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Olentangy River Road

The City apartment complex sign Columbus Ohio

Though I’ve been saying for years that Henderson/Cooke is my favorite road in Columbus, owing mostly to its bizarre path and plentiful landscape changes, Olentangy River Road charts a pretty wacky trajectory itself. Sure, Riverside is probably the most picturesque drive in town. High and Broad are obviously the pivotal main arteries, with a number of other major avenues not far behind. But the more I think about Olentangy River Road, I begin to realize it’s not without its selling points, also, in all of these categories combined. And for me at least, a lot more personal history than it would appear at first glance, too.

Beginning on the south end at the intersection of Goodale, where it’s really just a renamed version of Twin Rivers, Olentangy at first just sleepily winds itself upward, block after block, ever so slightly curvy here and there yet mostly content to sit on 315’s left shoulder. Or make that kneecap, maybe, as it resides below that elevated highway, in the shadow of what I’m guessing (research hasn’t taken me this far yet) was sculpted as its successor, a much speedier north-south conduit across town.

But the first plot twist arrives just past Target and the AMC Lennox and all that, when the road sweeps a full 90 degrees to the left, appearing as though our compass is about to dramatically shift – and indeed, the path does point forward there, though this road is named Kinnear. As for Olentangy, it’s a brake slam here (both figuratively and usually what happens in real time) at the light in front of Champp’s, cutting a hard right and ducking under 315 now, to sit on that highway’s opposite shoulder, with the two routes not even visible to one another now.

After swinging out to the furthest distance separating these alternating options, they will gradually draw closer and closer once more, criss-crossing at near right angles one final time, near Riverside Hospital, in reverting to original form. And from here very little will change about this dynamic, although Olentangy’s landscape undergoes a gradual shift as it slowly bleeds into the often gorgeous countryside, north of Bethel. At Wilson Bridge Road, you are advised that upon crossing it, into this residential neighborhood, the road will change to Linworth E, although according to the post office and Mr. Google’s maps, this doesn’t actually happen for another block or so. And this would appear to be Olentangy’s coda at last, although some sort of primeval appendix remains, separated by road construction decades ago, another small strip clear on the other side of nearby 270, connecting Hard Road to….yes! route 315, which is at this point also known apparently as Olentangy Freeway.

And yet the plot thickens further still. At this juncture, Olentangy River Road and 315 become one and the same. For approximately a mile still further north, these are Columbus addresses, too, up until a house at 8419. From this point onward, we are officially in Powell, so it seems a good enough place to halt our travels. For the curious, however, these two names are conjoined until Olentangy and 315 both terminate into 23, in the countryside near Delaware.

But enough about these nerdy details. Let us now turn around and consider the finer points found along this route, reversing course and heading south:

7860: The Hills Market. This is probably my favorite grocery store in town – actually, you can safely remove the “probably” now that I think about it, considering that all the other locally owned greats have either given up the ghost or been bought out. It’s the kind of regional-promoting, specialty goods market which was all the rage in the early 2000s but is under siege of late. Whatever your inclination, though, they’ve got a great selection here, down to and including hot foods – I saw a supreme pizza posted on Instagram the other day, for example, that made me want to jump through my telephone. In case you’re confused, this is the Worthington location they mention on their website (referring to this as Worthington seems a bit of a stretch, but who am I to say). They do have a downtown spot as well, on Grant.

7800: Another Rusty Bucket restaurant. A Cameron Mitchell protegee, Gary Callicoat, opened the first of these in Dublin in 2002. The spot on Lane Avenue sprung into being a few years later, and this one as well. Now it seems they are on the brink of becoming a nationwide phenomenon. Their Belly Buster burger was always my favorite (egg over easy on top of a beef patty), though this is unfathomably no longer on the menu.

Prior to this, it was a pub/club called Hearth & Eagle.

7706: Sullivan Centre, which is apparently a liposuction clinic.

7647 to 7351: That weird little detached section I was referring to, connecting Hard to 315. Just a handful of homes dot that hill, lording over the road, and as far as I can tell only four of them have Olentangy River Road designations. An outfit called Eddie Pollina Band apparently considers one of these its base of operations.

7097: This is where the name and numbers resume, in a quiet little neighborhood far removed from the last entry. To get here, your fastest route would have been to turn right and climb that mountain which is Hard Road, hang a left on Linworth Rd, cross 270, and then hook another left on Linworth Rd E, into that sleepy neighborhood across from Bluffsview Elementary School. I’m always saying the ever changing street names in Charlotte, NC, for example, make no sense whatsoever, but this area is plenty nutty in its own right. Then again that’s half the fun.

After crossing Wilson Bridge Rd, southbound, the landscape will grow steadily prettier. At first you will have a bike path running parallel, to your left, and then the cars of 315 zipping along beyond the fence beside it. Though I see there are a couple business addresses listed through this stretch, it would appear that these are home based, as this is otherwise another mostly sleepy neighborhood, the streets and houses fanning outward up the the hill to your right.

South of 161, though, you will begin to encounter homes on both sides of the road, along with the occasional church or business, while at the same time this rolling terrain proves a lot more forested.

5811: The Timbrook Guesthouse. This is a sprawling bed & breakfast in a house built clear back in the late 1800s.

5800: Antrim Park. A beautiful 120 acre site which runs underneath route 315 and spreads out to an even greater degree on that side. The lake and Olentangy Greenway Trail are over there, in fact, across the highway. Back when living on campus and working at the Bethel Road Kroger, during my bicycling heyday, on a few occasions I rode the trail clear up here, then backtracked down Olentangy to Bethel. It feels like a secret passage, almost, crossing the city in this manner.

5067: Gas station at the corner of Bethel, signifying you have returned to civilization. I think this has been a BP outpost for eons.

↑ North Of Bethel Road

 

 

South Of Bethel Road ↓

5019: Gallo’s Tap Room, which faces Bethel but is located within the Olentangy Plaza strip mall complex. One of their signature food offerings is The Big Easy, a New Orleans style muffaletta – which means it features an especially tasty olive salad. They’ve been here since at least April 2006, possibly earlier.

4990: Anheuser-Busch Sports Park. Fittingly enough, the only occasions I ever came here, there was pretty much always beer involved. This one summer a few of us at Kroger got on a kick where we’d pick up a six pack or so after work, then head over here and take turns at the batting cages. Those not currently swinging at 80 MPH fastballs would catch their breath and a few quick chugs back at the car. It was better than moldering in some dim happy hour, anyway.

As you continue further south, with this massive park at your left, 315 continuing to buzz along above it, the funky looking houses, occasional business, or slightly outdated apartment complex are still mostly situated on steep inclines to your right. It’s pretty obvious how and why they originally picked this patch of smooth, low ground for this pair of major north-south roads. Again during my bicycling days, this intersecting road called Jasonway seemed way too coincidental to ignore, and it did indeed prove a bit of a shortcut during these constant Summit-to-Bethel jaunts, although typically the traffic flow and hill situation made it a better option for the return trip.

Up ahead, Henderson Road crosses and bottoms out, the vortex of a not exactly modern configuration which makes for some gnarly rush hour pileups. This is actually one of the few longstanding headaches an otherwise progressive city has not managed to address, as thus far voters have shot down a proposed Bethel-Morse connector countless times. As someone who actually made this specific commute for months (Henderson-High-Morse) and major fan of the bike trail and parks, I understand both sides of the debate. But have to admit I really don’t see how “green” it is to fog up the region with idling motors in the name of saving a little park space.

