*This article first appeared in a 2018 issue of (585).

Sometimes a $50 savings bond can turn into so much more. It fact, it can lead to something just terrific. That’s exactly what it did for Fairport native Rachael Gootnick, owner of the book restoration, book construction, and book jewelry company Just Terrific Handcrafted Goods. 

A graduate of RIT in graphic media publishing, Gootnick took the savings bond she had been given at birth—as well as a few extra dollars for supplies— and began her business in 2012, after the fine art printer/book bindery company she worked for as a book designer began to show signs of struggling. 

“I saw an opportunity and took it,” says the twenty-nine-year-old, who prefers the tangible form of books. “I have wonderful memories of looking through family photo albums and reading journals. Most people my age are into all that is digital, but I see so much more value in holding a book in your hands and preserving your story in the physical sense.” 

While Gootnick says she learned a lot about iPad development, ebooks, and various aspects of physical printing in college, her interest revolves around constructing, repurposing, and restoring books and credits most of her bookbinding craft training from an older gentleman who worked in proximity to her old job. 

“He saw that I was looking for more to do, and that I was young and eager and interested in learning more about this craft,” says Gootnick. She began to help with his business overflow, soon learning the intricacies of book restoration and construction, an art that has become a highly automated industry with fewer and fewer individual craftsmen—especially in this digital age, and especially at Gootnick’s age. But while she probably is one of the few younger hand-bindery craftsmen in the business, her love of working with her hands and of books led her to quit her job and become her own boss. 

Never being in debt and not wanting to grow too big too fast were focal points of her endeavor. However, she admits it wasn’t easy at first. “I had to learn to say ‘no’ at times in order to devote the time I needed to complete each job timely and successfully.” 

To help jumpstart her business, Gootnick reached out to area bookstores and book dealers. “They really can’t afford to have a bookbinder on staff, so most of the time they were very receptive, and it ended up being a win-win situation. Most bookstores and dealers often have huge stocks of books on hand, and they know that they can bring in a higher price tag if books are intact.” 

Gootnick also lent her services to the Monroe County library system, assisting them with books that were in need of restoration and reinforcement. “I felt it was applicable to what I wanted to further myself along.” And further her it did. 

She now spends her days restoring and constructing various types of books through her own company. Family heirlooms, favorite children’s books, photo albums, and family bibles are just some of the types of books Gootnick restores. She enjoys giving books new life by repairing their structure and legacy. “It gives me such pleasure to work on a book that is a family favorite, or has been around for a hundred years, and helping it to last for maybe a hundred more.” 

Such was the case when Gootnick received the opportunity to repair a first edition Mark Twain, reportedly worth a few thousand dollars. It took twenty hours of her expertise to resew, resequence, and reinforce the multiple stitch holes of the classic book by hand while trying to keep as many original parts of the book as possible. Staying true to the originality of each book is paramount to Gootnick’s restoration process. 

She is also a big believer in not wasting materials and tries to repurpose as many of them as she can, recycling them in the design and construction of her book jewelry as an additional part of her business. From scratch, Gootnick creates earrings, necklaces, and pins in the form of books, all sewn in a traditional manner, all miniaturized. Within the tiny pages, she encourages people to write a word, an affirmation, or a thought. She is often commissioned to make them as gifts.

“They are a challenge, for sure,” admits Gootnick. Every hole, every stitch, every cover, and every page inside is tediously constructed by hand. Because they are so small, there is not a lot of room for error. 

Still, Gootnick says she receives immense satisfaction in what she does, from restoring antique books, to creating new journals or sketchbooks, to crafting a book necklace. She confesses that her favorite part of her job is that she is forced to take things slowly and take her time. It is a change from the fast-paced world. 

“I feel people are just moving so fast these days. They are so quick to archive their lives digitally in text and photos so they can have it at their fingertips. But having something tangible, something that does not have to rely on technology to access, means so much more to me. I guess I’m just an old soul.” 

Kathi Gunio is a Rochester native who has been freelancing for local and regional publications for more than fifteen years.

This article originally appeared in a 2018 issue of (585).

Unable to hide his chagrin, my six-year-old brother walked in the house after school and unburdened his daily troubles. “Taylor, Mrs. Casey yelled at me today.”  

“Ok, so Casey is dead to me,” I thought. Nobody—NOBODY—yells at my younger siblings except me; that’s the number one rule in the Oldest Sibling Handbook. Older kids can be a straight menace to younger kids at home, but out in the streets, the oldest makes sure no one even looks at the younger ones the wrong way. Obviously, Mrs. Casey didn’t know the rules. Who does she think she is? 

Mrs. Casey is our elementary school librarian. Every week, my brother went to her library and checked out three to five books. He’d read them every night. Sometimes when he was lazy or wanted company, he’d ask me to read to him before bed.  

The worst of his selections were always the Star Wars books, which clocked in at a mere 2,000 pages. Jesus, Mary, and George Lucas; some of us have things to do. I was eight at the time, and me and Barbie were booked and busy. I did not appreciate this interplanetary detainment. Listen George: Just because you’re obsessed with the galaxies doesn’t mean the rest of us are. Some nights, I surreptitiously turned six pages at a time just so I could get a decent night’s sleep. Alas, there’s only one bigger nerd for Star Wars than George Lucas, and it’s my brother. He always knew when I missed a detail. I’d think my deception was working, then he’d yell, “WAIT! What about Jabba the Hutt? We missed his whole part of the story, Taylor!” I’d restart the endeavor, knowing full well Barbie wouldn’t be taking that nightly cruise in her fuchsia Corvette.

