Recently I sat watching the lights go dim on one of my favorite restaurants. Being a long-term local I could almost say for nearly nine years it was one of my haunts. So I must eulogize the passing of some of my nearest and dearest places to spend time in my youth.
First there’s Bagel Fragel, one of the last of the old East Lansing to finally fall under financial burden and be cast out of town permanently. No more fried raisin bagels coated in brown sugar and cinnamon (otherwise known as a Fragel). No more yellow submarines (the #7). No more sitting, watching the world go by while smoking a cigarette and reading The State News. No more studying while playing any song you like on the free jukebox.
I sat there Tuesday, awestruck by the emotions I felt. I was hurt, for how many times had I looked across the table and seen the face of a good friend, or pretty girl I was dining with? How many songs did I hear for the first time on that jukebox? How many Fragels and yellow subs did I eat in nine years? The amount was abundant, just like the amount of memories afforded to me by that little place.
When I was planning to transfer here I had three visions. One was talking smack to my U-M girlfriend about finally being in a reputable school; the second was walking on the men’s gymnastics team and embarrassing myself to no end; and thirdly, every long break I had I would go to Bagel Fragel to study and smoke. But the girlfriend’s an “ex”, the gymnastics team has gone the way of the buffalo and Bagel Fragel is closed. What a year for disappointment. The closing brings back memories of other places long gone.
To those places that may be gone forever from the scenery, you live on in my mind and heart. For nothing and no one ever really leaves you, they move into your memory. This is one of the few things to really call your own. To the State Theatre that sat on Grand River Avenue, looming like its counterparts in Detroit and Ann Arbor. To Confection Connection, a wonderful little place to get ice cream and talk. To Jocundry’s, the bookstore that tried to play with the big boys and went bankrupt. To Brother Gambit, with their interesting bohemian staff and those damn mystery boxes that plagued me in my youth. To Wherehouse Records, which sat perched above town providing good music and good people to whomever walked in the door. To the Small Planet, and the regular bands that played and the goofballs who seemed to live there as opposed to just frequenting it. To Bilbo’s, the only place to go and get Hobbit Sticks and a Black and Tan and also see the freakiest people in this town (aka gutter punks - never feel bad for a gutter punk). To Dooley’s and Sensations, the best place to go if you weren’t 21 and still wanted to drink. Goodbye old friends!
Those are just the ones I remember, and if you ask anyone who has lived here too long, they’ll remember all of them. So unique is replaced by the corporate, a very sad reality, but it’s simple economics, supply and demand and the “invisible hand.” I would never impede progress, but it is a voracious beast, messing up my town and its former landscape. So for the old cutters who feel me, tip your next beer for those that didn’t make it.
Joshua Vincent
packaging junior
