Driving back from a meandering fully packed family minivan vacation in Hoosierland a quarter of a century or so ago, the opportunity for a brief spur of the moment stop at this intimidating edifice presented itself.
The land equivalent of a cruise ship parked in hilly idyllic terrain. Little chance of capsizing of getting lost at sea. A throwback to a time when you could idle away a season in one building. Albeit a huge labyrinthine of a structure. Hallways that brought to mind “The Shining”. Long porches with plenty of rocking chairs to contemplate the hills off yonder. Arcade games, pools. bowling alleys, all tucked away in this testament to pleasure pastimes of bygone eras. I could have stayed there for a week or two, and the lads agreed. As #2 son dubbed it, ” Fwench Wick”.
But it was not to be and we never returned.
Visiting the web site It looks like it has undergone more than a few upgrades since then. Twenty five years ago it seemed a bit more rustic and dated than it looks now. But the strong bones seem to have endured. As do I.
Why identify the scene of a long ago brief stop over as a favorite place? Because that’s what came to mind and that’s just the way I am.
Missing the days when Proclivity was precarious Precocious and pernicious Modus operandi moderation Modesty was magnanimous Raunchy rancor a rarity Raucous only in extremis As rapid crisis response To imminent ruination Not for mild irritations
While foraging around he saw zip, zilch, nada. This gerbil in wonderland found nothing but scarcity. Living his life with a fork in a world of soup, His one find; a bottled aftershave labeled “Banshee”. Though intrigued, the furry little critter needed no pheromone smothering tincture. It would only prolong his amorous dry spell.
Reconciling my checkbook was an unpleasant sudoku puzzle back in the day. I would load up the hookah with organic caterpillar and smoke cipher woes away.
Working in downtown Chicago of the nineteen eighties, I witnessed first hand the class warfare dujour. The jagged edge of the serrated social strata was clearly defined. You had your “fern bars”, where the yuppies (Young Urban Professionals) went. Then you had your tried and true old timey taverns, where the yuffies (Young Urban Failures) were known to gather. Both types of establishments were clustered together in or near The Loop
Pardon my gross generalizations, but I feel comfortable making that observation in hindsight. Then as in now, no faction has cornered the market on knuckleheads. Both groups grinding against each other in the serrated gears of commerce.