Concerning Olentangy River Road, little changes as we head further south along this corridor. A caged in bike path does cross overhead, spanning the river, 315, and Olentangy River Road, connecting the unseen trail beyond all that mess with this residential neighborhood known as The Knolls, rising above you to the west. I did attempt using this on exactly one occasion, but wouldn’t consider it worth the effort unless actually living back there in one of those deathly still houses.

4477 to 4149: It is along this stretch that you would encounter the next set of postal hijinks, this one in the form of a nearly hidden access road. The access, running parallel, is also Olentangy River Road somehow, presenting this unheard of phenomenon: side by side streets, separated by bushes and just a few feet apart, given the same name, with neither of them being of the one-way variety.

3814: Formerly where a plastic surgeon named Arthur G.H. Bing plied his wares, though it’s unclear to me whether this building even exists anymore. At any rate, neither the address nor the business does. I have to admit I find this stuff fascinating. Would have been located in between where the Gerlach Center to Senior Health and MaternOhio Clinical Associates currently are.

3773: Big Red’s Lodges. These guest facilities, though rustic looking and set off a slight distance from the street, are actually a piece of the massive OhioHealth hospital complex you will soon stumble upon.

Riverside Hospital

(3535 Olentangy River Rd.) A number assigned because they had to settle on just one, although this gleaming, mostly ocean blue and cloud white metropolis is as large as many a rural Ohio town. My step-daughter Maddie and daughter Emma were both born here, five years apart and under spookily similar circumstances: given the same due date (April 5), yet born many weeks premature, arriving March 8 and March 14, respectively. And yes, truth be known, in neither situation was I technically “with” baby’s mama at the time. They are a pleasant reminder, as is the very physical appearance of this center itself, that not all is doom and gloom inside a hospital. Helpful to remember at times because at the other end of the journey, this is where my grandpa Allie died, too, and therefore the last place I ever saw him breathing.

After passing Broadway and dipping underneath 315, you begin to enter a region which is more or less considered the outer reaches of campus. The first large swath of Union Cemetery, which is divided into two huge chunks diagonally opposed from one another, will appear on your right, this long road’s first genuine strip of commerce on your left.

3370: Roosters wing joint. There is apparently no apostrophe in the name, which I never realized before. This particular outpost of the steadily expanding chain has been in place since at least the late 90s. As their catchphrase states, this is a really laid-back atmosphere to grab a beer and some decent sports pub grub. Maybe I will look like an idiot someday and learn that this comes out of a giant, commercially available tub, but whatever the origin, their blue cheese dressing is the best I’ve ever had.

Roosters on Olentangy River Road Columbus Ohio
Maddie & Emma at Roosters on Olentangy

3360: Kohl’s store tucked back way behind it, barely even visible from the road. I can’t remember the previous tenant but believe it might have been Burlington Coat Factory.

3349: Union Cemetery, regardless of which half you’re talking about. The most famous figures buried here are all sports related. Woody Hayes, a veritable legend in these parts, is in the west cemetery, while Stephanie Spielman (wife of former OSU, Cleveland Browns, and Columbus Destroyers football star Chris, though she’s actually more well known as a cancer awareness spokesperson) is at rest in the east cemetery. There’s a Paul Hornung here, too, although he isn’t the Green Bay Packers great, rather the Columbus Dispatch sports writer who once covered 326 Buckeye games in a row.

3230: The Cowboy! A really popular and quite tasty Mexican restaurant, El Vaquero, is an institution at this point. About fifteen years ago a bunch of us met here to kick off an “old friends reunion” type night on the town…which is sadly the last time I’ve seen some of those people, and also my final visit to this establishment. Alive named them the best Mexican place in town, 2000 (although there may have been other years, too), alongside their Riverside Drive location. Flying clowns and other oddball decorations fill the room. Homemade chips.  

3165: The local NBC television station has called this home for years.

3045:

Currently a Holiday Inn Express & Suites. However in a former life it was Euphoria Fitness & Massage Therapy (as of October ‘01, not sure for how long thereafter.) On Wednesdays they offered mixed level Pilates mat class, a 6 week course for strengthening the lower back and abdominals. Also prenatal/beginner yoga classes (males are also welcome) through October, another 6 weeker. So this building was then knocked down at some point and the current hotel erected.

3025: Once the Parke University Hotel and the Damon’s restaurant attached to it, now a Denny’s. The building housing it and a few other businesses was newly built for the occasion.

University Village Resident Life Center, Columbus, Ohio
University Village Resident Life Center

2981: At the corner of Harley and Olentangy, you will now find the University Village apartments’ Resident Life Center. It’s a really slick looking, modern building with fitness facility, computer lab, a rec room with wide screen television and billiards, et cetera. They even offer a shuttle service running an extensive loop. The apartments themselves, a campus rite of passage of sorts which has been in place since the late 50s, dots the landscape behind it, along Harley.

The Damon’s where I used to work was of course located right on this very plot of land. It’s always peculiar to think about conversations you had, or events which transpired, in buildings that no longer exist. Almost as though you’re turning into a ghost while still alive. This experience is even odder if occurring on upper floors, above ground level – or, like here, in the basement. Even if the only time any of us ever ventured into the basement, apart from possibly retrieving kegs, was to mix drinks for ourselves in the otherwise abandoned break room.

The Parke was demolished first, which made for a strange sight, the handful of years that Damon’s continued to limp along. It was this outdated vaguely Tudor looking building in front of a barren field. You kind of knew at a glance that it wasn’t going to be long for this world. Their best bet would have been a brand new facility, and that never happened.

“The Town” and The City

The City is a rather dumb/semi-obnoxious name given to this huge and relatively new apartment complex. Seeing that sign always reminds me of Jack Kerouac’s first novel, and also that Interpol song where they insist they are not going to the town, but rather the city. Perhaps this was used in promotional materials, advertisting available units, or maybe they even play it on a loop in the lobby. And then give you a special edition of The Town and The City as a welcoming gift when you sign the lease.

Well, anyway, The City now sits where the strip mall known as University City Center once did. Those buildings have all been knocked down.

The standalone businesses in front survive, however, which I guess we may as well refer to as “The Town.” The bank (2941 – it’s a PNC now but wasn’t always), McDonald’s (2865) and Sunoco (2825) have all been in place since at least the tail end of the 20th century, if not longer.

A Raising Cane’s location (2823) is the most recent addition, which sprung into existence somewhat near the end of University City Center’s time on this earth. During our most recent visit there, we brought Erin’s parents, who’d never had Cane’s before and agreed it was the best chicken they’d ever eaten in their lives. Then Erin accidentally left her cell phone there, and we were halfway to Bucyrus for a wedding before realizing it. Fortunately her cousins were still in the area and were able to retrieve it for us.

Columbus Ohio's Across The Field Store on Olentangy River Road
former home of Across The Field

2781: Currently empty, but used to be Across The Field. Inside what once was a quaint little church, you would have found – what else? – a shop dedicated to selling Buckeye apparel.

2540: Chemical Abstracts Service – would occasionally host concerts on their lawn, like Picnic at the Pops events that might also include fireworks afterwards.

2355: Jack Nicklaus Museum. Honoring possibly the most famous athlete ever to hail from this fine city, and certainly the greatest golfer. This is one of these places I keep meaning to check out but, you know, haven’t.

It is here in our travels that we encounter Lane Avenue. The Schottenstein Center is impossible to miss on the northwest corner, though technically it sits neither on Olentangy nor on Lane. The impressive (particularly if viewed at night) and quite modern suspension bridge, meanwhile, would lead you east, over the river and into the heart of Ohio State University.

2200: Longaberger Alumni House

 

↑ North Of Lane Avenue

click on arrows to turn on Lane Avenue.

