John and His 1952 Murray Strato-Line Bicycle: A Rare Combination

John and the restored bicycle

 

A rare piece of nostalgia, the restored 1952 Murray Strato-Line bicycle gleamed before my eyes in the diffuse sunlight on a recent spring day in Overland Park, Kansas.  The showroom-quality icon was a mixture of chrome, rubber, white sidewalls, and rich hues of glossy red and blue paint, a limousine-of-a-bike that would have been every boy’s dream in the mid-twentieth century. I glimpsed an owner’s proud smile on the face of my friend, John Davis, while I inspected the bike.

“That’s quite a headlight,” I commented as I rubbed the housing mounted on top of the front fender.

Delta Ray Rocket Headlight

 

“That’s not just any headlight,” replied John, “It’s a Delta-Ray Rocket headlight. You want to see something else that is rare as chicken lips?” He walked to the rear of the bike and pointed to the rack above the rear wheel. “It’s almost impossible to find a decent carrier. They hardly exist.”

Rear Carrier

           Since 1952, John and his bicycle have traveled a long and winding road, but now they are inseparable. The relationship with the Murray Strato-Line began when he received the shiny new bicycle for Christmas in 1952.  Prior to the Murray, he had learned to ride on a resurrected junkyard model, spray-painted silver, tires and all. The rides on the neighborhood sidewalks gave John a new perspective of the world around him.

 

          His memories with the Murray bike paint a Norman Rockwell image of a boy who discovered a glorious freedom as he rode through the neighborhood with his dog on a leash at his side. The larger bike allowed John to extend his range and his time from home, especially when he strapped onto the carrier a brown paper bag stuffed with lunch: a sandwich, a cookie, and a re-used mayonnaise jar full of water and ice cubes. His destinations were many: a park, the grocery store, a hobby shop or friend’s house. He also remembered a time when a neighborhood friend, Lee Ann, rode side-saddle on the frame and tank in front of him.
 

John rolled his eyes and chuckled, “Lee Ann is another story.”

          In his spare time as a boy, John cleaned the new bike. He wiped the frame and spokes, and waxed the bike from tip to tail. To personalize his mode of transportation, he removed the light and installed a hood ornament, a chrome swan on the front fender. It was the nicest bike in the neighborhood, and John stored it inside the house to prevent it from being stolen.

As with any true relationship, John and his bike went through some tough times. A pedal broke, and there was no money to replace it.  Out of necessity, he rode the bike with just one good pedal. The most vivid bad memory was the time he went to the store and bought two bottles of Pepsi to take home. On the return, he had a problem of simultaneously steering the bike and holding the bottles. He crashed down onto the pavement, where the bottles broke and the glass embedded into the skin on his arms.

After four years with the big Murray bike, he outgrew it and passed it on to a cousin. Years passed. Then in the early ’60s he decided to look for the bike and ride it again. He discovered a rusting, vine-covered frame outside the barn at the grandparent’s farm. The handlebars were nearby, as was one of the wheels. John collected the parts and went to his grandparent’s house, where he found the bent front fork. With some work and care, he put the bike back together and actually rode it in 1965.

More years passed. John married Theresa. The bike and its parts were hauled wherever they moved. The usual place of safekeeping was in the corner of the basement. John always held out hope that when he was retired he would be able to restore it. Finally, in 2011, he began a mission to rebuild the bike, piece by piece.

To understand the care and quality of the restoration process, one has to understand John. He’s a bit of a renaissance man. How many people do you know with a multitude of talents . . . poet, novelist, craftsman, mechanic, creative thinker, business consultant, day trader, artist, piano player, and a good, all-around caring individual . . . these talents and qualities are all part of John. He’s proudly restored a 1960 MG convertible and a 1957 Chevrolet Bel-Air coupe. He attributes a lot of his mechanical ability to the fact that his dad was a car mechanic.  John also enrolled in as many industrial shop classes as possible, from fifth grade through high-school, working with wood, plastic, metal and other materials.

A bike might seem to be a small-potato project for John, but he shared otherwise. “It was as tough as a car restoration,” he said, “mainly because the parts were so scarce.”

         The restoration process included many journeys onto eBay to purchase things as varied as a skip-tooth chain, the Delta-Ray Rocket headlight, a wheel rim, and a 60-year-old Murray decal. John also purchased another used 1952 Murray Strato-Line bike, one that was scavenged for parts.


