Buffalo, NY is synonymous with great jazz. Oh sure, people hear “Buffalo” and immediately think of chicken wings, but the very restaurant that originated chicken wings, Frank and Teresa’s Anchor Bar, has been known for decades as a place for good jazz. In fact, in many outstanding Buffalo restaurants, such as The Cloister, St. George’s Table, (also known for a time as David’s Table), The Statler Hilton, and dozens of places up and down Delaware, Elmwood, and Main, the food and music were equal draws.

Of course, there were clubs that were known strictly for their fantastic music; food and drink were offered, but the main menu was great talent. Chief among these was The Royal Arms, and in the 60s and 70s top name jazz artists played there. When I first started catching these greats, I was underage, so I always made sure to enter with a group of people, keeping my face averted and pretending to be deep in conversation as I extended my hand with a fake ID.

Inside “The Arms” was a magical music land where I listened to Jerry Mulligan and his band (so many players they overflowed the stage with Mulligan and others performing on floor level), and caught the best piano groups including the George Shearing Quintet and the Ramsey Lewis Trio. Local horn players such as Don Menza, Sam Noto, and Joe Romano, who went on to international fame themselves, often worked with headline talent. I loved listening to Lenny Welch sing a ballad, and John Hendricks scat solo, still flying strong even without Lambert and Ross, (or Bavan). Jackie (Cain) and Roy’s (Kral) vocal gymnastics left me breathless, and Astrid Gilberto, while standing almost painfully stiff with shyness, made beautiful music with a voice that gracefully moved throughout the entire room.

There were so many wonderfully talented artists, but my favorite of all was Mark Murphy. To this day, there is no one more distinctive in style, phrasing, and musical interpretation. I went to see him over and over again, and each time his music was as exciting and new as if catching him for the very first time. Since being a hit in my grammar school for singing a song with nonsense lyrics that my Big Band vocalist dad had taught me, I knew I would be a singer. Once I listened to Mark Murphy, I knew that jazz would be my style.

Many Buffalo club owners were passionate about music and generous in giving young musicians a break. At 16, when not off being a regular high school student or hanging out with my friends, I was singing weekends with the house trio at The Park Lane Restaurant, or being given a big break by Harry Altman of the Town Casino to sing a few songs with Ray Anthony’s Band. Lots of clubs would have jam sessions on Sunday afternoons, and I found the musicians to be just as generous in letting me sit in and learn. It was a thrill to meet and sometimes work with some of the best musicians in the business. The one I wanted to meet most, however, remained too big an idol to me, so whenever Mark Murphy was in town, all I did was sit anonymously in the audience.

In my freshman year of college I joined a piano trio out of New York City, took a leave of absence from studies, and began touring the U.S. and Canada. Buffalo remained my home base and The Cloister became my club of choice whenever I returned home. Most artists of all genres playing Buffalo made it into The Cloister, and it was a kick to perform for and meet everyone from Sergio Mendes to Mary Travers to, yes, wonder of wonders, Mark Murphy. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to speak when finally meeting him, but he is the type of person who makes friends the minute he is introduced. In no time we were talking music, recording, clubs, etc.

There are many good memories of subsequent years, when Mark (yes, I even got comfortable calling him by his first name), and I would be playing clubs down the street from each other in Buffalo, and we would run in to see each other on our breaks. One of these times, Mark came to see me at Gabriel’s Gate and was suffering from a bad cold. We started sharing sore throat remedies, and it hit me that I was actually friends with my idol.

A few years later, when disco was queen, I “quit” music. Mark came to Buffalo and I, naturally, went to hear him. He wouldn’t accept my career move, and simply said that I had to get back to music. He kept nudging me toward sitting in and singing a couple of songs with his group. He knew that once I did, I’d get the passion back, and he was right. Music has undergone many changes in my life since then; today it’s songwriting.

Buffalo and music have also changed greatly, with a only a few places to catch jazz in the city these days. The good news, however, is there are still so many great jazz musicians in Buffalo. In fact, musicians of all styles seem to grow there. The other good news: wherever he sings, Mark Murphy just gets better and better.

People talk about all the snow in Buffalo, NY.  Well, it does get its share of the white stuff.  However, nothing like the snow the South Towns get.  The South Towns are exactly that, towns located south of the City of Lights.  They are the winter Mecca of the Western NY area, precisely because of all that snow.  My friends and I loved to ski and toboggan, and later snow mobile and snow board “down south.”  Our favorite winter destinations were Kissing Bridge and Chestnut Ridge.

There were many “firsts” associated with KB and Chestnut:  My first run down a main ski slope at KB, which led to the first time I had to yell for people to “get out of the way” as I picked up too much speed and managed to fall just a few feet before skiing straight into the lodge.  Then, there was the time I had my first, (and last), drink of Southern Comfort, from a bottle passed around under the seats of the bus taking us tobogganing at Chestnut.  I got pretty silly and sick.  Two of my best friends were mad at having to hold my arms to walk around outside, and then hold my head inside the restrooms.  They got over it pretty fast, though, when the group we were with got tired waiting in line and crashed their toboggans down an unauthorized slope.  A couple managed to get their first broken bones that trip.

Mostly, though, our times were great fun.  Even when I was in my twenties and on tour a lot as a singer, there’d still be time for winter escapes.  One year, some musician friends from Hawaii came with us for their first time tobogganing.  The keyboard player was blind, but up for most anything, when he went “sightseeing” as he said.  The rest of his group sat him up front, not one of them wanting to sit there.  I worried that he would have a hard time of it, without the advantage of seeing where he was racing.  Instead, he loved it and was our lead man all day.  In truth, I think the cold was a lot rougher on these Pacific Islanders than the speed out of the chutes.  So, later I took them to my favorite place of all for enjoying winter in the South Towns; inside a lodge by the fire with a hot drink, watching the other snow birds go by.

The drive took an hour from home in Buffalo, NY, to Sunset Bay Beach, west along Lake Erie to the Silver Creek/Irving area. A long stretch of sand that continued into the water, it was much better than the rocky bottoms of closer Canadian beaches that jabbed the feet of unsuspecting swimmers. The beach was great for tanning, swimming and volleyball, and meeting new people, (who somehow never turned out to be that perfect summer love, but hope never died). And, yes, the sunsets over the water were beautiful!

We’d begin our day trip early, stopping at a Tim Horton’s on RT 5 for coffee and donuts, and hitting the beach in time to get a good spot where you could see everything and everyone, and they could see you. Our favorite was by the one tree, so that in between your time in the sun and water you could grab some shade. Later, when families were drifting back to their cottages, we would move the fun from beach to bar. The best beaches, as far as I’m concerned, are the ones with bars and restaurants; this way you go from hot sand and cool water to hot music and cool drinks. Now I see they have hot bodies, too, with bikini contests every weekend at Sunset Bay Beach Club.

One really hot summer Sunday, we took a friend’s boat to Sunset, and you could see the beach and bar were packed. The only way to get there was to swim. After we jumped in, it seemed a lot farther to the beach than it had looked from on board. Before that day I had believed I could only swim enough to save my life. It was then I learned to swim for a good time, and the trip was so worth it.