Vanished Rochester: The Haven

In the summer of 1926, industrialist Fred Marvin Shinnick began construction of a large country estate in Avon Township (now Rochester Hills), just west of the village of Rochester. Shinnick, who was born in Detroit in 1877, was secretary-treasurer of the Briggs Manufacturing Company, which during the period between the world wars was the nation's largest independent producer of automobile bodies. He also owned and operated the Rochester Dairy during the twenties.

Shinnick and his wife, the former Lillian Graham, located their new home on the former Manwaring farm on the north side of Walton Boulevard near Old Perch Road, and named it “The Haven.” The Rochester Era described the property for its readers in 1928:

The very handsome home completed a year a half ago stands back a full quarter of a mile from the road and is reached by a winding driveway. Built of red brick in old English style, it stands in spacious grounds containing 70 acres in all. At the back of the house is a lovely rock-garden and the ground slopes down to a fine natural pool with delightful woods and a ravine yet farther on. In front of the landscaping is still incomplete, although most attractive even in its present stage. Mr. and Mrs. Shinnick and their children lately returned from their respective schools, are all at home at present to enjoy their lovely surroundings.

The Clarion called The Haven “palatial,” and estimated that the cost of its construction exceeded $250,000. The home was lavishly appointed and even featured a two-manual Skinner pipe organ specifically designed for the space. (Pipe organ fans can click here to read the specs for the Shinnick instrument, Skinner op.599).

In 1932, according to Fred Shinnick's obituary, he and his wife Lillian decided to convert their home into a private psychiatric hospital. Their reasons were not stated, but the economic realities of the Great Depression were more than likely a major factor. Large estates were costly to operate and many passed out of private hands or were converted to other uses during the difficult Depression years.

Shinnick operated The Haven Sanitarium until his retirement in 1938, at which time his son, Graham, took over as hospital administrator. The Haven was known for treating well-to-do patients whose identities and privacy were carefully guarded. Rumors swirled that some of Hollywood's famous stars were numbered among its patients over the years.

There was an air of mystery surrounding The Haven, and children were spooked by it. Occasional news stories, such as this one from the Rochester Era in March, 1938, only served to increase the interest:

On Sunday, Sam Howlett was called to The Haven, west of Rochester on the Pontiac road, to participate in a hunt for a lunatic, who had escaped and fled across the fields fifteen minutes previously. Shortly after the call, police found the broken bonds which the prisoner had apparently cut with a hedge clipper in a garage back of the sanitorium and had vanished. While Chief Howlett was searching the section a report was phoned in to Deputy Ted Gunn that the fugitive was entering Rochester in the vicinity of Woodward street. Gunn immediately rushed to that street and seized him. Officials of The Haven conducted the patient to Receiving Hospital, Detroit, believing him too dangerous to keep at the sanitorium.

Notice the vocabulary that was used in those days: the individual is referred to as a “lunatic,” a “prisoner” and a “fugitive,” but not until the end of the article is he called a “patient.” No wonder the local kids were spooked by The Haven!

Not all of The Haven's publicity was negative, however. In 1949, Rochester made the magazine section of newspapers throughout the country when a feature appeared describing the “Rochester Plan,” a partnership between the school district and The Haven to provide mental health services to local students. The article by Robert Goldman, entitled “Rochester Counsels Its Children,” reported in its lead paragraph that the claim to fame for the quiet little village of Rochester, Michigan was that “it is the smallest town in the United States boasting a full-fledged psychological counseling program.”

The Haven operated as a psychiatric hospital for thirty-six years, but closed in 1968 due to declining occupancy and rising operating costs. The once grand Shinnick home sat vacant thereafter, and owing to its location so far off the main road, became a magnet for squatters, vandals and teens looking for a place to party. The caretaker and the Oakland County Sheriff's Department fought an ongoing battle to run the intruders off the property, but despite their efforts the old house was torn apart piece by piece.

Late in the evening of November 2, 1973, the Rochester Fire Department was called to a fire at The Haven. They found numerous problems in fighting the blaze and sounded two more alarms, answered by the Brooklands and Avondale departments. Fire department historian William A. Cahill recorded that the nearest hydrant was on the south side of Walton, so fire fighters had to lay 1,200 feet of hose to reach the house, and cars on Walton hampered their efforts by running over the hose line. Further, the heavy slate roof on the Tudor-revival house created an oven effect in the building. A large crowd of gawkers and onlookers added to the difficulties.

