Motels - part 3. Dumps

Most of the time the motels we stayed at were fairly nice, at worst just ordinary, but nothing too frightening or dangerous. However, there were a few instances and experiences worth noting and were the cause for many memorable nights, some truly a cause for concern, and a few that were only manufactured by our attitude, imagination or bad moods, which in hindsight make the experience not as miserable as we thought.

At the forefront of dumpy places to stay is the Astoria Hotel, in Astoria, Oregon. This hotel became the litmus test to compare every dank and dreary hotel and motel we were to ever stay at and has been the cause for tense conversation ever since. Not only was the hotel itself old, dark and cold, but the weather in this coastal Oregon town was gray, bleak and wet. It is ironic however that I now live in this area of the country and have come to like and accept this weather, as well as come to love the town of Astoria. But at this time we came into town and Dad insisted on staying at this old and historic hotel thinking it would be a good experience, like in the old days before there were motels like we were used to, Mom and I just thought Dad was being cheap. The major flaw in this hotel that was the main gripe was it didn't have bathrooms in the room, but communal bathrooms down the hall. I guess this is the way it was normally like back in the day, and Mom and I failed to see the unique fun in this and Mom complained bitterly about this inconvenience. I didn't really like it myself but accepted this and let Mom do all the complaining. Dad only got annoyed and thought it was unreasonable to complain stating that this is what it was like in every hotel, even the fancy expensive ones, only a few years ago and Mom and I needed to suck it up and enjoy it. The hotel like I said was old and a bit musty, the carpets were hard and thread-bare and the color scheme for the entire hotel was a muted gray with splashes of faded color in the carpets and wall paper. It also had an old elevator that had one of those metal gates that needed to be manually closed before the elevator would work. The elevator was small, slow and creaky and it made me a tiny bit nervous, but Dad pointed out that it was an Otis elevator, and if I haven't mentioned it before, Dad is proudly descended from Elisha Otis - the guy responsible for the elevator and it's namesake, and the reason Dad is named Otis. So Dad never failed to mention whenever we were riding in an Otis elevator and demanded respect for the privilege. But this particular elevator seemed to be an original vintage Otis complete with Victorian era technology, and it failed to impress me or Mom. The other inconvenience was that the hotel had a lobby and desk clerk, which meant that the anonymous status we usually enjoyed didn't exist at this hotel, and we were under the constant scrutiny of the manager, which for some reason made me and Mom uncomfortable. Dad suggested that we do what everyone did in the old days and hang out in the lobby and read magazines on the old couches among the elderly tenants, this was received coolly by me and Mom and promptly ignored.

Mom was in a bad mood the entire stay, which put everyone in a bad mood. Dad vainly tried to smooth things over by justifying the historic value of the hotel and that we were being spoiled and ungrateful, (which now I see his point) and we probably needlessly turned it into a bad situation. The next morning there seemed to be a rush to get out and Dad was visibly irritated and disappointed by our lack of enthusiasm. From that time on Dad still tries to expound on the virtues of the Astoria Hotel, and other hotels like it, and becomes slightly belligerent and sarcastic when mentioning it, expressing pity about our lack of open mindedness.

But that is not to say that we didn't have genuine bad experiences in motels, sometimes unknowingly checking into a shady establishment frequented by unsavory truckers, criminals and prostitutes. Usually you could spot one of these motels a mile away, but sometimes we either didn't see the usual signs, or didn't have much of a choice. At one motel I remember that it superficially liked okay, but on further examination realized that it was converted from a hospital, possibly a mental hospital, noticing oblique details like curtain rods around the beds and strange plug outlets that accommodated sadistic instruments. Then there was the time there was a faint but unpleasant odor in the room, which was discovered to a decomposing animal head under the bed, only to be found the next morning during one of Dad's "idiot checks" Even Dad was disturbed by this discovery. And every so often, and without any explanation we would check into a motel and get a distinct suspicious and unwelcome feeling, encountering unfriendly and often mean managers that seemed they would've rather that we didn't check in. Maybe they sensed Dad being "different", or they didn't like kids, but whatever the case we learned to avoid and keep quiet in these situations, knowing it would soon be over and the next motel would certainly be better. Fortunately these cases were the exception and not the rule.

This is also not to say that we didn't have bad experiences at good motels. Even Holiday Inn's had the potential of unpleasant danger. At one of the traditional stops during the trip, that being San Diego, California, Dad would make special concessions and stay at premium motels in order to celebrate the start of the trip of set the tone. At this time we checked into a "round" Holiday Inn, which was a building with cylindrical architecture resembling the Leaning Tower of Pisa (without the leaning) There were a few of these type of round Holiday Inns around California and we happened to have one of these in our own neighborhood back home in Los Angeles. Dad would sometimes take us kids and stay the night in this Holiday Inn, literally 2 miles from our house, just for kicks and a chance to pretend we were on the trip during the regular time of the year. So in San Diego Dad was enthusiastic to stay in this Holiday Inn since it fulfilled a tradition. Well, during this stay, and sometime during the late night, someone knocked loudly on the door to the room next to ours, demanding to be let in. Fortunately the doors had peep holes and Mom and Dad were able to witness what was about to go on. It seemed that a large angry man had left a gun under the mattress in the room next door and was desperate to be let in to retrieve it, at 3:00 in the morning. The more the person in the room hesitated and argued against it, the more angry and unreasonable the guy with the lost gun got. After about 10 minutes, probably when the guy realized someone might've called the police, he took off abruptly. Needless to say this concerned Dad and Mom and we checked out of that Holiday Inn and checked into a far safer Motel 6 in "Motel Village" just outside San Diego and with convenient access to the zoo and other family attractions. The round Holiday Inns never seemed the same after that.