Skip-tooth chain ring

Sixty-year-old Murray decal

“I needed the second bike mainly for the tank portion of the frame and the Troxel seat,” he said, “And I had to reupholster the seat.”

John had to use some muscle to bend and re-shape the fork and front spring mechanism. The long process of refurbishing included sending out many rusted parts for re-chroming. “Finding a good chromer these days is not easy,” he added.

John discovered and purchased an original 1952 Murray wheel rim that had never been used. “I had to build the wheel, spoke by spoke,” said John. “I got it right the fifth time.”

  From another old Murray bike, he was able to scavenge an original Musselman rear hub and coaster brake.

              His attention to detail was meticulous. On the underside of the old frame, he found the un-faded paint colors of the original bike. He showed me the tiny rivet head on the headlight housing which he masked with a piece of tape to prevent it from being painted.  From an internet picture, he matched the paint scheme and pin striping.



Fine details in mint condition

 We took turns riding the bike up and down the street. The ride was sweet and cushy. It brought back some of my ’50s childhood memories of riding in the wind with a pack of bikes through neighborhoods in the spring and summer, the classrooms being only a distant thought.

With the 1952 Murray Strato-Line now in mint condition, John figures it is a rare bird.  “I’ve only seen one other complete bike of this model.  It was in Minneapolis, and it was in used condition.”

There’s no doubt the bike is rare. John is rare, too, with all his talents.  The two of them, now inseparable, make a great combination.

            As I prepared to leave John’s place, I noticed a small boy riding a bicycle along the sidewalk.  His bike had training wheels, and the boy was exerting as much energy as possible to keep the pedals going. But at that moment I could see the look of determination and a smile on his little face, with the road of a lifetime of possibilities and freedom ahead.
        


Sweet Ride

1952 MURRAY STRATO-LINE BICYCLE SPECIFICATIONS

Retail Price: $85.00

Frame: 18 ½” hydrogen brazed. All joints reinforced for double strength.

Fork: Drop forged with twin spring assembly.

Fenders: Murray deep section Crescent design.

Crank: One piece drop forged with 7” throw.

Rims: All steel hook-type, bright plated.

Coaster Brake: Musselman, hard chrome brake shoe.

Pedals: Murray heavy non-skid tread.

Grips: Red plastic.

Tires: U.S. Royal or Goodyear White sidewalls 26” x 2.125” balloon with inner tube.

Saddle: Troxel tan vinyl waterproof plastic, scuff plates, compound plated springs.

Handlebars: Torrington S.B. 26 x 8.

The Detour

Preface:

Some of you are aware that Gretta was recently diagnosed with ovarian cancer, but many of you are learning this for the first time. Currently, I am giving full focus to her recovery from surgery and to assist her during chemotherapy. The prognosis is good. We are thankful to have found one of the best surgeons and cancer clinics in the country, right here in Kansas City at KU Med Center.

          My blog postings may be sporadic for the remainder of the year as I give full attention to Gretta and her recovery, but I wanted to share where we’ve been to date.

The Detour

non-fiction
by Greg Larson

          I stood in the lobby of the cancer clinic and looked out the window on the sunny, summer afternoon. We’d passed by here numerous times on the bikes, so it was hard to believe Gretta and I were inside, going through the system. The street seemed so far away. The last few weeks had been a blur of doctors, surgeons, nutritionists, physical therapists, clinics and hospitals (with a quick vacation to California thrown in for good measure before Gretta’s surgery).


Gretta at the Eagle Inn, Santa Barbara, California - June 21, 2013

          It seems like we’ve reached a milestone with Gretta’s major surgery behind us and with the completion of her first chemotherapy session. I’ve pinched myself more than once and asked, “What the hell just happened?”

          Rest assured, Gretta is on track to have the scourge eradicated, but we have eighteen weeks to go before the treatments are complete. She believes she has been sidetracked for the time being, given a temporary diversion. The clinic gave her a big binder titled Oncology Journey. “I don’t like how they used the word journey,” she said, “This is just a detour.”

          Much has been written about cancer and how to cope with it . . . so much to the point that it is easy to get inundated with too much information. Many of you have dealt with cancer or known someone who has fought it, and experienced it first-hand . . . but I thought I’d share some observations.

          It’s been a roller coaster ride since June 5, 2013, when Gretta’s physician discovered a pelvic mass during a routine exam. Emotions have run the gamut from fear of the unknown to the euphoria we experienced while napping in the sea breeze on the beach at Santa Barbara.