The end of The Haven came when the fire chewed away the roof supports and sent the heavy slate crashing down. Near dawn on November 3, after 40,000 gallons of water had been poured onto the blaze, the house was nothing but a smoldering ruin.

A few years after the fire, the property was redeveloped and became the Grosse Pines subdivision, but one reminder of The Haven still stands in testimony to the property's former use. The ledge rock wall and gates that adorned the Walton Boulevard frontage of The Haven property are yet visible among the tall pines at the entrance to the subdivision.

This postcard view of The Haven shows the ledge rock wall that is still visible today along Walton Boulevard.

Subdivision Stories: Hitchman's Haven Estates

The subdivision known as Hitchman's Haven Estates was platted in the southeast quarter of Section 8 of the former Township of Avon (now Rochester Hills) in 1952.  Detroit real estate broker Thomas A. Hitchman and his wife, Ada Lillian Sternbridge Hitchman, developed the subdivision that bears their name; they included the name "Haven" in a nod to the Haven Sanitarium that lay adjacent to their property immediately to the east.  The streets in the original Hitchman's Haven Estates development were named for the western states of Texas and Nevada.  The Hitchmans expanded the subdivision in 1953, adding the streets of Arizona and Oklahoma, and again in 1955, adding a fifth street named Colorado.

An interesting side note about this property is that before the Hitchmans acquired it for development, the parcel was owned by Beryl Harnett Schuyler Kahn, who was the wife of Detroit architect Louis Kahn (not to be confused with the famous Estonian-born architect Louis I. Kahn of the Yale School of Architecture).  Detroit architect Louis Kahn was the brother of renowned industrial architect Albert Kahn.

Which Does Not Belong - Quiz Answers

For all of you who have been waiting on pins and needles, here are the answers to last Friday's quiz:

Group 1: a) Eve's b) Shepard's c) Carmichael's d) The Hurling Green

Answer: c) Carmichael's does not belong. Eve's, Shepard's, and The Hurling Green were local bars. Carmichael's was a bus and taxi service.

Group 2: a) Woodruff b) Avon Center c) The Haven d) Lawnridge

Answer: d) Lawnridge does not belong. Woodruff, Avon Center and The Haven were the names of local hospitals. Lawnridge is the former Donald Wilson estate on Adams Road, now part of the University Presbyterian Church campus.

Group 3: a) Tienken b) Ross c) Hubbell d) Hamlin

Answer: a) Tienken does not belong. Although all four of these are names of pioneer families of Rochester and Avon, only Ross, Hubbell and Hamlin are also the names of local school districts. The Ross, Hubbell and Hamlin districts ceased to exist when the local districts were consolidated to form the Rochester Community Schools.

Group 4: a) Purple Pickle b) Morley's c) Gerda's d) Bebout's

Answer: b) Morley's does not belong. Purple Pickle, Gerda's and Bebout's were all names of local restaurants. Morley's is the name of the pharmacy that preceded Lytle's in the Opera House building.

Group 5: a) Larry Jerome b) Norman Hastings c) Dick Davis d) Ralph Garner

Answer: b) Norman Hastings does not belong. Larry Jerome, Dick Davis and Ralph Garner were all automobile dealers in town. Norman Hastings ran a Culligan soft water franchise on North Main St.

Group 6: a) Pixley's b) Krazy Kelly's c) Casual Concepts d) Alvin's

Answer: d) Alvin's does not belong. Pixley's, Krazy Kelly's and Casual Concepts were all furniture stores in the Rochester area. Alvin's was a ladies' apparel shop.


I hope you enjoyed the quiz. If you did, maybe we'll do this again some time!

Subdivision Stories: Brooklands

The Brooklands Fire Department in the Christmas parade sometime in the late 1970s (Courtesy of Clarence and Dorene Whitbey)

Lying mid-way between Rochester and Utica along both sides of Auburn Road are the Brooklands subdivisions. The original Brooklands plat was laid out in 1916 on former farmland of August and Caroline Dobat that was situated west of John R and south of Auburn Road. The streets surrounded the brand new Brooklands Golf and Country Club, and were named for the most prominent amateur golfers of the day: Tom Bendelow, Harry Vardon, Jerome Travers, Chick Evans, and Ted Ray.  Some of these street names survived after the entire plat was vacated in 1920 and a complete replat was done.

