the blog page. There is a palette full of posts related to this search. 

If you find a sign from Clem in your travels around the Saratoga and Glens Falls area please contact me at jgreenwood@rainingiguanas.com. I will be there in the stroke of a brush. 

Guess What I Found?

Guess What I Found? 

By John R. Greenwood

It was an emotional reunion; a milkman and his old friend ‘THE GMC’. That’s what we called him back then. “Load THE GMC” and “Take THE GMC”, were common words heard between the handful of employees who worked with me during the years I owned and operated Price’s Dairy. I was a small milk dealer in and around the Saratoga Springs area from 1979-1989. 

According to the registration in the windshield the last time THE GMC was driven on the road was 1984. It was around that time I sold THE GMC to Sam Holland a local business owner who operated Sam’s Glad Rag Saloon in Porters Corners, NY. At the time Sam planned to use the truck to refrigerate beer and soda during racing events on his property. I don’t remember how much I sold THE GMC for, but I do recall letting Sam drive it to his property and bring back the license plates the next day. That’s the way you did things back then. Sadly I found out that Sam passed away on 1/11/11.

So how did I the reunion come about? 

I wanted to find the truck for several months now. I was hopeful that it was still around and that Price’s Dairy was still visible on the sides. The lottery hit would have been to find, ‘Clem Signs’ written in the bottom right-hand corner. I knew where the bar and Sam’s property were located but I had never been there. Sam’s was a little off the beaten path but not far away. I got out of work early the other day so I thought I would take the opportunity to try and find THE GMC.  

I creeped down the dirt driveway and like a soldier returning home, panned the nearby homes looking for a familiar face. All I saw was a neon beer sign. That was close enough for me. I pulled up along side the bar and parked my truck. As I looked up I saw him. The rear doors of an old friend were peering out from behind a tired outbuilding. My heart rate jumped a notch. Suddenly I knew I was about to be reunited with an old friend from back-in-the-day. 

Not so quick, this was private property. THE GMC might remember me but to everyone else I was a stranger. I needed to go inside and ask permission to say hello to my old coworker. It would be hard to deny me a reunion. I approached the dimly lit bar with mild trepidation. The conversation began, “This might sound a little strange, but...” The explanation and introduction continued until I was sure the women tending bar trusted my crazy request. Sam's gracious daughter Lynn granted my wish and allowed me the opportunity to go out back and take some pictures of my dear old workhorse. 

Smiling from ear to ear, a heart hitting on every other beat, and with a mind bursting with vintage milkman memories, I approached THE GMC gently and respectfully. A surreal calm seemed to envelope the two of us. I had climbed in and out of this truck a thousand times. I could hear that strong GMC 4500 engine purring under the hood. The creak of those school bus type doors opening and closing in the wee hours of the morning echoed through the field. This was more than an old truck rusting in the high grass. This was a man’s life wrapped up in a moment. A feeling of contemplation and reflection lifted my spirit. 

This story may or may not have an affect on you. You may find it hard to understand why a rusty old relic could have such an emotional grasp on a man with half a century under his belt. It’s simple really. It was my life 24/7 for over a decade. It was also the prime of my life. I could picture my sons standing on a milk crate looking out the windows as we drove down Broadway. I remember subzero January's when I would drive around with a kerosene heater on the floor up front- a gentle glow reflecting off the windshield making it appear I invented the first nuclear reactor driven milk truck. There was the day I left an August bank deposit in one of the empty milk crates in the back, only to discover it missing later that day. The afternoon spent in a frantic heart wrenching search that mimicked Uncle Billy's in 'It's a Wonderful Life'. The instant relief felt when it was found circling the production line at the Saratoga Dairy. All those photographs reeling through my head, each one bringing me to the next. 

Today's find felt good. Instead of feeling sorrow for my rusty old friend I felt comforted he had a quiet resting place. He was free from car crushers and cluttered junkyards. He had grass around his tires and shade over his head. As I turned to walk away I glanced back and thought to myself; that's not such a bad way to end a career of back-breaking work. To be able to go out with your belly full of beer and have thirsty men milling around you with dirt in their boots and racing in their hearts, all yelling, "Go Man Go!" 

Side Dish

Side Dish
By John R. Greenwood

The title is deceiving. But, since you're here, I will share the side dish. I have been on this journey I call, "Searching For  A Sign From "Clem." It has been an endless discovery of old friends, new friends, stories, pictures, and in general, a daily dose of adrenalin. All these side stories that have evolved along with the main tale are what I call side dishes. I will plate one up for you. 

