Live long enough, and all your favorite bowling alleys go away.
Enjoy the place you live while you live there, because it won’t stay the same. Enjoy the places that developers eye up for their low-density uses, because your one-story favorite will end up housing five stories of high-end residents. Few places provide less density than bowling alleys. Bowling requires large space for lanes and even more for parking.
I have never been a regular bowler. I enjoy any chance to bowl, but it’s a chance to sink into the bowling alley environment for a little while.
After a lifetime of seeing bowling alleys disappear, I feel confident in this diagnosis - This quintessential Middle America pastime takes up too much space for high-density development.
Bowling alleys run deep with good vibes, with people having fun. The pace is never crazy. What replaces them rarely carries the muscle memory or the belly laughs once contained inside.
Mentor delivered this lesson first. Where Chillicothe Road met Mentor Avenue, Regal Lanes reigned. My Dad and I sometimes walked down the road. My friends and I spent many hours on those lanes, which seemed to stretch forever. There were dozens of them, all smoke-filled and no one minded too much. The lounge was always hopping.
The first summer after college, a cop pulled me over, hoping for drug or alcohol use. Finding none and reaching the point where he decided to let me off with a warning, we talked briefly about Regal Lanes. I always remember what he said next. “Well, this place won’t be here in a year.” I couldn’t imagine that corner without Regal Lanes.
Of course, he was correct. I went there in December, every lane full. By summer, Regal Lanes had ben scraped from the earth, replaced by a pharmacy and chain restaurant sat where generations of bowlers had rolled. By the mid-1990s, bowling alleys were easy marks for companies that could afford busy corner lots in the Cleveland suburbs.
But the bowling alley have been under assault for decades. I found out this shortly after moving south to Columbus. In a new Ohio town where I had little connection to anything, one night in a doomed alley has always stayed with me. Where Fiesta Lanes once stood in Upper Arlington, you can get your drive-thru coffee and sate other suburban trappings.
I never bowled at Fiesta Lanes, but I wrote my favorite feature article on one of the last weekends that it stayed open. It was set up like few bowling alleys I’d ever seen. A central concourse with shoe rentals, a pro shop and a bar/grill, with several dozen lanes on either side.
Unlike most bowling alleys, its space seemed well-considered. I remember it vividly, asking the owner’s permission to spend a Friday night talking to regulars. He permitted, and I spent several hours talking to the regulars, hearing stories about what the place meant, eating the fried fish sandwich everyone told me I had to try, and hearing how members of REO Speedwagon wanted to see the pin-return mechanisms when they stopped in. When the article published, the lead picture included my good friend Alicia Robinson among the bowlers in motion.
I bowled around Columbus, as it had many quality lanes, from Mr. Bill’s in Northern Lights to a number of lanes along state Route 161. But Fiesta Lanes, the one where I never rolled a frame, never strayed far from thought. The east side of Nashville boasted numerous bowling choices, but Donelson Bowl always won out. Before it appeared in the television show Nashville, the sign was missing several lights.
That only made it more endearing. The television show appearance was not enough to save Donelson Bowl, Nashville’s oldest bowling alley. With a big surface lot in a high-demand portion of the city, it was really a matter of time. Any old-school place has no chance of survival. Donelson Bowl had the bowling alley character that cannot be faked.
You could drop a few lanes into a trendy cocktail bar and people flock. But 30 lanes? There’s development to be done, fella. Donelson Bowl was old-school, a school welcome to see open in a town of transplants who felt there aren’t enough self-wash dog groomers and hot yoga studios.
I spent many an afternoon or evening at Donelson Bowl, even though there were two other bowling alleys within 2 miles of home. It won by being closest and being unpretentious (try finding that in Nashville now). Their kitchen was rarely open, but you could bring in food. The lanes were often filled, even during the week. I could walk from my house, and did when the weather allowed.
My fellow bowlers could be forgiven for groaning whenever I followed a good roll with “Whew, throwing rocks tonight!” a la The Big Lebowski, because I often did.
When I see the details of Donelson Bowl's replacement – high-end apartments, a pool with grills and a cabana – I wonder if any resident will have an inkling of what occurred on the ground floor for decades.
In fairness, I don’t wonder long. Middle-class entertainment palaces have little place in a gentrified town. What I spent at Donelson Bowl on shoes and lanes couldn’t hope to save the place from the wrecking ball.
That’s true of any bowling alley marked for redevelopment. Lanes full of bowlers will never save an alley.
No comments:
Post a Comment