T's Travels

Hotels of the Past, #39

The Hotel Belvedere in Apollo, PA, burned down a couple of nights ago. I have driven past it many times without giving it a thought beyond "boy, that building is huge!" It was a commanding presence even though it's been vacant a long time. I'll let the Dark Matters & Mysteries blog fill you in a little more.

The Millworks, Harrisburg, PA

Who doesn’t love a good brunch? Mixing breakfast foods with lunch foods, a little cocktail, a little coffee—genius! And if you add in a little shopping and a visit to a museum, it’s perfection. No, I was not in Philadelphia or New York or even Baltimore. I was in Harrisburg, yes, the capital city of Pennsylvania, the quiet little place (at least when there are no elections and the Farm Show is over) in the middle of the state.

Miss C wanted to come to the ’Burg to see the Ansel Adams exhibit at the Susquehanna Art Museum (hurry, it ends January 21) and of course we wanted a meal. She is my “I’m going to ___ city, what are the good restaurants?” friend because she always knows the best. But she left this choice up to me. Harrisburg is full of good brunch possibilities and I was having trouble choosing until I talked to another friend, who said, “The Millworks.” She and others had been recommending the Millworks to me for a few years, it was just a couple of blocks from the museum, it was a great suggestion. “Best Bloody Marys,” she also said but that fell on deaf ears (not my thing—give me a mimosa anytime).

Easy to find (actually, almost anything in Harrisburg is easy to find), the Millworks is next to the Broad Street Market (oldest farmers market in the country!). Free parking (yea!). Industrial interior with a lot of recycled materials (read the “About Us” for the full story).  Even with the high ceiling it didn’t seem terribly loud (but this was brunch, I know, not a Friday night after-work crowd—I would assume it’s hopping then). Mimosas, anyone?

The menu made it hard to choose—numerous options out of the ordinary--but in the end I went with the scallops and grits (New Jersey Day Boat scallops, stone ground grits, arugula, poached egg). Miss C had the country fried chicken and sausage gravy biscuit (house made buttermilk biscuits, cream sausage gravy, Green Ridge Acres free-range chicken, bourbon-maple syrup). Next time I’m going for the smoked brisket tacos . . . Servings were generous but not enormous (kudos for that!). And I had apple cobbler for dessert.

Usually my reviews end here, right? Well, not this time! The Millworks is not only a restaurant and brewery, it’s also an artists’ community. Want pottery, jewelry, paintings, silkscreened clothing? They’ve got it all. What is not restaurant in the building is divided up into small studios for artists to work and sell their works. Not every artist was in while we were there but we did get to watch a potter at the wheel and talk to a jewelry designer.

When we had seen everything we could, we moved a few blocks down the street to the Susquehanna Art Museum for the Ansel Adams exhibit. His early works are on display in this former bank building; you can see the beginning of what became his iconic photographic style.

One last stop before we said our goodbyes—down Third Street to the Midtown Scholar, Harrisburg’s large, independent bookstore, where Miss C picked up a copy of Madeleine L'Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time and we both admired Lair of the Lion: A History of Beaver Stadium, written by Lee Stout and Harry H. West  (which I had the pleasure to edit last year but hadn’t yet seen in print).

And all of this in Harrisburg, PA! There are many other businesses in Midtown (e.g., see my Yellow Bird Café review) but you need to explore to find them. You can always get a good sampling by going to Third in the Burg. And  a great way to stay informed is to subscribe to The Burg, a real local newspaper—they will let you know what’s going on . . .

Cambridge Springs, PA

Before people had hot tubs in their backyards . . . before beauty salons advertised “day spa” facilities . . . even before many people had indoor plumbing . . . the only way to sit and soak in hot water was to go to a hot spring. So that’s what people did.

As Europeans settled across what became the United States, they began utilizing the hot springs used by Native Americans. Doctors sent their patients to bathe in the hot springs and drink the mineral water known to cure everything from psoriasis to dyspepsia. Hot springs were curative.  Hydrotherapy—still used today for stiff muscles—was very popular.

By the second half of the 1800s, however, the springs became recreational as well as medicinal as resorts sprung up. While many Pennsylvanians have heard of Bedford Springs, probably few are familiar with Cambridge Springs, a small town on Route 6 between Erie and Meadville in the northwest corner of the state. At its peak Cambridge Springs had “more than 40 hotels, spring houses, and rooming houses” serving the masses coming to bathe and recreate. At the height of the fad “eight trains a day” brought visitors to the town.