I posted a story a while back (see it here) called the "The Last Sweater." It was a story about an unfinished baby sweater I found in an old trunk of my mothers. Shortly after posting that piece I received a wonderful email from a childhood friend living in Kansas City Missouri. Melissa said she had a sweater of her brothers that he wore when he was little. She was fairly certain it was my mother who knitted it. Our mothers were friends and I assume it was a gift or something my mother was asked to knit. The amazing part of this story is although my childhood friend and I live hundreds and hundreds of miles from each other and we haven't seen each other since the early sixties, her memories and mine entwined just long enough to make an emotional connection over something as simple as a hand knit sweater shared between our mothers. This was my intent with my journey looking for a sign. There are signs everywhere in our lives. We read into them what we either need or despise. Everyday we choose to either embrace them or ignore them. In this case my friend Melissa choose to embrace the sign and send me a photo that assured me that this world is still pure and full of loving and caring individuals who all seek the same destination. What we all need and want in the end is to be able to enjoy our lives free of hate and full of compassion. Not only does it make for a great story it brings a satisfaction to our lives that can't be bought off the shelf of a big blue store. 

Clem Arrives From California

Clem Arrives From California
By John R. Greenwood

Walter "Clem" Clements 

It was a quick flight, maybe only a few seconds long. Cyberspace is as large as it is small. A tone sounded as the email arrived via my mailbox. It was from Valerie. I met her through a local interest Facebook page. She left Saratoga Springs in 1979. As a young girl her mother and Clem were very close. After Valerie left Saratoga she remained in contact with Clem. She says she would send him letters, art work and simple gifts. She now lives in California and after learning of my search for a sign from Clem sent me a short note along with some photos. My heart picked up speed. It was Christmas in March and I was ready to tear off the bow. I read the letter twice. I wanted to prolong the excitement by dragging my feet. When your my age you savor gifts like these, because you never know when, or if, the next one will arrive. I scrolled down slowly and there he was. 

Not only was it Clem, it was Clem in all his regalia. His toolbox of paint and brushes, his trusty yardstick, and his hand painted "Clem Signs" hat atop his head. I was instantly transported back thirty years.I could hear his voice. I could feel his presence. I had indeed found a true sign and it's creator. 

I would like to thank my new friend from California. Valerie says there is much more to the story. She says she has some letters. The letters of another sign are being painted as we speak. 

Photo Mystery

Photo Mystery
By John R. Greenwood

Solved Unsolved Mystery

Being born in Saratoga Springs and growing up a few miles north in Greenfield Center has given me the privilege of having a lifetime worth of history sprinkled throughout them both. In my recent, "Search For A Sign From Clem," I have discovered family scrapbooks at the public library. I have reunited with high school friends, and made some new friends on the other side of the country. That was my hope when I began searching for signs. I never once believed it would be so intriguing. 

Here is another wonderful example. 

I had posted a link to a slideshow of family photos on a site called Greenfield Remembered. A comment appeared shortly after. A woman said one of the photos caught her attention. She was certain the women on the left was her mother Emily. Her mother Emily's family lived a short distance from my grandparents. She knew her mother was a friend of my aunt Millie. I knew the women on the right was my aunt but I never did know who the other woman was. Most of the photos my mother passed down had no names on the backs. I  loved this photo because of the sheer joy it exuded. There was such happiness in their faces. They were young and probably celebrating a special occasion. 

I needed to confirm the identity so I dug back through the family collection to see if I could find the photograph. I found the photo and turned it over. There as clear as a bell was confirmation that it was indeed her mother Emily and her friend Millie, my aunt. 

I began searching again-as I am prone to do. I figured if they were friends and neighbors, I might just uncover another photo of the two of them. As I carefully sorted through to the bottom of the pile, I recognized a couple of now recognizable faces. 


The photograph had lead me from Greenfield Center all the way back to Congress Park in Saratoga, and it all started with a little search for a sign from Clem...

Follow Your Bliss

Follow Your Bliss
By John R. Greenwood

If you've been following my 'Search For A Sign From Clem,' you will understand this post a little better. Yesterday I posted a sign with Clem's classic signature. It was the most exciting discovery of this roller coaster journey to date. I have tried to explain the personal attachment to this story and why it drives me so. With every step I take another piece of the puzzle emerges. I just received an email from California. It provided one more chapter to this story. I will share more in the days ahead but for now I want to explain the photo of the card above. I purchased this card almost a year and a half ago at a bookstore where my writing mentor John Katz was doing a book signing. This was weeks before we met formally and months before I became a member of his Hubbard Hall Writing Project. After enjoying his book reading, I waited in line to have him sign a copy for me. I introduced myself and told him I had been following his work. I told I was beginning to write some memoirs and I was inspired by his life's journey as much as by his books. I asked him shyly if he would sign this card. He was very gracious and said of course he would. What you see below is what he wrote, "Follow Your Bliss." 

