The Terror of Father Baker

By all accounts Father Baker was a decent and compassionate human being. In 1882, Baker grew his "City of Charity" to address the ever-changing social concerns of the time.  The Our Lady of Victory Infant Home served as a safe haven for unwed mothers from across the country, as well as for thousands of abandoned babies who were cared for and placed for adoption. OLV Hospital, which started as a maternity hospital, evolved to serve the comprehensive medical needs of the general community. The Working Boys' Home taught countless young men valuable trades and laid the foundation for their independence and success as adults.

But to countless children living in the Buffalo metropolitan area Father Baker's name was synonymous with dread and fear. Childhood misbehavior was met with the threat of being sent to Father Baker's. Talk to anyone of a certain age who grew up in the area and the chances are their parents had the Father Baker threat in their arsenal. I know my parents did. It was the nuclear option when threats of "wait until you get home" failed to extinguish intemperate behavior.

While I think it was better than having the crap wailed out of you, it was a nasty bit of psychological warfare to inflict on kids who were just being kids. My brother and I usually got the full Baker when we were acting up in the back of the car. "We're taking you to Father Baker's" was usually enough to scare us straight. Now you think after being threatened with it enough times even the peanut brain of a child would eventually figure out it was an idle threat. Therefore it was in the parents best interest to use it judiciously lest it lose its potency.

On one memorable car trip I guess my brother and I were pushing the boundaries of unreasonable behavior. My father, having reached the limit of his tolerance and succumbing to the famous Daruszka temper, pulled the car over and ordered us out. I'm not sure if our Mother was game to this extreme action but out of the car we went and told to wait there for the people from Father Baker's to come pick us up. Then my Father started to drive away. At this point our peanut child brains figured out that this was serious shit and our immediate reaction was to cry and wail. The car stopped, we were let back in, and the journey continued with two contrite and quiet children in the back seat.

Father Baker was the holy terror weapon that warped countless children, laying the foundation for further mental issues of abandonment and fear when we became adults. He's there in our subconscious waiting to snap us up to throw us in his orphan prison.