As Mary the Photographer and I drove across the metal bridge over French Creek and into town it was hard to imagine that this little town was once so bustling. Our destination was the Riverside Inn, the last operating vestige of Cambridge Springs’ resort heyday. Most of the old hotels are gone, victims of fire or the Great Depression. The Riverside continues on as a hotel, restaurant, and dinner theater.

We found the Riverside just off the main drag. This great Victorian lady sits among trees near the creek, its wraparound porch stretching leisurely on either side of the front entrance. It was easy to picture women in big hats, sitting in rockers on that porch, fanning themselves on a hot summer day. Mary and I walked inside to the large lobby, past the sweet Victorian touches such as a fainting couch and love seat, looking for the restaurant for lunch.

Once we were seated by the lace-covered window I looked around the room we were in—the dining room is very large, just like one would expect in a resort. We were having a late lunch so there weren’t many people there. I could just imagine the waiters running back and forth between the kitchen and the guests, trying to serve the hot, hungry crowds. Our server, however, had the freedom to relax with us and we had a nice conversation about the history of the Riverside.

With its warm décor it was harder for me to imagine this building as any sort of a medical facility but they had doctors on staff and did offer what they called “electrical treatments” in addition to the springs. Obviously trying to quell anyone’s concerns about the medical side (or maybe just to reel more guests in), a doctor employed at the resort assured potential guests that “there is nothing at all at the Riverside to remind one of the unpleasant features of a sanitarium." With that I would agree.

After lunch we had a good opportunity to look around the inn. Down the hallway from the dining room was a large glass case with Victorian costumes. On the level beneath us was the dinner theater, where a bus group was watching a comedy—we could hear them laughing, which I understand, is the best medicine. The dinner theater operates all year, with a wide range of plays and holiday events bringing visitors to town.

We drove out of town looking for other signs of the Cambridge Springs of 1900. Our server had said that a few other structures had been hotels but they don’t stand out among the buildings. The town was also home to Alliance College, which welcomed President William Howard Taft at its dedication in 1912 and closed in the 1980s. In 1904 Cambridge Springs hosted a chess tournament at the Rider Hotel (lost to a fire in 1931), which led to a chess move being named for the town.

Today Cambridge Springs is a quiet little place where presidents and chess players are just memories. But the Riverside Inn can still remind visitors of the glory days.

Photo by Mary Brenner

Colorado, Day 1: Somewhat Rocky, somewhat high (but not "high")

Some people plan their vacations down to the minute—they create an itinerary, make reservations for every night, choose their restaurants in advance—and then don’t deviate from that plan. Other people are more freewheeling, maybe knowing their route in advance but not knowing where they’ll spend a night or even if they’ll stay on the road they thought they might take. Neither group is wrong in their approach.

I, my dear fellow travelers, fall somewhere in the middle. I will choose a destination, know (pretty much) how I am going to get there and what I might like to do, and definitely have a pretty good idea of where I’m spending the night. Activities are separated into “want to,” “have to,” and “if there’s time . . .” I just finished a vacation based on “have to (but want to),” a family wedding in Colorado. Because it was the end of the summer, I could convince Husb to take the entire week and we could vacay a little before the big event.

For our trip Husb had decided (his “want to”) we should go see the Great Sand Dunes in southeastern Colorado. I had never even heard of the place but what the heck. I made reservations for us in Alamosa, at a chain hotel (this will be important later). We started out in our rental car (a little “yow!” for the price of a 4WD car in Denver) heading south down 285 toward the vast San Luis Valley (which is about the size of Connecticut!).

Scanning the radio dial (because of course we listen to local radio when we travel) we found 97.5 “Hippie Radio.” And then we found the hippies. Colorado is very helpful in showing what is along the road, or off the road, with signs and arrows. We saw a sign for Crestone Brewing Company and so we turned left. Went past a marijuana place (my first!) and kept driving toward the mountain in front of us. It seemed like forever (especially when the police car, lights flashing, came up behind us, but then he passed us by). Finally we came to a tiny hamlet named Crestone. Brightly colored buildings, a few shops, a motel. A vibe that made me turn to Joe and say, “So this is where all the hippies went.” Turns out I was kinda right. For the uninitiated, Crestone is considered “the Shambala of the Rockies.”