 Gretta was angry at the beginning. “I’ve eaten the right foods, and I’ve exercised all my life . . . so why did I get this?” Some days she feels just fine, some days she sleeps. After the initial shock, her attitude has been amazing. The day of surgery, she smiled and chatted as they rolled her into six hours of surgery and four hours of recovery. When I saw her on the way to the hospital room, she smiled again. She has been a model patient for the doctor and nurses.

          My thoughts and emotions have been on a rocky road. One of the most difficult times was after her surgery. The surgeon came into a conference room and explained the surgery to me and some family members. It was hard for me to hear what they had done to Gretta. I could only imagine the pain she would endure once she came out of recovery. The only thing I could do was go outside with my brother and walk for a bit of fresh air and push back the tears.

The things that used to seem mundane have taken on major importance, and what used to seem important now has little significance. My dreams have been more unusual. Some, I wish had lasted longer, and others I don’t want to remember. I’ve slept well, mainly from being exhausted at the end of the day. I’m fortunate to have the time to be the caregiver, and I’m slowly learning to be housekeeper, kitchen coordinator, calorie counter and temporary master for Douglas, our dog.

Douglas

          When Gretta is alert and awake, we play cards or drive through the park. If she has the energy, we walk to exercise the pinched nerve in her right leg (an unexpected outcome of the surgery).

          We’ve had a few laughs, too. Before the surgery, the nurses told her that she would need a pillow for her abdomen, due to the soreness. Gretta said, “Greg, when you had your heart surgery, the Shawnee Mission Hospital gave you a heart-shaped pillow to take home. Do you think KU Med Center will give me a big pillow shaped like a uterus?”

          Christmas comes at the end of this long detour, so that is our goal for now. We just take one day at a time and truly appreciate the better days when she has some energy. Come Spring, it will be a real hoot to ride the tandem bike to Gretta’s wellness check-up. Until then, the detour continues.


Gretta and Greg, Boboli Gardens, Florence, Italy - 2010

 

Nature's Way

Nature’s Way
poem

by Gregory E. Larson

Summer came on Sunday

Warm gusts whisked spring clouds away

I carried a weight on Monday

And sat outside to ease the burden

My concerns but a small blip on the cosmic radar

Overwhelmed me

The breeze was almost imperceptible

At midday I leaned back in my chair

And peered up into a universe unknown

Soft tufts floating ever so slowly

As far as the eye could see

Hundreds of feet . . . no, thousands of feet above

Multitudes of weightless puffs

Ripped from their mothers arms in yesterday’s gale

From the ladies on the banks of heartland rivers

The Ninescah, the Arkansas, the Neosho and the Cottonwood

From woody stands along ruddy creeks where the cattle wallow

White tufts arose in the airy yeast of yesterday

To ride free on an invisible river

Only to recede towards earth on Monday

Nature’s rhythm repeated for eons

My weight still there, lessened a bit

And when I listened to the wind,

 I could hear my Creator’s soft whisper,

I am who I am

She's Got a Ticket to Ride

Press link to listen to the Beatles sing "Kansas City/Hey-Hey-Hey":

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=14ijT4RVERY

She’s Got a Ticket To Ride

non-fiction

by Greg Larson

For the twelve-year-old, Gretta Farley, 1964 was a good year. She started listening to some Beatles records her older sister had bought, and she liked the snappy tunes. It was fun to play the records over and over and jiggle to the music. The four Beatles were cute and their music made Gretta happy.

In February, the Beatles “invaded” America, and Beatlemania became a fad. When the mop-haired performers made their famous appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show, Gretta and some of the students in her class at the all-girl school decorated a current-events bulletin board with Beatles pictures and items. She enjoyed the new hobby of collecting Beatles articles and was an enthusiastic worker on the project, spending time with her friends to show off the musical group that was dear to their hearts. The Life magazine pictures of the Fab Four in New York seemed bigger than life itself.

During the summer of ’64, Gretta listened to the radio station WHB, where the Beatles hits kept popping out onto the airwaves. A radio announcement came one evening in August: Charles O. Finley, owner of the Kansas City Athletics baseball team, signed a contract with the Beatles for a concert in Kansas City to be held in September. Gretta couldn’t believe it. She rushed upstairs to share her exuberance with the rest of the family. The hottest group in the world was coming to Kansas City. But reality sank in, and she knew she would not be going to the concert. Her parents had no interest in the Beatles, and there was no way she was going to convince her mom to take her . . . and her older sister wasn’t as interested anymore about the boys from Liverpool.

