February 7, 2010

Prior to 2009, the most interesting thing I'd ever heard about The King Edward Hotel was as follows: “One time, I threw a toilet off of the roof." A friend of mine had chuckled this statement while bellied up to the bar at Hal & Mal's, as we discussed some apparent construction going on at the Jackson landmark. It seemed everyone had some story about playing around in the bones of the old man... tales of the clandestine feats of bored youth, possibly illegal activities, and the lifestyles of the destitute. And through the laughs about stumbling upon homeless enclaves or dead animals, there was always an underlying sadness. Held aloft miraculously by the condemnable structure underneath, the rusty letterforms of the name ironically proclaimed a regal past. I imagined standing on top of the building, as would one of those letters, surveying the ragged edifices of Capital and Farish below. It seemed, to me, a kingdom of blight. Here stands Edward, master of all he surveyed.

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