Tainting Memories

A half century ago Howard Johnson was a Captain of industry, having catered to the traveling hordes with delightful (at least to the road weary) roadside restaurants. Somewhere along the line the company moved into the hotel/motel business. I can’t remember ever staying in one with his name attached until this past weekend in Lake Charles, Louisiana. Poor Howard must not only be turning over in his grave, but spinning like a whirling dervish at what has become of his legacy. Granted, this was a Howard Johnson “Express” – which I now know means you’re in a hurry to get out of there. They had a sign excusing themselves for the exterior, scaffolding and debris piled in the parking lot, due to last years hurricanes. But it doesn’t stop on the outside. The first thing that strikes you is there are two large TVs, one of which has a remote control for operation. The desk and shelving area has a gaping hole where a three inch by two foot drawer once was. The bathroom door will not close because somehow it is too wide for the opening. The “stopper” for the sink, which usually operates with a plunger and lever is laying on top of the sink. Half a roll of toilet paper is sitting on top of the toilet, none on the roller attached to the wall. The shower curtain has three missing hangers. The tiny coffee maker has one serving of regular coffee, no decaf. We survive the first night and return from our day’s frolic at 10:30 and find that our room has not been serviced. A call to the desk is answered by a person who has a very limited knowledge of the English language and I eventually get him to say I can come to the office and get some coffee for the morning. I go pick it up and then realize the next morning that it is a large coffee bag for the big pots in the office. I fashion a filter from our meager supply of toilet paper and our coffee turns out successfully. Howard, old man, am I really expecting too much for eighty-five dollars a night?