 

Gretta's Beatles scrapbook

 

Gretta returned to school in the fall, and chatted with her friends about the upcoming Beatles concert, while Finley and Kansas City were making preparations for the event.

Charles O. Finley was known for his marketing antics. As a promoter, he considered any bizarre, tacky, attention-getting gimmick that would sell tickets. He changed the Kansas City Athletics baseball uniforms to garish green and gold. He put a mule named Charlie-O on a grass hill in right field at Municipal Stadium, and for a brief time he made the relief pitchers ride the mule from the bullpen to the pitching mound.

Finley believed a Beatles concert was one way to get future fans to the ballpark. He contacted Brian Epstein, the manager of the Beatles, and was told that all of the 35 concert dates for the 1964 Beatles tour were filled. Only one empty date remained, September 17^th, and it was to be a rest day in New Orleans. Epstein scoffed at Finley’s offer of $50,000 to fill the date with a Kansas City concert. Finley upped the ante to $100,000. Epstein conferred with the group. Their reaction was negative.

Finley contacted Epstein one more time and threw out a ridiculous offer of $150,000 for a thirty-minute concert. It was the most money any group had been offered for a performance. Epstein couldn’t turn it down. He convinced the boys it was no big deal to fill the empty date. Paul McCartney remembers being upset:

“Our days off were sacred . . . So by the time we got to Kansas City, we probably needed a day off. I can’t actually remember falling out with Brian about him wanting us to work on a day off, we’d talk to each other rather than fall out.”  Paul McCartney - Anthology

Surprisingly, ticket sales for the concert were mediocre. C.W. Gusewelle reported in The Kansas City Star that by mid-morning on the first day of sales there were no waiting lines. Some thought it was because the baseball fans and citizens of Kansas City hated Finley. The Athletics were horrible, and the Midwestern folks disliked Finley’s brash manner. The fans from the Show-me state and the metropolitan area were disappointed on a regular basis. To generate goodwill, Finley announced that all of the profits from the concert would benefit Children’s Mercy Hospital. He agreed to a minimum gift of $25,000 if tickets didn’t generate enough profit. The city hit Finley with a $5,000 rental fee for the concert. He grumbled. The Chiefs football team paid only $1.00 for their use of the stadium for pre-season games.

Ticket prices for the Kansas City Beatles concert were set at $4.50, $6.50, and $8.50. The $8.50 tickets were the highest cost in 1964 for a seat at a Beatles concert.  Due to the high ticket prices, the short period for ticket sales, and Kansas City’s hatred of Finley, it was the only date on the Beatles tour that never sold out. Slightly more than 20,000 tickets were sold for the 35,000 seats at Municipal Stadium. Finley’s marketing promotion was “Today’s Beatles Fans are Tomorrow’s Baseball Fans.”   

        

Reverse side of ticket

                                                              

Clarence Kelley, the police chief of Kansas City, Missouri, was confident that crowd control and security would not be a problem. He didn’t want any hysterical fans to create mayhem or rush the stage at second base while he was police chief. To make sure, he sent his head of the patrol unit, Lieutenant Colonel Don Bishop, to Jacksonville, Florida, to view the Beatles open-air concert at the Gator Bowl stadium and plan for any contingency. Kelley said eight first-aid stations with twenty cots, and ambulances would be at-the-ready. Cotton balls were made available to the policemen to use as ear plugs to prevent hearing loss.

The Beatles flew into the downtown KC airport in the dark of night. At 2:00 A.M. they were whisked to the downtown Muehlebach Hotel, where police detectives had secured the 18^th floor.  On the afternoon of September 17^th, they staged a classic press-conference at the hotel, with only those with press passes allowed into the hotel meeting room. The seasoned and feisty Beatles made some of the press corps wonder who was interviewing whom.

At Gretta’s school, the chatter about the Beatles had increased dramatically. Through gossip and conversations with her friends, Gretta learned that some of her classmates had Beatles tickets. Her friend, Jane, had a bunch of tickets, and Gretta knew that Jane had invited another friend, Martha, to go to the concert. Gretta went home from school on September 17^th wishing she had been invited, but it seemed her chances of going were nil.

Without Gretta’s knowledge, things started to happen. Martha’s dad decided to make the concert a father-daughter event. He bought two $8.50 tickets for Martha and him, which made one of Jane’s tickets available for someone else to use. Jane’s mom called Gretta’s mom: “Would Gretta like to use the extra ticket to the Beatles concert?” 

