There is still metal bouncing off the concrete as I assess my wounds. My right thigh stings—probably a gnarly scrape, if I had to guess. My sister runs into the room, alarmed by all the noise. From where she stands, I am visible only from the shoulders up. The rest of my body dangles inside a cold air return, suspended between the first floor and the basement. “What are you doing?” Her question implies that falling through a hole in the floor was a deliberate action. “Can you just get me out of here?” She lifts under my arms, and, as I pull myself up, what’s left of the ductwork crashes loudly into the basement below us. My legs had blown through the whole HVAC system. We stare down at the rubble in disbelief, unsure of what to do next. 

My sister and I cleaned houses to pay our way through college; we had a small, steady list of clients in Rochester and made enough money for books and gas. After graduation, a quick stint at an advertising agency solidified that we were not meant for office life. When we cleaned, we moved from one appointment to the next, so the scenery was always changing. We made our own schedule and called our own shots—luxuries not found in an office setting. Ultimately, we decided to open our own cleaning business. We were young, energetic, and game for a little adventure; there was no better time.

Our first years were rocky—a constant hustle to get new clients and a full schedule. Some weeks we only had two jobs, and the blankness of our calendar was overwhelming. Going to the bank was sobering. After taking a percentage off the top for gas, we split what was left down the middle. If that amount came to $100 and some change, my sister substituted a pencil eraser or cough drops in place of the coins, and, as she handed it to me, we’d laugh hysterically. The day she gave me actual quarters, she lauded her generosity. But later, in front of a bank teller, my sister was short on her deposit. She shot me a look. “SOMEBODY took all my change.” I wasn’t having it. “Oh! Half an hour ago I was supposed to be SO grateful but now all of a sudden, I’m a JERK for taking the quarter!” “YOU’RE LUCKY I DIDN’T PAY YOU IN PAPER CLIPS,” my sister fired back. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the bank teller stifling her laughter. If nothing else, our business was pure comedy.  

Our  schedule built up through word of mouth, and our friends were our greatest champions, telling all their coworkers and neighbors. Just when we thought of giving up, we’d get another client. Soon we had beachfront houses in Webster, new builds in Gates, a law office in Victor. Our business had us crisscrossing the greater Rochester area, and we got familiar with all the back roads and connecting streets to make our commutes more efficient. When time allowed, we stopped to explore. We ate lunch on the shores of Durand Eastman Beach and popped into local flower shops to browse. We also had clients in Buffalo. The monthly trek was a beast, but it was always my favorite day. We were out the door by 6 a.m. and had two houses back-to-back until 5 p.m. We’d take the long way home and look at the fields, listen to music, and eat snacks—perfect decompression after an intense day. 

About a year in, we saw a job posting from a realtor who needed cleaners for all his college housing properties, and we applied. Though we’d cleaned together for more than five years, officially we were still a new business, so we weren’t confident we’d get the job. After the initial interview, there would be a trial clean to demonstrate our work. But as the realtor led us through his properties, he stopped midsentence. “I don’t want to do a trial. I’m hiring you two right now.” This contract added five weekly appointments to our schedule; we were officially full. These properties all lay within city limits, and soon we were experts on all the colleges in the area and the best housing options. We had a favorite coffee shop near a university, and every time we stopped, we’d loudly announce that it was time for a “business lunch.” In reality it was just the two of us, but we felt so fancy.   

It was on this realtor’s property where my fall happened. For part of a spring cleaning job, my sister planned to vacuum the vents out, so she took all the covers off the floor. My eyes were pointed up as I dusted ceilings. I never saw the open vent before I stepped in and fell through. I ended up with two large scrapes on my leg. (I probably should have gotten a tetanus shot, but you don’t sweat those details when you’re young.) We sent a message to the realtor explaining the incident and offered to pay for any damages. We learned quickly that a large part of running a business is maintaining your reputation, and we wanted ours to be unimpeachable. Another part of running a business involves taxes, and, to this day, I still know the tax rates of every town in Rochester. (The irony of two girls who started out paying each other in paper clips having to learn tax codes does not escape me.) 

We ran our business for five years, stopping once we decided to move to Chicago so I could pursue writing. Many people badgered us to hire workers and expand further, but we’d already accomplished our goals. Rochester was the perfect place for us to grow a business and as people. It provided the foundation for our first real adventure as sisters and set us up to tackle our next one in a new city.

This article originally appeared in the May/June 2025 issue of (585).

Mirror, mirror, on the wall, what’s the fairest beer of all? Well, I don’t like beer. But trust me—Iron Tug Brewing sours have changed my mind. 

I’ve tried time and time again to hop on the beer train. I would love to go from one brewery to the next, picking out my favorite ales, but no matter how hard I try, I just can’t acquire the taste. Sour beers, however, have my heart. And the ones at Iron Tug? Best in town. 

I’m currently sipping on Iron Tug’s Pear Pie Sour from the Shore Leave series. Of the four I tasted, this one ranked lowest on my scale, but it’s still delicious. The sour tang is prominent, but the sweet pear taste left lingering on my tongue soothes any bitterness. 

Iron Tug was established in 2016, but current owner Mike Nulton became involved in 2020 when the taproom on Park Avenue opened its doors. The team is small, with Zack Allard as head brewer, Georgina Konecny as taproom manager, and a handful of bartenders. Allard came aboard in 2022 with ten years of experience and two breweries under his belt, bringing new recipes and flavors to the brand. 

“I knew right away brewing was something I could see myself doing. You’re going to be wet, you’re going to be tired, you’re going to lift extremely heavy things all day . . . but the smells, the sounds, the busting your hands all the time—I thought, ‘yeah, this is for me,’” Allard says. 

