Bowl-M-Over lanes, formerly Nick’s Lanes and A&M Bowling set to reopen
By Kathryn Ross
Remember the thwack of the heavy ball hitting the hard wooden alley and rumbling toward the pins before smashing into them and hurtling them across the lane or, the sunken dead sound of the ball rolling into the gutter and disappearing?
There was good news at the village board meeting Monday night, the new owners of Bowl-M-Over bowling alley asked the board to fast track its application to the state for a liquor license by forgoing the 30-day notification period. Other businesses have done the same thing and gotten approval. So, it seems bowlers will once again be throwing strikes and spares at the popular recreation facility.
That’s interesting because it is a long-established fixture in the adult recreation field having opened nearly 70 years ago. Bowling has long been a favorite game in Wellsville. When you look into the history of some of the older buildings on Main Street, you’ll find that many had bowling alleys on the second floors. Living in a first-floor apartment in a two story apartment house, I’m getting used to the sound the elephants living above make every late night and early morning, so I can imagine living with a bowling alley over your head. Why, I wonder, did they put bowling alleys on second and third floors? It boggles the mind.
I remember when the Bowl-M-Over lanes were built and known as Nick’s bowling alley. It was built next to my grandfather’s rental house on Dyke Street. My grampa lived next door to that house and across the street from the old Air Preheater factory where my Dad worked. The bowling alley was just a short backyard walk past the Madonna in the upturned bathtub and down a driveway.
Each Thanksgiving the family would gather at Grampa’s to enjoy the holiday together. Grampa would cook the spaghetti, and my grandmother would baste the turkey for our Italian/America celebration. My Mom and Aunt Barb would bring the desserts – pumpkin and apple pie and that strawberry Jello laden with fruit. I’d help stir up real whipped cream, no artificial stuff back then.
There was no kid’s table at my grandfather’s house. We all sat at the same long table squashed into the dining room. Most of the family would be there and that often included my great uncle and his latest wife and her purse dog. He lived most of the time in Florida and always brought us coconuts when he visited with what seemed to me a different wife. We would crack open the coconuts by smashing them onto my grandfather’s concrete porch. I never knew which “great aunt” I would be hugging and kissing and sharing my coconut meat with.
It’s always amused me that I had a Gramma Gerry and an Uncle Carrell, but then I’m easily amused.
After stuffing ourselves with Thanksgiving turkey and spaghetti the adults in the family would send us kids across the backyard to the bowling alley, while they slept off the tryptophan in the turkey or watched professional wrestling on the black and white television or just talked.
We kids included my cousins Sue and Linda Lewis and their older brother from Friendship and my sister Pat and me. I was the youngest, still am. To my eternal regret I cannot recall my male cousin’s first name. Maybe because he was older and soon absent from family gatherings. I could call my cousins, but that would be embarrassing and I don’t want to admit that I am that far gone. I’m sure it will come back to me in the middle of the night when the elephants wake me up.
At the bowling alley we would put on those great red, green, and blue leather shoes and traipse onto the alley. I don’t know if anyone kept score or not. We just had a good time throwing the ball down the alley or into the gutter.
I never did quite get the bowling bug, although my Dad bowled on a league and carried his big red leather bowling bag containing his shiny black ball off to Nick’s a couple of times a week. My mother and my sister did get the bug. They played in tournaments across the state adorned in brightly colored polyester bowling shirts with their names embroidered on their chests and bringing home many gaudy gold bowling trophies. The gold on my sister’s bookshelves would have rivaled the Oval Office.
I have bowled a few times over the years, but my balls seldom exploded through the pins sending them helter skelter across the lane. I’m just happy that once again the sound of bowling balls rolling down the lanes and the laughter of people will be rumbling through the neighborhood.
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Kathryn Ross is a Wellsville based writer, journalist, columnist, and lifelong community activist. You can reach her anytime, kathr_2002@yahoo.com
