Weather | Sports | Forums | Comics | Classifieds | Calendar | Movies
© St. Petersburg Times, published November 26, 2002
The Crown Hotel in Inverness might be on its way back to at least some of its former glory, and nobody is happier than I.
The first time I ever heard of the Crown, it was being offered to me as a bribe.
My then-boss, a guy whose management techniques used to make me homesick for the relative peace, quiet and empathy of Parris Island, wanted me to go to Inverness and spend two weeks working for an even more demanding editor.
"I -- uhhh -- have dental work to get done that week," I said.
He was, as usual, ahead of me, replying, "I haven't said which week."
"I need a lot of work," I tried.
"Do you need a job?" he asked.
As usual with those discussions, I lost.
"Look at the bright side," he said, "I'll put you up at the Crown."
Because most of the motels I stayed at on the road back then were of the variety where you were happy if the mud on the carpets only turned your feet a little black and the air conditioning worked at least half the time, and because I had heard good things about the Crown, I took the offer.
And spent most of the next 10 years or so looking for excuses to go back.
Ornately furnished rooms with brass beds and fixtures were complimented by a homey little English-style pub and Churchill's restaurant, where continental cuisine was served with flair by tuxedoed food servers. A violinist or pianist, sometimes both, played softly in the background.
The food was exquisite, the wine list excellent and the place just dripped ambience of the kind that is even more enjoyable when the company is picking up the tab.
The leather-bound faux-parchment menus came in two varieties when couples dined: one for men with prices, one for women with no prices.
Yes, I know. That was then; this is now.
A feminist friend of mine used to complain loudly when we had dinner there and it was her turn to pay and she got the no-price menu.
I understood her political concerns, but didn't feel like a pre-dinner lecture every time.
One night I responded by pointing out her concerns to the waiter before the menus were distributed, telling him she would be paying and I wanted the one without prices.
Then I ordered the beluga caviar and Absolute vodka appetizer -- which, I think, went for about $70 -- and dared her to say anything.
On the night I was diagnosed with cancer, New Year's Eve of 1991, I had already bought tickets for a party at the Crown, so I went. I had a great meal, heard pipers play and watched dancers perform and decided, after a drink or six, that I would be okay.
Then things began to change.
The musicians disappeared. Then the comfortable bench-type softly padded seating in the deepest recess of the cocktail lounge was replaced by chairs. Then I went in one night and was told the restaurant was closed and that I would have to eat in the lounge, and was handed a mimeographed menu followed by lousy food. The full-breakfast menu was replaced by a continental breakfast not quite as good as the ones you get free in discount motel chains.
And, believe it or not, things got worse.
New owners seemed to be dedicated to running the place into the ground. They threw out a service club that had been a longtime client. The staff began to turn over rapidly. Police were called to the building for disturbances. One of the owners was accused of slapping a 66-year-old guest who said all she was doing was trying to redeem a coupon for a free meal.
The owners were accused of defaulting on a $1.15-million loan used to buy the business; and after telling their employees they were taking a vacation over Labor Day, packed up a U-Haul with furniture, linens and paintings and, to no great public outcry of despair, disappeared.
Now a professional management company acting as a receiver during foreclosure proceedings, has reopened the property and is trying to bring back at least a little of its former glory.
With a little luck, maybe the right new owners will step forward and take it the rest of the way.
The Times accounting department might hate it.
But I'd love it.