South Of Lane Avenue ↓

Continuing down Olentangy south of Lane, with the impossible to miss Horseshoe to the east, the river and the monolithic round white bookends of Morrill and Lincoln Towers, you will pass a number of other campus buildings, dip under Woody Hayes Drive and a foot bridge as well. Here the scenery is often beautiful – if you are into the way a major university might look, that is, fused like an implant with the heart of its city. Just beyond the 315 underpass, the road will appear to reach its terminus at Kinnear, in front of the Lennox Town Center. But no, turning left at the light here will continue our Olentangy jaunt.

1827: The Capital Grille. Champps was here for an eternity, and although that seems like exactly the sort of restaurant which would have bit the dust in about 2004, and it lived on somehow into the early-mid 2020s. My friends Dan Bandman and Dave Kemp both worked here way back in the late 90s. I once brought my girl Jamie here on a date, but she and I were both feeling not so fresh following this dinner – though unable to speak for her, these tummy troubles dissuaded me from ever returning. In early 1998 they added a karaoke night on Wednesday which stole a decent chunk of Woody’s clientele for the same.

1803: Currently a Bravo Cucina Italiana, though I haven’t drifted through these doors since it was a Don Pablo’s.

Behind these two, in the main building of Lennox Town Center, it’s somewhat reassuring to see that Staples, Barnes & Noble, Old Navy and Target all continue to soldier on across the years. I’m not a sentimentalist per se, nor someone who believes your entire metropolis should be populated with nothing but trendy local merchants. The ideal situation closely matches reality, at least as that pertains to Columbus right now – sometimes ancient pieces of architecture need to go bye-bye, and sometimes even national franchises feel like a comfy pair of shoes.

For an example of what I mean, one need look no further than across the street, to the tiny strip of land currently hosting a Starbucks (1570) and a couple other operations. Formerly this impossibly small parcel, which looks as though it may as well sit on 315, was the home of a decrepit strip club and I’m not sure what else. When the entire structure burned to the ground, there weren’t many lamenting the loss of this eyesore.

1791: Core Life Eatery Opened 6/19/18. Before that it was a Johnny Rockets, before that a Cup O’ Joe. Cup O’ Joe had 3 locations in town circa 2000, the year where they were named as “best desserts” in town by Alive. Carnegie Deli Chocolate Truffle Torte is one of their signature offerings – chocolate, chocolate, and more chocolate. 

1739:

Barnes & Noble has been here for a relative eternity. Peering backwards a bit, as of Oct ‘01 they had Great Books Discussion Group at 7pm every third Monday. Every third Tuesday, a Science Fiction Book Group, 7:30pm. Children’s Storytime at 11am on Thursdays. Kids Storytime (for 6-12 year olds) at 1pm on Saturdays.

1445: Varsity Inn. I recently booked a room here and found it perfectly acceptable, despite being the cheapest place around. They’ve got this nifty “drive thru check-in” type carport which I’ve never seen anywhere else. The rooms were acceptably clean, had cable, et cetera, although I seriously believe there was dried blood on the bathroom door frame. Also the fridge made some weird ticking sound that sounded like a toaster oven, nonstop all night. I think I even had dreams about a toaster oven. But don’t let this deter you from rooming here – my solution to that problem was a Hounddog’s Pizza and about three tall cans of Seventh Son lager.

1421:

Former site of Buckeye Hall Of Fame Cafe. The team of heavyweights which brought you the Olentangy location of Damon’s, The Place For Ribs was behind this enterprise as well. They promised us a brand new building yet erected this months later instead. It looks like this restaurant/arcade was in business from 1997 to 2009, and while I wouldn’t necessarily classify an eatery which lasted 12 years as a “dud” (at least not without access to their financial records), it feels a bit short, especially when considering the lofty pronouncements and aspirations connected to it.

Also whether this is a typo or something, I’ve seen at least one 2001 print piece where they were referred to simply as “Fame Cafe.” So this may have been a brief effort to rebrand even in the middle of their run. And lending credence to this theory is that at this time, they were hosting live theater-type shows such as Four Suspects At A Funeral, which ran every second Wednesday during that era. I gather this experiment was not a resounding success, however.

Before this, it was the Jai Lai, Woody Hayes’s favorite restaurant in town. Jai Lai Restaurant was celebrating its 50th year in 1982. For Easter Sunday of that year, they were offering three options for the main course, at $8.75 each: roast turkey, baked ham, or leg of lamb. Or, if I’m reading this right, you could add the buffet for only 20 cents more, which offered everything “from soup to nuts,” but only in their lower level for groups of six or more. No word on whether Woody Hayes helicoptered over here to take advantage of this deal, however.

In more recent times, the entire structure was destroyed and replaced – a very impressive, modern looking SpringHill Suites by Marriott sits here now.

1299: Cap City Fine Diner And Bar. They use to feature “jazz & lobster” every Sunday but discontinued that promo quite some time ago. The atmosphere here is interesting in that it feels as though they’re shooting for a high end rustic vibe – kind of like if Bob Evans decided to skew a little more upper class. So I would say it’s really not the least bit stuffy despite that “fine diner” business in the name. My former downstairs neighbor Stephanie was a waitress here and insisted salmon burgers were their greatest offering. Erin says that this place has the best tomato soup she’s ever eaten.

1245: Columbus Fish Market. Voted best seafood restaurant in town by Columbus Alive in 2000. Another Cameron Mitchell offering, which opened in 1998. A gigantic metal fish hangs above the entrance. Frequently rotating menu, known for their clam chowder.  

1177: was a club called Libertys, in the late 1990s/early 2000s. Originally a restaurant and bar, but they decided to scrap that concept in December of ’99 and become a nightclub instead, with the same name. This place was inexplicably popular for a little while, despite a really bland motif.

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Lane Avenue

Though High Street might represent the city’s nerve-packed spine and, well, to properly extend the metaphor, I suppose you’d have to say Broad is Columbus’s waist (though to me it seems much more like a carpenter’s level, stabilizing all with a steady straight line through the middle), in this space I would like to throw out the hypothesis that no other road in town boasts the wattage per square foot as Lane Avenue. It isn’t even my favorite avenue the city has to offer – that honor would have to go to the two-headed Henderson/Cooke monster, charting a seriously strange trajectory through a series of different locales. But you have to at least entertain the argument that over the relatively short stretch of roughly four and a half miles, Lane Avenue is the most densely packed action hub within C-bus city limits. Let’s begin our journey moving east along this road, picking up where it changes from residential to majorly commercial.

Heartland Planning Associates

Heartland Planning Associates: 1800 W. Lane Avenue. In case you couldn’t tell, this is among the newer buildings that they’ve thrown up this century. Apparently this business is only located on the second floor, though, which I think means the ground floor is unoccupied.

1760 W. Lane Avenue: formerly belonged to a place called Silver Vault, which advertised “the largest selection of unique silver gifts” in the region. Currently the Cheesecake Boutique does business here, an oddly named clothing store.

Jack Seibert Goldsmith Jeweler: 1741 W. Lane Avenue. I’m not sure how long this has been here, as their website wouldn’t load just now. But they have an ad in this 1998 edition of Columbus Monthly, so they’ve been peddling the gems for at least this long.

Chad Cacchio DDS: 1700 W. Lane Avenue, Suite 100. Dental practice opened by this former Buckeye football standout, still one of my all-time favorite players.

His business sits on the left hand/driver’s side/north side of the road, if traveling east. Meanwhile, if stopped at this intersection, this is the view that would greet you straight ahead:

The clusters of buildings to the right belong to Shops On Lane (formerly known as Lane Avenue Shopping Center, I believe). Everything on the left is relatively new, i.e. was only constructed in the early 2000s or later.

