6 Irving Street by Darryl McGrath

My home renovation project started, as these projects so often do, with one modest goal: replace the seriously dangerous, way-off-code, rickety wooden fire escape on the back façade, which was so poorly constructed that it was simply nailed to the brick in several locations, and I was afraid if a bird landed on it, it might give way. I joke, but not by much.

“I was afraid if a bird landed on it, it might give way. I joke, but not by much....”

So, I started with the idea of building some simple way of getting out of my house once that fire escape, with its small, fake-porch landings, was gone. My house is on a hill, the back yard is a six-foot drop from the floor of the back room on the ground level, and I had to have a way to get out into my garden. I could have just built a staircase. Instead, I built an addition.

Thus began what I now call the Great Renovation Project. And it was a trip through time and space and a lot of money. My house was built in 1884. I knew it held many mysteries. The contractor solved some of them during this project, which expanded so far beyond the replacement of that fire escape that I cannot list everything here. Suffice to say that I now know what that strange, dark, 12-inch-diameter hole in the rear façade of the house was originally used for: It used to hold an early sewer lateral. In recent years it has held a pile of rubble and a dead rat, according to a plumber who once shot a high-powered flashlight beam in there to investigate.

“had it let go, I believe the landslide might have also carried away Myrtle Avenue.”

The sewer lateral hole is now sealed up, my foundation and a good part of my rear façade have been repointed, the leaking roof has been repaired, a staircase that had been removed decades ago and was original to the house has been replaced with a new staircase, the sagging fence has been reinstalled, and the original retaining wall that holds in my back yard has been rebuilt. When the contractor took the fence down, he and I stared at the retaining wall, which had been built the same year as the house and apparently had never been repaired. It canted out at a dangerous angle; had it let go, I believe the landslide might have also carried away Myrtle Avenue. It is now upright, completely rebuilt and nicely held together with new concrete.

An enclosed sun porch replaced the fire escape. I have new stairs that lead into my garden from the porch. I do not any longer have the table-top-sized piece of stone that had formed the stepping stone for the old stairs. I set that aside in the yard, told the contractor I intended to use it again, and forgot about it. One afternoon, I looked out my window and saw the crew swinging a sledge hammer to break up my stepping stone. The message about my reusing it apparently did not get through to everyone, and the stepping stone pieces are now the capstones on the new retaining wall. But that seemed a small price to pay for knowing that wall will never collapse in my lifetime.

And come this summer, I will love the sun porch.

By Darryl McGrath

Primo's Meat Market, 540 Clinton Avenue by Cara Macri

No matter how many buildings I advocate for I will never forget Primo's Meat Market on the corner of Clinton and North Lake Avenues. It was the first building I lost working for Historic Albany Foundation, less than eight hours after I started on my very first day.  

“It looked so sad, calling out for help…”

I had just moved back to the Capital Region to become the Director of Preservation Services in August 2008. Susan Holland was the Executive Director. She had just gone on vacation leaving me with the phone numbers of several board members to call in an emergency. I couldn't have been at my desk for more than two hours when my phone rang.  It was Susan. 540 Clinton Avenue was about to be an emergency demolition.  Time to learn on the job. The phrase trial by fire had never been so appropriate. I arrived on the scene to a sad looking three story building,  The storefront was boarded up, but the upper floors were mostly not. The storefront cornice was gone with little stubs poking out from where it was attached. The upper floor lintels and partial cornice showed black char, a clue as to how the building went vacant 40 years ago. Half of the storefront was gone with a big gaping hole on the first floor covered with sagging grey plywood. It looked so sad, calling out for help.  After hours of scrambling, desperate phone calls to find the owner, a new owner and stabilization funds, the almost 121 building was gone. Wow, my career as a preservationist in Albany was off to a banner start. 

 “Built in 1887, in the German West Hill neighborhood, the building had been a meat market since at least the 1930s…”

That ill-fated shell wasn't always such though.  Built in 1887, in the German West Hill neighborhood, the building had been a meat market since at least the 1930s. The upper floors were rented out to working class immigrants. Elizabeth Moore, a German born houseworker with three children; Thomas McGraw, an Irish-born fireman; Herbert Bammer, a foreman, and his wife and three children were among the many, many tenants to call the lovely Italianate rowhouse home. It had a deep cornice with a paneled frieze and pressed metal lintels. The first floor had a lovely little storefront. The recessed shop door was set off by tall pilasters with beautifully carved capitals and large plate glass windows that rose merely a few feet from the ground. It was your average bustling corner store, an anchor in a bustling immigrant neighborhood.  