During the 1920s and '30s, the Township of Avon created several supervisor's plats adjoining the original Brooklands plat to the east.  A grid of streets was created with small city lots appropriate for modest one-story or story-and-a-half bungalows that  attracted wage-earning autoworkers and their families who wanted to own their own homes.  Developments like Brooklands allowed factory workers in Detroit's auto industry to move their families out of the city into affordable housing in a country setting.  Many who worked in Pontiac's auto plants bought homes in Brooklands.

As more families located in Brooklands, the area began to evolve as community of its own. Auburn Road served as a pseudo-Main Street, and a commercial hub began to develop there. By the end of World War II, Brooklands was a de facto village unto itself.  Auburn Road through Brooklands boasted a school, a couple of churches, a grocery store, a hardware, a couple of drive-in restaurants, a couple of bars, and several other miscellaneous businesses. All the necessities of daily life could be had there without traveling to Rochester or Utica.  The Brooklands area even organized and operated its own independent fire department, entirely separate from the rest of Avon Township.

During the 1960s and '70s, the Brooklands area developed something of a "bad boy" reputation.  The stereotypical Brooklands youth, it was said, attended school somewhat sparingly, was quick with his fists, was not unacquainted with lawbreaking activity, and had driving skills and a car fast enough to outrun the cops.

By the early 1980s, a change was happening in the subdivision's character. A natural generational turnover was taking place in the neighborhood at the same time that other areas of the township - now Rochester Hills - were becoming increasingly affluent. Brooklands became the haven for young families seeking affordable starter homes with nearby schools. In the middle of suburban sprawl, they were also looking for a sense of community - something Brooklands has always had, in abundance.

This Month in Rochester History

Honor Roll moving in 1963 (Rochester Hills Public Library)

Fifty years ago this month, Rochester leaders were contemplating what should be done with the community's World War II honor roll, which had fallen into disrepair and was standing in the way of a proposed urban renewal project.

In 1963, the honor roll was located on the east side of Main Street at Second; Second street had not been opened east of Main at that time. The village was preparing for an urban renewal project on the east side of Main, encompassing the area occupied by the former Chapman Mill Pond (which had been washed out in 1946) and adjacent property.  Part of this plan was to open Second Street east of Main.

The village fathers and the Blue Star Mothers, who had originally sponsored the creation of the memorial, contemplating moving the memorial to the municipal building grounds, as this article from the September 26, 1963 issue of the Rochester Clarion reported:

Township treasurer Helen V. Allen, representing the Blue Star Mothers, addressed a letter to the Council asking them to consider a spot for the memorial on the Civil Center grounds.
The memorial is now located on Main St. across the road from the eastern end of Second. Because the names are etched on glass, some of the panels are broken and the memorial in general is in poor condition. It is believed that stones thrown up by passing cars have broken the glass panels.
Mrs. Allen said this week that the Blue Star Mothers have brought a glass company person to Rochester to look at the memorial and it is estimated it will cost $600 to repair the memorial. It will cost an unestimated amount to move the memorial. She said that the Blue Star Mothers will ask other organizations and individuals to help them finance the project.

Honor Roll at re-dedication in 2002 (Rod and Susan Wilson)

The planned move to the municipal building grounds did not happen in 1963. Instead, the honor roll was removed from its site at Second Street and dismantled. The broken panels were stored away in a garage and not seen again for several decades, until the Rochester Avon Historical Society adopted the honor roll as a historic preservation project and restored it.  At a cost many thousands of dollars greater than the estimate of 1963, the memorial was returned to its former glory and given a place of honor on the grounds of the Rochester Municipal Building in 2002. It was re-dedicated on Memorial Day of that year with many local World War II veterans in attendance.

If you haven't visited Rochester's World War II Honor Roll, be sure to take time to stop by the Municipal Building to view this memorial to the more than 1,100 men and women from the community who served in uniform during World War II.  Among the names listed are 26 preceded by gold stars, denoting the ultimate sacrifice in defense of freedom.

Which Does Not Belong?

Here's a fun quiz for those of you who know a lot about all things Rochester. In each group of four, one item does not belong. Can you correctly identify the stray item in each group? Just remember that "Rochester" refers to our combined communities of Rochester and Rochester Hills, so don't limit your thinking to the downtown area, or you might be led astray! I'll post the answers to the quiz on August 25.

