A Visit to St. Michael's, and the Night of the Great Fire

The church that rose from the ashes is now slated to close

The Author at St. Michael’s Church with mover and shaker David Granville, of City Hall fame. Photo by Howard Goldman.

Yesterday I went to St. Michael’s Church, slated to close shortly and be sold. It is a long story why I ended up there yesterday. However I have been there a lot over the years.

One unforgettable day, I went to confession there after 20 years of not going to confession. Now THAT was an adventure. It was Holy Week and there were long lines for confession — but only on one side of the church. There was nobody for the priest on the other side of the church and that was where I went. And I found out why nobody was in this line. That is a day I wish now that I could live over. Crazy.

You can see the confessional in this video that I shot yesterday when I had a minute.

Constant confession was a service St. Michael’s offered that no other church did. Also the church seemed always to be open. You would go in at midday and there would be people there, scattered throughout the church. A man praying the Stations of the Cross. Someone else lighting a candle. People sitting and meditating, perhaps not even Catholic, perhaps just taking a break in the day.

That’s all over now. The church was locked when Howard and I got there, and we had to be let in. You know what, you can just see the devil gloating over this. A good thing appears to be ending. I say “appears” only because — well, for one thing, it is Archangel Michael who leads the fight against the devil, and I find it hard to believe that the devil will win this. Also here in Buffalo we love that old quote, “It ain’t over till it’s over.” To which I would add: “And even then it ain’t over.”

Dear St. Michael’s.

Looking into the church’s history over the last couple of days, I learned things I did not know. My dad wrote a story that ran in The Buffalo News in 1986 about the fire that gutted Old St. Michael’s in 1962. It is quite a read and I will reprint it below.

I remembered that story but had forgotten a lot about it. For starters, that the fire was part of a crazy night of thunderstorms and electrical fires, all over Buffalo. My dad wrote that at one point, 10 houses in Tonawanda were in flames. There was also an industrial fire on Carolina Street, at a place called the Sterling Bag Company.

The mayor at the time, named Chester Kowal, appeared in person to help fight the fires. He was on the scene as the Sterling Bag Company was burning and when the alarm came in for the fire at Old St. Michael’s, he went there. He was up in a snorkel, whatever that is, spraying water on the dome.

I can’t get over how beautifully my father wrote. He must have been listening on the radio, hence his harrowing description of what that was like, the updates amid the static. This night of fires happened almost exactly a week before I was born.

What I did remember about his story was that after the fire at Old St. Michael’s, Mass moved to, of all places, the Town Casino. I thought that was cool, and so I remembered that.

But there was something about that I did not remember. It haunts me now, given the church’s present circumstances.

At the first Mass at the Town Casino, my father writes, the Jesuit pastor asked the congregation for prayers that a new St. Michael’s would arise to last for another 100 years.

Dad added:

Evidently these prayers were heard. This year, at Lenten masses, the new St. Michael’s, built on the ruins of its predecessor, is filled with worshipers. The church is nearly a quarter of the way into its second century.

This makes me wonder about the upcoming church closure. I know, I know, it is over, it’s been decided. However I did not know about these prayers and now the closing seems particularly wrong. A new St. Michael’s did arise. It was supposed to last 100 years. It should not be closing. We still have 40 years left on the meter! And then some, as we say here in Buffalo.

It is built to last. I had not realized that the walls of St. Michael’s are the original walls. The old church was gutted by the fire, but did not burn to the ground. I had missed that detail in my dad’s story. The walls are a kind of monument to Western New York. They are made of 42-inch Buffalo limestone, Lockport silver limestone and sandstone from Albion. My historian friend Steve Cichon wrote a story about this. Rebuilding the church, the parish reconstructed the tower. So the church we see now looks pretty much like the church people would have seen a century ago. The church that used to stand over the old Chippewa Market.

Let’s say prayers, you know? Nothing is impossible!

I invite you also to read my dad’s account of the fire. Take it, Dad:

The Fire at Old St. Michael’s

There were severe rain storms in the later afternoon, then a temporary lull. Shattering thunder and jagged bolts of lightning pierced the sky that spring evening, May 24, 1962.

