David Andreatta

@david_andreatta

Everybody wants to talk about what downtown Rochester can be.

It would be much easier to move the conversation forward if there weren't constant reminders around every corner of what downtown used to be.

Eight years ago, downtown became the backdrop for an inspired public art exhibit titled, "Downtown: The Way It Was," that was launched to coincide with the city's 175th birthday in 2009.

The exhibit sought to create the world's largest outdoor museum by displaying enlarged historic photographs of the city in its heyday in the windows of various buildings.

Over 150 photos depicting a glorious Rochester long gone were affixed to the exterior glass along with captions describing the images.

There were scenes of bustling streets teeming with trolleys, of men in hats and women in long skirts mingling on the corners, of children window shopping at a five-and-dime, of ads from the old Duffy-McInnerney catalog, and so on. They were beautiful.

Remarkable Rochesterians

Ken Sato, now a local restaurateur who created the exhibit with partner Gerard DiMarco, a Rochester lawyer, cast their project at the time as an opportunity to recapture the vibrancy and enterprise that made the city great.

The exhibit was to be on display for a year, according to a City Hall news release. Mayor Robert Duffy praised the project as "beautifying our city, fostering community pride and honoring our great past."

It accomplished all of those things.

But eight years on, the exhibit is in tatters and irrelevant.

Most of the photos have been removed by building owners, but dozens still cling to their facades, many dog-eared and sun-bleached. Some look like they've been keyed, as though someone attempted to carve them into jigsaw puzzles. Captions are missing from others.

Instead of a living art exhibit, the photos recall oversized handbills for a concert that came and went long ago and no one bothered to remove.

What’s left of "Downtown: The Way It Was" is symbolic of both the neglect that haunts pockets of downtown and the city's unhealthy relationship with nostalgia.

Like many young professionals who relocated to Rochester, I did so 10 years ago because I saw potential — to raise a family, to forge a career and build a future. What I didn't foresee was the crippling crush Rochesterians have on their past.

It seems that no matter how eager someone is to start something new, someone else is there to remind them that their venture will never be a Kodak or Xerox or Bausch & Lomb. Whatever goes up at Midtown will never be Midtown.

The result is we exist in a paradox. While the city, and particularly downtown, stands on the precipice of change, its spirit is defined by a mass refusal to let go of yesteryear.

History offers a window to the future. But dwelling on it is paralyzing.

Reached by phone, Sato and DiMarco said they had hoped to replace the photos with new ones on a regular basis. But they recalled that they couldn't get the funding and, aside from praise from passers-by, no one took a long-term interest in the work.

"I'm a little disappointed in the lack of interest in the project that I think could've been a very colorful, and personal and quite a thing for visitors to see," DiMarco said. "I think at this point, though, it's a little stale."

Duffy, now head of the Great Rochester Chamber of Commerce, agreed.

"You appreciate the past, but I would be looking forward," Duffy said. "Clearly, those were meant to be short-term, not up for a decade or close to it."

Brett Walsh, a spokesman for Monroe County, which hosts about 20 photos on its buildings, said the images would be removed in the next two weeks.

"The county remains invested in telling the story of our community's rich history, but the time has come for these panels to be retired," Walsh said.

The word nostalgia comes from the Greek "nostros," meaning to return home, and "algos," meaning pain. In the 17th century, it was thought to be an illness along the lines of paranoia.

Nostalgia can be comforting, but also a means for ignoring the present and putting off the future.

Some studies have found that people who wax poetic about the past also express more optimism in the future. Researchers found that people bond over nostalgia, and that that social connection boosts their self-esteem and increases their optimism.

But what's the connection, in Rochester's case, when newcomers, or the entire millennial generation, have no memory of the thriving downtown shared by older generations?

The bond can only be in the future.

David Andreatta is a Democrat and Chronicle columnist. He can be reached at dandreatta@gannett.com.