1693 W. Lane Avenue: This address has hosted at least three business names that I’m aware of, although it’s possible the 3rd was a slight rebranding of the 2nd. Bistro Roti was here, then at some point is followed by Healing Garden Relaxation Station and Yi’s Relaxation Station.

Shops On Lane Avenue: 1675 W. Lane Avenue is its formal address. Fancy semi-newfangled mall which is nonetheless nearly 20 years into its remodel at this point. The Rusty Bucket was our most frequented haunt here, by far. My crazy coworker Charlie, busted for drinking at this establishment during his lunch break, attempted to claim it wasn’t beer, that he was imbibing “Rusty Teas.” A handful of my performance reviews were conducted here over lunch. One night my brother was in town and a few of us came here for dinner. Spotting some kind of Blue Jackets paraphernalia – and this would have been 2003 or 2004, i.e. a number of years into their existence – he asked what kind of team this was. Had never heard of them and didn’t believe me, when I explained that this was an NHL franchise.

Erin had never eaten at the “Busty Rucket” until I recently made a point of bringing her, inspired by this research. Though disappointed that Gary’s Belly Buster is no longer on the menu, there are always seasonal drafts to keep a fellow entertained. Also, of course, the food. For the uninitiated, the nickel dressing is basically their version of a sweet house Italian. Erin ordered soup and salad, was impressed by both, in particular the latter’s blue cheese crumbles and this nickel dressing. I have the Green Chili burger, which is topped by their house made beer cheese and also “green chili relish,” which is basically nothing but a cascading mountain of serrano and jalapeno peppers.

Back in its Lane Avenue Shopping Center days I know there was at least a Banana Republic here. This would have been not just before the boom, but before the bust as well. In other words: 1998. Alan and I were roped into shopping here one time when Paul was looking for shorts. This being such a remarkable occasion in itself that we couldn’t resist tagging along.

Nowadays there’s an Anthony Vince Nail Spa and The Original Pancake House, among other tenants. Rusty Bucket is still here, and Whole Foods is in the same lot, is therefore satellited into this.

1651 W. Lane Avenue: This would have sat at the Lane Avenue Shopping Center also, as of October ‘01. Operated by Ohio Designer Craftsmen, advertised as a “marketing opportunity for professional craft studios.” Not currently in use, but would have been roughly in between where Chico’s and Ulta Beauty are now.

1583 W. Lane Avenue: Sammy’s New York Bagels lists this as their address through at least February 2002. They also landed their wares in many a coffee shop about town.  However, I don’t actually remember them being here, and it must have occurred in a building which no longer exists.

1578 W. Lane Avenue: No longer in use. I’m guessing this address was obliterated by the ol’ bulldozer when they revamped this stretch. It was an art studio called Benjamin-Marcus up through at least October of 2001. Nowadays there’s a Homewood Suites by Hilton at 1576 and a snazzy apartment building called The Lane at 1600. So it would have sat right in between these, i.e. across the street from Whole Foods, more or less.

1670-1288 W. Lane Avenue: for a quick slideshow about this stretch, down the left (north) side of the road if driving east, check out my slide show:

Wild Oats/Whole Foods: 1555 W. Lane Avenue

With nearly six years of service time at Wild Oats, I didn’t even have to look this address up. It hasn’t changed, though Whole Foods bought them out, knocked down the building and re-established a base camp in the same spot. I actually don’t even know where to begin describing this place. A whole book could certainly be written about my experiences here – and has been, actually. I finished my first draft quite some time ago and it just might see the light of day one of these years.

Official Wild Oats sweatshirt, popular with grocery and demo employees circa early 21st century.
Wild Oats sweatshirt. These didn’t really work in the meat department, but I ended up with one anyway.

Graeter’s Ice Cream: 1534 W. Lane Avenue. A semi-regular go to back in the Wild Oats days, when you needed a little spirit booster. Typically the gopher would be running over there with at least 3-4 orders on behalf of his colleagues.

1486 W. Lane Avenue:  Was Howard’s Barber Shop from at least the 1970s onward, if not earlier, until OSU bought them out and demolished the building in 2004. Therefore it currently houses the Ohio State University Office Of Advancement. Regarding Howard’s, I started getting my hair cut here in the late 90s, when they told me at work that I needed to trim things up substantially. One slow march home and a phone book consultation later, I’m in my car, cresting the hill of West Lane Avenue beyond campus. The unfamiliar altitude atop this hill, Upper Arlington, its pastoral tree lined prosperity, the flush green lawns between these well spaced houses rich, detached, immoderate, much like the residents themselves. As if fertilized by proxy through the conspicuous manure aroma, enameling the breeze here via adjacent OSU farms. I find myself at a modest wooden shack, painted bloodsucker red, lost amid this opulence, a mile west of the university. This charming little old school barber shop reminiscent of ye olde Mayberry, with two older gentlemen chopping locks and, somehow, a really hot brunette chick whose waterfall ringlets drop halfway down her back. Time slows down in a warp light years removed from the outside world, though comfortably. Eight dollars apparently doesn’t reserve the brunette’s chair, but it, and a two dollar tip, will buy a brand new me.

There were actually two guys named Howard, Warner and Salzgaber, conducting the barbering here, along with that aforementioned really nice looking brunette girl. I never had enough nerve to specifically request the curly haired brunette, would usually end up with one of the Howards. Salzgaber bought the business from Warner in 2000, and moved to W Fifth Avenue in Grandview after OSU came knocking (down). Unfortunately, Howard S. passed away in 2017, but his son Danny keeps the family tradition alive down there.

1397 W. Lane Avenue: currently belongs to Lane Lofts, a five story or so, luxurious looking apartment complex. Up through about 2020, however, there was a Pizza Hut here. It seems they averaged about 25-30 employees or so. Donna Carney was the manager here in the late 1990s, followed by the awesomely and quite fittingly named Pete Di Piazza, who as far as I can tell had the longest tenure, from 2001 to 2007. Doug Smith followed, for a few years there, followed by Jason Ferrell, with possibly a couple others in between.

I actually have a very old video, shot inside that building, from the legendary Hi-8 film camera of yore. Here’s an edited clip, because as fascinating as it is to me, I don’t suppose other people want to watch ten minutes of my kids eating crackers.

This is from a day Jill and the girls met me during my lunch break at Wild Oats. As far as any of us are aware, this is the oldest existing video footage of the kids – Emma’s 8 months old, Maddie 5 years. I’m looking a little ragged, if you ask me, from the bonkers work schedule and bicycling and overall mayhem of this era. Plus the gap toothed grill isn’t helping matters any. Jill always had a sweet voice, which is part of what continually got me in trouble over the years, heh heh.

I treasure the footage for personal reasons, of course, but regarding this site, it’s also of interest for the Buckeye flag in the corner, that dude in the Bengals jacket, whatever game that is on the TV, and also the general historical aspects of the decor, a freaking buffet at a Pizza Hut (although I think these are making a comeback), what we’re all wearing, and so on.

Half Price Books:  1375 W. Lane Avenue. Other locations in town are larger, but I always liked this one the best. It has the best atmosphere and, for whatever reason, I’ve consistently enjoyed better luck picking up great finds here. This was also the site of an all-time favorite overheard conversation, from these two random kids browsing the music section. Keep in mind that this was 1998:

“Man, I wish I could find a Vanilla Ice tape. I’d buy it in a second – no, half a second,” the one kid says, and it’s safe to say the ironic distance is slathered on fairly thick, “see, everyone acts like they don’t like him, but they all know he’s the best rapper ever. That’s why you can’t ever find any of his tapes used.”