Programs on TV wobbled to the electrical interference; for those listening to the radio, in between scratches of static came news of local fires. In Tonawanda, for example, within 18 minutes, 10 houses had been hit by lightning. Neighborhoods echoed with emergency sirens.

More serious still, Buffalo fire equipment had been summoned to the Sterling Bag Company on Carolina Street, where six aerial ladders and an 85-foot snorkel were struggling at a windswept industrial fire.

So fierce was the blaze that Mayor Chester Kowal was on hand with his fire and police commissioners. As they watched, at 9:32 p.m., came another alarm, stunning and urgent: “St. Michael’s Church downtown is on fire.”

Old St. Michael’s filled an intimate place in Buffalo’s heart. Thousands had found sanctuary in the church: businessmen, office workers, the homeless, bundle-laden shoppers. People of all religions respected St. Michael’s and the noble Jesuit priests who staffed it.

On May 24, after a deafening thunderclap, Father Thomas Reilly had looked toward St. Michael’s steeple and discovered flames spouting from it. He put in the fire alarm and with the pastor, Father James Redmond, charged into the church.

The interior was already thick with blinding smoke. There was noise of falling timbers and shattering glass. The two priests groped their way to the altar to save chalices and Sacred Hosts. Very soon, they were aided by policemen, firemen, even passersby.

The city’s heavy fire equipment had to be divided between the burning factory and St. Michael’s. Calls went out to nearby towns for their volunteer units. Eventually about 1,000 firefighters were assembled.

A huge crowd had soon gathered in the troubled May night as flames spread quickly through the old, heavily timbered church. Despite the excitement, people were quiet, reserved, shocked by the calamity. No supervision was needed by police: as though beholding a solemn ceremony, spectators stood back.

Smoke poured into the heavy, black sky; firemen climbing their ladders seemed to disappear in the darkness. Mayor Kowal spent two hours aloft in a high pressure snorkel directing a stream at the church dome.

Then with a sudden, immense thud, the church roof gave way, setting off a burst of sparks into the murky clouds. Without being warned, onlookers retreated, fearing that the steeple would fall next.

The old church tower with its two mighty bells withstood the fire for a time. Finally with a terrible groan, it sank into the wreckage at 3:30 a.m.

Happily no one had been in the church: the last service had been held in the afternoon at 5:45. In fact, miraculously no one was injured in that night of conflagration.

But old St. Michael’s! At noon next day, firemen were still shooting water into the embers. Only the church’s shell remained — those thick walls of Buffalo limestone and Albion sandstone. Even in disaster, the edifice, dating from the Civil War, was uniquely local.

The story of the great fire at St. Michael’s would be incomplete without a postscript. Affectionate outpourings from Buffalonians of all faiths followed the fire. Dozens of Protestant pastors and Jewish rabbis offered use of their facilities to the priests and parishioners of St. Michael’s.

The Sunday after the blaze, Father Redmond celebrated mass on a flower-decked altar at, of all places, the Town Casino. The nightclub’s owner, Harry Altman, had volunteered his property to St. Michael’s for as long as it was needed.

Father Redmond spoke that morning with a full heart. He thanked the brave police and firemen who had risked their lives. He asked the congregation for prayers that a new St. Michael’s would arise to last for another 100 years.

Evidently these prayers were heard. This year, at Lenten masses, the new St. Michael’s, built on the ruins of its predecessor, is filled with worshipers. The church is nearly a quarter of the way into its second century.

— George Kunz

This story was originally published in The Buffalo News on March 16, 1986.

It is hard to believe that the corruption that has entered the Catholic Church could do what that fire years ago could not do, and bring down St. Michael’s.

Apologies to my dad for my slipshod grammar, but … It ain’t right.

Let’s say prayers. Point people whose intercession we could ask could include:

• St. Ignatius Loyola, who founded the Jesuit order and would not want to see its accomplishments reversed.

• St. Peter Canisius, because Canisius College and High School were founded by the Jesuits who ran St. Michael’s. The schools originally adjoined the church.

• Father Baker, one of the first young men educated there.

• Our Lady of Victory. I was just at OLV, because it was Our Lady of Victory’s feast day, and the priest reminded us that with her, nothing is impossible.

• And let’s not forget the man himself — er, the angel himself.