Once upon a time, we lived in the veritable lap of the Gods, surrounded by architectural beauty and cultural splendor. One could visit places like the Mel-O-Dee restaurant and sip an ice cold Coca Cola from a green glass bottle while chatting with one's fellow lunch counter enthusiasts about chlorophyll toothpaste, the new Stan Freberg record, and other things literary.
But no more.
Like a television show that was cancelled before its plotline was resolved, the old Mel-O-Dee can still be seen on a Sarasota section of the Tamiami Trail, screaming for help in a zombie world that no longer hears it or recognizes it.
This morning I trotted out to the site where the empty building still stands, just waiting for some modern hotshot developer to purchase it, tear it down, and build condos. It's tempting to make some inquiries on the property for a possible location of my coming-soon-any-day-wait-for-it Tiki Bar, the Pulcova Club, but this is high-demand near-the-waterfront and near-the-airport real estate and the soil it stands on is probably worth more than the structure itself. I wonder if it's too late for some enterprising meddlers to have it declared a historical treasure to spare it from the bulldozers?