Ode to the Aud

War Memorial Auditorium in Buffalo, NY, is slowly, agonizingly being deconstructed piece by piece. And with each piece of the venerable stadium removed, fond warm memories contained inside are seeping out into the chilly winter air.

The Aud, built at the foot of Main Street as a tribute to War veterans in 1939, didn't really uncover its true identity until some 30 years later when the NHL awarded a hockey franchise to the city of Buffalo. The Sabres elevated the Aud to new heights, literally in terms of the roof-raising renovation in 1971, and figuratively in terms of its emergence as a big league home in the blossoming National Hockey League. While the Aud hosted many events over the decades, it will forever be remembered as the first and most memorable home of the Buffalo Sabres.

A visit to the Aud for a Sabres game was an unforgettable experience for all the right reasons. The experience actually started outside the building…with that brisk walk through wet, heavy, dirty city snow. The whipping winds off Lake Erie rattled the rusty under-girders of the many highway overpasses criss-crossing near the Aud. The front entrance was essentially the only entrance. Technically there was a side entrance, but nobody used it. You came through the front doors, perhaps passing by the man selling brown-bagged peanuts in his wheelchair, an unsanctioned fixture during the 1980s. Once inside the dim, cold lobby you stomped your shoes against the completely saturated floor mats to knock off the last of the brown slushy snow still clinging to you. You walked cautiously over the wet, slippery bare floor toward the turnstiles. The Aud had such simple charm, even as the world modernized around it. Beyond the turnstiles there were black, fluorescent-lit plexi-glass signs against the pillars. These signs, using white push-pin letters and numbers, were updated daily with league standings and individual scoring leaders...all by hand.

You entered the Aud pretty much at ice-level. Just a couple steps down from the lobby, you moved into the circular hallways surrounding the rink. Peeking through the tunneled entrances to the lower Gold seats, you could just make out the brilliantly lit ice surface with colorful visiting jerseys flying by in a blur. Immediately you noticed the sound of warm-up pucks booming off the boards and cracking off the windows. Friendly ushers would allow youngsters to step up to the glass and watch warm-ups. I was seven years old when I went to my first game in 1975, a playoff game between the Sabres and the Blackhawks. We snuck up to the lower Golds and sat and watched the warm-up session from behind the glass. I'll never forget my amazement at the crystal clear, scuff-free windows around the rink. And the vibrant colors of the jerseys as they sped past me in a blur. It was love at first sight.

Over the years I sat in every tier of the Aud's seat colors. The Lower Golds were the "glass" seats. Because these were removeable seating sections, they always had that temporary feel to them. The entire section squeaked and bounced as heavy-set patrons moved up and down the steps...but the seats were cushioned and warm. The Upper Golds were padded vinyl seats. If you sat in the Upper Golds behind the net, you had to pay close attention at all times. Deflected slapshots off the sticks of Rick Martin, John Van Boxmeer, or Paul Cyr always kept fans on guard. In those days, the glass was shorter, and there was no protective netting. The Reds were also padded vinyl seats and they offered the best sightlines of the entire arena. You sat high enough to see every corner of the rink, yet low enough to hear the players calling for passes. The Lower Blues were wooden slatted seats, which used to be the "nosebleeds" before the roof was raised. The Upper Blues were essentially the same seats as Lower Blue, with one major difference...Upper Blue seats were so far tucked under the new balcony overhang, you had to refer to the black and white television sets overhead to see the scoreboard. Upper Blues were not for the claustrophobic.

And then you had the Oranges. The Upper Deck. The cheap seats. Even the choice of color shows how these seats stood apart from the rest of the arena. They were circa, 1970s orange plastic seats. The journey to the Oranges was worth the price of admission alone. Unlike modern stadiums, including HSBC arena just a stone's throw away, the Aud featured numerous travel options from bottom to top. There were stairs aplenty, connecting every section of the stadium. There were massive staircases in each corner of the Aud, plus mini-stairs in the dark hallways connecting the Golds to the Reds, and the Reds to the Blues. And best of all, there were elevating tunnels which took you from the Golds to the Blues, and then modern escalators to get from the Blues to the Oranges. Wandering around the Aud was often as much fun as the game itself.

As you emerged at the top of the escalators to the Oranges, there was a wonderful sense of vast space above you, and below you. Above in the rafters dangled hundreds and hundreds of cylinder-shaped noise-absorbing tubes. And below you the entire rink opened up at the bottom of an immense canyon of colors. The Oranges were built at a steepness which would be illegal today. And as a result, the view from the Oranges was perfect. No matter how high up in the Oranges, you always felt like you were hovering over the ice surface.

While the Gold seats featured the clever fans with the catchy slogans (like, "Oooh, Ahhh, Sabres on the Warpath!"), the Orange seats boasted the hardened, no-nonsense fans. One fan in particular during the 1980s was famous for a simple, yet effective bellow of disapproval. During any quiet spell of a listless game, this man would let out an incredible, booming "BORRR-ING!", which could easily be heard at ice level. My brother's and I never were able to spot this man located somewhere near center ice in the Oranges, but his legend lives on in our minds. That is the ultimate power of a fan at a sporting event...to be able to pass judgement on the quality of the entertainment for all to hear, in the tradition of spectators of Roman gladiators I would imagine.

Because the Oranges were added later, there were some unusual seating arrangements crammed into tight spaces. For instance, there was a quirky section of about 10 seats which wrapped around a huge smokestack in one corner. And then, high behind the visitor's net, tiny sections of seats were perched just below what I consider the original "box seats". To this day I'm convinced, the idea of Box Seats was born in blue-collar Buffalo. These box seats were probably the worst seats in the house, but they had an "exclusive" feel to them which always made me envious. It's the one section of the Aud I never sat in.

As you sat in your seat in the Aud, slipped off your winter jacket and hat, an overwhelming sense of warmth, comfort and coziness overcame you. This was, first and foremost, a home with a heart. The Canadian and American National Anthems were sung by one man with just an organ in the background. The PA announcer spoke with a deep, booming unemotional voice. As the game unfolded in front of you, and the crowd noise peaked and ebbed with the flow of the action, you were completely absorbed with every nuance of the game. Like the multiple shadows of each player reflected on the freshly-washed brilliant white ice surface. Or the sound of the puck hitting each stick with precision passing, the occassional voices of urgent players on the fly, and the sudden anticipation in the crowd as scoring opportunities emerged, followed by the exasperated lull when the chance quietly fades. The stoppages in play were an opportunity to discuss the game, perhaps clap along with an organ tune. No momentum-killing commercial breaks, no silly scoreboard games, no blaring rock music. The game, like the building itself, had a life to it...a vitality.

The Aud will always hold a special place in many people's hearts for one special event in particular, and I consider it the defining event in the history of the building. The 1973 Sabres made the Stanley Cup playoffs in just their third season of existence, and then faced the powerful Montreal Canadiens in a best-of-seven series. After dropping the first three games, the Sabres battled back with consecutive, improbable victories, inlcuding an overtime thiller in the Forum in Montreal. The Canadiens took it to the young Sabres in Game 6 back at the Aud, building a commanding early lead. During the final minutes, the fans stood in unison and saluted their vanquished hometown heroes with a continuous, thunderous ovation of "Thank You Sabres!, Thank You Sabres!" That moment represents the dream of what professional sports is supposed to be all about. A collection of players representing a city, and a city feeling pride and a sense of accomplishment from that team. That kind of two-way relationship is difficult to find in modern sports. The Sabres had given their all, and the fans were moved to thank them...and it had nothing to do with winning a championship.

After all, the Sabres and their fans were one big family...and the Aud was their home.