As I read the Joseph Campbell quote I felt as though I had just grabbed an electric fence. A charge ran through my body like something from a Spielberg movie. I looked him in the eye and thanked him for his generosity and headed for my car. I have not been the same since. I have written almost every day since that meeting. I have met dozens of inspiring and supportive people. My blog seems to have a dedicated following. I can't wait to post a story, photograph or poem. I am on a constant search for more. I am following my bliss off. Thank you Neale Donald Walsch, Jon Katz and Joseph Campbell, you guys share good advice. I'm not sure what I would have done without it. 

Oh, one more thing. You know that email I mentioned above. The one I received from California. It was from a former Saratogian. One who knew Clem well. One who promises to share some photos, stories, and maybe a letter or two. One very gracious and busy lady who just happens to be in the middle of writing class. A class called Joseph Campbell: "Myth and Spirit." 

 See you soon...

Clem Sighting On Broadway!

Clem Sighting On Broadway! 
By John R. Greenwood

Merle Norman meets Walter "Clem" Clements 

I am so excited I can barely type. A sign from Clem was discovered right on Broadway in Saratoga Springs just a few hours ago. But before I take one more step I need to thank two life long local residents for finding and sharing this lottery jackpot with me. The first is Rhea Gordon Demory. Rhea was a childhood friend from my hometown of Greenfield Center. The other is Saratoga native, Tom "Eagle-Eye" Brophy. I am familiar with Tom by name only but I can assure you he has earned my gratitude along with hero status on the 'Search For A Sign From Clem' Research Team. Both Rhea and Tom are aware of my quest. They happened to be standing on Broadway when Tom apparently looked up at the Merle Norman sign and noticed Clem's signature in the bottom right hand corner. A photo was taken by Rhea and posted on a Facebook page called "You might be from Saratoga if..." The page is dedicated to Saratoga natives. It is chock full of Saratoga memorabilia. It's also home for many sign searching assistants. After posting the photo, Rhea added a comment asking if I was paying attention. When I saw that small smudge in the corner of the sign I knew instantly what it was! 

Look closely at that bottom right hand corner! 

It's been right there watching over us for years and nobody paid a bit of attention to it. I even looked at this sign a few weeks ago when photographing the A's on the front door of the Adelphi. Why does this journey delight me so? The truest answer I can give is this; I have always yearned for something more out of life and for as far back as I can remember I have been searching for a sign guiding me to a destination that had no name. It didn't possess a map coordinate. There weren't any  directions in the box. I simply felt a pull to follow an unmarked path. There has been something drawing me to Clem's signs and signature. The voice is telling me that Clem too was searching for an unidentified destination but never quite found it. Was it an unfulfilled wish to be a fine artist? Is there an old dry sketch pad buried in the bottom of a trunk somewhere. Are the fragile pages filled with finely drawn scenes of Saratoga? Who knows? The joy I receive as I search for signs, real and imagined, comes from collecting friends, stories, ideas, and pure happiness along the way.

Is that beautiful or what! 

This particular specimen of Clem's signature is classic. I am determined to locate more jewels in the city. This journey is turning into something very special and having others join in was my long term goal. I never imagined things coming together like this. To all Saratogian's following my Clem adventure I thank you in advance for your help and kindness. This has been fun so far and for reasons unidentified, I believe this is just the beginning. 

This morning on my way to work it was still dark out. I could not wait for daylight to see Clem's sign in person. I parked in front of the store front and slowly walked up to it. As I stood there on Broadway and looked up and down both sides of the street I remembered seeing Walter Clements - Sign Painter in the early city directories. One of Clem's addresses was 376 Broadway which is the beautiful Arcade building just across the street. Ummm? 

You may want to stay tuned. I got this feeling...

