For Sale

I don't have an office these days. I work out of an office in my house. Thanks to the cell phone, I don't really need a place downtown, where many lawyers still congregate around the two state courthouses and the federal court. (Not to mention the bankruptcy court)

One of my lawyer friends lets me use his conference room. His office is in one of the renovated 19th century buildings on the funky, curving street that follows the old indian trail that ran through the area when most of what became downtown was marshland.

I had met a client in my friend's office. She is a nice lady, another worker in the process of being discarded like trash. Fortunately she has a good case, with some real settlement potential if we play it right.

I had to make a quick stop at the highly specialized court where I have spent a big chunk of my life. I couldn't see the Judge to get an order entered until around 2PM. I decided to go across the street to Tommy's, the last of the old style greasy spoons, for lunch.

I hadn't been in there for nearly three years. I was shocked at the quiet. Hardly anyone there. This place used to be hopping at lunch time. I took this as a bad sign for the local economy.

After lunch I headed for the Courthouse. It's only thirty years old, but it's filthy, worn out from overuse and lack of maintenance. On the way there I walked past a big empty building. Back in the Phony 80s, when I was working for The Kid, this was well known as The Gas Company Building. It was corporate headquarters, had a showroom, and an area where customers came in and paid their bills. According to a story in that morning's paper it is for sale. So, for that matter, is the newspaper's building. The building now carried the handle of the Limey utility monster that had swallowed up both the gas and electric companies. But it was like makeup on a corpse.

It is dark, empty. All local staff were moved out of state years ago. The big plate windows, where busy employees had been on display, were covered with paper. It seemed an apt symbol for what had happened to our city and state since The Kid's brief reign as our mayor.

I turned the corner. This street had the entrance to the new addition to the gas company's hq, constructed and dedicated in the mid 80s. Standing on Dorrance Street, peering into addition, which looked as dead as an ancient tomb, I recalled the dedication ceremony. The Mayor was the guest of honor; I was with him. It was early evening of a pleasant summer day.

The Gas Company was locally owned and had been in business for 140 years. It had always been around and it always would be. So we all thought. The company officials who spoke, starting with the CEO, were all proud of their past and excited about their future. They meant it: the understated, but modern, addition spoke for itself.

Those corporate guys are long gone. The Kid left office twenty years ago. He is contemplating a comeback. The gas company is long gone too, the once busy building empty. It's not exactly derelict, but it's another of many dead spots downtown. (The most notable: the big vacant lot down the block where the condo tower never even broke ground. The developers did succeed in destroying a historic building though).

I stood there and stared at the empty building and wondered once again why we have wantonly destroyed so much. The whole country seems hollowed out, neglected, abandoned. For sale. But no one is buying.