Tommy’s Pizza: 1350 W. Lane Avenue

This place was even better than Camille’s in the part-time side gig department, and I still feel bad about the manner in which I left. The manager, Teresa, was a shopper at Wild Oats and that’s how I landed this job. I had promised her I wouldn’t flake out and just stop showing up…but then eventually flaked out and just stopped showing up. Matt was getting married in Montana and asked me to be his best man, and I never quite got around to asking for the time off or lining up anyone to cover my shifts. And never went back, subsequently.

“You should have told me!” she chided, the next time I saw her in Wild Oats. And what can you say, she was right.

There are actually two Tommy’s Pizza locations within just a couple miles of one another on West Lane. Prior to getting hired here, I’d only eaten at the one down the hill, on campus. This Upper Arlington-ish location, at 1350, it has two pizza ovens – one of the more modern conveyor belt types, but also an old fashioned Italian oven, which we only used by request. Demand for that remained pretty robust, though, and on Friday nights, the owner, Rick, had a tradition of coming in for a few hours to man the Italian oven himself. He basically received the local celebrity treatment during these shifts, as customer after customer would make a point of drifting past the counter to wave and say hi. From where I was standing, though, he sure had a deer-in-headlights look about him most of the time, during these encounters, playing along but trying to figure out who this person might be.

Those of us on the pizza making line had a TV mounted above us, and you got pretty good after a while at vaguely paying attention to it at the same time you were assembling your order. Jeopardy seemed to be on half of the hours I spent working here, and workers would race to see who could shout on the correct answer fastest. After a while you got exceptionally good at sensing if anyone was behind you, because as crammed in as we were, with just a tiny walkway separating us from the conveyor belt oven, one false move could spell disaster.

The pizza here was curious in that one ingredient alone seemed to transform it from pedestrian to magical. I tried it both ways, and for whatever reason, this garlic salt we sprinkled on top kicked their pies into some other realm of awesomeness. I’m not sure why this would be the case, just a winning combination of ingredient alchemy. Though trying this at home with basically every other pizza brand ordered or baked throughout the years, garlic salt has never had anywhere near the same impact as it would on a Tommy’s offering.

As the person firing the pizzas into one end of the conveyor oven would not be the same person retrieving it on the other end, you had to have codes for transmitting what was special about this pizza if, say, someone made a request that wasn’t immediately obvious. These would be communicated by placing one slice of a pepper atop everything else in the exact center of the pizza. I don’t remember what the various colors meant, but a red bell pepper might indicate no salt, a banana pepper might mean let it get a little crispy, et cetera. Then you’d take the pepper off before traying or boxing the pizza.

A couple of times I was handed the giant pitchfork for popping air bubbles in the pizza. You would stand at one open side of the conveyor and stab them as they slid into your realm, a surprisingly entertaining task. One night, a bunch of us were bored and decided to bake pizzas in all manners of weird configurations. Among the most surprising finds was that strawberries on a pizza have no flavor whatsoever.

Kingsdale Gynecologic Associates: 1313-1315 W. Lane Avenue. I only mention this because there is one curious feature to this building, which you can see from the road but may have driven past countless times without noticing. If you look in the middle bank of second story windows, you can see the old neon front sign for what used to be Fiesta Lanes. It’s hanging above the stairwell there as a tribute to the bowling alley which formerly occupied this plot of land.

As for Fiesta Lanes, I only had occasion to check this out once that I recall. It’s January of ’98 and after a handful of us meet up at Jenny Hughes’s apartment. We head out in two cars up Lane Avenue, crossing the Olentangy River as we leave campus in favor of Upper Arlington’s outer reaches. Just up the hill, past the recently constructed Schottenstein Center – which the Buckeyes basketball squad will soon call home, as their final season in St. John Arena is nearly finished – and the western fringes of campus, a garish neon sign on our left, heavy on the pastel blues and pinks and curved to the extreme with its retro zaniness, Fiesta Lanes beckons us to its not exactly overflowing parking lot.  

The scene inside is just as outdated, if paradoxically, accidentally cool, the way some items in your grandparents’ closets might so happen to find themselves in style again. John and Jenny immediately dash off in search of something here to eat, while Alan and Damon seek beers in the house bar. Carrie challenges me to a racing game in their pitiful arcade section, handily clobbering my sorry moves at every turn. 

With our various tasks met and dispensed, the six of us reunite to pick out shoes and balls, to hit the appointed lane in this old school bowling emporium. I’m not one to knock the décor, though, in particular the 1960s bachelor pad style shaggy carpet, and also the charming lack of modern scorekeeping devices. As the girls and I are the only ones who even remember how to manage this by hand, with stubby golf pencils and ad encrusted sheets of rectangular paper, this job is left to us…which conveniently frees up the other three dudes to sharpen their macking skills. 

“My back hurts,” Carrie complains at one point. 

“Want me to rub it?” Alan offers, further explains, “I’m going to school for massage therapy.” 

When curiosity and politeness compels the ladies to ask Damon about his chosen profession, he too makes up something ridiculous, and they nod in approval, buying it wholesale. Meanwhile, as the hours roll onward, what crowd was here steadily dispenses, until we’ve bowled two games and are literally the only people left who aren’t employees. I don’t suppose that midnight on a Tuesday is the most happening time frame anywhere, at least not without the saving graces of some miracle league, but you do have to wonder how this operation fares in general, and if they’ll last much longer. Without a major overhaul, you get the feeling they’ll have to grit it out until a place like this becomes an ironically rad trend again.  

Of course, that never happened. With so many entertainment options, you can only spread yourself so thin attempting to patronize all. Fiesta Lanes is gone within a couple of years of this visit – I can only hope they managed to cash in somehow and didn’t just go bust.

1315 now boasts a wide variety of options. Piada Italian Street Food, Wings Over Columbus, Buckeye Corner and a Starbucks are all crammed into this building at present.

Camille’s Sidewalk Café: 1305 W. Lane Avenue

I wound up at this one on my own accord, and really enjoyed my time here. This was the 2004 edition of my “holiday cash” experiments, and proved a shade more successful. I was actually part of the original crew who opened this store. Craig, the manager of this operation, was about my age or possibly a little younger even, and must have been one of the best character judges on record – his hiring process was to continue bebopping around behind the counter, without pause, making a wrap or what have you, while firing questions at the interviewee, and would decide on the spot whether to hire this person or not. And during my time here, I have to say, this method of his produced almost nary a dud.

This location was the first restaurant in Ohio to have one of those flavor adding machines for the soft drinks, whereby you could pump cherry or vanilla or whatever into your pop. At least this is what some bigwig told us when he flew out for a motivational pow-wow, prior to the store opening. They played good music here and the work was easy yet fast paced. Food was also pretty decent, and I didn’t stick around long enough to get bored with it.

Unfortunately you do run into some baffling decisions from management now and then, basically anywhere you might work. They were happy with my production and had moved me up the ranks – if you really want to call it that – to their core handful of store openers. There were some brutal winter mornings trudging here in the pre-dawn hours, let me tell you. Still, this was only a part-time job. When I asked to have the week from Christmas to New Year’s off, they refused to grant it. So I informed them that I would be quitting, instead. Sometimes these places shoot themselves in the foot because they want to make some weird point, and are afraid of setting a precedent.

Jersey Mike’s Subs: 1293 W. Lane Avenue. Has been here since at least 2006.

Tai’s Asian Bistro: 1285 W. Lane Avenue. A well-regarded take out place which has also been here since at least 2006.