So, what exactly is a sour beer? To put it simply, it’s just a beer with a lower pH. You essentially want the beer to produce lactic acid, which drops the pH and sours the beer. Allard also uses aseptic fruit puree, which can be added at different times to create distinct flavors. 

“Normally people take a bacteria, put it directly into a beer, and then that would convert some of the sugars into lactic acid and sour the beer,” Allard says. “Science has kind of caught up with the brewing industry, so we actually use a yeast that produces lactic acid as opposed to adding bacteria. So, I’ll brew normal beer [and] put yeast in it like I would any other beer, but the byproduct is alcohol, and that’s sour. It eliminates some unnecessary steps and makes the process a little bit safer, and we’re one of the fewer breweries that are doing it.” 

A typical brew day for Allard consists of six to eight hours of crushing grain; filling tanks with water; getting the tanks to proper temperatures; and determining the sweetness or dryness of the beer, alcohol percentage, water chemistry, pH, minerals and chemicals needed; boiling; and cleaning—a lot of cleaning. But before he can even start that lengthy process, Allard spends a few hours at the drawing board, perfecting different recipes. About half the recipes at Iron Tug existed before Allard joined the team, and the other half are his creations. 

“If it’s food, you can turn it into beer,” Allard says. “People get really weirded out by the amount of different beer flavors there are, but it’s just cooking with liquid. A lot of my recipes are somewhat spontaneous. I’ll either come up with a name and, years later, come to fruition with it, or maybe I’ll see a combination of fruits that spark something—‘this could go good with this, or this would be perfect for this season.’ In the store, I’ll walk through the juice aisle or a food aisle and get ideas like that. If you can imagine a flavor, you can make it with beer.” 

Coming in third place from my flight (but really, tied for second) is the L.L. Brew J. I’m obsessed with the strong lemon zing. It’s not too sour and tastes a little wheaty, but it’s more pungent than the Shore Leave Pear Pie Sour currently sitting in fourth. 

Iron Tug has some beers that stay on tap year-round, such as the Fathom Lines New England IPA and Tug Light Lager, but many crowd favorites rotate through. For sours, the Shore Leave series is a collection with the same base recipe of beer, but the fruit and spices change with the seasons. 

“For springtime, we’ll have a peach cobbler and a cherry cobbler—things like that. For summertime, we have orange creamsicle, blueberry cobbler, things of that nature,” Allard says. “All the cobblers are pretty popular; we do a key lime pie in the summertime people love, the orange creamsicle is a hit . . . they all have their moment in the sun.” 

I round off my flight with two more sours from the Shore Leave series. Tied for second place was the Apple Pie Sour, and bringing home the gold was the Mango Sour. Both were phenomenal and full of flavor, but the mango taste blew me away. 

Allard has me try Iron Tug’s Raspberry Wheat Ale which, disclaimer, is not a sour beer, and you know how I feel about that. But to my surprise, I like it. Now, obviously it has a stronger “beer” taste and minimal sour tones, but it is a little thicker from the raspberry fruit puree and went down easy. 

Other non-sour beers at Iron Tug include Random Company; Sweet Potato Pie Amber Ale made from roasted sweet potatoes, brown sugar, and marshmallows; Barley One; Boatmeal Stout; and CTHULU, a Triple IPA, which clocks in at ten-and-a-half percent ABV.

Setting the excellent beers aside, Iron Tug also serves wines, ciders, seltzers, and spirits. There are events all the time—euchre nights, weekly trivia, music bingo, and live music performances on the back patio in the summer. All the details, from the drink recipes, to the decor, to the little touches like the beer claw machine and complimentary popcorn, create the coziest atmosphere. 

Two new changes are coming this spring: long-awaited front patios and a full kitchen. 

“We are partnering with Bubby’s Barbeque—he will be serving his amazing food out of kitchen. He has arguably the best barbeque in the greater Rochester area, and we are very excited to create an amazing menu pairing his barbeque and our beer,” Nulton says. You can find more information on Iron Tug’s menu, events, and booking at irontugbrewing.com or through social media at @irontugbrewing and @bubbysbbq. 

This article originally appeared in the May/June 2025 issue of (585).

Garbage plates were an occasional Friday night treat with my dad. We’d get the classic—cheeseburger plates with mac salad, home fries, and all the toppings. As if the layers of hot sauce, mustard, ketchup, and onions weren’t enough, every so often Dad would let me top it with a third cheeseburger, and yes, I’d eat the whole thing. 

After high school track meets, the whole team would pile into the cars of whoever was old enough to drive, and we’d stuff our faces with 2 a.m. plates. Extra ketchup, bread on the side.

High school evenings turned into college weekends, turned into midtwenties Thursday, Friday, Saturday, or hey, maybe even a Wednesday night adventure— nine times out of ten ending with a plate from Vasko’s on Park. While I would consider myself well-versed in the Rochester staple, Christine Green, (585) magazine’s editor, had never had one. Let me repeat—she’d never had a garbage plate. And I won’t age-drop a number, but let’s just say she should’ve had one by now.

So, we decided to change that for this issue—and where else would I take her other than Vasko’s? Right on Park Avenue, a prominent, bustling neighborhood that has always been the place to be, the location is perfect for a bite at 2 a.m. or 2 p.m. It’s iconic, and the food at Vasko’s is top-notch. 

“I can’t be a real five-eight-fiver without having tried one; I mean, it’s kind of ridiculous,” Green says. “They’ve never looked appealing to me. But it’s time, and I’m excited.” 