Well, yeah, yeah, yeah! Gretta’s mom popped for the $6.50 box seat ticket, upper deck, near the railing above first base. It was a dream come true.

On the early evening of the concert, Jane’s dad acted as chaperone and chauffeur, and he took the concertgoers, including Gretta, to a bus stop on Wornall Road. Special busses were running for the Beatles concert, and Jane’s group got on board. The little girls wriggled in their seats and chattered non-stop to Municipal Stadium. 

Gretta took very little spending money to the concert. Once they arrived at the stadium at 22^nd Street and Brooklyn Avenue, she saw vendors selling all types of Beatles merchandise, including the famous wigs. Her sole purchase was an official 1964 Beatles Tour program. As they made their way to the upper deck, she clutched her prize possession, which had big black and white photos of each of the Beatles.





Gretta Farley - 7th Grade



She remembers what she wore on that cool, clear night in September: a plaid skirt, an off-white blouse and a camel-colored sweater.                                             

The warm-up acts were boring, but the stadium came alive at 8:43 P.M. when the announcer shouted, “The Beatles!” and they ran out onto the field to the bandstand at second base. A line of 100 police officers prevented anyone on the field from rushing the performers. Gretta thought, “Gosh, it’s really happening! It’s just like I imagined!” She never got hysterical, but she remembers screaming and yelling just a bit. She was able to hear the music . . . songs like “All My Lovin’,” which was her favorite, and “Hard Day’s Night.” She accidentally stood on her program, which she’d placed under her seat . . . the dimples from the balcony concrete permanently engraving the black cover.



Headline - The Kansas City Times, September 18, 1964

 

Thirty-two minutes, twelve songs and it was over . . . $4,838 per minute for the performance.  The press reported that some of the girls were crying, “They’re gone, gone,” a girl said. “I’ll never see them again.”  Gretta remembers leaving the stadium in a happy mood.  Her dream had come true.  She had seen the group she loved, and she heard her favorite songs.

A Chicago promoter purchased the sheets from the Muehlebach Hotel suite occupied by the Beatles.  He cut the sheets into small pieces and sold them as souvenirs.

It was estimated Finley lost about $80,000 on the concert deal and the payment to Children’s Mercy Hospital, but he was pleased that the crowd behaved and had a good time.

For Gretta, the Beatles concert was a significant date.   She continued to fill her Beatles scrapbook, following the lives of the Beatles until the group broke up. Next to each newspaper and magazine clipping in the scrapbook she wrote a number and the notation “A.B.”  It was her code for remembering the number of days After the Beatles performed in Kansas City on the cool, clear night of September 17^th, 1964.

Gretta's first Beatles albums

 

A Haunting Melody

A Haunting Melody

travel memoir

by Greg Larson

          I’m what you would call a closet piano player, someone who loves to pound the keyboard, alone in the room.  I remember playing the piano in the basement as a child for hours at a time . . . Bach, Chopin, Mozart and other music filled the air.  But I’ve always wanted to play a grand piano in a public space, somewhere like a hotel lobby.  On a previous vacation at the Hotel Colorado in Glenwood Springs, Colorado, I found the perfect spot . . . a grand piano in a grand lobby.  Gretta and I scheduled a stay there for some R&R with friends, so I began to practice my favorite piano pieces and attempted to polish my technique for the upcoming opportunity.

 

Hotel Colorado

 

 

          Although the lobby of the Hotel Colorado seemed big and fancy, it had a casual western feel, and the townspeople considered it part of their public space. When we were there, families came to eat at the lobby restaurant or stop at the coffee shop.  They visited the hotel during the Christmas season to enjoy the outdoor lights, indoor Christmas trees and decorations.  On the weekends, teenagers came to the hotel and wandered through the lobby. Usually the girls gathered at the piano and played chopsticks, or impromptu arpeggios and chords.  Occasionally, someone played a bona fide piece of piano music.