“average bustling corner store, an anchor in a bustling immigrant neighborhood….” 

It was for me a tragic loss, an unknown building I had no previous connection with, that lit a fire within me to do better, to take every advocacy effort head on. I have lost hundreds of buildings at Historic Albany. (Clearly, they hired the wrong woman for the job) but I will never forget Primo's. 

Cara Macri

295 Hudson Avenue by Pam Howard

I fell in love with this entire neighborhood when I worked at the Albany Institute of History & Art.  My many lunch time walks around these streets and Washington Park made me want to live in a quaint historic row house.   On December 31, 1998, my first husband and I closed on 295 Hudson Avenue, and we moved into the home on January 1, 1999.  I was thrilled to own my first home, which was a wonderful brick row house originally built in 1857 by a gentleman named John Kennedy.  

“I created a beautiful secluded and private perennial garden and dining space in the tiny back yard.  However, we loved nothing more than sitting on the front stoop to relax with a glass of wine and catch up with our neighbors.”

I loved updating, painting and working on the home to make it our own.  The seemingly contemporary openness, with touches of its historic past with glimpses of tin ceiling tiles, radiators and high ceilings were charming.  I created a beautiful secluded and private perennial garden and dining space in the tiny back yard.  However, we loved nothing more than sitting on the front stoop to relax with a glass of wine and catch up with our neighbors.

I had learned from the previous owner when I purchased the home that he had bought it in 1979 for $1 as a vacant shell, and lovingly brought it back to life with the help of the Historic Albany Foundation’s Revolving Loan Fund.  At the time that didn’t mean that much to me, but now as I serve as the Executive Director of HAF, and I have researched our history, it brings my knowledge of the house full circle.  The home was left vacant after Hudson Avenue was slated to be demolished for an exit ramp from the newly-built Empire State Plaza.  Some of the early founder of HAF, along with the neighborhood associations were able to get that initiative stopped, and thus was the beginnings of the formation of Historic Albany Foundation.

I lived at 295 Hudson Avenue until about 6 years ago when life took me in a different direction personally.  I remember the day I closed on that sale.  I parked across the street to say my goodbyes.  I have a lot of memories of that wonderful townhouse.  Some of the best and some of the worst times in life.  The house saw a lot of great parties and celebrations, as well as a few great losses.  It was and is a great house, and I hope the new owners are enjoying it as much as I did, as we are all a small part of its varied 163 year history.

Kenwood Preschool & the Convent of the Scared Heart by Stephen Kerwin

Each time I drive down Southern Boulevard into Albany and I see the entrance to Kenwood I remember the many morning commutes from my childhood home in Bethlehem. My parents both worked for the state, and so every weekday from 1988-1993 was spent at Kenwood Preschool.

For my classmates and I, the Preschool was a cavernous maze which seemed to never end (all the more exciting as we were rightly not allowed to explore unsupervised!). The windows in each classroom stretched impossibly tall to our young eyes, and the grounds served as an amazing place to adventure when the weather permitted. I remember our class sitting near the Gatehouse on South Pearl on the stone wall, encouraging passing truck drivers leaving the Port to tug their air horn for us (a very exciting activity for preschoolers as you might imagine).

“I remember our class sitting near the Gatehouse on South Pearl on the stone wall, encouraging passing truck drivers leaving the Port to tug their air horn for us

The building seemed to stretch into eternity, and though we didn’t have any interaction with the students at nearby Doane Stuart, we did visit the convent to see the nuns occasionally . I remember every year we would walk through the convent for our Halloween Parade to show them our costumes.

My favorite part of preschool (as you might have guessed) was the playground! It was a large wooden structure very typical of the time - I still have a scar on my knee from a rather serious game of tag.

I was surprised when the school closed down, it introduced me to one of my oldest friends and I appreciated even back then what an impressive (and slightly daunting!) building it was. I hope to see it back in reuse again soon - I’d love to visit and see what other memories came back to me.