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Amid all the drooling euphoria which attends the “Great Rennaissance of Buffalo” produced by the massive construction at the Buffalo Niagara Medical Campus, a few minor details are bound to be overlooked. In the case of the BNMC, one minor incidental issue is the unpleasant fact that people (human beings) live right there in the neighborhood and many have for generations. Not to worry. They can be encouraged to go away with a few minor inconveniences and an escalating level of “Get the Hell out of here” incentives. I never would have guessed that being car parked to death was a horrible fate, but it is just one facet of the “We don’t give a damn” attitude displayed by Buffalo’s economic mover and shaker gliteratti. But wait you say, the author is a rich old white guy who lives in an elitist neighborhood where the homeowners association’s motto is “It’s not conceit if we really are better than you.” So let’s listen to a local homeowner, Denise Barr: Click Here
To see what it’s like to live in the Fruitbelt parking lot click here. 
For an interview with a big black guy in a bad T-shirt, click here John Washington
We stopped to bust the chops of a nice guy who is a photographer for the Buffalo News
And for those with more patience, here’s the whole press conference. 
Unfortunately, the leadership of the Civil Service Employeees Association union has chosen to take sides against Fruitbelt residents rather than doing its job and standing up to management. There is a special place reserved in Hell for union leaders who stand with management against their members and the public.
In ancient times, before I angered The Man, I worked for 28 years at Roswell Park and was a member of both CSEA and the Public Employees Federation. CSEA and PEF were once a single union until an annoyed Governor assisted in “splitting the janitors from the geniuses” and separating the professional scientific and technical state employees out from the main body. This divide and conquer move greatly weakened the bargaining power of both. I was automatically moved between the unions when I got a state, rather than grant funded job in the mid 1980s. In PEF, I was a steward, union officer and convention delegate. I always said, “When PEF is your union, you will never need any enemies.” I might have worked another ten year at Roswell, but PEF gave away my job, and I retired when my boss was fired at the same time that a Patacki Midnight Special retirement incentive package got me to more than 30 years of service credit. I am now a proud journeyman dues paying mamber of Laborers’ Local #91. Look for me busting concrete next time you drive over the Grand Island bridge. I’m the old white haired guy wih the bad back and the weak heart.
