Welcome to Rochester, a place of strange names and confounding contradictions


Let’s say you’re putting together a guide titled “How to be a Rochesterian.”

Your target audience is people who has moved here recently, drawn by relatively affordable house prices, Abbott’s Ice Cream, garbage plates and friendly people.

Right away, you’ve got to train the newcomers on how to pronounce area town names. For that bit of your lesson plan, you give them a copy of Victoria E. Friele’s guide to the pronunciation of area town names, as published recently in the Democrat and Chronicle.

Victoria makes it clear that Lima, the place in Livingston County is “Lima,” as in the bean, not “Lima,” as in Peru. Similarly, Nunda, another Livingston County community, is called None-day by the locals, and None-da by strangers.

Perhaps not wishing to ruffle feathers, Victoria doesn’t weigh in on the correct pronunciation of “Rochester,” which I’ve heard at least two ways, one version being more nasal than the other.

Getting all the names right is only a start to becoming a local. It’s best also to become familiar with everything we believe here, even if it’s not true. Here’s just five of our guiding myths:

Thanks to the U.S. Postal Service, we live in Rochester, even if we don’t

Brighton, Irondequoit, Greece and many other communities are not in Rochester, but houses there have Rochester addresses. I don’t know why.

Everything is 20 minutes away in Rochester, even though it isn’t

Long ago, someone, perhaps at the Chamber of Commerce, promoted the idea that Rochester is the home of the easy commute. The problem is that once you get off the freeways, it’s slow going, especially if you’re on Fairport Road. Don’t ever go on Fairport Road.

Despite the presence of a strong El Nino, nearly 27 inches fell over two days in January 1966, making it one of Rochester’s snowiest months ever. This giant snow drift, photographed Feb. 2, was on East Avenue in Pittsford. The snow was part of the Blizzard of ’66.

It snows a lot in Rochester, even though it doesn’t

For years, promotors of Rochester have made lemonade from lemons, advertising 100 inches of snow a year as a plus, not a minus.

Now, things are different. Last season, there was only 52.5 inches of snow. The season before there were 50.4 inches. Chances are, Rochester will soon have to import snow from Buffalo, as it once did to keep a winter carnival alive.

Fans pack into the stands at St. John Fisher University for a Sunday afternoon practice at Buffalo Bills training camp in 2023.

Fans pack into the stands at St. John Fisher University for a Sunday afternoon practice at Buffalo Bills training camp in 2023.

Buffalo Bills are Rochester’s hometown team, even though they aren’t

The Bills aren’t even Buffalo’s hometown team, as they play in Orchard Park, 15 miles southeast of Buffalo.

Their stadium is 80 miles from the Rochester area.

However, the team does have its summer training camp in Pittsford, at St. John Fisher University. Pittsford isn’t Rochester, but it’s close, so, on second thought, the Bills are Rochester’s hometown team. For three or so weeks.

Rochester is the Flower City, even though it isn’t

The city has an identity crisis. It was once the Flour City because of its flour mills. Then it became the Flower City because it had, well, lots of flowers and seeds. It was also the Young Lion of the West, thanks to the opening of the Erie Canal.

Eventually, it became the Imaging Capital of the World, largely because of the dominance of the Eastman Kodak Co. Alas, that photo giant is no longer dominant.

Rochester has also been called Smugtown, not a compliment. And, fun fact, it was labeled The Mustard City in a “Brooklyn Nine-Nine” episode in which the precinct members went to a convention in Rochester. Perhaps that was a nod to the French’s Mustard Co., a power here once, but no longer.

All in all, things aren’t what they seem to be around here. Rochester is, drum roll, please, the Contradictions Capital of Western New York. Now there’s a label. Spread the word. Rebrand. We know who we are, and what we are is confused.

Iris Banister in a community workshop about discipling your children in 1997.

Iris Banister in a community workshop about discipling your children in 1997.

Remarkable Rochesterians: Rev. Iris Jean Sulcer Banister

Let’s add the name of this educator and activist who died March 11, 2024, at age 77, to the list of Remarkable Rochesterians that can be found at: : https://data.democratandchronicle.com/remarkable-rochesterians/.

The Rev. Iris Jean Sulcer Banister (1947-2024): A longtime advocate for children and women, she graduated from Jarvis Community College in Texas and came to Rochester from her native Oklahoma in 1969 to teach in the city school district. During her 32 years with the district, she was a teacher, a counselor and an administrator. After retiring, she served as director of the Wilson Commencement Park, and also of The Children’s Zone, and she founded NAMOW, a support service for women. She was on a wide variety of boards, including those of the Urban League of Rochester and the Greater Rochester Martin Luther King Jr. Commission, and she was affectionately known as The Queen Mother. The school district is considering renaming School 33 on Webster Avenue in her honor.

From his home in Geneseo, Livingston County, retired senior editor Jim Memmott writes Remarkable Rochester about who we were, who we are. He can be reached at jmemmott@gannett.com or write Box 274, Geneseo, NY 14454.

This article originally appeared on Rochester Democrat and Chronicle: Rochester NY is home to strange names and confusing contradictions

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