Dale Budziszewski

Husband • Father of four • Town of Macedon Recreation Director • Former radio guy on @Radio_951 and @WHAM1180

[Dale Budziszewski @DaleBuda]

So glad that I was able to pass down my generational Buffalo sports trauma to my 13-year-old son by letting him stay up late on a school night just to watch the #Sabres lose a playoff series in overtime!

[Bob Lonsberry @BobLonsberry]

THE DAY A CHILD KILLER WALKED FREE

The best I can figure, 20 years ago a cop messed up some paperwork.

And this afternoon, a fat little bastard who set a house on fire and killed an eight-year-old girl walked free.

She was Savannah Streber and he is Timothy Kuhn. And you ought to be pissed. Justice got cheated. And anger at this situation is natural and justified.

Anger at the situation is natural and justified.

But anger at a person is not.

It wasn’t the judge, it wasn’t the prosecutor, it wasn’t the cop back in the day. It was one of those stunning reversals that will sometimes happen in a society of order and laws, in a society where the good people follow the rules, even when the bad people don’t.

More about that in a bit. First, what happened back in the day.

It was late February 2004, about midnight on a Saturday, and he threw the glass bottle full of gasoline on the back porch and into the house, up on Yates Street, a rag stuffed in the top, already lit, and it went up in an instant. Savannah was asleep in her bed, so was her little sister, Alex. Dad lived across town, mom was waiting tables at Alfano’s, and Shonda was there babysitting, with her boy, Teddy.

It was Teddy who saw the flame and alerted his mom. Shonda sent him next door to get help, and she woke up Savannah and Alex, leading them outside.

But then Shonda didn’t see Savannah. She frantically searched the outside of the house and screaming ran back into the burning building, calling the little girl’s name.

Shonda was burned in the effort, badly, but was unsuccessful. When the fire department got the house out, and they searched its charred rooms, they found the little girl in her mother’s bed. She hadn’t known Mom was at work, and she thought she was inside, still asleep, in danger from the flames, and eight-year-old Savannah Streber went in to get her, to save her mommy.

That would be Lisa Routier. Who was working at Alfano’s. An Italian place up by Ridgeway and 390. Long since closed.

That’s who he was trying to get.

They had been seeing one another, she called it off, he went creepy, like the little bastard he is. She had to get a restraining order.

And that’s when the house was torched.

And that’s when an innocent little girl lost her life.

And that has led to some 20 years of uncertainty and sorrow for her family, and a burning, redoubling desire on the part of the Rochester Police Department to get justice.

Timothy Kuhn was a suspect from the start. Back when they worked it fresh, and 15 years later when they reopened it, and a couple of years after that when they reopened it again. They being largely Dave Joseph. One of the murder police in the Major Crimes Unit. He’s from a cop family, and he’s tenacious, and finally, almost two years ago, he had the last piece, and he put cuffs on Timothy Kuhn. Fat boy was down in Florida, living the life.

And the trial was supposed to start today. After two years in the county jail, Timothy Kuhn was finally going to stand before the bar of justice. The family of Savannah Streber would have its two decades of faithfulness pay off. Years of TV interviews and Internet campaigning culminating in a hardwood paneled courtroom.

And then it didn’t.

It was an alert that thundered across the region’s cell phones. The incomprehensible news that the case against Timothy Kuhn, who confessed at least once, was dismissed. He was free to walk out the door, to return to whatever remained of his pathetic life.

The prosecutor, a mother who fights like hell in the courtroom to get justice for kids, is despondent. She feels like she let Savannah down. The Major Crimes Unit is devastated and enraged, horrified that its work has come to naught, sick at its stomach at the outcome. The death threats against the judge and the prosecutor started almost immediately.

And anger is understandable.

But not directed at a person.

Because there are no bad guys in this, not beyond the guy who threw the Molotov cocktail.

What happened is this: More than 20 years ago a detective forgot to turn in some of his notes. That’s really it. It was an oversight. A dumb move. But an innocent one. Notes about somebody said Timothy Kuhn told him that he’d set the fire. Notes that should have been part of the file that got handed over when he retired, but weren’t. Notes about some guy who probably wasn’t credible but claimed Kuhn had confessed to him. Notes that didn’t go in the file.

And when the notes were found recently, the cops and the prosecutors did the right thing. They told the court, they told the defense. They did the right thing.

Even though they must have sensed which way it could go.

Because if those notes had simply disappeared. If they had gone into somebody’s trash can or been burned up in the charcoal grill, we would have had jury selection today, opening arguments tomorrow and a verdict by Friday. A guilty verdict.