Never did find that brewery but Alamosa was not much farther down the road. We checked into our hotel and went in search of dinner. San Luis Valley Brewing Company sounded good. Typical bar menu, typical local beers EXCEPT for Valle Caliente—a beer with a chile kick. I had to try it and loved it: a lighter beer with a warmth to it, went very nicely with my Portobello wrap. We chatted with our server (also bar manager), Evan Roberts, a bit and somehow got around to “where are you from?” Turns out he grew up about 30 minutes from where we live. Alamosa, Colorado, is a long way from central Pennsylvania.

After dinner we wandered through the downtown—despite the Walmart on the edge of town, there is a JC Penney’s on the main street, as well as a number of local businesses. Train tracks run right through town; we saw some very cool old train cars from the San Luis and Rio Grande Railroad.

The next day, unfortunately, I had to get some work done before we could go out on the dunes, so we didn’t get there until nearly noon. FYI to people who want to experience climbing the Great Sand Dunes, it is best not to start out just as the sun is getting hotter. While the sand is cool morning and evening, daytime can be blistering (150 degrees, they say).

So we did the visitor center, complete with video, and then decided to go to Zapata Falls, a much cooler experience. Three miles of rough road and a quarter-mile hike uphill. (If that sounds awful, go no further.) But it wasn’t awful and we were shortly looking at the creek. Falls, you say? They actually inhabit the cave upstream. To see the falls, you have to get your feet wet! I said brrr, no thank you. Husb walked as far as he could without getting wet and then, figuring he was so close, went all in. I watched him disappear into the cave. A few minutes later he came out and motioned me up. He said, “It’s worth it. Come on.” So I did. Yes, worth it!

Afterwards, in dry shoes, we stopped at the Oasis (little restaurant outside the park), where I had a chile burger. (I didn’t mention—it’s chile season in Colorado!)

After that we took another trail, nicely shaded and all uphill so Husb went on out ahead of me. I had some trouble adjusting to the altitude and just couldn’t keep up. We hydrated conscientiously the entire trip but there were times when I just couldn’t catch my breath. So we hiked up Mosca Pass separately, which gave me some nice time to rest and watch nature around me. No snakes, no wildlife beyond a squirrel or two, but what concerned me was the dark gray clouds sneaking into my sky.

By the time I heard the first crack of thunder, Husb was back by my side and we headed down the trail. Storms in that area, they say, can come up quickly. They can also be misleading in direction and intensity. We got a little rained on before we reached the car but nothing serious. The entire week was like that—storms came and went, some wetter than others, but nothing to ruin our plans.

Next . . . the Great Sand Dunes . . .

The Streets of Baltimore

“. . . the prettiest place on earth is Baltimore at night” —Bobby Bare

I fell in love with that city just after I got married and found a job at Hopkins. I have always loved Philadelphia and so Baltimore, another Federal-era town, was a natural fit, but it’s Philly-more-funky.  I don’t get to Charm City near as much as I would like but last night I had the pleasure of dinner and a show—with my Husb, no less!

We met up with Marion Winik and her friend, Doug Preston, and headed for Brew House No. 16 at the corner of Read and Calvert streets. Not one to stick to convention (and that would be putting it mildly), writer and writing professor Marion became involved with the creation (specifically, the liquor license) at the Brew House and is now its most enthusiastic supporter. After we sat down, she introduced us to owner Harry Hummel and told the story of how they bonded as neighbors in Glen Rock, PA, when their sons became friends (there’s even a hayfield fire in the story). So when Harry and brewmaster son Ian needed a liquor license in the name of a Baltimore resident, now-relocated Marion stepped in. Thus was born Brew House No. 16, housed in an old firehouse building (yes, complete with the poles).

Dinner menu . . . what to eat on a hot, hot day. For starters the three-hummus plate (roasted garlic and lemon, cilantro lime, roasted bell pepper) and a basket of soft pretzels (homage to PA, of course). Note: Be sure to order the housemade mustard with the pretzels and you’ll never have Herlocher’s commercial version again! (I say “commercial version” because I don’t believe what they’re selling in the grocery stores is the same as what we used to have at the Train Station . . . but I digress.)

