Published: Sunday, May 27, 2012, 5:59 AM
Enlarge Special to The Plain Dealer Jimmy Sperano started with a produce stand outside the arcade and worked his way inside.
My grandparents and parents have been going to the West Side Market for over 55 years. It has become a staple of life for my two sisters and myself, since our parents took us there frequently when we were young. The architectural designs, magnificent food and glorious people always make us want to come back, as well as the friendships our family has made with the vendors over the years.
We introduced my now-husband, Drew, to the market on his first trip to Cleveland in 2006.
He knew how important the landmark was to our family from hearing the many stories we had. On Dec. 18, 2009, he proposed to me on the balcony overlooking the market. We celebrated our wedding in downtown Cleveland on Oct. 8, 2011, visiting the market that day and eating dessert from Cake Royale at our wedding.
We continue to build our memories with the West Side Market and always stop to cherish the past, present and celebrations to come.
-- Alexis Strapko Johnson, Toledo
When I think of the market, the first thought that enters my mind is: fish eyes! When I was a little girl living in Ohio City, my mother and I would frequent the market because it was within walking distance. When I got old enough, I was allowed to skate there on my metal sidewalk skates. That brought me up a few more inches in height. The first time I skated into the section and saw the fresh fish on the crushed ice with parsley ropes dividing them, it seemed every fish was staring at me with that one eye! Fifty-five years later, I can still see them . . .

-- Peggy Wagner, North Olmsted
I can still picture it clearly, a late December morning in Cleveland: The weather is overcast, the lake isn't frozen yet so heavy snow is in the forecast. With snow on the ground, my brothers, sister and I would be bundled up like the children in the movie "A Christmas
Story."
Our streaming caravan would snake our way through the bartering and haggling of the outside fruit and vegetable vendors into the enormous expanse of unimaginable butchers, bakers and everything in between. There were always many things you would never see in your local grocery store, from whole pigs to chicken feet, to beef tongue.
As I have grown up and my career has taken me away from Cleveland, I truly miss the experience of the fabled West Side Market, and, of course, the smokies. I now have two sons of my own, and when we get the chance to visit Grandma and Grandpa in Cleveland over the holidays, we always make time to make a market trip or two.
-- Andy Kerschbaum, Wichita Falls, Texas
When we were young women, growing up on the East Side of Cleveland, we only went to the West Side to get on an airplane. We had heard of the West Side Market, but never actually visited.
In 1958, I got my driver's license and decided to go to the market with my dear, longtime friend Gail. We decided to wear babushkas (head scarves) and carry shopping bags, just like my grandmother used to do.
Being in our 20s, we must have been hysterical-looking. We had a great time, laughed and noshed on pastry. We still reminisce about our first time at the market, but now it has been numerous times that we have gone to enjoy the atmosphere, friendliness and good buys.
We love the market and what it has meant to Cleveland!
-- Eileen Stolarsky, Pepper Pike
It was the late '50s, and we lived in the Lakeview Terrace projects at the bottom of West
25th Street. I was just a little boy, about 5 or 6 years old. My mom would get her shopping cart from the closet, and then she would bundle me up for the long walk up the hill to the market.
I can still remember walking through the outside fruit and vegetable stands. It was cold, and I could barely see the people working behind the stands. To me they were all just fruit and vegetables that talked. I can still smell the wood fires burning in the large drums back there as the workers tried to stay warm.
After my mom worked her way through the vegetable market, she would cross over to the indoor meat market with me close behind -- so as not to get lost. What a wonderful sight!
Bright lights and shiny glass, and -- oh my goodness -- all the men and women dressed in white aprons selling every cut of meat imaginable!