It’s called a Singer issue. The accused has a due-process right, beyond the speedy trial right, which basically says he can’t be prosecuted after an “unreasonable delay.” Back in the day, the notes that didn’t get turned in, arguably had enough evidence to prosecute Timothy Kuhn. But the failure to prosecute back then is an unjustifiable delay from the perspective of the law. The defense lawyer pointed that out, and the judge had to agree.

The judge had to agree.

Not because he doesn’t care about little girls. Not because he likes to see killers go free. Not because he wants to be vilified by an angry community. Not because he wants to break the hearts of Savannah’s family.

But because he took an oath. Because he is fair. Because the law is clear.

Because the law doesn’t see tears or feel pain. Because the law is rigid and inflexible. Because the law is the thing that keeps us free and civilized. Because ignoring the notes would be the same thing as finding a tree and a rope and taking care of this thing without all the niceties.

But that’s not who we are.

And with the dismissal of this case, a high price of integrity was extracted. A bomb blew up in the lives of a family and in the offices of the police department and the district attorney. I can’t begin to imagine the anger, pain and disappointment of the family, or how the cop who took the notes must feel, or how the prosecutor and the detectives will get up tomorrow and go forward unchanged, or how nauseated the day has made the judge.

It is a hell storm. A lose-lose for everybody.

Except that fat little bastard who killed Savannah Streber.

But he will answer to a higher court someday, in a place where you don’t get off on technicalities.

[Dale Budziszewski @DaleBuda]

@JohnDitullio Did you go on a 45 minute walk and come straight back to ranting?

[Bob Lonsberry @BobLonsberry]

ABOUT YOUR FRIEND, BROTHER WEASE

It's hard to write about Wease without writing about yourself. Because it was always a partnership. It was always you and Wease. Oh, sure, there was a parade of second mics and sometimes a female sidekick, and Billy or Paulie or Brooksie or Jamie, or the heavyset lady or the old man who lived in the street, sometimes Torpey after he got out of prison, but really it was just you and Wease.

And if you were listening to him back in the day, if you remember the classic era, you're damn near as old as he is, and when they walked him out the door you felt like you were right beside him, in the parade of the forgotten or dead, turning out the lights at the end of an era.

In Rochester, we eat white hots and we listen to Wease. At least that's what we say. Because mostly we don't eat white hots and we don't listen to Wease. At least not like we used to. Not like we did when we were in the backseat of the car on the way to school and Dad was laughing his ass off at something Wease had said and Mom was indignantly reaching to change the station.

Back then they put strippers on the radio and they paid out the Kodak bonus and if you saw someone smiling in their car you knew who they were listening to. Back then if somebody big came to town you knew about it because Wease brought them to your breakfast table and your commute and the little earpiece you wore in the shop.

We had a Can of Worms back then and party houses and bowling tournaments and every June we fell in love again with Nancy Lopez.

And day after day, morning after morning, year after year, Wease and his scratchy-ass voice were there in the background, the constant, the pole star, the reminder ultimately of who we were and what our town was about. We ain't pretty, but we're tough as hell, and we have a good time. And whoever you are, you're good with us.

Because Wease was a hippie. A real hippie. Heavy on the peace, love and freedom. Especially the love. This guy was First Corinthians Chapter 13 written for the hung over and strung out, the ones who smelled of burnt patchouli and stale Genny.

He was a guy who coined his own words and taught them to a million people across the region. We all know what a peach is, and a mother hucker, and that it's nice to be important, but more important to be nice.

There are grandparents, hundreds of wonderful old couples, who pledged their love and said their vows at a Numerous Nuptials reined over by Wease and officiated at by his friend the judge. And there never was a bigger party or a happier drunk than Chrismahanukwanzakah, when Wease and those who thought they could keep up with him celebrated everything that needed celebrating in 24 hours of popped corks and belly laughs.

I don't know how many times he almost died, but I can't think of a single day that he didn't live. And I can't think of a single day that he didn't invite others along for the ride. He lifted spirits, he brightened skies, he made the endless string of ass-busting days bearable for folks in suits and overalls, the bank presidents and the shift workers, the men and women who knew hardship and responsibility and who also knew that they had a friend and an escape on the radio.

Your wife could leave you, your boss could fire you, your health could fail you, and there would be your brother, wheeling some cockamamie story on the radio, getting you through another day.

America sent him to war, and God sent him to Rochester. And he did his duty in both places. The second and third tours of Vietnam were to keep some other skinny kid from dying in a rice paddy fertilized with shit. The 40 years on the radio were to be the voice of a town and an era, the unwashed royalty of a rustbelt capital of a people too rugged to quit.

