the Macedonia Hotel, Chapter 1
The Macedonia Hotel
A NANOWRIMO
Relay writing project
By the Wayne writers Guild
Completed July 2016
The Macedonia Hotel
(This fictional piece is the product of a relay writing project by the Wayne Writer’s Guild In honor of NANOWRIMO-2015. Any resemblance to real events, people, places, or things is a coincidence and neither intended nor implied to be real and accurate.)
I extend my thanks and gratitude to the contributors who shared their time and talents to make this NANOWRIMO Relay Writing Project possible.
The individual chapters are the intellectual property of the author.
Special thanks are extended to John Cieslinski for his generous use of the book store’s back room.
–Kate Chamberlin, Coordinating Editor
July 20, 2016
Wayne Writers Guild
Meets at 7:30pm – 9:00pm, on the 2nd and 4th. Tuesday of each month
Books, Etc. of Macedon, NY
John Cieslinski, Owner
78 W. Main ST. Macedon NY 14502
Phone 585-474-4116
Chapter 1
The Macedonia Hotel, Est. 1888
By Chuck Martin
The Macedonia Hotel stood ominously in the center of town, on the north side of Main Street, which ran east and west through Wayne County, for the most part, that is. The entire facade was just as dreary as the sides and the back of the building. The only possibly endearing characteristic of the entire structure was the huge gable mounted at the top of the third story with an ordinary nameplate – “Macedonia Hotel, Est. 1888”.
It was a sad looking hotel, with extremely weathered clapboard siding. The current owner, Billy Beckwith, claimed that the weathered siding gave the building character. Most folks thought that Billy was just too cheap to replace the siding. Others thought the structure should just be torn down. The tax assessor even made the claim that the Macedonia Hotel was the “ugliest building in town”.
This did not bother Billy Beckwith one bit. Billy was making a killing on the room rentals, some of which were long term. The longer the stay, the greater the discount per diem.
The parking lot of the hotel completely surrounded it, with parking spaces for a minimum of 55 cars. Since there were 50 rooms, that seemed adequate to Billy Beckwith. A one night stay (or stand) was quite reasonable, if all you wanted was a bed.
The three story structure required fire escapes, per code. These were quite sound, though quite ugly, as they all needed paint badly. “Function first, aesthetics are secondary,” Billy would say, with a smirk to anyone who criticized his property.
Most rooms had a window, but a few did not, due to architectural restrictions. These “restrictions” were caused by the incompetence of the designer, way back in 1888.
There were no elevators, much to the disappointment of many first time tenants.
“The exercise is good for you,” Billy would proclaim, with his usual smirk, which usually brought a grimace back at Billy.
Billy would do his best to keep a full-time clerk on duty. The job was easy, though low paying. It seemed Billy would hire almost anyone to fill the position. The hours were brutal – noon until midnight, five days a week with Sunday and Wednesday off. Billy would often take a 6am to noon shift, then fill in Sunday if he couldn’t find a Temp to work the odd hours.
The stairs to the roof were narrow, but allowed lovers and others to “hang out” up there when the weather permitted. A railing prevented the inebriated from falling off the roof, but it did not prevent a suicide in 1916 on a warm April morning of that year, nor the one that occurred in 1963 just after the Kennedy assassination. No one ever explained the motives for the suicides, nor did they ever prove that those deaths were the result of something even more heinous. But still people were allowed to use “the roof” – no charge.
Most of the hotel rooms were small, but the philosophy of the original owner, Benjamin Black, as noted in his ancient journal, which was always available in the lobby, “If all you need is a bed, what’s the problem?”
Some of this man’s comments were cold, and uncaring when referring to tenants inhabiting his hotel. Benjamin died in 1924, mysteriously. Some claimed that his spirit never really left the dwelling, perhaps due to the fact that his cousin, Boris Black, whom he hated, inherited the hotel. Benjamin had no other family, and left no will; so, Boris claimed the property.
When Boris Black took over the hotel in 1924, the building was still in good condition, although Benjamin had never painted the cedar siding, which weathered and gave it a rustic look.
Cousin Boris thought that he could have done more business if his predecessor had paid more attention to esthetics and modern upgrades. Back in those days, there was a carriage house and a stable. They were long since torn down to make parking space for the more modern transportation, the automobile.
People who passed through Macedon were happy to have cheap rooms available at the hotel. They were tired and sleepy when they came in, and quite often, happy to leave the next morning. Some only stayed a few hours, but that’s another story, or perhaps, hundreds more stories.
Over the years, the Macedonia Hotel got the reputation of being seedy and shabby. Some folks would forego the Macedonia Hotel and continue on to Palmyra, where the lodging was more upscale. Some claimed there was more “action” in Palmyra, whatever that meant.
But in Macedon, one could cross the street and get a drink, or a sandwich at the same little bar. If you were too tired or lazy, you could even have your meal and drink delivered by who knows who, from the Hungry House Cafe, though it was somewhat expensive to do.
Within the walls of the hotel were guests who, it seemed, never left. Folks without family or friends, people who didn’t want responsibility, people on welfare and even a few families resided in some of the slightly larger rooms, hoping that their luck would change soon and they would be able to secure employment, then move to better accommodations; an apartment, a house, or even a trailer which might be better than permanent housing in an old hotel.
Children would occasionally play in the parking lot of the hotel. Street hockey, badminton (sans net), or soccer were favorites. And, occasionally, there was a “near miss” when a tenant came motoring into the lot hurriedly, or worse, drunk. Parents of said children, who were “clean” and/or sober were at wits end as to what to do with the kids. Should they play in the utility rooms? But then, there was always hope. They hoped and prayed, that their life would change.
