I chose the Mayflower as my Port in La Porte ‘cause it was on the route--also on the west side of La Porte, a welcome position since my 90 miles in 90 degree heat had taken about 9 hours given all the slow-go’s in Chicago and Hammond/Gary.
You know you’re in for a treat when The Gideons had not even been there to rest a King James Bible in the bedside table. Maybe they hadn’t done so because there wasn’t a bedside table or lamp. There was, however, a 50 watt ceiling light along with a fridge decorated with an American flag decal and an 8 ½ x 11 paint by numbers seascape on the wall.
There were more “have nots” than “haves” at this Mayflower Port in La Porte. There was NOT:
* Molding around the door--glad it was summer, not winter
* A bath tub
* A sink drain plug; some rusted out razor blades and blade covers were down the drain, doing a their best to plug the hole.
There was dimensionally challenged soap--smaller than the largest current 42 cent stamp and as thin as Communion Wafers. There were rusted out heaters in both the main room and bath room. There was stuffing coming out of the ripped bed spread.
Nana, the proprietress, was probably my age but appeared at least 15 years older. She was eating disorder thin with a deep, throaty, whisky voice. Her hair was straight and as white as the Monsters’ hair was black; her skin matched her hair. A scary looking person, you might say. As I left my room to walk ¾ of a mile up the road to the nearest restaurant (which Nana had told me was ¼ of a mile away), she stopped me to comment on my address in Wilmette. She had lived about 4 blocks away 25 years ago. She recounted her other, former north shore addresses she had once held. You know she has quite a story to tell going from Chicago’s north shore to La Porte’s Mayflower. I chose not to engage her in a recountence of How It Was; What Happened; and How It Is Today.
Safe I felt at The Mayflower. If The Gideons couldn’t find this place, probably neither could the bad guys.