The Oxnard Hotel
We moved from the farm to Norfolk in December, when I was four. Mom and Dad bought a small, three bedroom ranch-style house with an unfinished basement and an old garage on the alley. I had a room of my own with hardwood floors and big corner windows. We had a dial telephone--no more party lines-- and a real bathroom with both a tub and a shower. I was fascinated with the pull-down stairs that led to the attic. I remember when Dad first showed me the brand-new gas stove he bought to surprise Mom. (The old combination gas/wood cookstove had to stay at the farm.) We hadn't lived there long before friends and relatives surprised us with a housewarming party.
Mom and Dad bought an old hotel business, that came complete with a manager. Dad got a job with Nash Finch, unloading groceries in the warehouse. One day, he brought us a huge yellow snail that had come in from South America with the bananas. He didn't work at Nash Finch for very long though, because he and Mom soon found out that it wasn't prudent to rely on the dishonest manager to take care of things at the hotel. So in September, right after I started kindergarten, Mom and Dad found a renter for our house, and we moved to the hotel. That was the beginning of life in the hotel business.
The Oxnard Hotel was built in the late 1800's. It had three usable stories, with a huge staircase next to the front desk, complete with massive banisters--perfect for sliding down, as long as we were careful not to smack the newel post too hard at the end. The phone booths in the lobby were treasure troves for young children; Dan and I checked the coin returns daily for change. The lobby smelled of stale cigarette smoke. Mom had to make sure that the ashtrays were kept emptied because Dan quickly developed a taste for cigarette butts! We made friends with the old men, the permanent hotel residents who sat in the lobby everyday to watch TV.
Like many old hotels in the early sixties, the Oxnard rented space to a barber shop and a beauty shop. I remember the beauty shop owner in particular, because we never knew what color her hair would be. She changed it for every holiday, orange for Halloween, green for St. Patrick's Day, lavender for Easter, red, white, and blue for the Fourth of July. This was at a time when "only your hairdresser knew for sure" if you colored your hair, so her obviously dyed hair was a novelty.
The lobby contained a pop machine and a candy machine. We could buy a bottle of pop or a candy bar for a nickel. But it was better, by far, to walk next door to the bakery, where we could buy a fresh glazed doughnut for four cents, or a long john for five cents.
Mom and Dad didn't realize at first that the Oxnard was the the local place of business for Norfolk's prostitutes. That had to change immediately, of course! (Over the years, being in the hotel business provided quite an extensive education for everyone in our family.) Besides the hotel's permanent residents, many salesmen stayed there regularly. I also remember the Asian chicken sexers who stayed at the Oxnard every spring when they came to Norfolk to work in the hatchery.
Mom and Dad took turns manning the front desk, but they also hired desk clerks to work some shifts. We had a buzzer in our apartment, too, so someone would have to make a dash for the front desk when the buzzer summoned them. Mom also worked as a maid, cleaning hotel rooms everyday.
Our family lived in an apartment at the back of the hotel, just off the lobby on the main floor. We also had a private entrance that opened directly onto a vacant lot that was sometimes used to sell cars. We didn't have a real back yard with grass, but Dad built us a sandbox, and we rode our bikes on the sidewalk on the side of the hotel. Our apartment had an L-shaped kitchen and living room that would be called a great room today, with two bedrooms and a bathroom. Another large room, which we called the laundry room, opened off the main room. It was as big as the rest of our apartment, and contained the washer and dryer at one end, Dad's work bench, our toys and a TV, and plenty of storage space for old furniture and things left behind by hotel guests.
We lived at the Oxnard Hotel until I was nine, when we moved to another hotel in another town. During the thirteen years that my parents managed hotels, I was always conscious of being different from other kids, because I didn't know anyone else who lived in an apartment, let alone a hotel, and few of my friends' mothers worked at all or, as mine did, in the family business. Now, I can look back at our unique hotel life as an adventure but, at the time, my greatest desire was to live in a real house with a yard.
Mom and Dad bought an old hotel business, that came complete with a manager. Dad got a job with Nash Finch, unloading groceries in the warehouse. One day, he brought us a huge yellow snail that had come in from South America with the bananas. He didn't work at Nash Finch for very long though, because he and Mom soon found out that it wasn't prudent to rely on the dishonest manager to take care of things at the hotel. So in September, right after I started kindergarten, Mom and Dad found a renter for our house, and we moved to the hotel. That was the beginning of life in the hotel business.
The Oxnard Hotel was built in the late 1800's. It had three usable stories, with a huge staircase next to the front desk, complete with massive banisters--perfect for sliding down, as long as we were careful not to smack the newel post too hard at the end. The phone booths in the lobby were treasure troves for young children; Dan and I checked the coin returns daily for change. The lobby smelled of stale cigarette smoke. Mom had to make sure that the ashtrays were kept emptied because Dan quickly developed a taste for cigarette butts! We made friends with the old men, the permanent hotel residents who sat in the lobby everyday to watch TV.
Like many old hotels in the early sixties, the Oxnard rented space to a barber shop and a beauty shop. I remember the beauty shop owner in particular, because we never knew what color her hair would be. She changed it for every holiday, orange for Halloween, green for St. Patrick's Day, lavender for Easter, red, white, and blue for the Fourth of July. This was at a time when "only your hairdresser knew for sure" if you colored your hair, so her obviously dyed hair was a novelty.
The lobby contained a pop machine and a candy machine. We could buy a bottle of pop or a candy bar for a nickel. But it was better, by far, to walk next door to the bakery, where we could buy a fresh glazed doughnut for four cents, or a long john for five cents.
Mom and Dad didn't realize at first that the Oxnard was the the local place of business for Norfolk's prostitutes. That had to change immediately, of course! (Over the years, being in the hotel business provided quite an extensive education for everyone in our family.) Besides the hotel's permanent residents, many salesmen stayed there regularly. I also remember the Asian chicken sexers who stayed at the Oxnard every spring when they came to Norfolk to work in the hatchery.
Mom and Dad took turns manning the front desk, but they also hired desk clerks to work some shifts. We had a buzzer in our apartment, too, so someone would have to make a dash for the front desk when the buzzer summoned them. Mom also worked as a maid, cleaning hotel rooms everyday.
Our family lived in an apartment at the back of the hotel, just off the lobby on the main floor. We also had a private entrance that opened directly onto a vacant lot that was sometimes used to sell cars. We didn't have a real back yard with grass, but Dad built us a sandbox, and we rode our bikes on the sidewalk on the side of the hotel. Our apartment had an L-shaped kitchen and living room that would be called a great room today, with two bedrooms and a bathroom. Another large room, which we called the laundry room, opened off the main room. It was as big as the rest of our apartment, and contained the washer and dryer at one end, Dad's work bench, our toys and a TV, and plenty of storage space for old furniture and things left behind by hotel guests.
We lived at the Oxnard Hotel until I was nine, when we moved to another hotel in another town. During the thirteen years that my parents managed hotels, I was always conscious of being different from other kids, because I didn't know anyone else who lived in an apartment, let alone a hotel, and few of my friends' mothers worked at all or, as mine did, in the family business. Now, I can look back at our unique hotel life as an adventure but, at the time, my greatest desire was to live in a real house with a yard.
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