portland, oregon
june / july 2004
images of the swinging 60’s, tiki culture, and martini splendor. But no more. Now the primary income
for the motel is from the long-stay guests. Guests who, we are told, are waiting for that L&I settlement
that’s always one more week away. Subsisting on lottery scratch tickets and pipe dreams. Still, the
crown jewel of the Banfield is its swimming pool. Front and center with a view of the near-by freeway,
one can picture a time when it was the height of decadence. But don’t worry, measuring 20 feet by
10 feet, this heated pool still gets regular cleanings and chemical testing.
With the right group, this pool can make good on its past glory. And our crew was just the right
people for the job. Steve, Karla, Ro, Terri, Mo, Seth, and Erik brought their gins and their tonics and
taught the residents of the Banfield a thing or two about enjoying a pool. Hours upon hours were
spent submersed in its aqueous blanket, stepping out only to reload our glasses in our room.
At one point, as I was carrying two gins and tonic to the pool, the tattooed-manager eyed me and
said “no alcohol at the pool.” I nodded my understanding and let out a hardy chuckle. He replied
with a maniacal laugh…the kind of laugh that you hear emanating from the biker bar in the bad
part of town. The part of town your mother warned you to stay away from. Warnings that conjured
images of gang-rape and broken bones. It was the kind of laugh that let you know that you had not
yet lived. Time is slipping away and there is dirty business still to do.
I looked in his eyes as we passed and I could tell that he’d seen the bottom of many a fifth of booze
and for a second I could see that in his mind he was back in a dirty cathouse in Vietnam with a
weekend pass, a suspiciously-young prostitute, and a rash that won’t go away. I thought I saw his
eyes twinkle and grow misty. I quickly averted my eyes took a sip of my G&T and noted that it
definitely needed more gin.
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