Buffalo Books: WNY-based author revisits the forgotten legacy of Harry Altman, the entrepreneur who helped turn Buffalo into an entertainment destination

By P.A. Kane

(Above: Susan Fenster)

From the mid-1940s through the mid-1960s, Harry Altman brought an endless array of local and national talent to his clubs, The Glen Casino in Williamsville and The Town Casino in Buffalo. Count Basie, Vic Damone, Tony Bennett, Josephine Baker, Mae West, Sammy Davis Jr. and many more graced the stages of his clubs. Altman was born in 1891 to Jewish Russian immigrants, and by the age of 20, was leading a double life as a glove salesman and the host of Mardi Gras and Halloween parades through the streets of Buffalo. Susan Fenster’s book, “Harry Altman: Buffalo’s Master Showman,” highlights not only what an entertainment hotspot Buffalo was through the 1960s, but also some of the seedier aspects of the Queen City’s past, from the incursion of the Ku Klux Klan to the influence of the Mafia.

For this month’s author interview, we talk to Fenster, a graduate of Buffalo State College with degrees in History and Journalism. For the last 30 years, she has been a writer and author specializing in New York State history.

PAK: Every history book I read, I’m floored by the research — 326 photos, 970 sources. What made you want to write about Harry Altman, and how long did it take to complete the book?

SF: Harry entered my life after a walk through Glen Park in early 2020. I became curious about the man who had built the amusement park I enjoyed as a child. As I began researching, I discovered that Harry Altman — once one of Western New York’s most influential entertainment figures — had largely been written out of local history. That discovery became an obsession. I wanted to understand who he was, what he had accomplished and why his story had been forgotten. The project ultimately took five years to complete. For the first four years, I balanced the research and writing with a full-time job. After retiring in January 2025, I devoted myself to finishing the manuscript, which was published later that year.

PAK: For all those budding historians out there, you’ve been in the non-fiction game for a bit. How has researching and producing non-fiction changed in your time? I don’t imagine you’re doing all-nighters at the college library feeding microfiche into a reader anymore. Besides the internet, are there specific tools available to historians to streamline the process of research and putting together a book like Harry Altman?

SF: My favorite history professor at Buffalo State, Dr. Eric Brunger, used to remind us how fortunate we were in the 1980s to have photocopiers. Before that, historians spent countless hours taking handwritten notes from documents they could never take home. Every generation gets new tools. Today, historians have access to resources we could only dream about as students. Millions of newspaper pages have been digitized and made keyword searchable. Google Books has placed countless out-of-print volumes at our fingertips. Census records, city directories, military records, court files and vital records can often be searched from home. Those tools dramatically speed up the process of finding information.
That said, technology doesn’t replace traditional research — it simply helps point you in the right direction. I still spent countless hours in libraries, archives and historical societies, sifting through boxes of papers and photographs. Researching a biography is a bit like solving a detective mystery. You’re trying to reconstruct the life of someone who lived 74 years (1891-1966), often from fragments scattered across dozens of collections. One of the most valuable lessons I learned came from reading the work of celebrated biographer Robert A. Caro, whose multi-volume biography of Lyndon B. Johnson and landmark study of Robert Moses set the standard for modern historical research. Caro’s advice is simple: “Turn every page.” It’s easy to assume a folder or box contains nothing useful, but the single document that unlocks an entire chapter of the story is often buried at the very bottom of the pile.
In addition to traditional research methods, I also relied heavily on social media — particularly Facebook. Through local history groups and community networks, I was able to locate former employees, patrons, and family members connected to Harry Altman. Many shared photographs, scrapbooks, memories and leads that would have been impossible to find through conventional archival research alone. In the end, the tools have changed dramatically, but the job remains the same: follow the evidence, ask questions, verify everything and never stop looking for the next clue.

PAK: Altman could be described as a serial entrepreneur. He tried his hand at bowling alleys, roller rinks, amusement parks and nightclubs. There seemed to be as many failures as successes. What drove Altman to always push forward with new business opportunities rather than retreat to the safety of the Danforth Glove Company, where he was a successful salesman for nine years?