And drink choices? Husb went with the excellent Brew House Coffee Porter (“flavors and aromas of coffee, roasted chocolate malt”)—very memorable. I had the lighter Strawberry Fields, “an American wheat ale brewed with 20 lbs of strawberries from Calvert's Gift Farm. Mild in bitterness and body.” In fact, I had two.

This may be a brew pub but it’s not all bleu-cheese burgers and sweet-potato fries! We had a cornucopia of entrée choices, from pan-roasted rockfish to duck confit poutine. Husb did order traditional, the Firehouse burger (“Roseda angus beef, double-smoked maple bacon, roasted garlic aioli, hand-cut fries”), and Marion went with the chili-glazed mussel bowl (“roasted garlic, preserved lemon, sweet chili glaze, toasted baguette”) and a salad. Doug and I were of a like mind: we both ordered the crispy split-pea cake (“yellow split pea polenta, grilled mushrooms, roasted sunchokes, red pepper hummus, pea shoots”), which came with some red-pepper hummus on the side. It was perfect for the hot day, light and delicious, perched on a bed of greens. I love it when a restaurant dares to be a little different with the vegetarian entrée and goes beyond a “veggie burger.”

We could not linger, regrettably, because we had a show to go to. So we headed down to Creative Alliance, housed in the Patterson Theater on Eastern Avenue. Their mission statement spells out exactly why I love Baltimore so much: “The Creative Alliance builds communities by bringing together artists and audiences from diverse backgrounds to experience spectacular arts and education programs and engage in the creative process. We provide support to area artists, promote Baltimore as a center for creative production, act as a positive force in our community, and advocate for cultural expression rooted in a sense of place.” C’est tout.

I paused before we went inside because the sun and clouds were conspiring to do spectacular things.

Then I had to admire the exterior of the Patterson, itself a beauty.

Inside, on the first floor is an art gallery (check out their website for everything Creative Alliance offers—they do a lot) and a music venue (with a bar!). While we had auditorium-type seating for the show, Marion said that sometimes they do a club layout with tables and chairs. The performer—Steve Forbert (you who know me are right now not surprised). When Marion found out that Doug was a long-time fan, of course she got in touch with us about joining them . . . Steve, with Mark Stuart accompanying, did not disappoint the full room of loyal fans—btw, look for his autobiography to be published at the end of the year.

The end of the night, we walked across the street to the car, which was parked in front of Matthew’s Pizza, “Baltimore’s First Pizzeria” (someone at the show told me that a neighborhood date in the 1960s meant a movie at the Patterson and pizza at Matthew’s). The colored milk jugs strung high above Eastern Avenue were lit, giving a festival atmosphere to the evening—yes, “the prettiest place on earth.”

Washington, DC

Over the years I have seen the monuments on the National Mall again and again as we took guests to visit our nation’s capital. I’ve seen new monuments come to fruition and old ones get a facelift (or, sometimes, a repair). Friends who had already seen the monuments themselves were coming to DC and so I worked to plan a weekend that gave them (and me) a new side of Washington.

We started with the State Department Diplomatic Reception Rooms, where they actually do host diplomats and other dignitaries. I had heard about this on Antiques Roadshow and made a reservation. Our tour guide, Chic, showed us through the rooms with both authority and humor. Nice way to start the weekend! Dinner that night was at my favorite Peruvian in DC, El Chalan, and of course included Pisco sours. We ended the evening by walking past the White House at night, a little reassurance as we knew the terrible news from Paris (and so were not surprised when we were scooted a little farther away than usual).

Desk where the Treaty of Paris was signed (State Department Diplomatic Reception Rooms)

Breakfast the next morning was at Paul, which quickly became our friends’ “regular” breakfast place. They come from York County, PA, the best agricultural place I have ever lived, so I gave them the option of visiting Washington’s Eastern Market in Capitol Hill on this sunny November day. In addition to the fresh fruits, vegetables, and meats we’re so accustomed to, Eastern Market has a large outdoor international flea market. We looked at furniture both new and antique, clothing, jewelry. We talked to vendors, admired little kids’ outfits, and bought a persimmon. We even sampled deep-fried cheese curds from a Juniata County, PA, dairy farmer.

