My parents moved from the Detroit area to buy four small rustic cabins on a lake in northern lower Michigan and later built a six-room motel. Our little house’s screened-in porch (that I painted chartreuse when my folks were away) served as the office. I can still see the keys hanging on the wall.
My memory of the night is hazy, but I remember my father went out to the car and spoke to the driver. Then the car left and drove on north in the dark. It may have stopped at the next-door cabins, but I don’t remember that.
Afterwards, my dad changed the sign to “no vacancy,” though we had empty rooms. I think there was a sense of sadness more than anger or fear, but I can’t be sure.
It was in the late 1950s.
I remembered this incident in a darkened movie theater Saturday as I watched Lee Daniels’ The Butler . . .
Join me over at BibleDude for the rest?
Still processing,
Sandy
