A chunk of history

After the decision for demolition, after the asbestos removal, after the total wreckage on Riverside Avenue, for a few days the giant Rookery pit hid a few useful treasures.

Such as the 20-pound column from the Rookery, sitting in my bedroom.

About the size of a log, it falls over easily when made to stand on its end. Lying on its side, it works nicely as a stepstool. I stub my toe on it maybe twice a week, and this usually happens early in the morning.

My piece of the Rookery looks like a molded hunk of exotic cheese, frozen in time and draped in a sheer layer of white gingerbread cookie icing. The exterior has multiple daubings of ivory and gray paint – the result of efforts to cover up chipped spots.

This was before final chipping occurred.

On December 1, 2006, I walked to the demolition site specifically to bring home a souvenir.

A Santa Claus impersonator stood outside of a nearby coffeeshop on Stevens Street and waved people in with the promise of a discount.

He watched me reach through the fence, trying to remove a brick from what used to be the Merton building. Bricks within reach were frozen into the ground.

Santa was smiling when he walked over. I told him I am a history major. I said a chunk of this building would be great for some random research.

He began each sentence with a “Ho-ho-ho.”

“Ho-ho-ho! I was always good at Jeopardy,” especially the questions about history or the Bible, he said.

Then he suggested trespassing.

Unfortunately there was only one accessible opening in the fence. It was the main demolition entry where a vest-wearing crew was lowering and removing the nearby streetlight. I ran back to that opening.

“Hi, I have a question,” I said. “How could I get some of the decorative tile from the front of the building?”

One man said he’d see. He walked along the edge of the pit, inside the fence. I followed partway. He picked up a Greek-style column, showed me and asked, “Like this, but smaller?”

“I’ll take what I can get.” He handed me the column and a few other broken tiles.

I lugged them around the block to show Santa.

He was gone.

After getting a box from a nearby drugstore and walking to the bus plaza, people began asking questions such as, “What is that?”

“Did you get that from that building?” and “Are you going to sell it on eBay?”

There’s not much to be done with a Greek column that can’t stand up to hold a potted plant.

It’s too heavy and rough to be a coffee table conversation piece. It doesn’t fit on the bookcase. Its decorated side is not a flat surface.

Still, it needed a home. It will look wonderful in the garden when we get a house. Meanwhile, the bedroom floor will have to do.