I found this place years ago. I went once, and then took some people a few other times. And then I didn’t go again. So years passed. And then a decade. Then we moved here. And six more years passed. And I went past it, a lot. In my car going to Columbus. On my bike on long rides. I never went in. I did spend a few minutes under the awning, safe in the shade, on hot days of riding. But I’d never stepped back inside. And since I’m very much in the now or never stage of things, I thought I should. So I did.
It’s a big rambling, jam-packed, dusty place. The locals, the owners, nor God would probably know if some of the stuff in there hadn’t moved in all of those years. And it is an interesting thing to see, but you get to a place where you’ve seen it, the it is different, maybe, but you’ve seen it. These aren’t the things you’re interested in and nothing there really inspires you to be interested in it.
So you wander and weave and trying not to knock over anything or walk through cobwebs because, goodness, how long as it been since anyone had gone down this aisle?
I found a few things worth taking a picture of, though. This is from the front of an old Coldspot refrigerator. That was a Sears and Roebuck catalog special. Kenmore replaced the product line. And when this appliance cooled its final quart of milk someone took it outside. And maybe it sat on a porch or in the yard for a while, but finally someone decided to get rid of it. But, first, they cut out the logo on the door. And they kept it for who knows how long, or one of the kids wanted it. And, then, finally, somehow, it wound up here:
That was from a 1950s refrigerator. You wonder if this was maybe the second, or even the first ice box the owners had owned. It got passed down, working, to a grandchild starting out. And then it just became a reminder of hazy, sepia-toned days. Finally it died. Lived in the barn or on the porch or someplace like that. And finally it had to be dealt with. But that logo was too cool, too good, too important. So it was cut out of the door. And then it hung around for a time, a display piece, a memento, before finally winding up in the old antique store on the side of the four lane highway that would take you to anywhere. That highway, or the idea of it, was a wondrous thing that kid had to look up to the logo. And now it lives right there, some way or another.
You could make up a story about this sign:
But we know a few things. A former owner, Mr. Holley, died in 2011. He was a World War II veteran, was active in the local VFW and owned another restaurant as well, and both of those post-retirement. He helped fight a war, came home and spent the better part of his life in some form of food service or another. His wife survived him, as did his daughter and three sons and what sounds like a full life. An earlier, or perhaps original, owner of the cafe successfully applied for a liquor license in 1960 and it is amazing what you can learn from ancient city council minutes that have been uploaded to the web. That guy is still around, still in town apparently. I go down the road he lives on from time to time. And if the store was asking for less money I would have purchased the sign today.