Those were some of the best times for me, to spend time with my mom and to understand what she went through to take care of the six kids who she loved so much. I still visit the
West Side Market every time I'm in town.
-- Angel Torres Jr., Oakley, Calif.
My father had a meat stand at the market, and I worked there part time for several years.
(My grandfather was one of the original stand owners.)
From time to time, customers would forget to take a package from the glass countertops, and in no time at all the package would "disappear" into the wrong hands, which annoyed my father. At Thanksgiving and Christmas, we would sell turkeys, removing the innards before wrapping the bird and giving it to the customer. On occasion, my father would wrap up the innards and casually place the package on the counter. In no time at all, it would
"disappear." My father would chuckle thinking about the look on their faces when they opened the package at home.
-- Howard Hoehn, Westlake
My 85-year-old father tells me his mother must have been one of the first shoppers at the new market in 1912.
Throughout my childhood in the '50s and '60s, we frequented the market, especially on
Christmas Eve. It became our family's holiday tradition, though I didn't know why at the time.
Later I would come to understand how poor my parents really were and how arriving at the market an hour before closing on Christmas Eve ensured them the best bargaining power for fresh produce. My dad has dozens of stories about the times he'd come home with a case of grapes for a buck. And always on Christmas Day, we'd eat like kings from our adventure at the market the day before.
Even through its darkest years in the '70s and '80s, I would bring boyfriends to that seemingly forgotten Cleveland jewel. The market became part of the screening process.
Could they learn to love it as I did, worn and tarnished as it was, understanding its place in our local history?
Later, as a teacher, I brought field trips of students to the market from Portage County, teaching them as much about cultural diversity as I did about the foods they were experiencing.
Now my 26-year-old baby brings my son-in-law, grandchild and her friends to shop there.
(He must have passed the test, too!) The West Side Market -- through five generations and for 100 years a part of our family.
-- Denise Monsman, Mantua
I remember as a young kid going to the market with my mom. I would stay close by her side because there were always so many people. It seemed like a madhouse, and to this day it can still be a bit overwhelming -- but that's part of its charm.

My mother would always have her stada baba cart (old lady cart) to make sure we would be able to carry everything. We always went to the same vendors and each time my mom would introduce me to her friends working the stands. (She always seemed so proud to do that, but looking back, I was just as proud to be out running around with my mom).
Occasionally, we would stop and get some Hungarian hurka (liver, meat and rice sausage).
This was always my dad's favorite (which by no coincidence became mine, too). My father was a Cleveland policeman, so I can remember him coming home early in the morning wearing his dark-navy uniform. We'd get the hurka out and he would start cooking. I can picture him standing over the stove now: hair slicked back, still in his uniform, shirt unbuttoned, white V-neck tee underneath, and a cigarette dangling from his mouth. I'd stay right there watching his every move . . . watching how he made his hurka.
When it was finally time to eat, he would prepare my plate and would turn and say, "Are you sunny 'cause you shine, or are you Sonny 'cause you're mine?"
It's the little things in life that are burned into our memories. Little things like walking tight to my mother's coat so as not to get trampled and being so happy when we stopped for
hurka because I knew how much my father loved it.
Thank you, West Side Market, and thank you, Mom and Dad.
-- Bill, Old Brooklyn
In 1913, my paternal grandparents emigrated from Termini, Sicily, and were among the first tenants at the market.
My grandfather died during the flu epidemic in 1918 and left my grandmother with four children under the age of 7. Widowed, yet undaunted, she continued to operate the vegetable stand, often bringing her children with her.
She ran her stand until health forced her to retire at the age of 80. Her oldest son, my father, James "Jimmy" Sperano, worked side by side with my grandmother until he was old enough to rent a stand of his own. He served as president of the West Side Market Tenants
Association for many years and retired in 1991 at the age of 80.
My father's stand was in the parking lot at the back of the market, facing Lorain Avenue.
Unlike those under the roof, his stand had to be assembled from scratch, using pipes and boards. Those who owned these types of stands slept in their trucks on Friday nights. This saved them from the laborious task of taking down and putting up the stands for Saturday morning.
My mother, Sophie, worked alongside my father until her death in 1980. In my early teens,
I became a full-fledged employee. I worked every Saturday during the school year, and
Friday and Saturday during the summer.
There were no social plans made for Saturday afternoons. Our friends were the children of all of the other tenants who also had to work at the family business.

Weddings never occurred on a Saturday. "Market kids" got married on holidays: Memorial
Day, Fourth of July, Labor Day, Thanksgiving (or the Saturday immediately after
Thanksgiving because that was a traditionally slow day).
In 1965, several stands became available under the green roof. My father acquired two of those stands, and we moved. I remember some cold, winter days when produce, as well as feet and fingers, nearly froze.
One of my father's biggest dreams while serving as president of the association was to see the outside market enclosed in order to provide better working conditions for the tenants. I like to believe that all of the negotiating he did toward that goal was the impetus for its eventual reality.
Working at the market was a wonderful experience; one that I think about fondly and often.
The people, the laughter, the feeling of belonging to a large and hardworking family -- many of whom were first-generation Italian immigrants -- made us a close-knit group.
-- Donna Sperano Campanella, Strongsville