Which Does Not Belong?

Group 1: a) Eve's b) Shepard's c) Carmichael's d) The Hurling Green
Group 2: a) Woodruff b) Avon Center c) The Haven d) Lawnridge
Group 3: a) Tienken b) Ross c) Hubbell d) Hamlin
Group 4: a) Purple Pickle b) Morley's c) Gerda's d) Bebout's
Group 5: a) Larry Jerome b) Dick Davis c) Norman Hastings d) Ralph Garner
Group 6: a) Pixley's b) Krazy Kelly's c) Casual Concepts d) Alvin's

Those are the easy ones. Next time, I'll make them difficult. Have fun!

At Home in Rochester: The Albertson House

The Albertson house standing on North Main just before it was moved in 1953

On the south side of Ferndale Street, just west of North Main, stands a lovely house that fits beautifully with its surrounding neighbors.  The Woodward Heights subdivision, of which Ferndale is a part, was platted in 1920, so one could be forgiven for thinking that all of the houses on the street date from that time or later.

In fact, this particular house, originally part of the Albertson farm, is far older than its neighbors on Ferndale street.  The house originally stood on the west side of North Main, just north of the location of today's Rochester Athletic Club (or the old A & P supermarket for those of you who haven't been to town in a while).  When the supermarket site was being prepared for construction in February 1953, three dwellings that stood north of the property were sold off and moved so that the hill could be cut down and used as fill for the low-lying land on which the store would stand.  The Dr. Godfrey Hamlen house was moved to North Oak Street, where it still stands today; the Albertson house and one other were moved to Ferndale Street.

The Rochester Clarion, in reporting on the moving of the houses in 1953, remarked that the Albertson house was "built at least 90 years ago."  If the Clarion's estimate was at all accurate, the Albertson house was originally built around 1863, making it one of Rochester's oldest homes.

The Albertson family farmed a 56-acre parcel of land bounded on the east by North Main Street and on the north by what we know today as Woodward Street. Most of the farm land was platted and sold in 1900 as the Albertson Addition, creating the streets of Albertson, Griggs and Drace.

Summer Fun in Avon Park

I grew up in a neighborhood bordering what is now the Rochester Municipal Park, known in those days as Avon Park. The park was both our playground and our family picnic area. Today, the playground is located in the same general area as it was when I was a kid in the 1960s, but it looks a bit different now. We didn't have engineered "playscapes," but we did have the monkey bars, jungle gym, teeter-totter, merry-go-round and the ever-popular swing set and slide. No environmentally friendly, non toxic, low-impact structures, these; most were constructed out of iron or galvanized pipe. They didn't have a foot of rubber mulch beneath them to cushion our falls, either. We landed on the concrete-like ground - beaten hard by thousands of kids' feet over the years - got up, brushed off our skinned knees and got on with the game. The seats on the swing set were rubber, and after few hours of heating up under the summer sun, they reached a temperature that could peel the skin from the backs of our legs. Likewise the slide, which was constructed of shiny sheet metal - not plastic - was hot enough to scorch our backsides.

We learned some of life's little lessons on that playground in Avon Park. The teeter-totter was a terrible danger; more than one kid took a smack from that 2x10 piece of lumber when bailing off the end of the board. The sympathy that we got from our parents ran something along the lines of "well, you've learned not to do that again, haven't you?" I suppose they figured that we were learning a lesson in physics - the use of the fulcrum, or maybe that every action produces an equal and opposite reaction. Anyway, kids had to be tough to hang out on the playground. It's a wonder we survived without helmets, knee-pads, elbow-pads and direct adult supervision!

You Might Be From Rochester If...

With a nod to Jeff Foxworthy, here's a list of things you might remember if you grew up in Rochester.  Feel free to add your own in the comments!

You might be from Rochester if...