This particular week, my brother started a new book series, and we read them in order. We were on book three and quite pleased with our progress. When it was time to check out book number four, he returned the others to the circulation desk. He proudly told Mrs. Casey about his progress and how his big sister would read to him as part of a nightly ritual. She listened and scanned books back into the system, noticing that one of them was past due. She loudly scolded my brother. “You tell your sister to pay attention to the dates. This one is three days late!” He walked away from the desk deflated and came home to tell me the story. I was incensed. I held it together for his sake, but my inner monologue was spouting off. “I know this lady must be trippin’. I’m an eight-year-old kid. I’m not some librarian’s inventory thug.” I didn’t understand why Mrs. Casey couldn’t encourage his love of books instead of hair-splitting over due dates. Spreading literacy is her job; she’s missing the point.

This was not my first run in with Mrs. Casey. When I was in the first grade, she loaned books out willy-nilly to my kindergarten-aged sister. My sister was a very hyper child; her daily schedule of kicking hornet nests and stirring the pot left no room for reading, and I was more than happy to police her literary activity. She regularly checked out books she didn’t read. We shared a bedroom, and those books didn’t move after she brought them home. It was the greatest injustice of my life. One morning, I wrote a note in huge block letters. “Dear Mrs. Casey, do not let my sister Amanda check books out of the library. SHE DOES NOT READ THEM.” I told my sister to give it to Mrs. Casey that day. My sister agreed, though she had no idea what the note said. (How would she find out? By reading it? HA!) To me, a library and the books held within demanded respect, and my sister flagrantly disregarded the system. It was up to me to fix this, since Mrs. Casey wasn’t doing anything about it. Maybe spreading literacy is her job, but not like this!

The day my brother told me about his run-in, I stayed calm and reassured him. “Don’t listen to Mrs. Casey. She’s just a mean old witch.” He shrugged it off nonchalantly, but that easy going gene had skipped me—I made a private vow to ruin her.

I knew I would never follow through on that vow. At the time, I couldn’t admit the truth to my siblings or to myself. The truth was that Mrs. Casey was the ruler of the temple I regularly sought solace in, and I wouldn’t know anything about the beauty of books if she didn’t run such a tight ship. Mrs. Casey was the embodiment of a good librarian, and she showed it in the way she treated both of my siblings. With my brother, who was a natural bookworm, she had to be a stickler for a due date. With my sister, she was an ambassador to the less literary inclined, giving every new reader the opportunity to love books. (I regret to report that the lessons didn’t stick. My sister still relies on me to explain books I’m reading so she doesn’t ever have to open a cover. The closest she ever got to having a book in her face was the day I chucked the Holy Bible at her in a fit of rage and broke her glasses—a legal move lifted directly from the pages of the Oldest Sibling Handbook.) 

 In the following years, I found the vast majority of librarians I interacted with played right on the razor’s edge between organizational expert and controlling shrew. But, by then, I knew that I needed those librarians. The ones who ruled over literary kingdoms with an iron fist, the ones whose devotion to minutiae paved an easy path for me—and those around me—to love books.

This article originally appeared in the March/April 2025 issue of (585).

When Evan Dawson decided to write Summer in a Glass (Sterling Epicure 2011 and Union Square & Co. 2012), he assumed it would be a self-published piece fueled by passion. Telling the story of the Finger Lakes wine community was more important to him than any potential revenue, so Dawson—a morning news anchor in Rochester— took a sabbatical from his job to get his hands dirty working the harvest. 

He quickly discovered a world of producers eager to share the best of the region. Through their willingness, Dawson crafted a breathtakingly vivid picture of FLX wine through thirteen chapters of stories that are honest and sometimes raw—just like harvest in the rain. 

“It did not occur to me that there would be such interest,” says Dawson, who still seems surprised at the book’s success. 

Dawson won a 2012 Louis Roederer Award for International Book of the Year. He has continued to tell stories both local and global as the host of WXXI Radio’s Connections, a role he’s held since 2014. And, his book has become a well-loved cult classic. “This is a book about people, not wine,” Dawson says decidedly, crediting this to the book’s success. 

When asked about a sequel, he smiles. It’s a question he hears often. Dawson notes his list isn’t exhaustive of the community that makes Finger Lakes wine country run. “It was just an encapsulation of where my experiences had taken me within a changing region.” 

Dawson says the region remains unrealized—an exciting discovery for a new visitor to New York’s wine country. He seems hopeful, as an evolving industry means more to discover.

Celebrate fourteen years of Summer in a Glass with a tasting tour. Revisit a few stories, or discover a few new producers on Dawson’s list to explore further:

Kemmeter Wines, Seneca Lake 

Experiencing Kemmeter Wines today after reading Johannes Reinhardt’s story is a heartwarming moment. His chapter was an emotional rollercoaster, heralding his journey to a permanent worker visa despite award-winning work as winemaker at Anthony Road Wine Company. The sponsorship of a visa by the Martini family opened up a new beginning for Reinhardt. By 2013, he opened Kemmeter Wines, where he makes expressive cool climate Riesling, Pinot Blanc, and Pinot Noir. 

His wife, Imelda, opened Sans Dumplings in 2020 on their property, and it quickly became a delicious community respite in the thick of the pandemic. She produces a limited menu of 3,000 dumplings weekly, available for takeout or frozen. With few restaurants along the tasting trail, Sans Dumplings is integral to Seneca Lake. 

Pro tip: Make a reservation at Kemmeter and order dumplings before your tasting for pick up after. Enjoy them at the picnic tables before your next stop. 

Red Tail Ridge Winery, Seneca Lake 

The Red Tail Ridge story was just beginning when Dawson introduced Nancy Irelan and Mike Schnelle. The pair relocated from California to New York in 2002 before opening their Seneca Lake tasting room in 2007. 

