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HEARTBREAK HOTEL
by
Betsy James

In Tallahassee, there used to be an old house on College Avenue called the Heartbreak Hotel. It was vintage turn of the century architecture. Two -storied, with dark, elegant stairway and banister, an ample kitchen and pantry. Florida State University was only a few blocks away.

This grand old neighborhood had given way to demand for student housing by the nineteen sixties. By the seventies, the Heartbreak Hotel was inhabited mainly by students, artists, writers, musicians, and craftsmen. Each one seemed to add a personal touch. Poems and artwork on doors and walls, intricately designed shelves and furniture, a private sundeck atop the roof, a most unusual apartment built into the space under the house. There was no end to its' mysteries and delights. Creativity thrived during those years.

In the yard, you were likely to see such things as an old motorcycle painted pink, decorated lavishly with lace, something that looked like an elephant leaning up against a tree, assortments of sparkling geodes and rocks, pineapple mint and yarrow beds, or a macramé creation. Music ranged from totally unstructured to classical and could be heard at practically any hour. Heartbreak seems to inspire greatness in creative people. A lot of the residents there had recently lost out on love, gravitating naturally to the bosom of the Heartbreak Hotel. Plus, the rent was cheap.

Many folks came and went in those days, some finally achieving fame. Oddly enough, the Heartbreak Hotel was sold the day Elvis died, in August, 1977. It was torn down a year later to make room for a parking lot. At times you can still smell pineapple mint or see a small white yarrow blossom peeping up from in between the concrete slabs.

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ONE NIGHT ON THE ROOF
OF HEARTBREAK HOTEL
By
Betsy James

An occasional car whizzed by; otherwise, it was a quiet night on College Avenue. The wild parties wouldn't start until Friday, so there were two whole nights of peace yet to come.

I raised my window and climbed out onto the roof. It was two o'clock in the morning and I had just come home from work. Our restaurant had been busy and my pockets were full of money when I left. This fact, and a nice bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, had put me in high spirits. My clarinet had a new reed in it and I was looking forward to running a few riffs as I enjoyed the cool, dark night.

After running through 'summertime' to warm up, I leaned back against the windowsill and scanned the empty street in front of me. A hint of mint was in the air from the herb garden below. A few windows were lit up, from the late-night studies in the neighborhood. Otherwise, this section of downtown Tallahassee was quiet, shrouded in a fine, dreamlike mist.

Suddenly, I saw two strange figures gliding down the sidewalk. I say gliding, because that's what they seemed to do. They certainly didn't swerve and sway like the drunken students that frequently made their way home this time of night. As they came closer, I saw that they were dressed in antique clothing. As there was a vintage clothing store nearby, I thought nothing of it. Until later.

Now, as they passed in front of the house next door, I could make out pieces of the conversation. Strange talk. Didn't make much sense to me. Certainly not your ordinary dialogue. So I listened closer. They spoke of horses and the new electric wiring. Of cooks and carriages and an upcoming election. Then, they passed directly under me and I could see them very clearly in the glow of the street lamp.

The man was dressed in formal attire, complete with top hat. The lady was all frills and lace and long elaborate skirts. I watched in amazement as they climbed the front steps of the Heartbreak Hotel and entered. Frantically, I climbed back into my room through the window and raced downstairs.

Macramé hangers filled with philodendrons adorned the stairway, right where I had put them. An old rug that Fuller, the street person slept on, was still there. Several healthy looking roaches peered at me from the walls. Otherwise, the hall was empty. I went around banging on doors and waking up my housemates, asking about the unknown couple. They cursed me and went back to sleep. I crept back upstairs, embarrassed.

It wasn't long after, that the Heartbreak Hotel was sold and torn down. It's beautiful floors ripped out, and the grand old banister removed. This, perhaps, was the final heartbreak. Even now, I think of that night and the elegant couple that strolled along College Avenue arm in arm. In retrospect I have to wonder if these were the original owners, coming home one last time on the dark and mysterious streets of old Tallahassee.

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FIRE AT THE HEARTBREAK HOTEL
By
Betsy James

It was Saturday night on West College Avenue in Tallahassee. The year, 1976. The place, the Heartbreak Hotel. Several fraternities were rocking and rolling nearby. A beautiful harvest moon shone down on the festivities.

Dee was spending a peaceful evening at home in her room at the Heartbreak Hotel. She shared the front bedroom with her boyfriend, Clay. He had turned the hurricane lantern on low, and gone to the Pastime Bar for a few beers. She fell asleep in her birthday suit, listening to the distant refrain of "Free Bird."

Two friends in the room just above hers were staying awake late that night. They were having one of their endless philosophical discussions. T.L., who lived in a converted bathroom at the end of the upstairs hallway, was fast asleep in his berth above the bathtub. Charles Gary, who lived across from them, was whittling down a water bird out of a piece of wood. The full moon shone yellow and gold through his upstairs window.

Dee awoke to the sound of crackling. Her curtains were on fire! The hurricane lantern had ignited them while she slept! Hurriedly, she pulled a nearby sleeping bag around her and ran into the hall, screaming. Upstairs, the two friends looked out the window and saw flames shooting upwards. They awoke T.L., who scurried onto the roof deck with a half pound of illegal dried plant material. An Englishman, who lived across the downstairs hallway ran out of his room yelling for the 'Fire Brigade' at the top of his lungs. Charles Gary came running gallantly down the stairs with a small pan of water.

About that time, Clay came staggering in from the Pastime Bar. Being a logical person, he immediately sized up the situation. He quickly grabbed Dee's sleeping bag from around her, leaving her buck naked in the doorway, just as the Fire Department was arriving. Using it, he extinguished the flames as the firemen lingered in the hallway.

Later on, after the fire truck had left and the Heartbreak Hotel lapsed again into silence and slumber, T.L. came down from the roof. To this very day, he'll swear that the harvest moon that shone that night was wearing an unmistakable smile.

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E mail Betsy

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