Carpets for sale (Eastern Market)

From there we hailed a cab to the National Building Museum (built 1887 as the Patent Office). Right now they are featuring an exhibit on the construction of the World War II memorial. Another exhibit details the efforts to repair the earthquake damage to the National Cathedral and the Washington Monument. We strolled back toward their hotel, past the National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial, and back to Pennsylvania Avenue. It was heartening to see people gathered in front of the White House again, some in awe, others protesting, and one solitary woman—Melody Crombie—campaigning for president. Dinner at Firefly, just off Dupont Circle, was noisy but warm.

Sunday—just another morning at Paul. The weather was so gorgeous we decided to walk to the National Museum of the American Indian. On the way we stopped at the Department of the Interior; not many people know that building has both a museum and an excellent Indian craft shop open to the public (of course they weren’t open while we were there since it was Sunday), with an adjacent sculpture garden. We wandered down the Mall, around groups of kids playing kickball, until we got to 13th Street and had to stick to a walkway. Sounds of drumming could be heard for a block or so before we saw the drummer and his plastic bucket collection making beautiful music. A quick pop into the National Gallery to show our guests a Van Gogh I love brought disappointment—it’s back in storage. But a great thing about so many of the DC museums is you can do that—pop in, pop out—for free!

The drummer at the Smithsonians

The Van Gogh we missed

At the American Indian museum, artists were working with clay as part of the Ceramics of the Southwest: A Native American Heritage Month Celebration. In the center of the room, the Zuni Olla Maidens were performing the Pottery Dance, balancing pottery on their heads! (I probably wasn’t the only person watching, just to see if that pot would move.) I spoke with the dancers afterwards, who were only too happy to talk about their dance and their clothes and what they kept in the pots (salt is traditional, a cellphone is not!). Our guests and I started looking through this museum by watching the introductory film. This was the first time I have seen it—quite spectacular and gives you a good idea of just how massive a project it is to depict the peoples who are designated “Native.”

 

Zuni Olla Maidens

We had one more tour stop for the day before dinner and so hailed a cab for Georgetown. A note on cabs vs. Metro in DC: if you are just going from place to place, Metro will get you there very efficiently. However, if you have people interested in sightseeing on the way, cabs may be the best way to go. Every driver we had was both pleasant and knowledgeable. We got to see buildings we would have missed if we had traveled underground.

According to a walking tour book I found, 3307 N Street NW is the house where John and Jackie Kennedy were living when he was elected president. And 3017 N Street NW is where Jackie first lived when she left the White House. So we took a little stroll through Georgetown. Walking the residential streets is a pleasure if you like to admire architecture in its many forms. We then headed down to the waterfront where kids were ice-skating on a little rink, past the C&O Canal, and back up to M Street for dinner at Bistro Francais (again the French!). I highly recommend the Poulet Bistro—cooked perfectly! We sat at the window table, so part of our dinner amusement was watching people realize they had parked in a bus zone.

Georgetown waterfront, looking up toward M Street

 

Our final day was a day-long van tour of the monuments with a National Park Service ranger. As I said, I have seen the monuments many times. But I have never had a narrator before. Our ranger, Mark, took us first to the Washington Monument where he showed us some of the repairs (having seen the engineering explained two days before at the National Building Museum made it even more interesting). I am old enough to remember being able to walk down the stairs from the top of the monument. That’s not allowed anymore (graffiti) but the windows on the elevator allow riders to see some of the decorative stones inside the monument. It’s a great trip down!

We next went to the World War II Memorial where, again, our trip to the National Building Museum paid off. We had seen a video of the Memorial artist discussing the wreaths that are held up by eagles (he got the idea from wreaths held up by angels in a church in Italy). That exhibit—including the plaster casts of the friezes also at the Memorial—gave us a whole new perspective. From there it was the Lincoln, the Vietnam (including the nurses!), and the Korean War memorials, with explanations and narrations by our ranger. I noticed many people hanging around our group, listening to him. A lunch break, Jefferson, and finally FDR. As I always say, if you haven’t been, go. If you have been, go again. Not when it’s hot or cold, but when you can spend some time among these monuments, reading, learning, reflecting. We’re so very lucky to have them.

A wall at the Franklin Delano Roosevelt memorial

This itinerary was a huge four days. We could have done less, but the weather was excellent and we promised ourselves we’d skip anything we didn’t feel like doing. I got to see parts of Washington where I’ve never been and visit a few old favorites as well. DC is a great city to visit . . . and I know I’ll be back before long!