From the start, Red Tail Ridge has focused on transparency in wine. The work starts with Schnelle overseeing viticulture using sustainable practices. In the cellar, Irelan leans into what the land and vintage provide, which includes a range of sparkling wines. Varying styles and price points make it easy to consume bubbly regularly. 

In early 2024, the pair finalized construction on an expanded production facility and tasting space with a variety of experiences including a dog-friendly area and open-air seating in addition to an indoor tasting space. 

Pro tip: Looking to impress? Try the Blanc de Blanc with french fries for the ultimate high-low food and wine pairing.

Hermann J. Wiemer Vineyard, Seneca Lake 

When we first meet Fred Merwarth, he’s a nervous first-time winery owner with big plans. In the years that followed, Merwarth became laser-focused on optimization. As a result, he currently crafts and markets some of the region’s most well-regarded wines. 

Named Wine Enthusiast’s 2021 Winemaker of the Year, Merwarth is the first and only from New York State in the twenty-five years the list has been published. In 2023, Hermann J. Wiemer received Demeter Biodynamic Certification for its thirty-three-acre eponymously named vineyard. It is the first east of the Rockies. 

Pro tip: Experience the history with a Hermann J. Wiemer library tasting. It will open your eyes to the quality and ageability of wines from the region.

Heart & Hands Wine Company, Cayuga Lake 

Since finding the perfect property nestled in the Onondaga Limestone escarpment, Susan and Tom Higgins started making Rieslings, Chardonnays, and Pinot Noirs from grower partners and their own grapes. 

The culmination of Tom’s dream to make wine from sustainably farmed estate-grown Finger Lakes Pinot Noir was the 2020 Mo Chuisle Estate Reserve Pinot Noir. Mo Chuisle means “my darling” in Gaelic, and it received the highest scores on record for New York red wine: 96 points by James Suckling and 94 by Decanter magazine. 

Though the 2020 is sold out, Heart & Hands will release a limited production 2022 vintage. The Higgeneses are hopeful it will be just as well received. 

Pro tip: Go for the Pinot Noir and stay for the esoteric grapes like Aligoté, Auxerrois, and Petite Arvine.

The New New York 

When asked what wineries he might include in a new book, Dawson’s list is long. 

He includes Louis Barroul and Rick Rainey of Forge Cellars and their extensive and expressive single vineyard bottlings. He is also intrigued by Colleen and Sebastian Hardy of Living Roots Wine & Co., who produce wine in the Finger Lakes and Adelaide Hills, Australia. 

Dawson mentions Apollo’s Praise, launched in 2023 by Julia Hoyle and Kelby James Russell. “They are interesting thinkers about everything in life: the community they live in, the values they hold, the work that they do, to the wines that they make,” he explains. 

Pro tip: Plan your visits around each lake to maximize your tasting experiences and finish at Living Roots in Hammondsport for a stunning sunset over the bluff.

This article originally appeared in the March/April 2025 issue of (585).

I’ll be honest—while the concept is cool, my initial thought was, “How much can one write about a grilled cheese sandwich?” But sitting inside the eclectic purple and yellow, industrial yet artsy walls of the Grilled Cheese Factory ROC (TGCF), that thought left my mind immediately. All it took was one bite of the Dillified quesadilla to know the words would be limitless. Fried pickles, crispy chicken, cheddar jack cheese, and homemade “Chill” sauce perfectly melted together? The food is absolutely phenomenal—and I don’t say that lightly. 

I know my cheese (Mom raised me well), and this is the real deal; it’s easy to taste the quality. Add in affordable pricing, quick service, great hospitality, and a family-friendly environment, and TGCF has created the perfect atmosphere for all walks of the community. Located in the Village Gate Square, it’s the perfect spot for a casual lunch outing or low-stress dinner date. You can carry out or dine in, relax in the cozy café-styled seating area during the cooler months, or enjoy a bite out on the patio in the summer. There is a bar in the works, so you’ll soon be able to grab a drink to pair with your meal while you’re there— what else could one ask for? 

TGCF is a family-owned and -operated business through and through. Elizabeth Risden started the journey in 2020 alongside her children Mandi and Marcus Ciancio. Risden’s father, Richard Francis, was a leading factor in getting the business off the ground, and Mandi’s son works as a cook—making the business a four-generation effort. 

Risden grew up in the food industry— working in restaurants at age sixteen. A foodie at heart, she noticed the niche hole the Rochester community had: There wasn’t a standalone grilled cheese place anywhere to be found. She took the idea and ran with it, opening the first location a month before the pandemic hit. 

“We’re creative and like to do different things, and I was just really inspired and thought we could totally do it,” Risden says. Mandi continues jokingly, “I thought she was crazy.” 

“When I get an idea, I want to see it through,” says Risden. “Sometimes my kids have to slow me down and say ‘no,’ but for this, we just went with it, and we made it come to life. We operated out of a takeout window on the side of a commercial residence and had lines all the way down the road. So many places were closed, and we were something new. We were able to stay in business throughout that whole time.” 

They soon moved to a location at the Marketplace Mall while they hunted for a more permanent spot in the Rochester area. They got the call for their current space at the Village Gate one day out of the blue, and everything fell into place. TGCF just celebrated five years this past winter. 

“We really wanted a space that could be both family-oriented and also one where you could come grab a beer with friends—we want to serve all the masses,” Mandi says. Risden continues, “It’s a trendy environment, and it’s not complicated. The food is casual, but it’s hearty, and there are tons of different flavors and options.” 

