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.
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