Judy's on Cherry (and the Pagoda), Reading, PA

Unusually warm November weather brings the temptation to play hookey from work (winter is out there somewhere!) and get out on the road. Mary the Photographer, of course, is retired so for her it’s just taking advantage of a gorgeous late fall day. So that’s what we did.

I took the shunpiker's route from Harrisburg to Reading—weaving up and down country roads, sometimes on Old US 22, sometimes not. Once we were on 422 I started reminiscing about taking that road to Hershey as a kid. I pointed out where my father was so pleased to buy us all 15-cent hamburgers, how we never got to eat at the Ranch House Restaurant (still there!), and all those other landmarks of my memory.

In Wernersville I noticed an old building with a mansard roof, many windows, fancy entrance; it was obvious it had been a hotel in the late 1800s. Then we saw another one, and another one. I didn’t know of any business in Wernersville that would have required that many hotels, so once I got home I looked it up. At the turn of the century (late 1800s-early 1900s) Wernersville had been a resort town, like Cambridge Springs and Jim Thorpe! (Far more recently it had also been home to the Gosselin family, but until the day there’s one titled “Terry the Writer and Mary the Photographer,” this blog doesn’t cover reality shows.) Today the Heidelberg Heritage Society is headquartered in Lerch Tavern, on the main street of Wernersville. Looks like I’m going to have to make a trip back there one of these days . . .

But I digress. This was supposed to be a non-work day. Mary and I were headed to Reading. Plans included lunch and a visit to the Pagoda because Mary (gasp!) had never been there. With a little research I found a restaurant in center-city Reading that sounded perfect. As we drove through West Reading, though, I thought about ditching it in favor of one of the many little restaurants that lined Penn Avenue, where people were sitting outside enjoying the day and their meals, but I didn’t. I had selected this place on Trip Advisor reviews and what I was in the mood to eat. Judy's on Cherry was it.

We found the restaurant pretty easily, with parking right out front. The building had been a farmers’ market; the brick exterior and wooden floors remain, as well as the high wooden ceilings. The atmosphere is inviting and warm (maybe it’s that hearth-fired oven); I like that it doesn’t look like anywhere else I’ve ever eaten. The menu has some unique qualities as well: butternut squash soup with crab and curry, “Cowboy Ciao” (smoked salmon, arugula, bruschetta tomatoes, couscous, roasted corn, nuts, dried fruit, pesto buttermilk dressing), and “Mediterranean Mezze Tasting Plate” (chickpea, garlic ground almond and yogurt, and fig black olive tapenade, roasted red pepper, feta and thyme relish, crispy flatbread).

Speaking of that flatbread, our server brought us some just after taking our order. It was warm and delicious. I resisted eating more than one slice, though, because I had already ordered the butternut squash soup and mini crab salad sandwich combo. Mary chose the Enraged Penne Pasta (spicy plum tomato sauce with fresh basil and parmesan cheese), which went very well with the flatbread. The food was delightful—my soup smooth but not too creamy, the crab sandwich a perfect size for a side, plus a little salad of greens with a very light dressing. I could have stopped there and been quite happy.

But on the other side of the wine list was the dessert menu. I had to look. And there, right in the middle of the list, was “Mrs. Wesner’s Coconut Layer Cake.” What could I do? A really good coconut cake is very hard to come by. So often they are bright-yellow, tough, oily concoctions with inches of fluffy sugar troweled on and a smattering of coconut on top just so they can call it “coconut cake.” Based on my lunch, though, I thought maybe, just maybe, this one would be different.

I’m so glad I did. It was the best coconut layer cake I have ever eaten. It tasted like I had made it (and wouldn’t I like that recipe so I could). The cake itself was laced with coconut, the frosting was delicate (not too thick or too sweet), it was perfection. I thought about taking some home, but it wouldn’t have done me any good—that too would go away (be eaten, possibly by my husband) and then I would still have to drive back to Reading for more. So it will live in my memory (and some day I will be back in Reading . . .).

As we left the restaurant, I told Mary to look up the street. There, looking down on us, was our destination, the Pagoda. A short ride later, we were on Duryea Drive, headed up. Warm fall day, enough leaves still on the trees to make it pretty. On the way up I told her about Charles Duryea testing his cars on that very road by having his daughter do the test-drive (see my first book). We rounded one final curve, and Mary finally got to see the Pagoda that I’ve raved about for so long. It was closed (it’s open weekends so you can buy souvenirs and climb to the top) but there were many people outside enjoying the weather and the view of Reading. I never get tired of it. After that we drove the rest of the way up the mountain to the Fire Tower and where the hotel was (see my next book [almost done, I swear!] for that history) before heading down again toward home.