Speaking of the food—the bread is everything. If one thing from this article drives you to try their melts, make it that. Go for the bread; you won’t be disappointed Thick, soft, and crunchy, with the little cross marks on top that add a fancy appeal. 

“Our most popular is the Hangry—it’s a stacked sandwich with cheddar jack cheese, crispy chicken, fries, bacon, and your choice of sauce,” Risden says. “We also have the Let’s Go Buffalo!, inspired by the Buffalo Bills—it has our vegetarian house-made Buffalo dip with melted cheeses and celery. All our sandwiches can be made as quesadillas, so customers have a choice and can really customize them how they want.” 

The recipes are all original, and the sauces are homemade. The family offers a plethora of vegetarian options and are exploring adding vegan options as well.

I was really impressed with the Veggielicious—I could pick apart every veggie on the melt, from the caramelized onions to the seasoned mushrooms. The mozzarella was to die for (and perfectly gooey), and the garlic herb seasoning added just the right amount of kick. 

Each plate comes with fries or chips (the chips are baked and my personal fav), and there is a variety of other sides, such as fried pickles, fried ravioli, mac salad, and yes, of course, soup. Risden makes a homemade tomato bisque that’s worth every penny. 

The Smokin’ Chick Fry Plate is the perfect dish to share with friends while watching a football game. Ditch the handhelds and use a fork—fries layered with shredded chicken, cheddar jack cheese, bacon, BBQ, and ranch. Fry plates can be made based on any of the melts, so there are lots of delicious vegetarian options as well. 

I’d also like to give a special shout-out to the Mad Sauce—I don’t typically gravitate toward sweet and tangy sauces, but this one tasted perfect. (Dare I say I preferred it over the garlic blue?) It was a great mix with the fry plate’s BBQ and ranch. 

“We’ve been in a lot of different areas trying to find the space that best fits us, and we found it here. Serving love and good food to everybody is what we want to do,” Mandi says. 

Risden adds, “We like to put out good vibes; we love talking to the customers, hearing their stories, building rapport with Uber Eats and DoorDash drivers— we strive to serve the best food and give everyone a great experience.” 

The Grilled Cheese Factory ROC has an extensive menu that can be viewed on the website at grilledcheesefactoryroc.com. The restaurant also offers catering, hosts events, and features live music. 

More information can be found online or on Instagram, Facebook, and TikTok at @TheGrilledCheeseFactoryROC.

The Grilled Cheese Factory 

302 N. Goodman St., Rochester 

479-0777 

grilledcheesefactoryroc.com

This article originally appeared in the March/April 2025 issue of (585).

It begins the moment I step through the door—a low hum of conversation, the gentle clink of drinks, and the scent of something caramelizing. Entering the restaurant feels like stepping into a jewelry box, its emerald-hued interior wrapping around me like silk. 

I’m met with a curving reception desk painted deep spruce and a towering organic floral arrangement. Overhead, a sculptural mesh chandelier casts a golden glow, blending industrial chic with delicate artistry. 

I’m, of course, talking about Patron Saint, the latest jewel in the crown of SCN Hospitality, the team behind Velvet Belly, the Revelry, and numerous other hot spots. This sophisticated newcomer neighbors its sister restaurant, Branca, in the heart of Midtown, steps from Parcel 5.

Once I check in for my reservation, I’m escorted to the bar—a gleaming centerpiece in its own right—complete with fluted paneling and a top that gleams like polished onyx. Admittedly, it takes a moment to snag the bartender’s attention, but who’s in a rush? The scene is magnetic, and a parade of impeccably dressed patrons makes people watching feel like a sport. 

Still, I find myself observing from a careful distance. For all its grandeur, could this place really live up to the hype? 

After a while, a petite cooler of crushed ice materializes, cradling a martini ($15) in a delicate carafe. Two plump olives stuffed with bleu cheese rest on a sleek skewer. I pour the first splash of my gin cocktail into the frosted glass, and, just like that, the show begins. 

The flair for presentation is a trademark of Patron Saint. Owner Joshua Miles, alongside director of hospitality Sohaib Siddiquifg, seeks to bring back the theatrical art of tableside service. 

At the bar, the bartender places a glass dome filled with swirling smoke before my dining partner. Moments later, the bartender lifts it, releasing a hickory scented cloud that lingers in the air. The Manhattan ($16) that follows is infused with a deep richness that enhances the Iron Smoke whiskey.

In the heart of the dining room, Siddiqui is spotted gracefully deboning a whole Dover sole ($51) for a lively table of buttoned-up diners. The group, clearly on an office outing, watches intently as he transforms the task into a display of precision and poise. 

Soon, the duo plans to introduce a rolling cart where guests can pick their ideal cut of Wagyu and watch it carved tableside with a samurai sword before it’s whisked to the kitchen. 

But I’m getting ahead of myself. 

After some sips at the bar, I’m led to my table in the main dining room. At its center stands a tree with branches sprawling upward as if plucked from a dream. 

I learn later that the tree —and the whole establishment—was created in tribute to local entrepreneurs and philanthropists Jane and Larry Glazer, who died a little over a decade ago. Revered as the “Patron Saint” of Rochester, which inspired the restaurant’s name, Larry was also a botanist with a dream of transforming this very corner of Midtown into “The Grove.” Their son Ken asked Miles to create this project in honor of his parents.

The menu nods to classic chophouses with a refined twist, offering a curated selection of prime cuts. Choose from a petite six-ounce filet ($36) to a showstopping twenty-eight-ounce bone-in ribeye ($89) that channels Flintstoneslevel decadence. Each cut is accompanied by a sauce of your choice, from red wine demi-glacé and herbaceous chimichurri to the timeless béarnaise and creamy horseradish. 