Now, if you’re a Rochester native, you might be wondering why I chose Vasko’s for Green’s first plate instead of the infamous Nick Tahou’s. Vasko Dimovski opened the casual street spot in June of 2021 when he was twenty-one years old, and besides the fact that I think his plates are the best out there right now, ironically, he uses the same meat sauce recipe as the original Nick Tahou plate. 

“My grandfather Vasko (Charlie) Ilijevski worked with Nick Tahou, and when the garbage plate was invented, he asked Tahou for his blessing to open up a place in Webster, which became Empire Hots,” Dimovski says. “My mother and grandfather opened Empire Hots in 1991, and that’s when she came up with the term ‘trash plate.’ And I grew up in the hots joint—sleeping on the bread racks as a kid, helping my parents, being there morning and night. Eventually I was looking to open my own business, and I came across this location on Park Ave, and it was perfect. I’m third generation now, and I wanted to keep the recipes and business in the family—hopefully my own kids can take over one day.” 

Vasko’s has endless homemade options and sides—the mac salad is a hit and so is the Friday night fish fry. The coolest thing it offers, though, in my opinion, are the milkshakes: funky flavors, mixed thick, and served with a big straw. 

“As a kid, having a garbage plate and a milkshake was my go-to,” Dimovski says. “I had this vision of combining the two when I was opening up my own place. And my mom or grandfather never made shakes, so it was an idea I was able to bring into the business as well.” 

Dimovski comes up with the shake recipes himself. Oreo is hugely popular, and the PB & J shake is a homerun in my book (and in Green’s). 

“The shake is fabulous,” she says. First you get cold strawberry, and then the peanut butter comes up from the middle layer. It tastes just like a peanut butter sandwich, but as a desert—it’s really good.” Green says. 

The traditional plate is two cheeseburgers, mac salad, home fries, mustard, onions, meat sauce, and ketchup, but Vasko’s chicken finger plate is also a huge hit. Many will substitute curly fries, waffle fries, or even onion rings for the home fries—a truly customized pile of trash. “I really want to get into this; it smells phenomenal,” says Green. “My hesitation has always been looking at them from afar—watching drunk college kids devour them—but up close, it looks great.”

Dimovski and I set Green up with the traditional plate, and she came hungry. 

“It tastes amazing,” she says. “The mac salad is so good, and a bite of that with the burger is the best part.” 

Personally, I go for veggie cheeseburger plates these days, but Vasko’s delivers on that front as well. The burgers come with all the essentials, but no meat sauce. They are topped with pickles, though, which might be my favorite part. 

Vasko’s also offers a variety of sandwiches and other sides, one of the most popular being the Park’s Burger. With cheese, onion rings, bacon, barbeque sauce, and grilled onions, Green could not wait to dive in. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve had a burger, and I love anything with barbeque sauce,” Green says. “When the barbeque sauce is dripping all over the fries, it makes everything better. This is absolutely delicious, and I will definitely eat it again.” 

With eccentric, graffiti-painted walls, Vasko’s offers dine-in eating with patio seating, as well as take-out and delivery options. If you’re grabbing a drink down on Park at Half Pint, you can order Vasko’s at the bar, and Dimovski will actually walk your order down to you. There is a food truck that can be found at many Rochester festivals—Jazz Fest, Fringe, the Lilac Fest—and offer catering for private events. 

“Every corner you go to, there’s a garbage plate—every town, every pizza joint—but it’s all about the sauce,” Dimovski says. “Anybody can make a burger, anybody can do the home fries, mac salad; it’s all about the meat sauce. Ours is original from my grandfather from back in the day, and that’s what makes us different.” More information can be found online at vaskosonpark.com or on social media at @vaskosonpark.

Vaskos on Park 

266 Park Ave. 

340-6733 

vaskosonpark.com 

This article originally appeared in the May/June 2025 issue of (585).

Nosh is one of those places that just feels like a good time. It has a way of effortlessly becoming a part of your story. 

When I first moved here, one of my best friends lived just down the street in the Neighborhood of the Arts. Nosh quickly became our place—the spot where we’d meet for cocktails after a long day, laughing and venting until the ice in our glasses melted. I can still picture the first time I met her boyfriend there. We all squeezed around a patio table, realizing we’d both ordered the steak and noodles and taking it as a sign we’d get along just fine.

Even with an ownership change in 2023, it is still that comforting, celebratory spot worth returning to again and again. 

While the menu has seen some changes, including saying goodbye (for now) to beloved dishes like lobster ravioli and steak and noodles, owner and proprietor Vicky Chanthavisinh-Carey assures fans they’ll both make a comeback this summer. That fluidity is exactly what she envisioned when she took over Nosh. 

“I knew I didn’t want to take over a place that was locked into just one style—like all Italian or strictly one type of cuisine,” says Chanthavisinh-Carey, who ran Yellow Elephant in Perinton before the pandemic. “I wanted creative freedom to put anything on the menu without people thinking, ‘That’s weird.’” 

Bold and vibrant Italian, Korean, and Southwest flavors still grace the menu, but the kitchen weaves in a hint of Thai flair. 

Case in point: the Slammin’ Salmon ($42). On paper, red curry and sticky glazed salmon shouldn’t work this well. I feel like I’ve had both separately a dozen times, yet here we are, staring at a bowl that finally brings the two together. The fish and grilled shrimp are bathed in a velvety coconut curry so good I want to sop up every last drop. 

Then there’s the crispy rice, adding an unexpected yet satisfying contrast with every bite, like crumbled crackers in soup. It’s the kind of dish that makes you wonder why salmon and red curry weren’t always a thing. 

Rotating specials, like seafood stew with a spicy tom yum broth or Korean fried chicken and scallion waffles, allow the team to test the waters with their loyal patrons before cementing a dish on the menu. 