Up next is the view out your driver’s side window, if continuing to move eastbound. This is a huge farm that OSU owns, formally known as Waterman Agriculture and Natural Resources Laboratory Complex. The address belongs to Carmack Road but this view clearly does not:

The Schottenstein Center: Okay, so clearly they just like to give these huge operations an address of some funky little side road behind them. I’ve never heard anyone mention that this was located on Borror Dr. When describing it to people, it has always been on the corner of Lane and Olentangy. However, I’m leaving it here for now because, like the St. John Arena, it’s a can’t miss piece of the landscape if you’re driving up Lane. Numerous concerts attended here over the years, but zero OSU basketball games.

Past this enormous indoor stadium, these signposts of westerly campus sprawl. Leading the way along Lane through an impressive arboretum, underneath the 315 highway overpass and into the pastoral OSU owned farms, before university owned property terminates uphill in the old money nobility of aptly named Upper Arlington.

  ↑ West Of Olentangy

click arrows to turn on this street

East Of Olentangy ↓



Hineygate: Informal name (not that there’s a formal one) for long-running tailgate party, Saturdays during Buckeye football games. Lane Avenue is closed down in its entirety along this stretch, and open containers are permitted. My friend Harold somehow lost one – but just one – shoe here during a 2001 installment, which tells you pretty much all you need to know.  This tradition began in 1983 in the Holiday Inn parking lot (328 W. Lane Avenue) up until 2009. Ground zero for this huge party, with live music, food, and alcohol aplenty later moved to the Varsity Club (278 W. Lane Avenue) instead.

Ashley’s: Speaking of the Holiday Inn…

Ashley’s is a cozy little hotel lounge, crammed into the left pocket of this Holiday Inn lobby. We claim the far end of the central, seemingly requisite horseshoe shaped bar, with a karaoke session on the near side which is nearly as loud as the carpet. Probably thinking more about the tip money than the prospect of actually serving us, John L frames an indulgent smile between his dark goatee, and will commence dispensing shakes of the head, along with our drinks, at a ratio of about 1:4.

I only joined these guys somewhere around 8 o’clock, and it was immediately apparent most of them had gotten off to an early start. Though Wiseman’s mostly content to offer jaded quips and ironic, off-kilter grins, seemingly impervious to whatever he’s drinking, the other four are halfway sloshed by the time we reconvene here. A little bit of a break surely helped, but they’ve revved it up to full speed in seconds flat and are giddily drunk again soon enough.

This compulsion to catalog everything slows me down, both in drinking pace and in the physical time it took me to cross the bar and claim a seat. As a result I’m the last to sit, which leaves me at the end of the chain and saddled with the not exactly ideal conversational partner of Mehlman to my immediately left. However, it just so happens that a pair of women who look to be in their late thirties soon settle into the stools on my right, the better looking of the two directly beside me.

“J-Dog, you’ve got the best seat in the house!” John H and A-Bomb keep shouting down the bar at me, leaning forward and peering down it with giant, knowing smiles.

For it does seem I’ve accidentally stumbled into a winning lottery ticket here, maybe. This woman at my elbow is extremely chatty and seems to know what she wants. Possesses an attractive face, too, and while her body as a whole is only okay, she has an amazing ass, glimpsed once when she and her cohort leave their chairs for the ladies’ room. It’s a mighty tight specimen, all the more impressive when considering her age.

“There’s this bar out in Dublin, called the Hard Road Café,” she says, “do you know where it’s at?”

“No.”

“Well, it’s off Hard Road there in Dublin,” she reiterates, slightly stumped, as though struggling to think of a better way to describe the place, “anyway, they have this karaoke night every Saturday. I’m gonna be out there tomorrow – you should come.”

“Maybe I will,” I mutter, though knowing it’s never going to transpire. I want to make something happen with her tonight, and if not that, then at least get her number.

“Jay Dawwwwwwg!” A-Bomb shouts down the line again, “you know any piano?”

“A little,” I admit with a shrug.

“Well come on! Let’s go!” he barks, and drags me out into the lobby, where a set of ivories sits just outside the lounge entrance.

Cackling nonstop throughout, A-Bomb plops down on the bench first and runs through a few small pieces he knows. Then leaps to his feet and commands me to do the same. Though confessing that basically all I know is a few Billy Joel tunes, I sit down and begin hammering out my crude approximation of Piano Man. Leaning against one side of the piano, Adam howls and takes issue with my pacing.

“Isn’t it supposed to go dee doo dun dun, dee doo dun dun?” he questions, eyes watering from this incessant laughter.

“Eh, whatever,” I chuckle in return. If someone can at least recognize what I am attempting to play, then this is satisfaction plenty.

My lady friend flits past our audition area, en route to the restrooms again. “Keep playing!” she tells me, without a break in stride, “I’ll be right back!”

I’m trying to remember this one Beatles song when Rookie moseys out to join us. Though he’s been at the restaurant a while, he’s basically just a totally normal, soft spoken white kid of about the same age as the rest of us. Kind of clean cut and baby faced, belying the whole stereotype about every cook on the planet being an obnoxious dickhead. Which makes it all the more hilarious that, when he smiles, there’s one tooth completely missing in the top right row of an otherwise flawless set of chompers.

He sits down on the other end of the bench and begins running though something he recalls up on the highish middle range of the keys. Laughing hysterically from where he stands, A-Bomb leans forward just enough to plonk out a few random really high notes, completing this decidedly avant-garde three part symphony we’ve just improvised. One guy who is definitely not impressed with it, however, is the Holiday Inn security guard, who marches over and draws a finger across his throat, in the universally recognized sign language for telling someone to knock it the fuck off. His next move is to point into Ashley’s, as in we need to head back inside there, right this second. According to him, this piano is drowning out the karaoke.

“First time I’ve ever been kicked into a bar,” Rookie observes, as the three of us are heading for our stools

In the interim, Mehlman has slid down next to John H, though, which forces us to redraw our seats. Without thinking about it, I land in the middle of the three vacant ones, with A-Bomb to the right and my lady friend beyond. He doesn’t make any moves on her, though, and maybe she considers my choice some kind of intentional slight. After all this prep work, this woman and her sidekick stand up and leave without another word said. Just when it seemed like things were headed somewhere – and I never even so much as got her number. Maybe Hard Road remains an option, although I’m even less inclined to pursue this lead following that odd exit.

But the drinks continue flowing, with L hooking us up considerably on the tallies and the pours. Meanwhile, A-Bomb chatters away about all manner of randomness.

“See, you’ve heard of Citron, right? That lemon flavored vodka?” he says.

“Yeah…”

“Well, they’ve got all kinds of flavors now…blueberry, cherry, I forget what all they’ve got…hey L! What kind of flavored vodkas do they make now? I forget.”

“Ummm…,” L ponders and scans the bottles below the bar, “vanilla, blueberry, raspberry…I don’t know, I can’t remember them all…”

But then A-Bomb orders a Captain and Coke anyway. Yet instead of drinking it, he slides the glass down the bar, past me and toward Scott Mehlman, who has somehow ended up on my immediate left again. I guess I should correct this to state he attempts sliding them, for there’s this seam in between me and the drink’s target, two pieces of the bar surface which don’t line up quite exact. The Captain sails until he hits this ridge and topples.

Mehlman is half turned, towards the others, and only notices this drink as the spill extends into his field of vision. The two of us in the know are laughing hysterically, though manage to button it up a bit when L drifts back into our midst and A-Bomb asks for another. The second cocktail disembarks in the same manner, with identical results.

“What the fuck?” our sad cowboy Mehlman grumbles now, with the second oil slick in as many minutes covering the bar before him.