• you know where Bare A-- Beach was
• you remember when going to McDonald's meant a trip all the way to Pontiac
• you partied at the Haven
• you got your milk from Joe Case's dairy truck
• you liked shopping in the D&C because the floors were squeaky
• you distributed show bills for the Hills Theatre
• you remember when the town bowling alley was in the basement of a building on Main Street
• you got all of your pairs of “school shoes” from Jack Burr at B-Z Bootery
• you remember the Slaughterhouse Five controversy
• you wore lederhosen - or a dirndl - to dance in the Maifest
• you made an inner-tube raft for the Floatable Boatable
• you got kicked off the ice at the municipal pond for playing crack-the-whip
• you were scared of the River Gang
• you were in the River Gang
• you ate at the Big Boy drive-in on North Main next to the Dairy Queen
• you bought penny candy at Rochester Junction
• you know where the Sinclair station was
• you painted “The Rock” at least once
• you know what business Frank St. Onge was in
• you played the pinball machine at Cunningham's – for a dime
• you remember when part of the South Hill bridge collapsed
• you know why it was fun to drive really fast over the old Elizabeth St. bridge

At Home in Rochester: The William Henry Ducharme House

This Dutch colonial on Crooks Road, just north of Hamlin, has ties to the history of the American automotive industry. According to WPA rural property inventory records, the house may have been built about 1899, but the exact date is currently unknown. The house stands on the remnant of what was once a large farm parcel straddling Crooks Road and consisting, at times, of more than 200 acres.

The most interesting part of the property's history began in 1916, when it was purchased by William Henry Ducharme of Detroit. Ducharme was the son of Detroit hardware merchant Charles A. Ducharme, who was a partner in the Buhl & Ducharme hardware business and was also president of the Michigan Stove Company. William Ducharme was a talented amateur athlete and active member of the Detroit Athletic Club; he played first base for the D.A.C.'s baseball club, known as the Deltas. He was a member of that team when they won the national amateur championships in 1890 and 1892.

In business, William Ducharme had started out in the hardware trade, like his father, but in 1909 he became one of the three organizers of the Kelsey Wheel Company and was elected treasurer of the new firm. Kelsey Wheel got its start from Henry Ford, who purchased more than three-quarters of the company's wheel production in the first year. The company later expanded sales to other automakers and to the federal government during World War I, and by 1919 was producing two million wheels a year.  In 1927, Kelsey merged with the Hayes Wheel Company and formed what became the Kelsey-Hayes Corporation, a major supplier of wheels and brakes to the Big Three automakers.

With Kelsey Wheel making great strides in the industry, William Ducharme decided to invest in real estate. He purchased the Crooks Road property in 1916 from William McKinstrey and apparently used the house as a country escape.  The 1922 Detroit Social Secretary lists Ducharme and his wife, Frances, as residents of Jefferson Avenue in Detroit but notes that they maintained a "country home" in what they referred to as "Avon Hills."

Ducharme owned the Crooks Road property until 1943, a year before his death, but by 1939 he was apparently leasing the house for use as a convalescent home.  The Rochester Clarion reported on May 19, 1939, that the house was damaged by fire while so occupied:

The River View Rest Home, operated by Jerry Cummins and Robert W. Brennan at 1921 Crooks road, about 3 miles west and two miles south of Rochester, was badly damaged by fire, Monday afternoon, about 2:45 p.m., when a fire started in the attic of the house and before Rochester firemen could get it under control had burned the top floor of the sanitorium.
It is believed the fire was caused by sparks from a hole in the chimney. Firemen were handicapped in fighting the blaze for lack of water. The well on the property had gone dry and was being repaired by John Boldt, who gave assistance in getting the patients from the Home before help arrived. Firemen exhausted the chemicals in attempting to extinguish the blaze and a hose line was run 800 feet to the Clinton River and pumped to supply water.
At the time of the fire, nine patients were registered at the Rest Home. One of the women patients had suffered a stroke two days previous and had to be carried from the home. She was transferred in the A.C. Hobart ambulance to the Woodruff-Geiger Hospital. The other patients were taken to The Haven, another private sanitorium west of the village, and to the home of Mrs. Leila Mitchell on East Fifth street. Mrs. Mitchell is a nurse at the River View Rest Home.
The property is owned by William DuCharme, of Detroit. He will repair the home immediately for its continued use as a convalescent home.

 Another newspaper article a few months later reported that the house had been repaired and the rest home was back in operation, but after Ducharme sold it in 1943 it returned to service as a private residence.  Most of  the surrounding farm land was sold for development following World War II.

A Eulogy for our Neighborhoods

The year 2014 has been the most destructive in the history of Rochester. When future historians examine the record of this year looking for the cause of the devastation, they will not find narratives of fire, tornado, or bombs.  Instead, they will find that in 2014, when Rochester's landscape was riddled with the pock-marks of demolished vintage houses, the damage was wholly self-inflicted.

