Quincy Then And Now

Late mid evening, 8 June 1960, Bob dropped me off in front of Henry's Motel in Quincy Washington.

I think there was a "vacancy" sign.

If not, Bob must have known there was a room available.

Bob was the manager of the field office for Pettijohn Engineering in Quincy.

Quincy is located on the vast CORIBA plateau in central Washington State, above the Columbia River.

Pretty much in the middle of nowhere.

I was hired and on Henry's doorstep, preparatory to a summer of work, because my mother worked for the company, and the company liked to hire employees' children for summer work.

I had just graduated from High School and that made me eligible for employment.

I was going to be a trainee-addition to one of Pettijohn's survey crews that were doing the engineering for the under-construction Wanapum Dam.

Standing on the doorstep of Henry's, I didn't much care about any of that, I just wanted a room.

Henry and his wife were charming grandparent analogues and I was charmed, and I had a room.

They were already calling me "the boy".

That went on over time.

Henry's was the tallest building in Quincy back then.

I went to my top floor - second - room and went to sleep.

The next morning, early, it's so beastly hot there in the summers that we started at 0600 to avoid some of the heat, I went out to see what there was and to find a restaurant and have breakfast.

The light was only just beginning.

I only saw blue/pink silhouettes.

On the right was some place I can't remember.

On the left was a place I can't forget.

I went to the one on the right.

A choice I always regret.

When I ever think about Quincy.

And the two cafes that were there.

One was just fucking awful.

The other extraordinaire.

That was The Turf.

(I lived at The Turf ever after; I wish I could remember the name of my server.)

Probably more in subsequent posts.

But, for now - Quincy.

The thing about the place, 8 June 1960, was that it was a place.

There was a road in, a road out, and, if you figured it out, a left turn onto a single main street.

As you came into town you saw Henry's and some tumbling tumble weeds and, maybe, The Turf.

That was all that there was.

It was starkly beautiful.

Recently I went back to Quincy.

I couldn't find the place.

What I have described doesn't exist.

All Quincy is now, is a shamble of amazingly ugly, jumbled cube shaped gigantic container-looking things spread out among a bunch of substation looking things.

Those container looking things, I am told, are data centers.

The substation things are the ugly electrical things that make what goes on in the cubes possible.

When Wanapum filled up it inundated a lot of peach orchards and generated masive amounts of electricity looking for a mission.

So, data centers.

Symbiosis, I guess.

But not an upgrade cosmetically.

I wish I were on Henry's doorstep again.

Instead of remembering.