A-Bomb and I are just losing it at this point, and he presses his luck by asking for a third Captain and Coke. Having witnessed this latest maritime disaster, our bartender wordlessly shakes his head no.

“You know it’s pretty bad when L has to cut you off,” I tell A-Bomb. But this just causes him to howl even harder, his blue eyes teary and bloodshot over this whole series of events.

But L in fact must cut all of us off now, for the Holiday Inn lounge is closing. Somehow I managed to only drink two beers, and one of the few Cap’n & Cokes which didn’t crash, a miracle leaving me in much better shape than the rest of our gang. More miraculous still is our collective tab which, as Ashley’s doesn’t track their liquor like most bars do, has permitted John L the leeway for generous accounting. He only charges us $25, total. We leave him a $42 tip on top of it, though, a neat piece of shorthand indicating the extent of his largesse.

As of Feb ’02 it seems they feature a well-regarded Sunday brunch buffet, featuring made-to-order waffles, omelets. And a pretty decent lunch beyond that. Lawrence Tower is on this plot of land now, meaning the Holiday Inn and Ashley’s are both no longer around.

St. John Arena: Well, well, as it turns out, though I did not know this until just now, while it certainly appears to face Lane Avenue, i.e. this is the only side from which I’ve entered the building, it actually has a Woody Hayes Drive address.

352 W. Lane Avenue: former site of a longstanding 7-Eleven, which was dubbed the “poor man’s Hineygate” due to sizable overflow parking lot crowds on OSU football game days. Now it is nothing, to no one, as the shop is currently closed.

Fanning elsewhere, further along Lane finds first a towering cluster of dormitories, one window of which, eighteen or nineteen stories high, proudly harbors a neon Bud Light sign. Visible from blocks away in any direction, this glittering, glowing advertisement reaches people like a beacon, calling everyone within the signal’s radius to cast their cares aside and party. We can’t help but conjecture as to its owner’s identity, whether a polished ladies man leading thousands into battle, or a lonely recluse begging for just one person to arrive upon his doorstep. Or maybe not even a guy at all but a member of the fairer sex, some hedonistic hellcat that can drink every male she knows under the table. Interlacing this scene like stitches are tiny apartment complexes and houses of every architectural stripe and era, high rises even, and a smattering of university buildings.

The Cooker:  300 W. Lane Avenue

Though my friend Bruce had warned me to steer clear of this operation, I was hard up for holiday cash and decided to wait tables here part time anyway. This would have been 2003 and they were on their last legs. By this point it was one of those places – and many of you have experienced such, I’m sure – where management is taking it out on the help because there aren’t any people coming through the doors. Apparently they thought we worked in the advertising department or something. As a result, when working doubles, some of us would stroll up and drown our sorrows at The Library between the two shifts. Needless to say this pretty much negated the whole “holiday cash” concept and may have put me in the red on this enterprise. During more prosperous times they were notorious for scheduling small armies of servers for every shift, then cutting people immediately as the level of need became apparent. This could explain why their ads were pretty much a constant presence in the classified section. Until the entire franchise went out of business in 2004, that is.

This address now houses a Panera Bread location. You know it’s pretty sad when I’m saying this is clearly a marked improvement.

Varsity Club (278 W. Lane Avenue): Somehow, it took us about a year of living here before we got around to visiting this campus hotspot. One of just five campus bars I can think of which has been around since the 1990s or earlier.

174 W. Lane Avenue

Formerly the location for another Tommy’s Pizza, which lasted an eternity despite being located not that far from the Upper Arlington one mentioned earlier in this post. Has since closed and there is currently nothing at this address.

Tommy's Pizza at 174 West Lane Avenue, Columbus Ohio
Tommy’s Pizza on OSU campus. Maybe I was holding my camera crooked, but I actually think the building slanted.

16 W. Lane Avenue: A bar called Quarters dispensed drinks here, once upon a time, lasting into at least the early 2000s. Before this it was known as The Jailhouse and looked pretty much the same. This address doesn’t exist now, though the newish Buffalo Wild Wings on the corner of High basically sits where it would have been.

  ↑ West Of High

East Of High ↓



From this point onward, until its termination into Summit, Lane is almost purely residential. Having said that, it’s not as though these homes are any less action packed than your typical place of business. Here are some notes on addresses I’ve had the privilege to visit, right here on East Lane Avenue:

Brian’s House (Big Paul’s Friend):

I must admit at this point I can’t really sort out which house this was. My original journal from 1997 and first edition of One Hundred Virgins both list the address as 88 East Lane, but this is clearly wrong. Coincidentally, I would later spend a great deal of time at 88 East Lane (see below) which is one reason I know this is wrong. Judging from Google’s ever present maps, it looks like this house must have actually been either 82 or 78. In later, corrected editions of Virgins I just omit the number entirely and only mention this as an East Lane Avenue house.

Whatever the case, we know the address this night, once Big Paul calls us from Brian’s house with particulars. Damon, Mandy, Melissa and I take off on foot to find the place. It proves a breeze to locate, thanks mostly to the mob of kids packed sardine tin tight upon its front porch, the exterior of Brian’s house echoes ours and virtually any other on campus. A thoroughly antiquated beast, enormous and ancient, but possessing the battle scarred character of a thousand senseless nights. Unlike ours and nearly all the rest, however, his has avoided the axe, standing as one large residence rather than a ream of smaller apartments. Top to bottom, all three floors and this giant deck and the meager yard, these are his to do with as he pleases for as long as he pays the rent.

We elbow our way through the front porch throng, into a living room teeming with bodies no less dense. Before a neglected fireplace, two kegs trail side by side lines, stretching beyond these four walls and into his equally congested den. Past this roiling ocean of unfamiliar faces, we search for just one we know. Each room along this ground floor is painted a uniform shade of white, and with overhead lights blazing brightly in each we’re not struggling so much with identifying the bodies as much as we are making sure we don’t miss any. Scouring the living room and den, the kitchen, we move upstairs and repeat the process through a bathroom, a number of bedrooms. This sharp looking Oriental girl stumbles into our midst and Damon does his best to land this cold contact, jumping into the fray and hitting on her with astonishing bravado. She spurns his advances, however, drifting off to parts unknown.

Eventually our search uncovers another flight of stairs leading up to a finished attic on the third floor, and it is here we find the Cleveland gang, those purveyors of evil we’re seeking. Makes sense these cats would hole up in the darkest corner of the house, a place where their dark jeans and jackets can melt into the shadows. True to form, Linville’s strumming ominous chords on acoustic guitar, and tall, lanky Rob, attired in the same basic outfit as Paul, frowns invariably, saying little. But contrasting sharply against that dour duo, our host Brian, a short, affable fellow, smiles readily, between his business casual clothes and well trimmed light brown hair. Yet to shed the last vestige of his baby fat, Brian seems at peace with the madness two floors below, perfectly content with that and the Oriental chick sitting beside him, otherwise known as his girlfriend. “Ouch. Sorry….I didn’t know,” Damon stutters, suddenly awkward.

“It’s okay,” she says and laughs, as Brian, who has no idea what they’re talking about, offers a corresponding smile.

Thick Asian rugs cover the floor, and aside from the central couch and chairs we’re crowded around, a window faces Lane Avenue, another Brian’s back yard. Likely the warmest room in the house, this tepee shaped attic has a hypnotic charm found nowhere in our own meager abode, insulated by unpacked boxes from the clamor below these white floorboards. But we haven’t come here for solemn reverie, nor a pastoral rehashing of old times. The girls are distracted asking Linville to play them some songs, but even as he’s blatantly ignoring them, Damon and I have found our avenue for exit.

