Alpha Omega M.D. – Episode #130
… North on Delaware Street, within eyeshot of Delaware Park/ the Pan-American grounds, is Statlers Hotel; a sprawling 2,100 room melting pot of humanity…
The rest of the eighth floor has already assembled in the lobby of the hotel, which in the evening doubles as foyer for the theater. Tonight’s offering, at the Niagara straight from Broadway, for the duration of the Exposition, is, Captain Jinks of the Horse Marines. In the background, through an opened door, they can hear, “I’m Captain Jinks of the Horse Marines,/ I feed my horse on pork and beans,/ And often live beyond my means,/ I’m a captain in the army.”
Alfrey Campbell laughs heartily at the singing, while Amanda scrambles to cover his ears. “Ain’t never heard nonsense ’afor. Nothin’ for a god-fearin’ chile too hears.”
She may be right, but entertainment is changing and will continue to do so, even though it stretches the moral envelope.
The carriage driver comes to the rescue. Privately, most were wondering what mode of transportation would handle their one dozen numbers. They are escorted to a two tiered horse-car, teamed to two huge draft horses who must weigh two tons together. “Not everybody can sit on top,” warns the teamster. “We will tip over if you do.”
“Let us take Alpha to za top,” asks Doc Ziggy, who is eager to share new experiences with his young protégé. “Momma unt Poppa, you come too. And how about you, Jacob?”
And baby makes six. Properly balanced, except for Frieda and Amanda’s generous girth, they move away from the bustling Niagara for the awaited tranquility of the Statlers Hotel.
Or so they think.
North on Delaware Street, within eyeshot of Delaware Park/ the Pan-American grounds, is the Statlers; a sprawling 2,100 room melting pot of humanity, and filled to capacity at that. This will be their first real taste of the true scope of a hemispherical gathering.
“Here we are, folks. That man,” the driver points to a stately gentleman with perceived sense of purpose, “Mister Statler will take you where you want go.”
“We are with President McKinley’s party.” Herb Love logically assumes the lead, while the balance marvels at the sights.
“Yes sirs, you, all of you, are expected in the private dining room. I am your host.”
“Oh how stupid of me, my apologies for not grasping. Ellsworth Milton Statler, I am honored.”
“Please do not feel remiss. I have been mistaken for many a sundry man and occupation. I should to take to wearing a nametag like I require of my staff, but I am afraid I would be an easy target for those few dissatisfied guests. You know, ‘the mattress is too hard’, ‘I don’t like my view’ and the like,” he relates as he ushers them down endless halls. “Just this morning a man from Cuba, I believe, cornered me, wanting the Exposition to turn off the Goddess of Light at night, it keeps his wife awake. Can you imagine? Turn off that centerpiece–I said I would look into it–I lied.”