Collections of stories

On Lake Wiliston

" Why is that there?" I pointed at the remnants of a dock to my grandfather, as we cruised by.
Lake Wiliston was Gramps' home all his life. He, and Nana farmed a place not far from here for over forty years, and raised three kids, along Lake Wilistons' shore. Being the first grandson, I was lucky enough to spend summers here, with Gramps as my mentor. He slowed the old wooden boat to a drifting stop, and killed the outboard.
" That, Randy," He said as he motioned me to drop the anchor," Is all that's left of the Summit Hotel. Back when I was your age the Summit was the place many people came to for vacations, and such."
I looked past the rotting timbers at a cornfield spreading out toward the rolling hills surrounding Lake Wiliston.
" There was a hotel there? "
" Not just a hotel, son, but, a grand hotel, as big and luxurious as any in the country." His weathered face took on that story telling look I knew so well when he talked about the past.
" Yessir, the Summit was rated five stars, meaning the best of the best places to stay. Wealthy people, like the Vanderbilts, Hunts, and even President Roosevelt stayed there. There used to be a spur line from the railroad that brought people here in their private rail-cars. And cars, Randy. You should have seen the limosines that rolled up to the front doors. What you're looking at now was the back of the place. The Summit faced the west, and stood three stories high. There were two eighteen hole golf courses, a polo grounds, a stables, twelve tennis courts, and even a bowling alley in the basement." He smiled as he took a cigarette from his denim shirt pocket and struck a kitchen match to it." Over there." He nodded toward the dock." At the
center, there used to be a bandstand that some of the big bands of the time came to perform on week-ends: Bands you wouldn't know, like, Benny Goodman, The Dorsey Brothers, Jimmy and Tommy, Red Nichols and his five pennies. they brought even more guests."
I looked at the cornfield, trying to imagine what the Summit must have looked like." What happened to it? "
" It was owned by a man by the name of Christopher Allen Blackstone." He chuckled." How about that for a handle. Makes you imagine some guy in one of your grandmas' romance novels, doesn't it? "
I didn't ask what happened to it again. I knew he'd tell me when he was ready. Gramps was a good story teller.
" Christopher Allen Blackstone came to here from Chicago back in 1923. He was a handsome one, standing six-two, with a head of black, wavey hair, and built like Adonis. The women around here took one look at him and wanted to have his baby. He was what you call, 'larger than life'. There was an aura around him."
" What's an aura?" I asked.
" Like a heavenly light, son. Oh, he didn't glow, or, have a halo." He chuckled." By no means was he a saint, like you see on stained glass windows at the church. But, he did have a magnetic presence. People liked him. " He tossed the cigarette into the water. " He called a meeting with the town, and told them he wanted to build this hotel, and bring prosperity to the area: jobs, and such." He leaned his elbows on his knees, and I did the same." It was his dream, he said."
" And people around here believed him?" I asked.
" Not at first. But, when he bought land, and began building, everybody saw that he was doing exactly what he said he would. He had a wife: Clara." Gramps shook his head." She was the most beautiful woman you could ever imagine. She was tall, about five eight, if I remember correctly, with the whitest skin, flaxen blonde hair, and china blue eyes that sent chills through you when she looked at you and smiled. They were part of the beautiful people you hear about. "
" You saw them?"
" Oh, yeah, son. They were everywhere, it seemed, during the building of the Summit, and once it was finished, they moved in to the penthouse on top of the hotel. "
" There was a penthouse? " I asked. " Did you ever get to look inside?"
" No. Your great-grandfather and I worked on the grounds, keeping the grass mowed, and planting bushes and flowers around the building. Blackstone would come out where we were working and talk with us. He really seemed to care about everybody. There were alot of people working at the Summit. The kitchen had cooks on duty twenty-four hours a day. That's where I met your grandma. She did all sorts of jobs in the kitchen. She once got to look inside the penthouse when she delivered a meal for the Blackstones."
" Why did the rich people come here?" I asked, looking at the cornfield with half grown stalks waving their leaves at us in the morning breeze.
" The Summit hotel was a stopping point between the east and west coasts, son. Back then there weren't any super highways, like today. People took the train alot of times for long trips."
" What about airlines?" I asked.
" People didn't trust them for alot of reasons: weather, engine troubles, and the fact that air travel was just beginning. Plus, airports were too far away from where people wanted to go. Once you got off the plane there was alot of travel involved in getting to your destination. Trains and cars were the main source of travel back then, and that suited Blackstone and the Summit. Plus, the people like the Summits' casino."
" They had a casino in the hotel? "
" One of the nicest. It was illegal to gamble back then here in Indiana, but, that didn't stop Blackstone. He helped the Governor get elected, and in return the Governor made certain the Summit would never get raided. Back during the twenties there was a thing called ' Prohibition'. That was when nobody was supposed to drink alcoholic beverages. But, the booze flowed freely at the Summit." He sighed as he shifted his weight in the boat. "Then the depression hit. People stopped coming. The hotel was losing money. Businesses in town closed down. The people were worried Blackstone would close up, too, and leave them high and dry. But, he didn't. He kept it open, and the casino saved everybody's jobs. By 1934 people were starting to come back. Reservations were up from the previous year, and Blackstone thought he'd weathered the worst of it. Heck, everybody did. Unfortunately, son, that was when fate gave Christopher Allen Blackstone a bad turn."
" What happened ?" I asked.
" It was April the seventeenth of 1934, a sunday. It had rained off and on all that day. Storms were happening all over the middle of Indiana that day.The Summit opened for the season on April 30th every year, and everyone was getting the hotel ready. The day shift had gotten off it's regular time, and the swing shift was an hour old when the tornado came. It was the biggest funnel cloud anybody had ever seen: over a mile wide, and it came over those hills there and swallowed the Summit whole."
" A mile wide ?" I said." That must have been something to see. Did you see it?" He shook his head, no.
" I was home when we heard about it. Dad, your great grandfather, went back to the hotel, only it wasn't there any more. Everything was gone. There were thirty-five people working in the hotel that night. Seven were in the basement when it hit. They were saved by ducking under tables and hiding in closets when the tornado took everything. It went out over the lake, spilling bodies and debris all over it. Your great grandfather and several other men scoured the lake for two days and nights looking for bodies. They found all but two, who were found in a field three miles from here about a mile from town, where the tornado was last seen."
" Was Blackstone one of the victims?" I asked.
" Strangely enough, he and Clara had just returned from a buying trip in Chicago. They were on the other side of town when the tornado hit."
" What happened then? " I asked.
" Clara left for Chicago, and Blackstone stayed here, helping bury the dead and offering condolences and money to the surviving family members. Needless to say we were in the newspapers and newreels across the nation. I heard FDR sent a cable to Blackstone offering his sympathy. That was about all he got from anyone. He tried for another year to get investers, but, it was the depression, and nobody wanted to venture any money in his dream. Clara left him, and he went back to Chicago a broken man."
" What ever happened to him?
" He hanged himself in a cheap run down hotel on Chicagos' South side." He motioned for me to pull up the anchor.
Folks around here had to tighten their belts for several years, but, we pulled through. I like to think that it made all of us stronger, and committed to each other. You see, son, when catastrophe strikes people come to help each other get through it. Some cursed Blackstone for ever coming here with his dream, but I'll remember him as a man who brought this community together."