Properly ground once more, we raid the kitchen, desperate for two solid containers of any size. Still our contempt for beer runs rampant, but we see consumption of the vile beverage as a psychological tool. Draft, worst of all, but if mimicking the Romans grants us that slight edge we may pry ourselves into some young girl’s panties.

Nailing down the last two useful items available – a pitcher for me and something resembling an orange juice carafe for him – we are drawn to the keg’s honing signal, jumping into line like cattle for slaughter. Ahead, an arresting sight captivates our virgin eyes, as one young kid does a handstand atop the keg. Two guy hold his legs and a third shoots beer into his mouth from the tap, with the crowd chanting out each passing second in unison.

“What the hell?” Damon mutters.

“Keg stand,” the football player in front of us turns around and grins, a well seasoned veteran of these affairs.

Our makeshift mugs eventually filled, we have seats along the stairwell, the nerve center of this titan beating heart. Scanning the room, we gauge attendance for Brian’s soiree at somewhere between a hundred and one fifty, not bad for a kid who’s moved here from the shores of Lake Erie just a few months ago himself. But most of the girls we talk to, drifting past us en route to the second floor restroom, are either too drunk or too refined to maintain a conversation with us, and our pickup lines are uniformly awful.

“Hey, it’s been awhile!”

“Didn’t we used to work together?”

“So, you know Brian, huh?”

Some chick named Olivia we recognize from high school plops down on the stairs between us, yet gorgeous as she is, it’s a vaguely uncomfortable encounter. We scarcely knew her then and have nothing to say now, and the elegance by association we might reasonably hope to acquire dissipates. A few game candidates emerge once Olivia moves on, but little meaningful can come of it, because we don’t know how to carry ourselves in these situations, we’re not sure what we’re supposed to be saying, or doing, or for that matter wearing. The most genial of these creatures will stand and speak or sometimes even sit but we can’t get over the hump of making an impression somehow, these are obviously faceless encounters no one will remember five minutes from now.

Lines roughly half as long as those for the kegs issue now from both restrooms, first and second floor, highly skewed female. Female because the men don’t give a damn, the men are outside pissing on the side of the house, pissing in the yard, some even pissing out of windows. Meanwhile, this black kid in the den is playing DJ, spinning a ceaseless procession of great dance tunes, stemming mostly from the Beastie Boys’ License To Ill, for wherever we go, whatever the year, this has always been the lone CD everyone agrees upon. Finally, we’re standing in line for another round of beer, and Brian crosses our path.

“I just tried to change the keg,” he pants, incredulous, “and I’m coming through with the new one and some guy’s like, Hey! Who do you know to be changing a keg! and I’m like, I live here!”

“Did you know the guy?” I ask.

“No, but then again there’s a lot of people here I don’t know.”

Brian drifts off, possibly to the hideaway upstairs and the arms of his hardbodied girlfriend. He no sooner disappears when Mandy, Melissa, and Big Paul reemerge, or maybe he’s trying unsuccessfully to elude them. Damon and I have realized our approach isn’t working, and moving one step ahead of that crew, we reassign ourselves to a couch in the den. Here, the disc jockey’s operating in detached tranquility behind an easy chair, while the dozen or so females chatter with a few randomly scattered males.

Linville eventually manages to dump his fan club off with us, but until he does we’re free to ogle unabated. Mostly stunning in appearance, a handful of these beauties actually stoop low enough to converse with us, but again it leads nowhere. The best we can hope for in this situation is to hold tight, pray that a clear break will open if we outlast everyone else. As Brian’s five keg surfeit is whittled down to one, bodies begin streaming out, a slow though visible depletion, and this is ideal. But between Mandy’s wicked glares at the glamorous, dolled up dames surrounding us and Melissa’s outrageous guffaws in response to all that’s said, we’re not making much headway, the cause seems lost.

During an idle moment I spy this sheet of notebook paper near my feet, and tuck it into my pants pocket. A list of names and phone numbers, I explain when Damon asks, though judging from his knowing smirk I guess he’s already aware. The identities imbued upon it matter little, but I’m nestling a dim belief it might net us some positive gain, keeping this ship afloat.

One of the ladies talking to us as a group gradually ignores everyone else, sidling up next to Mandy. She places her hand on Mandy’s knee, smiling grandly as she whispers in Mandy’s ear, attempts throwing an arm around the shoulders, clearing digging our quintessential tomboy. Up north in hilljack country, flagrant lesbianism is far from an everyday encounter, and miss Goff’s face grows a deeper shade of crimson with each passing moment, half anger, half embarrassment. Clearly on the brink of blowing her top, Mandy’s anger has the rest of us rooted firmly in voyeuristic heaven, elbowing one another as a conversational muffle falls across the room.

The DJ spins with his head hung low, oblivious to the imminent fireworks. We’ve seen Mandy stomp other girls to shreds in the parking lots of the roughest Mansfield bars, but she needs a half gallon of whiskey to summon that brawling mien. Tonight she simply leaps from the couch and stomps out of the room, out of the house and into the wintry night. The remaining three of us, we don’t even bother locating Linville, we gag our howls and follow.

“Oh my god, that was hilarious!” I crow.

“It was not,” Mandy insists, refuting any humor.

Stuart’s Apartment (88 East Lane):

When Bruce calls much later, I ask for directions and walk in the rain to get there, only a block north up Summit and then a few west along Lane. Once inside the apartment here at 88 East, I’m introduced to Stuart, who rents the place along with two other cats. It’s the very last apartment in the small row of about four or five, in a light brown brick building jammed snugly sideways between two houses, an awning of black shingles overhanging it like a hat. As for Stuart, at first glance he seems a bit on the preppy side to be associating with this Bruce character. He wears fashionable clothes, after all, and his jet black hair closely cropped in an uber-modern style. Is also one of these creatures who adopts khaki shorts as a standard issue uniform, even as our motley trio steps out tonight into the chilly drizzle.

But, as if I couldn’t have guessed, it turns out Stuart’s the same brand of inconsistent wiseass as the rest of us. A little more vicious, perhaps, which plays into his appearance, one of these guys who can turn apparent respectability into a Trojan horse type subversive attack, undermining the system from within. Or something like that. He drives an ancient white Studebaker, though, not that we’ll be using that tonight, and after all he does let Bruce crash on his couch for free, when the latter runs afoul of paying rent on time to his actual technical roommates.

“I’m usually running about three weeks behind,” Bruce explains, with a mad, gleeful cackle. His favorite word is bitter, which he crams with a volume explosion into many a sentence, and his general speaking style is to croak out the syllables slowly, for dramatic effect, which would feature untold ellipses if written. “So usually, you know, about…one week or so into the month, my roommates start hitting me up for rent. That’s when I start…steering clear of that place, and crashing at Stu’s!” They both laugh heartily at this, so there are evidently no complications with this drill. Bruce then concludes, “so yeah…I do this pretty much every month.”

This occasion of my first visit, we don’t stick around, as the three of us walk to a party over at Joanne and Sarah’s place nearby. But I will soon wind up stopping by here on average about once per week for the next six months. Between the three actual roommates and singular honorary one, in Bruce, there’s always something going down here. There’s a gravel lot behind the place, accessible from whatever alley this is running behind Lane, and a dented shed at its edge which someone spray painted INSANE CLOWN POSSE across. And this seems to fit the general vibe, where you can’t quite get a handle on the occupants, or why there are always a couple of random but pretty decent looking girls in the mix. For a while, this card game called In Between becomes all the rage here, a gambling variety which typically finds one lucky soul walking home with everyone’s tip money for the night.

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