From the porch of a pea-green shack on Heath Street as music pumped in the background and people spilled onto the lawn, my new friend Luddy held out his arms and announced:
"Welcome to the student ghetto!"
It was my official introduction to University Heights on my first night as a freshman at UB. And after a year in the dorms, and many more nights on Main Street, I moved my stuff down Millersport to that little green house.
Since then the Heights has been my home. Over 3,000 students live here. Some love it. Some hate it.
The only consensus is that our quality of life - like Leon Phelps's car in "The Ladies Man" - does not exist.
That's because for all intents and purposes, the Heights is a Third World country. Things I always took for granted, like "hot water" and "the rule of law," proved to be fickle from the start.
Then there's the Buffalo weather, which closely resembles Mongolia. Our streets are plowed only once every 18 years. And like a Third World nation, the Heights is governed by mob rule - whether it's the band of kids across the street who set off fireworks all day or the army of stray cats and skunks that descend upon our yard at night.
Still, 35 years after the university nearly disavowed itself of South Campus and its neighborhood, the Heights is where the heart of UB is.
When relaxing on the lawn in front of the old Norton Union or walking into Parkside Candies or Talking Leaves, we can imagine generations of students doing the same thing. We've seen the old pictures of crew-cut '50s kids playing football on the field behind Clark Hall or long-haired Vietnam protesters walking into Amy's Place. That's a feeling of community missing from Amherst, where an ocean of loop roads and parking lots alienates you from any tradition.
I still know students who get lost in the Capen-Norton-Talbert complex. But like so many students before them, they could name all the coffee shops, bookstores and bars from Broadway Joe's to P.J.'s.
Down on Heath Street we always wonder why, given the cultural importance of the Heights, the UB administration treats it like an unwanted child. UB officials complain about the drinking, the parties and the living conditions. But except for a couple of weak initiatives, they've abandoned the Heights. They think their problems would be solved if everyone just left.
Here's a challenge to UB's next president: invest in the Heights. Treat it like a part of the campus. You might like it or you might not, but to us, the corner of Main and Northrup is just as much a part of UB as the fifth floor of Capen.
To that end, here are a few ideas.
First, build a few urban-style apartment complexes in the neighborhood itself. Land is cheap. I know because I can almost pay my rent with the change I find in my couch cushions. And I'm sure there's a demand for reliable, high-quality apartments. If the University at Buffalo was a landlord in the Heights, other landlords would have to improve their conditions to stay competitive.
Second, start a strong community association. Like community groups in New York's Greenwich Village or Buffalo's Parkside district, the association would go after slumlords, guide development, clean up properties and help police the streets. Ultimately, a group like this would unite the university and community.
Finally, make a strong commitment to building a light-rail extension from South Campus to Amherst. This is a win-win proposal for both campuses. It would give Heights residents easy access to campus and allow students without a car to live there. North Campus residents would have a connection to the city, easing the legendary parking gridlock, reducing drunk driving, and tying the campus to the city. As a major economic force, UB has the influence to get civic leaders behind the plan.
An urban neighborhood will always have problems, but the Heights is more than an urban neighborhood: It's an important part of the UB community. Therefore it's a worthy and promising investment.
People who confine themselves to Amherst are, as my friend George said, "pieces of white bread that should be put back in suburbia." And as a modern university, UB should be about more than that.
So to this year's freshmen class, I'll say, "welcome to the student ghetto." See you on weekend nights. And if you move down here next year, shovel your walk and don't feed the cats.
And if the whole place feels like it's sinking into the ground, that's because it probably is. I swear one day I'll come home and it will all have collapsed into a pile of wooden beams and tiki torches. Until then, we're looking for the administration to show us some long-overdue love.
Photo: Meredith Forrest Kulwicki