Small plates and starters have a bit of a French tilt with beef tartare ($21), caviar and crispy potato chips (market price), oysters on the half shell ($24 for six), and a very peculiar dish pairing roasted bone marrow with buttery escargot ($23).

Sensing the vibes of the room, I opt for a salad and a starter. It feels out-of-place to penny-pinch here. In fact, indulgence is the whole point. 

“We want to ensure our quality is unparalleled,” says Miles, noting that Patron Saint offers premium prime cuts while others offer choice (the next level down in quality). “While we’re not aiming to provide an inexpensive meal, it’s important that guests feel they’re getting real value. This restaurant represents the pinnacle of our group, which is why we spared no expense on details like tableware, glassware, and china.” 

I begin with the chop salad ($15) crowned with crispy leeks. This isn’t your standard, utilitarian chop salad. This one flirts with Mediterranean vibes thanks to its vibrant mix of tomato, fennel, marinated cucumber, feta, sunflower seeds, and avocado. 

Then a trio of seared scallops ($29) makes its entrance. Each golden, buttery puck rests in a velvety pool of roasted cauliflower cream topped with a tangle of fennel. The menu promised blue crab, but the lumps of shellfish are more of an accessory to the flawlessly cooked scallops.

Next arrives the bone-in prime strip ($62), and while the taste doesn’t disappoint, I can’t help but feel a twinge of letdown by the presentation. I’d envisioned thick, perfectly sliced cuts, à la Peter Luger or Delmonico’s, with their edges charred just-so and elegantly fanned across the plate.

Instead, my strip is one solid piece. While the meat is undeniably tender, cooked to a perfect medium-rare, and easy to cut, it’s different from what I expected. Note to the reader: The ribeye is served fanned. Lesson learned. 

A surprise star is the hasselback ($12), a decadent masterpiece of molten cheese, crispy bacon, and vibrant chives cascading over an accordion-cut potato. I had ordered a creamy horseradish sauce ($3) for my steak, but the pairing with that decadent spud is too good to pass up. It beats a side of regular roasted potatoes any day. 

For those leaning toward vegetables— or simply looking for a fleeting moment of balance in this indulgent affair—the smoked carrots ($12) are an unexpected delight. I’ll admit, I was skeptical at first because, come on, they’re carrots, but these heirloom beauties proved worthy of the spotlight. They come in a pool of spiced yogurt and adorned with tangy pear and crunchy pumpkin seeds. Their jewel-like hues alone could rival any starter on the menu. 

When my server comes by to ask about dessert, I’ve thrown all caution to the wind. Despite feeling stuffed, I can’t resist ordering the dark chocolate mousse cake ($14) and the coffee bourbon float ($14). If I recall correctly, Rachel Patall-David—also the pastry chef behind Velvet Belly—crafts all the ice cream in-house. The two desserts together form a boozy ice cream cake float extravaganza in my memory, the Armagnac ice cream from the mousse cake amplifying the richness of the cold-brew-infused float. Pure decadence, served à la mode. 

I began the evening with the faintest whisper of restraint, unsure if I’d lean into the hedonism Patron Saint so clearly invites. But as I linger over my final sip of float, I know I’ve surrendered. Sometimes, you’ve just got to live a little.

Patron Saint 

260 E. Broad St., Suite 

120 270-5918 

patronsaintsteak.com

This article originally appeared in the March/April 2025 issue of (585).

Senior living communities have a variety of ways of keeping communication lines open and informative for everyone. Retirement and nursing homes employ everything from newsletters to internal TV channels to keep residents informed and in-the-know. No one lives in isolation in these settings, and fostering a strong sense of connection is important to both staff and residents. 

“Lunatics lounge” writer Taylor Terrance shares her experience of community bonding and engagement through the literary arts at The Highlands of Pittsford. And it’s all about love of the written word.

The crisp echo of smacking papers hangs in the air when I get the go-ahead: “You’re publishable, kid. I didn’t change a word!” I was in the home office of Seymour Weismann, meeting about a magazine submission. He was so thrilled with my story that he slapped papers on the table as he spoke, an emphatic gesture that pulled me into his enthusiasm. He went over details and then sent me off—as he always did—with an affirmation: “Be the best, kid!” I left his office and floated on a cloud for the rest of the day.  

Weismann helped run The Highlands Review, an in-house magazine produced at The Highlands at Pittsford senior independent living facility. Sprawling over fifty-two-acres in an idyllic Pittsford setting, the campus has cottages, independent apartments, assisted living, and memory care—capacity for all the stages of aging. An affiliation with the University of Rochester allows for top-notch medical care as well as educational and cultural opportunities.

The Highlands Review is one such cultural pursuit; the magazine is run and edited by the residents. In 2016, after a nine-year hiatus, a new team had plans to bring it back. I was a housekeeper at the time, and word got out that I was a writer. Weismann, a former producer for network news, was part of a team eager to include staff members. He told me I could write in any style I chose and encouraged me to submit a writer’s bio. I didn’t have any professional credits, but he insisted: “Come up with something. People need to know about you!” My piece was well received, and The Highlands Review marked my first foray into published work. It was somewhat of a surprise to me, as I rarely spoke about my writing back then. I’d just completed Second City Chicago’s comedy writing program, but after an unsuccessful job search came home to regroup. I quickly landed at The Highlands with no further writing plans until Weismann came calling.