A Lunch Sign

A Lunch Sign

By John R. Greenwood

The Van Raalte Company 2013

This is how it happens. It's around noon on a Monday. I get a call on my cell phone. I answer it. Five miles away and five minutes later another sign is staring me in the face. The call was from someone I do business with. I had paperwork and a check for him. He had some paperwork for me. I offered to run over to his office on my lunch break to make the simple swap. My offer had selfish intentions. I wanted the chance to see what the inside of the old Van Raalte building looked like. The office building is now referred to as, "The Mill". In a previous post I mention the fact that my grandfather Elmer Greenwood was a foreman in the knitting department at the Van Raalte mill for many years. He worked in the mill from 1931 until his retirement in 1964. At the time of his retirement he was superintendent of all knitting at the mill. I have more detailed history of Van Raalte's that my grandfather left me. I have not been in that building in over forty years. I haven't thought much about the Van Raalte Mill since it closed the doors for the last time in 1986. Now, in less than a week,  I have multiple signs pointing me there. I couldn't think of a better way to spend a lunch break than a trip down memory lane. 

As I approached the facade of this beautifully renovated knitting mill I was magically transported back several decades. I swear I could hear the methodical rhythm of the huge knitting machines as they reeled off yards and yards of finely crafted fabric. I could smell the machine oil that soaked the wide planked floors for almost a century. As I entered the front door I expected to see my aunt Ann sitting there waiting for me. She also worked there for many years. I visualized my grandfather standing there speaking to one of the machine operators about an adjustment they needed to make on Machine # 1. I almost expected to see Clem's sisters,  Eunice and Elizabeth seated at a table together making alterations to a vintage pair of gloves. I was in a time machine and it was stuck in gear. 

Back to reality. I wasn't in the door more than ten feet and to my right I see this framed gloved on the wall. I'm instantly drawn to it and thrilled to see the artifact. 

My head begins to swivel side to side like a child in a toy store. The woman at the desk in the lobby seemed to sense my mood and patiently waited for me to come back to earth. Her name was Mary Ellen and she was the building's facility manager (JACKPOT). She  would most certainly understand my interest in the history of the place. I would soon discover I was correct in my assumption 

Mary Ellen politely directed me to the upstairs office where I completed my business transaction. When I was done I returned to her desk in the lobby and asked if there were any more photographs of the original mill. It was at this point I began to divulge my attachment and interest in the place. She explained that although she had only lived in the area for about fifteen years she had acquired a keen interest in the city's deep rooted history. It's almost impossible to even drive through Saratoga and not be absorbed by it. 

I asked about a spring I remembered being inside the building some forty years ago. Her eyes lit up as she confirmed my memory. She went on to explain that the Empire Spring was piped outside and was still working. Presently it was sealed off for the winter. She then told me about an Empire Spring bottle that she had purchased. She kindly offered to get it from a storage closet and show it to me. She had hopes of being able to display it in a curio cabinet in the future. I have seen a lot of Saratoga bottles. In fact I have a few of my own, but this was the most beautiful spring water bottle I have ever seen. This is why I never even go to the mailbox without my camera. Mary Ellen graciously allowed me to take a photograph of the gorgeous green bottle. After a few more minutes of exchanging business cards and some ideas about sharing some additional Van Raalte history, I thanked her profusely for her kindness and headed back to work. As I left the building I looked off to the right. There you can see the sloping remnants of the road that used to curve down alongside the mill. I'm not certain the year they closed off that street but seeing it covered in grass and dotted with snow gave me mixed feelings. Progress and preservation can work together when they want to. I have witnessed a city go from one extreme to the next in the last fifty years. It is always heartbreaking to see old buildings come down. Preservation is expensive and sometimes impossible. I think Saratoga Springs and its citizens have done a good job compared to other cities throughout the state. You always hope for more but time waits for no one, including Saratogians. You do the best you can and hope that along the way we have recorded our history well enough that someday when my great-great grandchildren visit High Rock Park they gaze off to the east and say, " I think I remember reading something about a Greenwood descendent who worked in that mill back in the 1900's. Let's walk over to the library and check it out." 

This street was once open and connected Maple and High Rock Avenues 

I began this blog as a venue to share stories, thoughts, poems, photographs, ideas, compliments and complaints. It may contain inaccuracies and inconsistencies. Don't be upset if you discover either or both. I try to state facts to the best of my abilities but my memory can play games with me and at times lead me slightly astray. Be open minded with any errors you find. I  will correct them if they are significant or hurtful. I love company and encourage you to share my blog with anyone who you feel might enjoy it. Many of my posts are not time sensitive so feel free to go back to earlier archives and look around. You may be surprised at what you find--I usually am. Again I appreciate your patronage. Be happy-Be safe.