A thread that Chanthavisinh-Carey and executive chef R.J. Wood hope to maintain throughout the menu is the flexibility to play. They don’t claim to be authentically Italian, Korean, or any single cuisine. Instead, they add their own creative spin. 

“When you dine here, it’s not just the service and the atmosphere—it’s going to be very flavorful,” she says, noting that doesn’t appeal to everyone. 

However, when I went on Tuesday night without a reservation, there was no problem filling seats. It was an hour wait for three, and the dining room was humming. And I was ecstatic for the place. 

My disheveled family, toddler in tow, grabbed a corner of a long communal table by the bar. I was a little bummed not to be sitting out on the patio, but hey, I’m in a new season of life. 

We ordered a cocktail and a beer at the bar, and I couldn’t help but feel a little relieved—some things hadn’t changed. Sure, the wine list now boasts more Finger Lakes options, and 2022 me would have been thrilled to see some NA drink choices that didn’t cue to everyone that I was newly pregnant and laying off the booze. But whiskey, tequila, mezcal? Check, check, check. 

I toyed with ordering Ahi Noshos ($20), which are essentially the contents of a spicy tuna roll sprinkled over wonton chips. They’d been a staple during my vent sessions of yesteryear. But I chickened out. The group beside us ordered them, and the platter was much bigger than I remembered. (Chanthavisinh-Carey says there is a half-portion for happy hour.) 

Feeling somewhat virtuous, I opted for the Belly Ache ($20), which was described as a braised pork belly with apples, pickled blackberries, and arugula. Basically a salad, right? Well, the joke’s on me because three indulgently rich slabs of pork belly arrived, accompanied by a creamy sweet potato purée that was more like a dipping sauce than anything remotely “salad-like.” I wasn’t mad about it.

For our main, we opted for more pork belly, which, as it turns out, was an unofficial theme of the menu that night. I’d always been curious about the Korean Sit Down ($50), but it seemed too hefty for just one entrée. But, with a very hungry hubby and a kid who considers bao buns her personal treasure, it felt like the perfect time to dive in. 

Reader, I have no regrets. Paired with bites of salmon curry (another dish we ordered), it was the ideal solution for our “situation.” I got to feel healthy wrapping spicy marinated chicken in cucumber, kimchi, and crunchy bibb lettuce. My husband got to pig out (pun intended) on all the pork belly his heart desired, kicking it up with Korean red chili paste or mellowing things out with bean sprouts. My daughter, as predicted, polished off all the steamed buns and found a new favorite in the soy-sweet kalbi short ribs. 

Best of all, no one seemed to mind that we brought a kid into an otherwise very adult establishment. The familiar roar from the bar did wonders for masking both the frustrated stories from the day (which I knew well) and the excited toddler shrieks. Even the fashionable patrons, who I certainly wasn’t on par with that night, seemed amused by her demand for more bubble water. Same, girl.

And that’s what I love about Nosh: It still carries that same energy, where laughter fills the air and every meal feels like a small celebration. The vibe is just as lively but with a few new bold flavors woven in. Sure, the faces and menu have evolved over time, but the spirit remains unchanged. 

It’s a place that continues to make room for new memories, just like it did when I first walked through those doors.

Nosh 

47 Russell St. 

445-8700 

noshroc.com 

This article originally appeared in the May/June 2025 issue of (585).

In the early morning hours of Monday, December 7, 1992, among strewn garbage and remnants of homeless encampments, Victoria Jobson’s nude body was found. Stabbed to death thirty-six times, she was discarded callously in a vacant lot behind an abandoned warehouse next to the train tracks off Rutter Street. It was clear to authorities this was not the site of her murder; she had been killed elsewhere. Based on the state of decomposition and the film of dirt that covered her body, investigators theorized she had either been buried or stored in a basement since her disappearance in October. 

The chaos of what was brewing in Rochester made it a hotbed for the raging overwhelm of substance dependence, violence, poverty, and homelessness. Women were being plucked from the streets, passersby happening upon their brutalized corpses. The siren song of the neighborhood did little to dissuade Jobson, though. Three active serial killers were terrorizing the dim streets in the early 1990s, each claiming vulnerable victims and disposing of them at their preferred dump sites. Nameless offenders, yet each with a unique signature. Children sat anxiously on front stoops awaiting their mothers’ return, paralyzed by fear they may not come home, like the other mothers. 

Surviving the streets became progressively more dangerous. Crack cocaine had traveled up the pipeline from New York City, making its way to Rochester in the late 1980s. New York State had one of the highest instances of crack usage in the country. Cops were forced to replace their six-shooter revolvers with nine-millimeter guns holding a sixteen-round capacity to combat the increased drug-fueled street violence. The community was suffering. Even with these known threats plaguing the red-light district, desperate females still sidled into passenger seats of strangers’ sedans.

Victoria Jobson, thirty, affectionately called Vick or “Slick Vick,” was notorious for her silly and life-of-the-party disposition. She loved to dance. Jobson was a fixture of the Jones Park community, frequenting the restaurants and small shops. Walking down the streets, she would wave and say “hi” to everyone, always carry - ing a spare piece of candy for the neighborhood kids. In the months leading up to her disappearance, Jobson was living with her sort-of-pimp, sort-of-boyfriend, Tony Jackson, in a neglected red brick apartment building at the corner of Emerson Street and Lake Avenue. But it hadn’t always been that way.  