An amazing number of buildings in Rochester's residential neighborhoods have been razed during the past 12 months.  Not all were counted among the best of our historic properties, but some were - the 1888 Van Hoosen-Case house being a notable example and the most recent to fall to the wrecking ball.  We seem to be in the middle of an "out-with-the-old-in-with-the-new" cycle.  After all, old houses take a lot of time and money to maintain.  They are inconvenient - the walls are seldom square and plumb, the floors aren't completely level, they have inadequate closet space and the kitchens - gasp! - aren't usually roomy enough to accommodate an island cook-top and all of the latest appliances and gadgets.  So we rip them down and replace them with something more amenable to modern family life, and strip away a little more of our heritage in the process.

Just old buildings?  Not quite.  An anonymous person once said, "It's not good because it's old, it's old because it's good."  These houses are witnesses, if only we would take the time to listen to their testimony.  They all have stories to tell about the families they have sheltered over the decades, and the people in those families were the ones who built this community and left something behind for the citizens of today. Author and home restoration specialist Jane Powell once spoke quite eloquently on this issue; she said, in part:

American culture, and advertising in particular, has done an excellent job of convincing consumers that they are the center of the universe, and that their needs and desires should be more important than anything else. This has led to a huge sense of entitlement, including the idea that one's time is so valuable that it couldn't possibly be spent maintaining the house. Here's some news you may find distressing. You are not the center of the universe. I am not the center of the universe, either. We are temporary. We are not playing Monopoly, and there is no "get-out-of-maintenance-free" card. (Those who are elderly or disabled get slack.) A house comes with responsibilities, and a historic house comes with more responsibilities. We are only the caretakers of these houses, which were here before we owned them and which will be here after we are gone. They contain the wood from the old-growth forests, they are monuments to the skill of those who labored to build them, they represent our cultural heritage. To destroy them, or allow them to be destroyed by neglect, to remove their original fabric in the pointless pursuit of "no maintenance" is profoundly disrespectful both to the trees that gave their lives and to the labor and skill of those who built the houses - with hand tools, I might add.

The issue of historic preservation is now being studied in the halls of city government, and the coming year may see the topic addressed, perhaps by ordinance.  Personally, I hope that any discussion will include not only consideration of control by ordinance, but also a conservancy/trust model for the handful of our most precious historic gems.

A conservancy/trust for historic properties might look something like the greenspace initiative passed in Rochester Hills some years ago to protect certain land from development.  A millage was passed to provide the city with the funds to acquire these properties for the public good.  A similar approach could be used to acquire select historic properties, which would then be owned, operated and maintained by a public trust.  The properties could be leased - with the appropriate restrictions on the activities of the tenants in order to protect and preserve the buildings - and the income realized from the leases would be returned to the trust and invested, providing a fund for the perpetual care and maintenance of the properties. (If you are interested in such arrangements, check out the web site of the Bucks County, Pennsylvania Heritage Conservancy, which conserves both historic buildings and natural resources.)

In February 1968, Rochester suffered a loss when its Albert Kahn-designed Chapman mansion and ten acres of trees were bulldozed.  There was considerable public outcry at the time - after the fact, of course - and the Rochester Clarion was prompted to run an editorial under the headline "A Lesson Can be Learned."   The editor's closing words were these:

The lesson learned from this incident should be clear. Private industry is not in the park business. If enough citizens earnestly want to have a piece of land preserved, they should waste no time in urging some unit of government to grab it as soon as it is for sale - not six months later. They should also be prepared to possibly pay higher taxes to secure it. Natural beauty is not a luxury.

Forty-six years later, the evidence suggests we haven't learned that lesson yet. Demolition is a bell that cannot be unrung.  It is time to decide how we can progress while honoring our past, and how we can preserve our neighborhoods without heavy-handed infringement of private property rights.  This post is not aimed at the builders and developers who are doing what they have the legal right to do with privately-held property; it is aimed at their enablers. It is aimed at the citizens who signal by inaction their tolerance for bulldozers rolling down their streets, of graceless mini-mansions bulging at the lot lines and crassly towering over their neighbors in a vulgar attempt to make Rochester a clone of the zip code to our southwest.

My home town is better than that.