What a great way to spend a day off—driving the countryside with a friend, eating at a really nice restaurant, and catching waves of both history and memories. I will be back at work tomorrow but the mellow from today will stay with me. Everyone needs to play hookey once in a while.

Photos of soup and Pagoda by Mary Brenner

Hotels of the Past (#38)

And we're back to Harrisburg for this one. According to my research this massive hotel sat on the northeast corner of Second and Strawberry streets--yes, right where the Harrisburg Hilton is today.

I found this hotel through an unusual route. In working on my family genealogy I did some research on the Robert Lamberton family, a very prominent Pennsylvania family in the second half of the 1800s. A Dickinson graduate and local attorney, Robert Lamberton was named president of Lehigh University in 1880. (History people, stay with me. The rest of you are free to look at the pictures and then move on.)

Robert's wife was Annie Buehler, one of six children of William Buehler, who at one point ran his family's very respectable Buehler's Hotel in Harrisburg. This is the hotel Charles Dickens stayed when passing through Harrisburg during his first visit to the United States in 1842 (to read about where he stayed in York, see Hotels of the Past #31).

Text from the historical marker in Harrisburg (I'll have to go take a picture of it one of these days):

On the site directly across the street stood the Eagle Hotel, a three-story brick structure opened by George Buehler in January of 1812. It was here that Charles Dickens stayed when touring America in 1842 during which time he authored American Notes and in which he praised the hotel's proprietor. The Eagle Hotel was enlarged under the new ownership of the Bolton family in the early 1860s when it was renamed the Bolton Hotel. At that time, a series of neighboring townhouses that had earlier been joined together to form the Eagle were capped with a fourth and fifth floor and adorned in Second Empire architectural styling. Both the Eagle and the Bolton represented popular destinations for noted individuals and politicians of the 19th century. The building was demolished in 1990 to accommodate the development of the adjacent Hilton Harrisburg.

By 1915, when the postcard was sent, the hotel was advertising itself as "the Commercial man's best friend" and "the only Family Hotel in the city" (guess that makes it the Hampton Inn of its day).

An article that appeared in the Harrisburg Telegraph on January 6, 1928, describes some of the history of the Buehler Hotel/Bolton House:

 

Why was I following this trail even though I'm not at all related to Annie Buehler Lamberton? My great-great-grandmother, Mary Spain, an Irish immigrant and widow who lost all three of her children when they were young adults, was the cook in the Lamberton home for 40 years. I can only imagine the relationship those two women--Annie and Mary--had, but I would love to know more.

Hotels of the Past (#37)

Searching the Web for pictures of old Pennsylvania hotels I found a blog with a long, detailed, and fascinating piece about the Hotel Walton in Philadelphia. Looks like I'm not the only one who likes to collect these histories.

And then I came across the very grand Bellevue Stratford:

I was reminded of this place yesterday while listening to an episode of Yours Truly, Johnny Dollar, a radio show from the 1950s. Johnny Dollar was a freelance insurance investigator and for this particular case he traveled to Philadelphia, where he stayed at the Bellevue Stratford, convenient to the offices he went to on Walnut Street. This postcard looks like it's from the 1970s, which would place it more in the era of the Legionnaires' disease outbreak and just before (little-known fact) Bob Beru was the head concierge (his day job, that is).

Hotels of the Past (#36)

Harrisburg, our dear state capital, has always seemed to have a dearth of downtown hotels for some reason. There was a time, however, when hotels dotted the streets and innkeepers had to compete for business from those wanting to stay in the city.

I found this postcard for the Columbus Hotel in Harrisburg on Cardcow--not exactly enticing to this 21st-century observer (in fact, that innkeeper's face is a little creepy) but maybe at the time it made them stand out. Once I saw the back I was amazed the postcard made it to its destination (I needed Google to figure it out):

So what happened to the Columbus Hotel? Like so many similar buildings at the time, it fell victim to a fire in the early 1900s (although I doubt most fires were started by an explosion in a neighboring hat store).