Before she found herself addicted to drugs and working the streets, Jobson had a pretty good life—two happy young kids, a fourteen-year relationship with her kids’ dad, Curtis Washington, a home, and a career. Jobson grew up in a typical blue-collar Syracuse household: her mom, Launa Jobson, a nurse’s aide; dad, Emery Jobson, who worked for General Motors; and a pack of siblings—four sisters and a brother. Victoria had raven-colored hair, strikingly different from the fair-haired others, her sister Kelly Gangemi notes. Victoria had a killer voice and could do remarkable impressions of singers, especially her mom’s favorite, Elvis. But most notably, she sang a rendition of “Our Love” by Natalie Cole that still echoes in the memories of her best friend, Char King. They met when they were fifteen. Not uncommon for a couple of teen girls, they were a wild duo, she says. There was a boyfriend Launa didn’t like. They cut class. Smoked pot for the first time. Spent afternoons at Pinball Palace. And once Victoria suggested to King they take off and spend the night in an abandoned house over on the west side. 

Then Jobson met Washington. He was a DJ at a club. The drinking age was eighteen, but she and King were underage and would sneak in. After that, the rest was history, according to King. They were both just nineteen when they became pregnant with their daughters, who were born just ten days apart. King recalls waddling down the street together to get pizza and donuts in the weeks before they gave birth. Their paths crossed and waned over the years, often living in different zip codes, but they remained in contact and committed to their friendship regardless.  

Later in the 1980s, Jobson’s family slowly started moving to Rochester from Syracuse. Victoria followed, and brought her two kids, Keisha Washington and Kurtis Jobson. Along with her sister Cindy Jobson, she moved into a cute fixer-upper on Knickerbocker Avenue. Eventually, Washington, too, moved from Syracuse and joined them. Cindy relocated, leaving the family of four to themselves. But later, when Washington and Victoria broke up for good and he left, she could no longer keep the Knickerbocker house. Victoria was forced to find an affordable place for herself,eleven-year-old Keisha, and little Kurtis, who was just four. 

Jobson was devastated and depressed. Given the surge of crack cocaine use in the area, it didn’t take long to spiral down the self-destructive path. She withdrew into a shell of her former self. Withering away, Jobson dropped to 100 pounds. Keisha and Kurtis were being neglected; Cindy stepped in and called Washington, telling him he needed to come get the kids. Jobson’s family said after that, she lost all hope and purpose. She met and moved in with Jackson, who would watch from the red brick steps as she left to take clients. Jobson soon became known to officers who patrolled the area and was arrested four times for sex work during regular sweeps of the neighborhood. She was caught in a vicious cycle of turning tricks and getting high.

Despite Jobson’s circumstances, her family regularly checked in on her. Cindy would find her once a week somewhere along Lake Avenue, and they’d go to the McDonald’s on the corner of Lexington Avenue. She would fill Victoria up with a burger combo, then send her on her way with a couple beers and a ten-dollar bill. As heartbreaking as it was to watch her be swallowed back up by the streets, it was one small thing she could do for her struggling sister. “Remember to call mom!” Cindy would say as they parted ways. But by the end of October, Launa hadn’t received her weekly call. Soon, she began driving up and down Lake Avenue in the middle of the night trying to find Victoria. Launa called all the local hospitals, the jail. She constantly wondered if Victoria was cold and needed a jacket, especially when it was raining or snowing. Often, Cindy joined her mother for the exhaustive search efforts, so she wouldn’t be alone.

Victoria’s birthday—November 12— came and went. Cindy tracked down Jackson, but he hadn’t seen her either. Jackson wasn’t a standup guy, controlling and maybe even abusive, so the family thought maybe he had something to do with her disappearance. He insisted Vick was his girl and would never harm her, and was cleared by the police. Ironically, Robert “Bruce” Spahalski, who was later identified as one of the serial offenders who began his killings in 1990, lived in the same red brick apartment building as Victoria when she went missing. Following Spahalski’s admissions in 2005, his name was floated as a possible suspect, as his murders were fueled by crack cocaine and involved sex workers. It wouldn’t be until November of 2024 when the names of Victoria’s true assailants were revealed.

But Victoria would never call home again. After her murder, Launa went downhill. The medical examiner wouldn’t allow her to identify Victoria’s body, because they felt it would be too traumatic to see the state of it. The coroner clipped a lock of her hair for Launa, a keepsake she kept on her bedside table until her untimely death in 2000. Cindy and Kelly agreed their mom died of a broken heart. She just couldn’t get over losing Vick. Gangemi couldn’t properly grieve her sister for years, not until she was able to miraculously overcome her own addiction. She wishes Victoria had found her way off drugs in time; they could have continued raising their kids together and share the joys of future grandmotherhood. 

Keisha remembers being surrounded by endless love growing up. Victoria was selfless; Keishaw witnessed her mom nurse injured kittens, chipmunks, and birds back to health. She saw Victoria fiercely protect her sisters, refusing to take any nonsense from anyone; she rarely held her tongue. Victoria loved Christmas and ensured the kids received everything they asked for. Keisha makes Falls Cemetery her first stop when in town, no matter what. Faithfully, she decorates her mom’s gravesite to coordinate with the season or holiday.  

An annual coat drive was established in Victoria’s honor, its inception inspired by the cold, sleepless nights Launa and Cindy spent searching. Keisha, Kelly, and Victoria’s niece, Nicole, tirelessly organize, collect donations, and run the event each December, memorializing Victoria’s anniversary. Giving back to the marginalized community, the same one Victoria became a statistic of, became the family’s mission. By doing so, they turned their tragedy into a legacy. This year, following the coat drive, Keisha wrapped her mom’s headstone in one of the jackets and adorned the fresh, white snow with crimson flowers. 