Greg in the lobby of Hotel Colorado

 

           I selected three pieces of music:

•    Misty by Errol Garner

•    Waltz in A Flat Major by Frederic Chopin

•    Moonlight Sonata (first movement) by Ludwig van Beethoven

          There are different reasons for enjoying each one.  Misty is a classic lounge piece, a romantic song with lyrics by Johnny Burke.  When most people hear it, they think of the movie Play Misty for Me, which made the song more popular.  The Waltz in A Flat Major is crisp and quick, with several melodic changes which are typical of Chopin.  But my favorite of the three pieces of music is the Moonlight Sonata.  Beethoven weaves his magic with a slow haunting melody.  It causes one to pause and visualize a calm moonlit night with lunar reflections visible on a placid body of water.  As the sonata begins, the music soothes the soul, but very quickly Beethoven inserts mournful, stirring phrases, as if there are potential storms beneath the calm surfaces of the listeners and the fantasized body of water.  The soft bass notes conjure thoughts of impending danger.  Sometimes when the visualizations run wild, I picture the remnants of a torpedoed submarine sinking to the bottom of a calm ocean. 

 

          On the Sunday morning of our stay, I invited our friends to come to the lobby to listen to me play the piano.  There were people sprinkled about the large space, some drinking coffee and visiting with friends, others reading or working crossword puzzles.

          We opened the top of the grand piano and I sat down at the bench and played a few chords and scales.  For a piano that received much abuse in a public space, the key action was pretty good.  I played Misty for our friends and became comfortable with the keyboard.  Fortunately, no crowd formed, which was a good thing for a self-conscious person like me.

          The Waltz in A Flat Major flowed smoothly, but with a few missed notes. It wasn’t too bad, considering all the sharps and flats in the piece.  The hotel staff smiled, glad that someone was playing real piano music.

          Finally, I began the Moonlight Sonata with some trepidation, knowing that it was long and fraught with difficulty.  The music sounds deceivingly simple, but to play it well, one has to master the bifurcated activity of two hands creating a seamless stream of sound. 

Greg playing a haunting melody

 

I missed a few notes but continued to the tough parts.  That’s when I noticed someone approaching the piano – very slowly.  In my peripheral vision I saw a disheveled man crossing the lobby, step by step, headed straight for the piano.  As he came closer, I noticed his unshaven face, rumpled hair, and bloodshot eyes.  His silly grin revealed some missing teeth.  His pant cuffs were high above the floor and he wore a cheap, polyester jacket.  He seemed mesmerized as if the melody had control of him.  Was he drunk?  Where did he come from?  I tried to concentrate on the music before me.

He stood against the curved side of the piano.  I began to miss some notes.  Then he bent over and stuck his head underneath the angled piano top and looked straight down, hypnotized by the hammers striking the wires. While he remained with his upper body beneath the piano top, he cocked his head sideways and looked straight at me, silly grin and all – no more than two feet from my face.

“Beautiful music,” he said in a matter-of-fact demeanor.

My concentration became unglued at that point, so I stopped playing.

“Thanks,” I replied, “I think I’ll start this last page again.”  I wanted to regain my composure and finish the piece in a calm fashion.  Who was this guy?  My subconscious thought was that he was a poor man, looking for some warmth in the hotel, possibly still drunk from Saturday night, or walking off a hangover.  The music was sensory stimulation for his brain – probably good for it.

I started to play again, and I noticed that he walked around the end of the piano and briefly spoke to Gretta.  She told me later that he said, “The music is beautiful.  Is it Gershwin?” 

She told him, “No, it’s Beethoven.”

“Beautiful,” he said, and then he walked away.  We never saw him again.

I finished playing the sonata and then played some less significant pieces that weren’t as polished.  When I finished, I walked over to Gretta and our friends and sat down.

“Who was that guy?” was my first question. “What an odd encounter.”  We all agreed that the man had an unusual appearance and was attracted to the music like a magnet.  “Well, he must have enjoyed it,” I added. “I guess that’s a good thing.  I know that I have one fan out there somewhere.”

When I returned home, I wanted to learn more about the hotel, so I ordered a book titled Hotel Colorado - Fountains of Enchantment.  When the package arrived, Gretta opened it.  She perused the book while I read the newspaper in the next room.

“There’s a lot of good information in here,” she raised her voice so I could hear her from the other room. “There’s a chapter on ghosts, and some have been seen in the lobby.”

“Yeah,” I said.  “All those old hotels have stories like that.”

Then I looked away from the paper and took a deep breath. “Ohhh!” I remembered the man at the piano.  I saw his silly grin and the missing teeth and the stubble.  I felt chills on the back of my neck.  Could it be?  Was he?  

I’ll always wonder.

Listen to the Moolight Sonata - just click the link below:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nT7_IZPHHb0



Holiday lights at Hotel Colorado