In that same spirit of generosity, I reached out to the current editors about featuring The Highlands Review in (585) magazine. I recently sat with residents Laurie Ford, Jeffrey Ford, Annette Satloff, Betty Iwan, and Shirley Eberly for a fabulous dinner in The Highland’s bistro café. We had a lively discussion about the magazine’s history and the production process. We also visited the library where all past issues are available to browse.

The Highlands opened its doors in 1995, and the magazine was founded that same year, with the first incarnation lasting until 2007. For its 2016 revival, Nancy MacWhinney was one of the first on board. She recalls the dinner that started it all: While sitting with residents Gil Jordan, Bill Barker, and Lorraine Loviglio, they discussed their new neighbors at The Highlands and the difficulty of keeping everyone straight. They brought up their favorite poems on the topic of forgetting names and then turned to the magazine. MacWhinney was a member of the Resident Council and thought she could help. “If Bill would suggest to the council that we create a magazine, I would try to get it approved,” she advised. “And it was.” Gil Jordan became the new editor, and  Weismann assisted with finding pictures on the internet to complement the stories.

The Highlands Review is the only magazine of its kind among local senior communities—the residents take great pride in that distinction. Even more impressive: the current editors were not writers before retirement. Marti Eggers was a high school French teacher. Laurie Ford has a PhD in systems engineering and worked as a management consultant. Udo Fehn was a geology professor, and Betty Iwan was a computer software designer. These diverse backgrounds add another rich layer to the magazine, as residents quest to stay curious. 

Issues are published in February, June, and October, with contributions from residents and staff. Original photography submissions run throughout the magazine and on the front and back covers. Writing can be any style, and while there are residents who submit regularly, the editors like to pull from many sources. “Often, we hear someone telling a great story at dinner, and we encourage them to submit to the magazine,” says Annette Satloff. If that resident is reluctant to write, one of the editors steps in to transcribe. Poetry is also welcome and has an added benefit, according to Jeffrey Ford. Ford, a professor emeritus of management at Ohio State University, formats the magazine. He says that a poem’s lesser word count makes them “perfect to tuck into some of the smaller spaces” during the production process.  

The process takes a total of four months. The magazine never lacks for material, as Betty Iwan reports that “as soon as we publish an issue, we begin receiving submissions for the next one.” The deadline is one month before publication; then the team makes final selections. They do a “paste-up” of the issue, which is sent to The Highlands administration for approval. A PDF is sent to the printer, and, after a final review, it’s printed. Once the issue comes out, a celebration is held for all the contributors. 

Celebrations abound, especially in the coming year; 2025 marks the thirtieth anniversary of The Highlands. A big event is slated for May—the month the doors opened back in 1995— and will celebrate the community that The Highlands has built. Those bonds are strengthened by the faces and experiences of each resident, with many of those experiences reflected on the pages of The Highlands Review. Annette Satloff describes the magazine as “nourishing,” a project that enriches both those who read it and those who help create it.  

Helping with the creation of the magazine enriched my life and gave my writing the boost it needed. To see its continued success reinforced the things I loved about my time at The Highlands: the intelligent, engaged residents and their determination to keep evolving. Indeed, they’re a group always striving to “Be the Best.”

Strengthening connections in local senior living communities 

Ferris Hills at West Lake: “Our assisted living community has a printed newsletter,” notes Anne Johnston of the Office of Corporate Communications at UR Medicine Thompson Health. 

“Both that community and our independent living community have an internal TV channel (through a company called Touchtown), which basically functions as a newsletter, telling you about today’s meal specials, upcoming events, birthdays within the community, etc. 

It was great early in the COVID-19 pandemic because it was a way to keep everyone connected and engaged—the channel was airing things like follow-along exercises residents could do in their apartments. There are also big screens in the common areas of the community (lobby, café, etc . . . that feature the internal TV channel. Then, of course fliers are posted on bulletin boards [and elsewhere] letting everyone know what’s coming up, whose birthday it is [and more].”

Maplewood Nursing & Rehabilitation: Maplewood embraces a “hospitality model similar to what you’d experience in an upscale hotel, fostering a strong sense of community throughout the facility,” says Greg Chambery, an administrator at Maplewood. “This approach ensures continuous communication with everyone in the Maplewood community—residents, family members, volunteers, and staff. We use various communication tools to keep everyone connected, including digital messaging on kiosks and TVs, email updates, and an internal staff intranet. To build a vibrant community, we also offer a wide range of recreational programs with daily events that bring everyone together.” 

Maplewood’s TV messaging system displays videos and digital messages on in-house channels, available in every resident room and throughout the hallways, while digital kiosks are strategically placed in high-traffic areas. Both provide information on daily activities, exercise programs, dining specials, birthday greetings, and important announcements. To ensure that family members receive immediate updates, news is sent via email using a system that links directly to the contact information in the residents’ healthcare records. This system, initially implemented during COVID-19 for mandatory updates, remains invaluable for quickly reaching the right people. 

Volunteers and staff play an integral role in the Maplewood community as well. Volunteers receive regular email updates, while staff communicate through the Maplewood Team Intranet, with additional messaging available in staff areas like the entryway and breakrooms. 

Chambery adds, “All these efforts come together to strengthen the sense of belonging at Maplewood, uniting residents, their families, volunteers, and staff in a shared community experience.”

Jewish Home: Communication is a priority at Jewish Home, where activity directors create an array of opportunities that are detailed in calendars and newsletters that are emailed and printed for residents and staff, posted on JewishHomeRoc.org, and displayed in buildings across the seventy-five-acre campus. The online versions enable family members to encourage their loved ones to participate. To bridge generational communication, Jewish Home created a TekHub where IT staff members personally help residents navigate the digital world. At the center of connectivity, of course, is in-person communication. A colorful example at Jewish Home is The Summit Knitters—a group of ladies who handcraft hats and scarves for donation to The Center for Youth. Strong friendships have formed through this shared activity.