Yellowed newspaper clippings piled neatly on Cindy’s coffee table are a cruel reminder of how much time had passed. Framed photos from before. A family who has lost so much to the insidious side effects of grief, addiction, and pain. What they never lost was hope. After three grueling decades of unanswered questions, two arrests were finally announced in November of 2024— Arthur Jason Jr. and a second suspect who is in custody but whose name, at press, has not been released. As the case moves through the court system, at last, justice is on the horizon. A resolution to finally bring some peace both to those gone and those who remain.

This article originally appeared in the May/June 2025 issue of (585).

Rochester has long been a city shaped by music, with a rich history of renowned institutions like the Eastman School of Music (1921) and The Rochester Philharmonic Orchestra (1922), alongside iconic concert venues such as Kodak Hall at Eastman Theatre (1922), and Water Street Music Hall (1977). We’re lucky to be part of a community that values arts education for our kids, helping them grow into the next generation of musicians and artists who will keep our city’s creative spirit alive. 

The Hochstein School has played a vital role in this mission for more than a century. The school is housed in the historic Central Presbyterian Church building, a Romanesque Revival style beauty that’s impossible to miss on North Plymouth Avenue. Built in 1849, the church was at risk of being torn down in the 1970s as its congregation shrank and maintenance costs soared. But Hochstein recognized the structure’s value and potential, saving the historic structure while expanding its opportunity to teach even more children for decades to come.  

Early beginnings—the Central Presbyterian Church 

Established in 1836 as Bethel Church and later renamed Central Presbyterian church, the structure was built with intricate brickwork, grand arches, and stained-glass windows. As the city’s population and church membership grew, expanding the facilities became essential to accommodate the congregation and the increasing number of Bible school attendees. 

The church stood next to the home of Isaac and Amy Post, prominent Hicksite Quakers and influential leaders in the nineteenth-century abolitionist and women’s rights movements. The couple frequently hosted abolitionist meetings and renowned reformers such as Frederick Douglass, Susan B. Anthony, and Sojourner Truth. Their home also served as a station on the Underground Railroad, sheltering up to twenty escaped slaves at a time. 

After Amy Post’s death in 1889, the church acquired the land and constructed an addition, which included a school wing and a large sanctuary. Unlike traditional church sanctuaries, this design emphasized “the community of God” with a semicircular seating arrangement, creating a more inclusive and immersive experience for the congregation. This layout allowed everyone to see, engage, and fully participate in church services from multiple vantage points. It was the largest auditorium in Rochester at the time, becoming a distinguished venue for traveling preachers and musicians, and hosting funeral services for Frederick Douglass (1895), President William McKinley (1901), and Susan B. Anthony (1906). 

Though the church’s role in the city evolved over time, its legacy of inclusivity and community impact endured. That spirit lives on today through the Hochstein School, which now calls this historic space home. 

“I’ve always believed that this land and its history embody our mission of making high-quality opportunities and education accessible to all students, regardless of their background or financial means,” says Dr. Gary Palmer, president and executive director of the Hochstein School, who has been with the institution since 2001. “Hochstein has always had a very diverse population, serving a broad and vibrant community both within our walls and throughout the community.” 

A new home for The Hochstein School 

The Hochstein School was founded in 1920 in memory of David Hochstein, a gifted violinist from Rochester whose promising career was cut short when he was killed in action during World War I. Hochstein had studied under some of the world’s greatest musicians and was on the cusp of international fame when he enlisted in the U.S. Army and was sent to fight in France. He was killed in the Battle of Argonne in October 1918 at twenty-six years old. 

Dedicated to honoring his legacy, Hochstein’s mother, Emily, with the support of local musicians and educators, founded the David Hochstein Memorial Music School in 1920, ensuring that students of all backgrounds had access to high-quality music education, regardless of their financial means. Starting in the Hochstein family’s home on Joseph Avenue, the school quickly outgrew its space as it gained popularity, prompting a move into a larger space. 

The school moved into a newly constructed building in 1928, but by the early 1970s, it had once again outgrown its building and needed a permanent home to accommodate its expanding programs and student body. In 1974, the school seized the opportunity to acquire the former Central Presbyterian Church. With support from the Presbyterian Church, the United Way, the Rochester Department of Community Development, and community fundraising efforts, funds were secured for exterior and interior renovations. 

Over the following decades, the school undertook several renovation projects, including improvements to the lowerlevel studios in the 1980s. Major capital campaigns later funded the full renovation of the educational facilities and the transformation of the historic sanctuary into what is now the Performance Hall at Hochstein. 

“I absolutely love the performance hall and consider it one of Hochstein’s greatest treasures,” says Palmer. “As a performer myself, I can say it’s a truly wonderful space to play in. In addition to hosting our own school ensembles, we welcome the Rochester Philharmonic Orchestra, the Rochester Gay Men’s Chorus, and many other community groups and events.” 

The next generation 

Stepping into the Hochstein building today, you can’t help but sense its storied past. The soaring ceilings, tall stainedglass windows, and intricate woodwork recall the inspiring sermons and historic figures who once filled these halls. But now, the space resonates with the sounds of students practicing their instruments and the energy of live performances. Today, the school welcomes more than 1,900 students, offering music lessons, ensembles, dance instruction, and expressive arts programs. 

The building’s history isn’t lost on this next generation of artists. For them, the building is more than just a place to learn and practice, it’s a space where the past and present come together as they shape their artistic path. “The stage is exciting because I can look out at all the people watching our concerts, and it makes me feel like I’m part of something important,” says thirteen-year-old junior wind symphony trumpet player Ava Roote. “I really love the stained glass at the Hochstein School because it’s such a beautiful and unique part of the building. It feels amazing to perform in a place with so much history.” 

To find out more about the Hochstein School, including additional history about the institution, visit Hochstein.org. 