And now it's done. They gave him a piece of paper to read and he told them to shove it up their ass, and he walked out the door, but he did it his way. And the last day means nothing to the lifetime that went before.

Like I said, it's hard to write about Wease without writing about yourself, because these years haven't been about him, they have been about what he's done for us.

As for me, our radio companies sicked us on each other 30 years ago. We fought tooth and nail, and then we were on the same team, and repeatedly over the years we have been on the same air. Never have I enjoyed broadcasting more than when I've looked across the studio at Wease. Never have I been in his presence that I didn't know who he was and what he meant, and the historical significance he had.

His departure from radio breaks my heart, and I will forever treasure the fact that I was in the studio when last he signed off. He is my brother, in the same way I suspect he is your brother.

And in parting I will share this little secret: Wease never did radio. He only did life. And every morning he did it in front of an open microphone.

There is no difference between Wease on the air and Wease off the air. He is a rare, fascinating, loving, curious, wonderful man, who it has been my privilege to know.

And who it has been our privilege to listen to.

For the best part of our lives of our lives.

[Rochester Red Wings @RocRedWings]

100 years in the making…we introduce to you the

ROCHESTER WHITE HOTS🔥🌭

It’s more than a uniform. It’s a Rochester legacy.

Shop the new White Hots collection NOW!
🔗https://t.co/U0TduxWJew

[Dan Fetes @danfetes]

Ladies and gentlemen,

*OFFSEASON* Sean McDermott:

😂😂😂

#BillsMafia @BuffaloPlus

[Matthew Bové @Matt_Bove]

When Josh Allen won MVP he gave a shoutout to ‘Slick Rick’ in the mailroom. I wanted to know more about him.

I think this might be the most wholesome thing you’ll see today 🥹 #BillsMafia @WKBW

[Andrew McCarthy @AJamesMcCarthy]

Here's my latest ISS shot formatted for use on a mobile phone. Feel free to download it and use it as a wallpaper.

If you want to download it with less compression, or get a free 4k/ultrawide download for your computer, check the link in the reply to this post.

[Mike Catalana @MikeCatalana]

Bills exceeded preseason expectations this year But…
None of that matters when they lined up last night. They played a B minus game at best and still had a chance to win
Josh Allen is incredible. He had some teammates who played above their paycheck. Mack Hollins for one
But they still have some highly paid and/or highly drafted passengers on the train and it showed up last night
#BillsMafia

[Warren Sharp @SharpFootball]

bro

[Jay Bilas @JayBilas]

Responding to Mick Cronin's comments following UCLA's blowout loss to Michigan, calling out his players and assistant coaches:

[Duke Men’s Basketball @DukeMBB]

🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯💀🙆‍♂️🙆‍♂️🙆‍♂️🙆‍♂️🙆‍♂️🙆‍♂️🙆‍♂️🙆‍♂️🙆‍♂️🙆‍♂️🙆‍♂️🙆‍♂️🙆‍♂️🙆‍♂️🙆‍♂️🙆‍♂️🙆‍♂️🙆‍♂️🙆‍♂️🙆‍♂️🙆‍♂️🙆‍♂️🙆‍♂️🙆‍♂️ @Cooper_Flagg

[Pop Crave @PopCrave]

Marshmello received $9.9 MILLION in pandemic-relief grants and pocketed the money for himself, @BusinessInsider reports:

“In doing so, [Marshmello] paid himself more than any other musician who received grant money.”

[Dale Budziszewski @DaleBuda]

In what world is Bobby Hurley the calm brother?

[Dan Fetes @danfetes]

4th down and 2.
Game on the line.

Josh Allen:

#BillsMafia

[Dale Budziszewski @DaleBuda]

:11-:15 look at the kids face after Josh gives him his hat.

[Buffalo Bills @BuffaloBills]

ANOTHER ONE. 👏

@newyorklottery | #BUFvsIND

[Dionne Warwick @dionnewarwick]

Gritty lives in Philadelphia. That is the context.

[ArtButMakeItSports @ArtButSports]

Ash Wednesday, by Leonora Carrington, 1987, 📸 by Angilo Allen

[Dan Fetes @danfetes]

Josh Allen throwing footballs from the perspective of an ant

[Dale Budziszewski @DaleBuda]

H/T @LeBatardShow

4/20/05- LeBron ends YEAR 2 w/ 27.2 PPG, 7.2 APG, 7.5 RPG

4 days later Frank Gore is drafted in 3rd round by 49ers

4/29/24- LeBron ends YEAR 21 w/ 25.7 PPG, 8.3 APG, 6.4 RPG

4 months later Frank Gore JR signs to Bills practice squad.