Things Change

It's October in North Central Florida and for some people, that means bikes and Biketober Fest. Bike as in motorcycles and riding them and going to Daytona to see the Daytona Speedway. Riding your Hog on Main Street in Daytona. Maybe parking your bike at a place called Main Street Motorcycle World. I learned through my reading on the Internet that Main Street Motorcycle World is a vacant lot about 3 blocks from the ocean. It's walking distance from the famous Boardwalk and Main Street Pier. That's Daytona, now.

In the Daytona of my childhood, we would stay at the old Fernwood Hotel which was owned by Captain and Bessie Crews and operated by Bessie after The Captain died. Our dad, who drove a Greyhound Bus for a living and had friends all over the state of Florida - knew both the Captain and Mrs. Crews. When school was out, he would call her to arrange a date for our arrival on vacation. Once the date was settled, he and Mom would pack us up in the car and drive to Daytona where we'd cross the bridge and make our way to the hotel for a stay of a day or two. Or maybe it was more. Time tends to telescope, when looking backwards.

I recall our arrivals at the Fernwood. There was a stairway on the left as you walked into the lobby and the desk was at the back of the lobby. There was a bottled water machine near the entrance and it had the coldest water. There was a framed poem hanging near the water cooler that said in part, "You are Welcome Very Welcome to the Shelter of Our Roof..." I am willing to attempt to quote the entire poem upon request.

Mom and Dad would go to the back and talk to Bessie Crews; checking in and reminiscing about old times while we children read the brochures on the rack or figured the distance between two points of interest by twirling the wheel on a machine set on the counter. Once we were checked in, we'd climb the stairs to the 3rd floor and unlock the room and stow our suitcases. We would often have time to change to our bathing suits and walk down to the famous hard-sand beach for a swim that lasted until our suits were full of grit and our skin was red as a lobster. Then we'd walk back along Main Street towards the hotel looking into the shop windows and eying the taffy machine in the sweet shop window. After our baths Mom might insist we take a nap in the room and we'd lie on the beds and listen to the fan rotating as it cooled us in these days before wide-spread air conditioning. Later, Dad would drive us back across the bridge to have dinner at the S & S Cafeteria where he would toss coins on the trays as the waiters set our meals before us. I always enjoyed the turkey plate there and must have drunk gallons of the cherry flavored juice in tall plastic glasses that were so full of ice.

After dinner we'd go back to the hotel and Mom and Dad would get ready to go out for the evening. Mom would give us kids enough money to play games and ride the Bumper Cars on the Boardwalk. We had to be back in the room by a certain time, I want to say it was 9:00PM - but she would give us permission to walk back past the hotel to a nearby shop and have an ice-cream sundae if we had money left. She would put our sister in charge. She and Dad would go on to the dog track and Big Sis (Ranger) would walk younger brother and me east along the Main Street to the Boardwalk just off the beach. We'd play Skee-Ball and other games and try to amass tickets to win one of the prizes available. As it grew dark, we could ride the rides and enjoy the adventure until we had to start back. The ice cream shop where we wound up our evening served the best sundaes. We sat in a booth that was upholstered in green cracked plastic and after we were served our treats, we'd play favorite songs on the jukebox with our last nickles. We were back in the room and asleep long before Mom and Dad returned from their evening. We felt safe listening to the buzz of the fan and watching the intermittent glow from the lighted sign outside the room as it flashed the name, Fernwood Hotel... Fernwood Hotel...Fernwood. I recall those days so fondly and had thought to try and find the old place one night while surfing the 'net.

Imagine my dismay when I read that the building was torn down in 2001. Despite an attempt at getting an historic building designation, the Fernwood went to a buyer who just razed and bulldozed the place. It's a vacant lot, according to the last information I found. And during Bike Week, it's a place to park your Hog while you walk around on Main Street, visit the bars, talk to other bikers and make your own memories of Daytona to cherish down through the years.