This article originally appeared in the May/June 2025 issue of (585).

Nine miles east of Rochester sits the Village of Fairport: a 900-acre hidden oasis dubbed the “Crown Jewel of the Erie Canal.” Fairport is small in stature with a population of roughly 5,000 residents, but the community—located within the Town of Perinton—packs a punch, holding more than 100 unique festivals and events each year. 

Fairport Canal Days, Oktoberfest, and Fairport Musical Festival are among the area’s most popular traditions. Fairport also hosts an annual scarecrow festival, gazebo concerts, and various homages to the winter holidays throughout the month of December. 

Nancy Ragus, a Fairport native, has served as the executive director for Fairport Perinton Partnership for a Better Community since 2022. The organization—created to administer grant money—dates back to 2000. Over the past twenty-five years, the local institution has continued to evolve. 

The partnership oversees the promotion of economic vitality and development within the Village of Fairport and the Town of Perinton. Ragus manages an executive board comprised of eight community members as well as several committees of volunteers. Together, these movers and shakers preserve and leverage the area’s unique heritage and historic character though efforts in tourism, marketing, recruitment, and design. 

“At a high level, we have the local government,” says Ragus. “Then, we have the businesses that keep the community alive. Then, there’s the space in between: It’s what creates the community people love to be in.” 

And this is a community that is undoubtedly well loved. 

Longtime resident Elly Weinstein says, “We love hiking and biking on the trails [and] canoeing on the canal. We love the quaint town, new restaurants, and friendly people!” 

In being an ardent supporter of Fairport, Weinstein is not alone. 

Fairport Perinton Partnership for a Better Community hosts a monthly gathering for a group of area architects, engineers, and designers who share their expertise with local businesses free of charge. This is how Fairport Junction—the popular train-viewing platform project initiated in 2006—was designed. 

Fairport Perinton Partnership for a Better Community supports the Fairport Perinton Merchant Association, which, in turn, assists the village and the town. 

Fairport recently broke ground on a large-scale, collaborative endeavor: the Main Street Enhancement Project. This massive revitalization effort is re-imagining Fairport’s central thoroughfare, adding a number of community fixtures, including benches, bike racks, tree grates, pavement extensions, and botanical features. 

Main Street—the village’s primary corridor—boasts an impressive assortment of homegrown stores and restaurants. 

Recent additions to the lineup include: Stony Point Art Studio as well as Cloth-n-Mortar and Mescolata, both clothing and home goods boutiques. 

Stony Point Art Studio opened its Fairport location in 2024. Jeannine Pelusio, owner and art instructor, felt beckoned to the area by its natural beauty. “Fairport is a destination village with a variety of recreational activities, dining, shops, and more,” states Pelusio. 

“The studio aims to foster connection through art, making it a perfect fit within this dynamic village along the Erie Canal,” she says. 

The studio—an inclusion partner with Rochester Accessible Adventures and a provider of On the Canals programming—boasts a beautiful gallery space and storefront for artists to display their works on a monthly basis. 

“The mission of Stony Point Art Studio is to offer classes and workshops to the community that foster inclusivity and creativity in a space that has been remodeled to be accessible to all,” says Pelusio. 

As a whole, Fairport is committed to supporting local accessibility needs.

In addition to housing a portion of the Erie Canal Heritage Corridor’s popular NYS Fiber Trail (a self-guided fiber and yarn tour), Fairport recently defined an Accessibility Trail. Along the path, visitors encounter accessible benches and bathrooms in Perinton Park before heading over to Erie Canal Boat Company. Here, owner Peter Ably finds creative ways for individuals in wheelchairs to kayak on the canal. The nearby train-viewing platform (Fairport Junction), the restaurant (Junction361), and the wetlands (Thomas Creek Wetland Walk) are accessible as well.

Earlier this year, local winery Casa Larga Vineyards collaborated with Iron Smoke Distillery to co-create a delicious port wine. Affair du Chocolat—a specialty chocolate and handmade candy shop on Main Street—also collaborated with the distillery, turning whiskeys into truffles. 

At the end of the day, Fairport is a community that supports its own.

“We don’t want local businesses to see each other as competitors,” says Ragus. “We want to show them how to partner.” 

This fall, nearby Buffalo will be hosting the World Canal Conference 2025 (WCC2025). People from around the globe attend this annual conference and many visitors arrive by boat. 

Following the conference, a handmade replica boat—Seneca Chief—will travel across the state, ending its voyage in New York City. The boat, which sets sail from Buffalo Maritime Center, will spend two nights in Fairport, replicating the path DeWitt Clinton took when he opened the Erie Canal in 1825. 

This September gathering will be an opportunity for several boats to meet up (including local favorites Colonial Bell and Corn Hill Navigation’s Sam Patch). 

A flotilla will cross from Pittsford into Fairport, culminating in a celebration at Perinton Park. While Fairport already welcomes more than 350 boats each year, the village will offer additional tours and fun activities in light of the event. 

“We appreciate the community’s support and volunteerism—we are excited for all of the new things coming up,” says Ragus. 

“For more information or to help,” she adds, “stop by our office (Fairport Perinton Partnership for a Better Community) across from the ice cream parlor.”

This article originally appeared in the May/June 2025 issue of (585).

If you have lived in the (585) for any amount of time, you are familiar with the Erie Canal. What you may not know is that October 26, 2025, is the 200-year anniversary of the completion of this New York State waterway. 

“Every town along the canal is connected through a shared history and culture,” says Derrick Pratt, director of education and public programming at the Erie Canal Museum in Syracuse. “The economic  ties that historically bound them together are connecting them once again through the millions of people who travel the Erie Canalway Trail each year.” 