When the factory down the street, to the east, was hiring, some would jump at the chance to change their lives. If they could secure employment at the “plastic factory” they would be set, or, if they could get employment at the gasket factory in Palmyra, they would be able to get off relief and get an apartment, hopefully.
It seemed that some tenants though, would go up on the roof and drink beer, or smoke pot, even though they appeared to be able bodied, rather than apply for a job. Of course, on the other hand, their mental condition was unknown, and it also seemed that no one cared.
Macedon was a friendly town, but people just plain did not often get involved into other people’s lives. That is, not too much. Therefore, no one knew who was able bodied and who was not, if they lived at the Macedonia Hotel.
Occasionally, an ambulance would wheel into the hotel parking lot. For a while, in the summer of 2015, the local ambulance would go to the hotel almost weekly. Sometimes they were called by a mischievous child playing with a cell phone, once by a distraught wife who thought her husband had abandoned her; once by a troubled man who threatened suicide, but wanted the EMTs to talk him out of it.
One time, a man was taken out on a Saturday night, completely covered by a sheet. The ambulance left with no siren on. No one seemed to notice and no one seemed to care, and, as usual, Billy Beckwith was not talking. Not to the press, the cops, or anyone else.
All he would say to the police was “I know nothing.” That sad event did not even make the papers.
Sometimes the police would stop and warn the children not to play on Main Street. The police were once warned of a drug deal going down in the parking lot. Everyone scattered when the police came and no one was arrested. The police chief was not able to chase anyone on foot, as he was too obese to even think about pursuing any perpetrators on foot.
It was rumored once that a murder had been committed in the parking lot around midnight on a hot July night in 2015. Before Captain Carl, the Chief of Police could get to the scene, a black Lincoln sedan was witnessed leaving hurriedly. No corpse was ever found. Mysteriously, Room 21, which had been rented by a surly young man the night before, was now vacant. No luggage was left behind, nor any evidence of illegal activity.
When questioned, Billy Beckwith just replied “I know nothing,” and “The gentleman paid cash for one night, and now he’s gone.”
Billy commented that he did not need any bad press. None was published either, and life in the hotel went on as usual. And why not? There wasn’t even a police report.
Captain Carl commented to Billy, “I guess there’s nothing to report.”
Most of the time, the skullduggery and shenanigans at the Macedonia Hotel were unnoticed, unpursued, and unpublished by the press. Oh, for sure, some folks knew some questionable things that went on there, but Billy Beckwith would always insist when questioned, “We run a respectable business here.”
Most folks and tenants believed that Billy himself believed what he was saying to them.
Over a period of 127 years, several small fires were reported at the hotel, but were always extinguished by the tenants, as fire extinguishers were readily available, or by the fire department.
Billy posted signs in not-so-conspicuous areas of the building stating “No Smoking Allowed,” although Billy rarely warned anyone about smoking. Of course, smoking was not a good idea, even though a sprinkler system had been installed in the hotel many years before by Billy Beckwith’s predecessor, Bilford (Biff) Boynton.
The inhabitants of the building were the biggest fire hazard of all. Cigarette butts could be found everywhere. Surprisingly, over-sized ashtrays could be found in every room.
One of the spookiest things about the hotel was the basement. It was dark and dingy. Down there, an ancient steam boiler ran from November until May first, no exceptions. The radiators clinked and clanked for the entire six months, much to the chagrin of the tenants.
When Billy received complaints, he replied, “You want the heat on, or off?”
Another complaint was that there were only two bathrooms on each floor, Men’s and Women’s. Within each bathroom there were 3 sinks, 3 showers, and 3 stalls. No one knew when they were installed, but they looked 100 years old, easily. They could get very busy, what with children needing them so often and all.
During the busy times, one might find a lady using the Men’s Room and vice versa. This could present a serious problem at times, not to mention the possibility of hanky-panky.
According to Billy, that would not be tolerated. Although Billy himself was once found in one of the Ladies Rooms, in one of the stalls. He eventually was able to redeem himself by claiming he was working on a toilet, which was leaking. No second party was known to be in the stall, although Mrs. Fisher (Room 27) claimed she heard two voices coming from the stall, but admitted that it could have been Billy talking to himself, as was his claim.
Occasionally, a bathroom would be “Out of Order,” and this would sometimes cause even more problems. When confronted Billy would simply say “Use the bathrooms on the other floors.”
Be that as it may, tenants were able to carry on. Amazingly, no matter what the issue, the crime, or the tragedy, the people lived, visited, or slept over at the Macedonia Hotel day after day, night after night. And Billy Beckwith collected the rent and room charges.
On the evening of November 27, 2015, a young man stopped at the Macedonia Hotel to check the room rates. Billy was working the desk that night, as it was a holiday weekend.
“One person or two?” He asked the young man.
“Does it matter?” was the reply.
“Oh, I guess not. Room 37 has a queen bed and I don’t have anyone to get more towels and soap anyway. You can have it for the single rate.”
“Thank you,” the young man said. “And I see it’s on the third floor.”
Billy smiled.
“And oh, by the way, is there a room up there in the cupola, where the hotel sign is, and the date, 1888? I thought that was odd.”
“No, no room up there. There’s an access way to it, but it’s like an attic.”
“Well,” said the young man, “When I looked up, I could see a face looking out through one of the eights. It’s like there are little windows within the eights, right? I thought it was unusual. I restore old houses and buildings and I’ve never seen any windows like that. I’m sure I saw a face in one of those little windows, you know, looking out at me.”
Author Bio:
- A. “Chuck” Martin is a charter member and the current moderator of the Wayne Writers Guild. He has contributed to all seven publications of the guild. He has also published two books of poetry of his own, “The Human Theater” and “The Human Theater-Part two”. Chuck has six grown children and lives in an “empty nest” with his wife, Marlene in Marion, N.Y.
camcraftenterprises@yahoo.com