Requiem for the Pavilion

The first of this month, a downtown DC landmark closed, and with it closed some of my first memories of Washington.  The Pavilion at the Old Post Office was a downtown shopping mall and food court set in the first two levels of what had once been the main post office at 12th and Pennsylvania Ave NW, its iconic bell tower looming in many famous photos of the avenue.

The building is now being emptied, as Donald Trump has purchased it and will be turning it into a hotel.  But it had been on life-support for years; its heyday was a full two decades ago, and of late has been only a motley collection of souvenir stands and the last hangers-on in the food court.

I remember being wowed by "The Pavilion" as a freshman at AU in 1985, and it's been a part of my life pretty much for the last 29 years.  After college, on coming to work two blocks away, it became a place to find lunch--and for a couple of years, its expansion into the IRS building meant indoor mini-golf in the evenings.  That expansion didn't last long; I think it probably closed in the mid-1990s, and nothing's happened with that wing in nearly 20 years.  I've often wondered how many inches of dust have accumulated in there.

When I moved back to DC in 1992, there were two restaurants on the ground floor; one whose name I forget in the northwest corner (more casual), and the more formal Fitch, Fox & Brown in the northeast corner.  I remember taking my mom there for dinner one time; the waiters were presumptuous and pretentious at the same time.

The tower tours were free and self-guided, which was great.  I remember one time the various co-chairs of the Director's Advisory Committees were in town for a meeting.  We all walked over and took the tour, up to the bells and the views across the city.  Now, I'm sure, The Donald will charge for the privilege of the view.

Since 9/11, the mostly ineffectual security guards placed at the doors (to protect the Federal tenants on the upper floors, like the National Institute for the Humanities, from terrorist attack) likely contributed to driving down foot traffic and thus the closing of some shops.  One of the best cobblers I ever knew worked in the downstairs lobby.  I cannot remember his name, but he was Australian, and there wasn't anything he couldn't do with my shoes to restore them.  He packed it in about 11 years ago.  I miss having a cobbler nearby.

The "philately" post office was another reason to stop by.  It only sold stamps and similar basic postal materials--wouldn't handle a package for you, for instance--but I could always see the newest ones without waiting in the lines at the Franklin station across the street.  Briefly, there was a half-price tickets place next to it, selling same-night seats for various theaters around town (National Theater, Warner Theater, etc).  That also died years ago.

The food court downstairs was largely unchanged for most of the last three decades.  The "international side" to the west, with the Chinese, Italian, and "foreign" cuisine, and with the opposite side of the food court stocked with hot dogs, burger places, and the like.

My favorite place to go in there was actually tucked away half under the stairs in the back: Temptations.  This tiny place had a double display case of baked treats (double chocolate cake, pies, eclairs, etc.) and an espresso machine behind the counter.  But that's not why I went.  Temptations was run by the same family the entire time I was there, and they made the best lemonade ever.

Order a "fresh-squeezed" lemonade and the guy would open up a food-service bucket of halved lemons, and--always using a plastic fork--spear a half lemon and place it into the juicer on the counter.  A rotation of the handle, and fresh lemon juice would flow out the bottom into the clear plastic cup.  He would then put the drip cup back under the juicer, and pop the squeezed lemon off the top and into your cup, to which then was added two scoops of sugar, ice to the top of the cup, and then water--always bottled water from a gallon jug.  A cocktail shaker was produced, and the water, lemon juice, sugar, and lemon husk were then vigorously shaken awhile before being poured triumphantly back into the cup.  Add the plastic top to the cup, then a straw and precisely one napkin, and for $1.89 you had the best lemonade you could ever want.  Perfect on a spring or summer day in the mid-afternoon, especially with a snickerdoodle from Larry's Cookies across the way.

The closure of the Pavilion is, of course, a long time coming--we've seen this particular train coming from well down the tracks.  But its passing means more than just the inability to find the best lemonade, the best cobbler.  It's a little piece of my own story of life in Washington coming to an end, a story that now reaches nearly 30 years itself, and so its absence leaves a little ache.