SF: As with many children of immigrants, Altman grew up with a strong expectation that success came through hard work, persistence and a willingness to seize opportunities. Being the youngest of eight children — and the youngest of six sons — he was surrounded by older brothers who had established themselves as successful businessmen. Their example reinforced the idea that independence and entrepreneurship were worthy goals. Rather than spending a lifetime working for someone else, the Altman brothers generally favored owning and building businesses of their own. Harry’s nine years as a successful salesman for the Danforth Glove Company gave him valuable experience and confidence, but it also exposed him to the limitations of working within someone else’s organization. The security of a steady job held less appeal than the possibility of creating something larger through his own efforts. Even when ventures failed, Altman viewed them as opportunities to learn, adapt, and try again. He was constantly searching for the next opportunity, believing that success would come not from playing it safe but from pursuing new ideas and ventures.

PAK: In 1928, Altman opened The Ritz ballroom on Main Street, which required a $150,000 investment ($2.8 million today). It seemed as if Altman never had trouble finding investors for new projects. Was there that much money in Buffalo looking for a home, or was Harry just a good bet?

SF: The Ritz opened during the peak years of Altman’s ballroom successes, when Buffalo’s economy was still benefiting from its position as one of America’s leading industrial and transportation centers. Capital was certainly available for promising ventures in the year before the Stock Market Crash, although Harry’s well-documented tendency toward hyperbole may have influenced the reported $150,000 price tag.

PAK: Throughout his career, Altman had a long association with Harry Wallens, who had several brushes with the law due to shady business practices. Despite the ups and downs during the Mardi Gras years, Wallens remained a partner until late in Altman’s career. Was their relationship as complicated as it seemed?

SF: Their relationship was probably every bit as complicated as it appears from the historical record. Wallens and Altman were very different men. Wallens was a behind-the-scenes operator who preferred managing the business end of an enterprise, while Altman thrived in the spotlight. If there was a crowd, Altman wanted to be at the center of it. He possessed an outsized personality and a gift for promotion that could suck the air out of a room.
Although Wallens experienced legal troubles during his early career, he should not be dismissed as merely Altman’s silent partner. He built successful businesses of his own, including restaurants and bowling centers, and demonstrated considerable entrepreneurial skill. Their partnership endured because their strengths complemented one another. Altman attracted attention, customers and publicity; Wallens brought operational experience and business acumen. There were undoubtedly tensions along the way, but loyalty, mutual respect and the simple fact that they worked well together kept the partnership intact for decades.

PAK: I guess I was surprised — but maybe I shouldn’t have been, given our proximity to Canada and the way I know people in this town love to tip a few — but was Prohibition a thing in Buffalo? You quote prominent jazz trumpeter, Bill Coleman, as saying, “Buffalo was the first city I went to during the Prohibition era that was wide open … the saloons were open 24 hours a day.”

SF: Bill Coleman was not exaggerating. Buffalo’s location on the Canadian border made it one of the most important gateways for illegal liquor entering the United States during Prohibition. While federal law banned the manufacture and sale of alcohol from 1920 to 1933, enforcement in Buffalo was often inconsistent, and liquor flowed across the Niagara River and Lake Erie from Canada in enormous quantities. As a result, Buffalo developed a reputation as a “wide-open” city. Speakeasies, nightclubs, cabarets, and gambling establishments flourished, often operating with little fear of interference. Contemporary accounts and later recollections frequently describe a city where alcohol was readily available if one knew where to look — and often where one did not need to look very hard. Bill Coleman’s observation that Buffalo’s saloons seemed to operate around the clock reflects the city’s reputation among touring musicians, entertainers and visitors during the era. Buffalo’s political leadership was not particularly enthusiastic about Prohibition. Mayor Frank X. Schwab, who had made his fortune in the brewing industry before entering politics, openly criticized the law, reflecting the views of many local residents, particularly within the city’s large German, Irish and immigrant communities. Relations between federal Prohibition agents and local authorities were frequently strained, and Buffalo police officers often viewed federal raids as unwelcome intrusions rather than a public service.

