Buckingham Palace also offered a course in vicarious sex education. Many young men had magazines whose graphic photos came close to popping my fourteen year-old eyes out. Wow! One guy had a framed photo of his German girlfriend prominently displayed on his dresser. She was standing by a country lane with both hands on the handlebars of her bicycle, and the bike was not sufficient to hide her immodesty. Another fellow had a desk full of post cards - French postcards.
Sometimes I’d go by a room and hear giggling or heavy breathing coming from behind the door. Once I walked into a room thinking it was empty only to back our with mumbled apologies. Curiosity got the better of me a couple times and I shamefully took to key-hole peeping, but those endeavors resulted in little reward because of the limited field of view. I took early retirement after that brief career of spying.
The Moose Lodge burned in the spring of 1960 and Don and I went off to college that fall. The Lodge built a modern structure on the south end of town so the Palace was no longer easily managed, and gradually went into decline. The city block emptied over the next fifteen years. The Courtland Hotel burned, a church next to it on Main went shortly thereafter, followed by the Detzen’s Bread building that faced Jackson Street.
Our old building was the lone survivor for a time. Mom and Dad sold it in the early seventies and the place was demolished a few years later. Google’s “satellite view” shows the city block is now one big parking lot.
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