This article originally appeared in the March/April 2025 issue of (585).

During the fall of 1900, twenty-six-year-old Teresa “Tessie” Keating worked at Brownell’s Camera Works, at the current site of the Kodak Tower, and lived at 171 University Avenue with her widowed dad and two sisters. A third sister had recently moved to Rochester and was looking for a housekeeper. Reading an ad in the paper, Tessie decided—on her own—to do her sister a favor and visit the prospective servant, a Mrs. Alice Herbert, at her home in a rooming house on Rochester’s Davis Street. It was drizzling and she tugged on her rubbers and grabbed an umbrella on her way out the door. 

Tessie left home between 7:10 and 7:15 p.m. on Tuesday, November 20, 1900, unaware that her destination was a haven of ruffians, a bricked gangland where the “Goat Hill Gang” was in charge. 

The walk from home to the Davis Street address took only seven to ten minutes. While newfangled electric streetlamps burned in the distance, it was very dark on Davis Street as Tessie searched for the address. Too dark to see your hand in front of your face—but she could hear footsteps . . . 

At 10:30 the next morning, seven-year-old Philip Spuck of Union Street was looking for scrap metal in an abandoned yard behind a billboard at Davis and Union streets when he came upon a woman’s hat, then an umbrella, and then a woman’s rubber overshoe. The boy picked up the items, took them home, and showed them to his mom, Pauline.

She was most impressed by the rubber. “This looks brand new. Go back and see if you can find the other one. Take Edward with you,” Pauline said. 

Philip grabbed his twenty-year-old brother, Edward, and, after waiting out a brief downpour, they returned to the spot behind the billboard. 

Then Edward saw something in the weeds. 

“Philip, you go home now.” 

“But, I—” 

“Just do it,” Edward spoke sharply. 

“Oh, all right.” Philip moped away. 

Edward tentatively approached the thing in the weeds and confirmed it was a young woman, hard up against the back of the billboard. He hoped she was just a drunk, but no. Blood and white froth came from the nose and mouth. Protruding tongue. Blank stare. Bruised face. Thighs open. Fingermarks on the throat. Dressed in a brown bicycle skirt, pink shirtwaist, and brown fedora hat. 

Registering the horror, Edward ran and ran until he found detective William F. McGuire on nearby Hartford Street. Together, they returned to the body. After police combed the area, the body was taken to the morgue and autopsied. She’d been raped. Cause of death: strangulation. It was the twenty-ninth murder in Monroe County history. 

Police rapidly identified the body; Tessie’s family had reported her missing at 1:45 a.m. After talking to the family— ”Tessie never caused any worry”—police went to the rooming house that had been her destination. 

The landlady there, Mrs. Nora Crowe, verified that Tessie had arrived and been sent away. 

“Mrs. Herbert wasn’t in,” the landlady said. “Last I seen the girl she was heading toward Union.” And the billboard behind which her body would be found. 

That all fit. Problem was Mrs. Crowe was acting suspicious. She said Tessie came to the house at least an hour later than had been thought to, and when questioned about the identity and whereabouts of her other tenants the previous night, she hemmed, hawed, and spoke in circles.

It took police many man-hours to sort it out. Mrs.Crowe’s tenants were a bunch of ne’er-do-wells, gang members, small-time criminals, drunks, and vagabonds. Finding out where they all were and what they were doing at the time of the murder was quite a task, but once completed led investigators to believe none of them were the killer. 

The case was sensational and brought out the loonies. Oddballs confessed to things they didn’t do. Some claimed to see things they didn’t see. Some were lying. Others were just wrong. 

The first attempt at a Requiem Mass for Tessie at Corpus Christi Church on East Main was canceled because of an inability to control the crowds. Tessie’s remains were buried in Holy Sepulchre Cemetery (Section E, Alphabet Plot, Grave 7) without ceremony. 

The mass wasn’t offered until December 4. Enough time had passed that the funeral was peaceful, but there were still 100 strangers there, quietly paying their respects to a young woman they only knew because of her notorious death. 

The crime remained unsolved for two and a half years. On June 9, 1903, August Russell, forty, of 74 Henrietta Street, was arrested on a tip from his wife.

“He was beating me one day, and I said, ‘You must be the man who killed the Keating girl.’ And he stopped hitting me and he thought a minute and he said, ‘Yes, I am.’ After that I wormed the whole story out of him bit by bit,” Mrs. Russell said. 

Russell was arrested at the corner of Broadway and Monroe Avenue. As one policeman engaged Russell in conversation, pretending he could get him work on a farm out in the country the other sneaked behind Russell and clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. 

“I arrest you for the murder of Theresa Keating,” McGuire said. 

Russell bowed his head and said: “I didn’t mean to kill her.” 

Russell was physically peculiar. The upper portion of his skull was perfectly round, a fact later confirmed by a doctor’s calipers, and he loved to adorn that billiard-ball head with ladies’ hats. He was five-five, slight, with deep creases in his forehead, a nervous fidgety disposition, and freakishly long arms that hung to within an inch of his knees. He had one light blue eye and one dark brown eye and walked through life with a perpetual squint. 

Police learned that Russell, at the time of the murder, lived in the Empire Hotel on Front Street, registered in his own name. Front Street ran north from Main along the Genesee’s west bank, and until it was razed for urban renewal, was a magnet for bums and transients. On the night of the murder, Russell got drunk— ten whiskeys and a bucket of beer—in William Carrington’s Saloon. 