PAK: Altman was known for taking chances on young performers. For taking that chance, he expected loyalty. Guys like Sammy Davis Jr. and Johnny Ray remained loyal to Altman, but Billy Eckstine and Frankie Lane went elsewhere in Buffalo for a bigger payday. Besides booking bigger acts the same nights against these guys, was there any other form of retribution on Altman’s part?

SF: There is little evidence that he blacklisted former protégés or pursued them beyond the rough-and-tumble world of entertainment promotion. Once performers achieved national stardom, their careers depended on a far broader network than any single promoter could control. Altman could make life uncomfortable for them in Buffalo, but the historical record suggests that his preferred form of retribution was competitive rather than personal: beating them at the box office and proving that audiences would choose his show instead.

PAK: We know that Altman booked endless acts and was very motivated by success, but is there anyone he booked who might not have been a big draw, yet he loved their art? Was it just about the show, or did he ever lean into the art?

SF: Harry Altman was first and foremost a showman and businessman. He measured success in ticket sales, packed dance floors and full parking lots. Unlike an impresario who might champion an artist regardless of commercial appeal, Altman rarely booked acts he believed would lose money. At the same time, his vaudeville-style approach to entertainment gave him the flexibility to introduce new talent. By building shows around multiple acts rather than a single headliner, Altman created opportunities for young performers — many from Western New York — to gain experience before a large nightclub audience. Several entertainers later recalled that he offered practical advice on stagecraft and audience engagement, serving the traditional role of an impresario as well as a promoter. In the end, Altman was neither a pure patron of the arts nor a cold businessman. He occupied a space somewhere between the two — a promoter who loved entertainment and understood that nurturing talent was often good business.

PAK: The Glen Park bridge, which was constructed by Altman’s longtime facilities manager Clyde Urban in the 1940s, is the last remnant of the Altman era at Glen Park. It’s fallen into disrepair, and there’s an effort to save it. How’s that going, and how can people help save this bit of history?

SF: The effort is still in its early stages, but I’m encouraged by the response so far. The bridge is more than just a crossing over the creek — it’s the last surviving structure from the Altman era at Glen Park and one of the few tangible links to a chapter of local history that shaped Williamsville for generations. Right now, we’re working to organize the preservation effort, gather professional assessments, and better understand the scope and cost of the restoration. Those are important first steps, but perhaps the most encouraging development has been the level of public interest. People clearly care about preserving this piece of our shared history. Anyone who wants to help can start by spreading the word and supporting the effort as it develops.

PAK: After Altman’s death in 1966, the old casino at Glen Park had been repurposed by his son-in-law, David Goldstien, into a popular rock and roll venue called The Inferno. Ironically enough, The Inferno burned to the ground in 1969. In 1973, The Old Barn, which was also part of the Glen Park grounds and could accommodate up to 800 patrons at one time, burned to the ground. In the following years, the people of Williamsville chose to transform the area into a little green oasis where people could picnic and stroll along scenic walkways. Aside from the old bridge and the memories, is there a placard or any kind of historical marker noting Harry Altman’s presence on the property?

SF: Surprisingly, no. Despite Harry Altman’s enormous influence on Glen Park and Williamsville, there is currently no historical marker on the property recognizing his role in its development. Most visitors have little indication that the park was once home to a major amusement and entertainment complex. That may eventually change. Interest in Altman and Glen Park’s history has grown in recent years, aided by historical research, public presentations, and a mural in the Noll Pavilion depicting the park during its heyday. There have been discussions about adding interpretive signage or a historical marker, but for now the bridge and the stories themselves remain the most visible reminders of Altman’s legacy.

PAK: What are you working on now?

SF: Before I can begin a brand new project, I’d like to finish the story of Glen Park. Most people know the park as a scenic green space, but few realize how contentious its transformation was. After the fires and demolition of the Altman-era attractions, the village was left with eleven acres of asphalt in its center. Residents, developers, local officials and corporate interests all had different ideas about what should happen next. The story of how that land was ultimately preserved and transformed into the passive park we enjoy today is every bit as fascinating as the entertainment history that came before it. It’s a story about community activism, historic preservation, and a village deciding what kind of future it wanted. That’s the project I’d like to complete before turning my attention elsewhere.