On their evening walk, they passed the half-demolished bones of the hundred year old church at the end of their street. She stopped, looking at it with a frown.

“What an absolute waste,” she said. “Might as well tear down everything old and great in this city.”

“Oh come on,” her husband scoffed. “It was an abandoned building used by drug addicts as a place to sleep and shoot up. I won’t miss it a bit.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “It was part of our legacy. It told us where we came from, what we could be. We lose a piece of history when it goes.”

“Greatness? Legacy? History? C’mon! In this economy the only thing that matters is jobs. Jobs get people fed, put roofs over their heads. Empty buildings don’t make jobs.”

“You’re right, they don’t. But they might just be better than the alternative.”

She resumed their walk, not bothering to wait for him.

“Alternative?” He called after her. “What are they putting there?”

“A twenty-four hour gas station. The kind with the blinding lights and blaring music.”

That stopped him in his tracks. “History at least had the decency to be quiet.”

Memphis Note
Right now there is an on-going battle between the historic preservation people and commercial developers. One side wants to protect our history legacy for years to come, the other wants to create something new and alive out of something old and dead. Both are right in some ways, both are wrong in others. Me? I’ve always wondered why no one ever tried encouraging people to move into a space as vehemently as they tried to protect it or tear it down.

The crookbacked old man eyed me as he undid the lock on the doors. I pushed my way past him, eager to have this done.

“I dun’ know why you need to see the inside of the Senate if you’re just gonna tear her down, sir.” His voice was like whiskey flowing over rocks.

“Just a perfunctory inspection, for the lawyers.”

The inside of the building was more decayed than the old man. Frescos, once brilliant in color had become dull and grey, peeling like the shingles on the back of his neck. The furniture was gone, the opulent carpet stained with boot tracks and vagrant piss.

“Could just as well build her up to new.” He mumbled, intentionally loud enough for me to hear.

I turned toward him. He stiffened.

“I don’t disagree. The Senate was truly a marvel to the fickle mistress that is chance. It flourished under her favor, and fell to ruin when it departed. ” I smiled at him.

“Unfortunately, that’s not our decision to make. Do you know what progress is? It’s a beast with no eyes that can only be sated by devouring old, forgotten things. And progress has chosen to eat the Senate.”

Memphis Note
The Senate was a hotel and gambling establishment at the corner of Jefferson and Main. It, like many of Memphis’s gambling halls, flourished after the Civil War as soldiers came home flush with cash. It stood out from the other halls of the time because of quality of its facilities and its service. The walls and ceiling were frescoed, every room furnished in the finest way, and the restaurant and saloon were both known for serving the finest food and spirits. It was also the only casino in Memphis that never had a fatality on its premises. Sadly, the Senate was shuttered in the early 1880s because of so kind of legal dispute and sold at public auction for barely $50,00. It was ultimately torn down in 1886 to make way for a massive Lowenstein and Brothers store.