But one I'm looking for a new lemonade stand to help me fill.

The Running Girl, May 2014 Edition

Once again, Sarah's interest in cross-country running has led her to the Girls on the Run program--now known at the middle school as Girls On Track, even though they don't do track events and still train for a 5K.  This morning was the spring 5K, after a season of training, and as you can see she was very excited about the day!

Sarah at Girls on the Run

This year, GOTR came to its senses and split the event across two days in two locations--meaning we no longer had the same huge crowds and parking problems, making it a much more enjoyable event.  Sarah also benefited from the thinner crowds, running her best race ever!

When the results were posted, Sarah completed her 5K in 30:41, her fastest time ever--and slightly annoying to her, as she really expected to be sub-30 this time.  However, her time was good enough for her to finish #138 out of 1,971 runners (top 7% of all runners); among her age group (girls 10-14), she finished #44 out of 493 girls (top 9%).  What an outstanding run!

This year, being all old and stuff, Sarah didn't need her daddy to be a buddy runner anymore; she ran with friends from SCMS.  However, that meant for the first time Eric and Mary had the chance to get a cup of coffee while she ran, and then be there at the finish line to see her cross.  This time we got video of the big finish:

Sarah's already announced that when she gets to the high school, she wants to go out for cross-country.  Maybe that means Daddy will have to start training to be able to keep up with her.  In the meantime, she's a huge winner to us for completing her seventh 5K and doing so well.  Congratulations, Sarah, on a tremendous race and great improvement!

Sometimes, You Just Need A Good Rant

…and when you do, why not turn to one of the masters?

"I can't take it anymore! I'm trying to get home for my kid's birthday but this whole leaf-blowing false-advertising traffic-stopping tax-dollars-squandering workers-on-permanent-coffee-break upper-class money-driving stolen-car-parts-dealing sign-changing society won't let me!  And you know who's to blame? We all are! We say we hate lawyers but we can't wait to sue somebody.  We want leaders to make tough choices and we vote 'em out when they do! We all want X-rated older women with hirsute upper lips on chat lines and scream bloody murder when we get the bill!  I ask you, what's happened to logic in the world?

"And when you think about it, isn't that exactly the point?  Parking and driving and shopping and eating and working…somewhere, somehow they're different now, none of 'em are the same, they all got chewed up and spit back out.  They don't taste like living anymore.  Don't you see what it's like in this deranged Waring blender of a world?  Every day is an agonizing ordeal!  Like balancing a pot of scalding water on your head while people whip your legs and butt!  (Ah, you never forget your senior prom…)  You think I'm sick?  Well, the only disease I've got is modern life.  A schnub-busting gauntlet of inefficiency and misery that's one long parade of let-downs, put-downs, trickle-downs, shut-outs, freeze-outs, sell-outs, numb-nuts, nincompoops and nimrods!  All making every day as much fun as waxing a flaming Pontiac with your tongue!  Where even if you do luck into the possibility of some fleeting pleasure, like, say, if some nymphomaniac telephone operators with the muscle control of Romanian mat-slappers agree to a little strip air hockey, it'll be over before it starts!  Because some vowel-whacking feather-eating cab jockey slams his Checker up your hatchback, and the cab is owned by some Santaria cult in Huaculpa who starts shaking chicken bones at you and gives you a boil on your neck so big all it needs is Michael Jordan's autograph on it to make it complete!  And even with all this--with all this!--I still drag my sorry butt off the Sealy every morning and stick my face in the reaping machine for one more day--knowing! when it's time to flash the cosmic car keys at those pearly gates I won't be in the coffin anyway, because some underhanded undertaker sold my heart, pancreas, and other assorted Good-n-Plenty to the same Santaria cult!  So does anybody really wonder why anybody is hanging on to sanity by the atoms on the tips of their fingernails while life dirty-dances on their digits?  And is it really any wonder that I seem DERANGED?"

(Duckman, "Room With A Bellevue," 1996…for the originals, see here and here)