No room at the inn. No inn at the inn.

In July of 2000, at the end of my solo tour of English cathedrals, I spent a night in London. When I got to the B&B I had booked there was a handwritten note tacked to the door; it directed me to another address around the corner. When I rang the bell at the new location a gentleman unlocked the door and said, “Welcome, Walter.” It was a bit odd, but all turned out well.

Yesterday in New York Ransom and I had an odder experience that turned out even better. We had booked a room at the Park Central Hotel, 7th Avenue at 56th Street, just across from Carnegie Hall. As we were driving down the West Side Highway, Ransom phoned the hotel to ask about parking; the cheery woman on the phone told us they managed their own garage and we could park there – for $60 per night, but that’s a story for another day.

We chose to park at a different garage and walked into the hotel. The man behind the desk gave me an odd look when I said, “Room for Wilson, Ransom.” He swallowed a look of confusion and smiled as he responded, “This hotel is closed.”

That made no sense. We had a confirmed reservation. We had just called the hotel ten minutes ago. WTF?

He was, of course, right. The hotel was closed. Something about a broken water pipe and the city forcing the hotel to close. How a broken water pipe could close an entire 761-room hotel is beyond me. Even odder, a Google search and an online search of the New York Times turned up no more information. When I visited the Park Central’s website everything looked normal, except that there were no rooms available for every day I checked.

But there’s a silver lining – a gold lining really – to this tale. Although the hotel failed to let us know it in advance, they did have a room for us at the Doubletree at 51st and Lexington. That’s not as convenient as the original west side location, but we could manage – especially when they told us they were refunding our entire room charge and the Doubletree would be ours for free – full hot breakfast included. We had paid $311 for the Park Central so, as I say, this deal was golden.

The Doubletree was lovely, the breakfast first rate and the whole reason we were in the city, the New York Philharmonic’s showing of The Godfather, was thoroughly enjoyable.

(Regular readers may remember that I saw the NY Phil screen 2001: A Space Odyssey while the musicians played the score and that I traveled to Boston to hear the BSO do the same with West Side Story. The Godfather would not have been my third choice, but it was my birthday and seemed a fun thing to do).

We ate dinner before the movie/concert at Pasha, an excellent Turkish restaurant I’ve been to several times.

Thank you, Ransom, for a wonderful trip. It was a grand birthday -- and if I can say that AND save $311 then I’m all in favor of “odd.”

The lobby of the Park Central Hotel; it was just about this empty when we walked in yesterday.

It all started with Coke

My friend Chuck was a budding journalist in the spring of 1965. He was the editor of The Gavel, J. R. Tucker High School's newspaper in Richmond, Virginia. He was also the Coke Teen Time reporter on the local rock station, WMBG. Once a week or so he would go to the station to record school news. Chuck was a busy boy though and asked me if I would take over for him.

I was thrilled! To be recorded at a radio station by an on-the-air DJ; to hear my voice on the radio -- how cool was that? In April or May of 1965 I went with Chuck to meet the disc jockey who created the segments. That would be local Richmond celebrity, Don Dale.

Last weekend, fifty years later, I traveled to Richmond to celebrate the remarkable friendship that started in 1965. There have been ups, there have been downs, but through it all Don and I have remained friends and are likely closer now than we’ve ever been. What started with “Hi, this is Walt Foery from J R Tucker High school with Coke Teen Time News” has grown into a lifelong relationship that has anchored me over the decades.

As I am wont to do, I prepared music for the dinner and for party favors. It was all from 1965, and what a great year that was: Downtown; Stop! In the Name of Love; Eight Days a Week; My Girl; I Can’t Help Myself (Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch); Mr. Tambourine Man; I Got You Babe; Yesterday; Unchained Melody; Like A Rolling Stone; and THE song of the summer, Satisfaction, by the Rolling Stones. (And many others, including probably the worst song ever to be named song of the year, Wooly Bully).

Don invited four family members, his niece Terry and her husband, James, as well as his nephew Mike and Mike’s wife, Becky; I invited my brother Raymond, my dear friend Malette – who drove up from North Carolina – my Richmond friend Sally – the “best person” at my wedding – and Lu and Leslie, who drove down from Laurel, MD. No one of us knew everyone at dinner but we all had a connection either to the summer of 1965 in Richmond, or to me or Don. Don and I, my brother and Lu were the four in the group who actually partied together fifty years ago.

Me circa 1965

Don, circa 1965

That summer was perhaps the happiest of my life and Saturday night was one of the happiest dinners I’ve ever attended. We ate fantastic food at Southbound, a hot and cool restaurant in Stony Point that opened last fall; ironically, it is in the same shopping strip as the Charley's that opened back in 1986 – the Charley's for which I was supposed to be general manager. (See "My Husband".)

Southbound's food, service and ambience were exquisite and added mightily to a fabulous evening. I know I speak for all when I say that. Don already wants to do it again for our 51st!