Here is a historic snapshot of the small (populations of about 5,000 people or less) canal towns and villages from Orleans, Monroe, and Wayne Counties. Also, see where and why you should stop along this west-to-east, eighty-mile stretch today.

Village of Medina (est. 1832; pop. 5,096) 

Sandstone was discovered during the canal’s construction, and John Ryan opened the first quarry in 1836, making the stone regionally famous. The canal allowed him to transport it across the state and use it to build the canal’s own expansion (1835–62). 

Visit: St. John’s Episcopal Church (stjohnsmedina.org) 

St. John’s is not only Medina’s oldest church (built 1832–38), but it was constructed out of Medina sandstone. View the stunning stained-glass windows, then grab a slice from Avanti Pizza: loveavanti.com.

Village of Albion (est. 1828; pop. 5,637) 

In a smart move, Nehemiah Ingersoll bought the land around the planned intersection of the Erie Canal and main street in 1822. A grist mill was established in 1837 by Jesse Crowell’s Albion Company, facilitating the exportation of wheat and flour. 

Visit: The Cobblestone Museum (cobblestonemuseum.org) 

Made up of three Victorian cobblestone structures and four wooden buildings, the museum promotes the history of the county’s agricultural and skilled trades. Call to make sure it is open (May–October), then reserve a table for dinner at Tavern on the Ridge: dineatthetavern.com. 

Village of Holley (est. 1850; pop. 1,730) 

Named for Erie Canal Commissioner Myron Holley (who is buried in Rochester’s Mount Hope Cemetery), this village had a booming quarry business in the late 1800s. Several sandstone buildings still stand in the Village Square today. 

Visit: Holley Canal Falls: (nyfalls.com/waterfalls/holley-falls) 

Take a ten-minute walk—or a full hour hike around Canal Park—to see these manmade falls over Medina sandstone. The water is overflow from the canal, which empties into Sandy Creek and eventually Lake Ontario. After, have an ice cream at Red, White, and Moo (call for hours: 638-2090). 

Village of Spencerport (est. 1867; pop. 3,655) 

Daniel Spencer, who ran the village’s first tavern, also owned the land the canal was built through. Spencerport was named after him and became a major exporter of grain and beans. Visit: The Spencerport Depot & Canal Museum (spencerportmuseum.org) 

The museum not only holds relics from the canal and Town of Ogden, but it is also a welcome center and boater’s facility for those traveling via canal (open April–October). Or attend Canal Days in July: spencerportcanaldays.com.

Village of Pittsford (est. 1827; pop. 1,332) 

This farmland was named Northfield, Boyle, Smallwood, and finally Pittsford after Colonel Caleb Hopkins’s hometown in Vermont. Local exports transitioned from wheat to sand and limestone over time. Monroe County’s first doctor, John Ray, also arrived here in 1792. 

Visit: Book Culture (bookculture.com) 

This indie bookstore opened its fourth location on Pittsford’s Main Street in 2021. Then treat yourself to a stroll along the canal shops of Schoen Place (originally a lumber yard).

Village of Fairport (est. 1867; pop. 5,501) 

Originally a swampland, the area of present-day Fairport became habitable after it was drained for canal construction. Rumor is that its name (formerly Perrinsville after settler Glover Perrin) came from a traveler who called the village “a pretty fair port.” 

Visit: Perinton Historical Society and Fairport Museum (perintonhistoricalsociety.org) 

The museum was built as the village’s library in 1938 and now hosts tours of homes, cemeteries, and landmarks. Want a canal view right now? Check out the canal cam: bit.ly/CanalCam.

Village of Palmyra (est. 1827; pop 3,275) 

The village sits within the town of its same name, known as the “Queen of Canal Towns.” Named Swift’s Landing after John Swift, it was an important stop on the Underground Railroad. It was also the birthplace of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and where the first Book of Mormon was printed (1830). 

Visit: The Five Museums (historicpalmyrany.com) 

Get five sources of history in one stop! The Palmyra Historical Museum, Erie Canal Depot, Print Shop Museum, Phelps General Store & Residence, and Alling Coverlet Museum each offers unique experiences. Diner fare can round out your visit at the Akropolis Family Restaurant: akropolisrestaurantpalmyra.com.

Town of Lyons (est. 1811; pop 5,682) 

Land agent Charles Williamson renamed “The Forks” to Lyons because the water junctions reminded him of Lyon, France. Also known as the “Peppermint Village,” this herb was Lyons’s cash crop in the mid-1800s, when peppermint oil was exported internationally. 

Visit: The Peppermint Museum (lyonsheritagesociety.org)

Learn about Hiram and Leman Hotchkiss, who relocated their business from Phelps to Lyons, and about the process of making peppermint oil. There is also a minty gift shop. Call before you visit to let someone know you’re coming: (315) 946-4596. 

Village of Clyde (est. 1811; pop. 2,138) 

Located on the Clyde River, this site housed a trading post before its canal boom. In 1828, a window company merged with a bottle company, forming Clyde Glass Works.It manufactured some of the first Mason and Mason-style canning jars and was one of the largest glass companies worldwide. 

Visit: The Erie Mansion Bed & Breakfast (eriemansion.com) 

After Eugina Smith married Charles Ely (owner of Clyde Glass Works), they turned her parents’ 1850s home into the SmithEly Mansion, around 1910. After two generations and failed multiunit housing, Mark Wright bought the property in 2008 and turned into a B&B that also offers tours. You may or may not see a ghost. Then fuel up your car and belly at WestSide Fuel: westsideclyde.com.

This article originally appeared in the May/June 2025 issue of (585).