Suspecting a false confessor, Chief Hayden introduced erroneous details about the crime.

“Now the victim was found with her gloves on,” Hayden said. 

“No, she wasn’t,” Russell immediately replied. “I don’t know where they were, but they were not on her hands.” In reality, the gloves were found stomped into the mud some feet from the body.

“Would you be willing to come with us to the crime scene and show us how it happened?”

Russell said he would and led the policemen to the billboard on Davis Street and pointed out different spots with unfailing accuracy. He showed them the place on the sidewalk where he confronted the victim. He made the young woman an improper proposal. 

According to Russell, she replied, “Go away, you dirty loafer.” 

He lost his temper, hit her on the temple and choked her. When she was unconscious, he dragged her off the sidewalk and into the vacant lot. He said that he remained in the lot with Tessie for three hours. He left about midnight.

“I took her pulse to make sure that she was still alive,” he claimed. 

After leaving the lot he walked to Main Street, then to Front Street, where he took a bed in one of the fleabag hotels there. The next day, he skedaddled to Irondequoit. 

Russell was indicted on October 30, 1903, after a grand jury recommendation, and arraigned on the morning of November 14, before Justice Nash. He pleaded not guilty by reason of insanity. A commission was appointed, two doctors and a lawyer, to inquire into Russell’s sanity. 

The hearings involved calling witnesses. Some men who knew Russell thought he was demented, but others— especially when discussing Russell’s handling of money—thought him sane as the day was long. All agreed that Russell was at his weirdest when around women. 

“If a woman spoke to Russell, he would follow her home, and she would find it impossible to get rid of him,” one witness said.

On New Year’s Eve 1903, the insanity panel declared Russell insane. Russell was taken directly to Matteawan State Insane Asylum, a then-new facility, where he was to be confined until declared sane. Of course, there was no guarantee that would ever happen. 

“I’m the magic man. I hear music when you do not,” Russell said, as he headed for his padded cell. 

Once inside, he became a patient who laughed. Some guys screamed in terror all night or yelled angrily. Russell was a laugher. 

He did eventually get out of Matteawan. Some say he relocated to the Catskills and died in Ulster County. 

Davis Street is only slightly different today than it was in 1900. It dead ends at the railroad tracks, now Amtrak. Back then, Davis Street continued south of the tracks and went through to Union Street. The large building for Ametek Power Instruments, where they make monitors to measure and maintain power grids, now sits where the easternmost part of Davis Street used to be and covers up the crime scene.

Michael Benson is the author of Filthy Murders of Ye Olde Rochester.

This article originally appeared in the March/April 2025 issue of (585).

When I was a girl, I was obsessed with hidden spaces. Low-hanging branches under a front yard tree became a quiet reading nook. The closet was a place to pretend to be a part of the Boxcar Children. I think many kids like a little out-of-the-way spot to call their own and do what they like with. But do we ever grow out of that? Area homeowners are still utilizing secret spaces to bring a some childhood magic to their homes.

Secret doors 

There is a special house on Wilshire Road in Rochester where a hidden door is built into a bookcase. If you know it’s there, you can leave the formal sitting room and enter a secret screened porch with brick flooring. Former owner Denise Thompson-Slaughter was enchanted with this special door and secret room. 

“I enjoy things that are pleasantly quirky, and our bookcase door was definitely that. It sparked imagination and was a secret exit if one was ever needed, and the porch on the other side was a private relaxing space if I needed a break or a quiet workspace where I wouldn’t get a lot of interruptions.”  

Current owner John Zielinski and his family are also smitten with the secret space in their home.

“It’s definitely our favorite part of giving house tours,” he says. “We keep the bookcase closed and love watching guests try to figure out how to access the porch. Our daughter is still too young to fully appreciate it, but we hope she finds it as cool as we do as she grows up.

“Some visitors have asked what it’s like to have such a great space hidden behind a bookcase. To us, it only adds to the charm. The screened-in porch is one of our favorite spots, and the hidden entrance makes it feel even more special. It’s a feature we’re excited to enjoy for years to come.” 

Hidden furniture 

Mark Cleary has a really juicy secret, and it is about something special in his (guest) bedroom—Cleary is the lucky owner of a Murphy bed. William Lawrence Murphy patented the first fold down wall bed around 1900, but his is a bit newer than that.

Cleary lives in a condo at the Sagamore On East in Rochester. Patricia Parsons and Dan McIntosh owned the unit in 2018. In 2019, they worked with finish carpenter Aylish Lightfoot from Sodus to create a new room that would be both an office space and a bedroom.

The craftman used local wood to create the cabinets and the other special finishings, including the fold down bed. 

Parsons and McIntosh are boating enthusiasts who brought nautical elements into their design.  “The pull-down bed has a built-in desk and also had a large boat model of one of their boats mounted to the bed so when it was in the up position it could be seen,” says Cleary. 

The couple sold the condo to Cleary, who resides there with his son, in 2022 when a larger one went up for sale.

Endless possibilities 

But why stop at Murphy beds and moving bookcases? The home décor possibilities are truly endless. 

-Do you have a little closet under the stairs? Add a few cozy cushions and some classic children’s books, and suddenly you have a kid’s reading nook. 

-An extra walk-in closet can become a space for a mini craft room complete with cubbies for supplies. 

-An old shed that was designed to store lawnmowers and snowplows can transform into a “she shed” with just a little elbow grease and creativity. 

-Add a few extra shelves in an unused cupboard, et voilà—you have a hidden bar or wine cabinet. 

-A curtain artfully placed around the base of a top bunk in a child’s room can transform the bottom space to a private play room.

This article originally appeared in the March/April 2025 issue of (585).