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"The Evening News Newburgh NY Sunday January 21, 1974... BUILDING BURNS... A large structure at Mister G's Round Hill Resort on Rt. 208, Washngtonville was destroyed by fire Sunday night (January 20, 1974)... that kept firemen at the scent [sic] for 12 hours."           Washingtonville residents gathered at the dirt road entrace, hindering the rescue efforts of the Monell Engine Co., Salisbury Mills, Mountain Lodge, Monroe, Campbell Hall and Chester fire companies.
20th January 2025: It's been 51 years - longer than half a century, and yes, some of us are still here... remembering.
 For those of us who were there, back then, this site is an understood tribute to a place many called "home" 

Realities, Dreams & Imagination... "Life"...It's what we do.

20th January 2025:
51 years... When we think of it in terms of "centuries", it's longer than half a century ago when Mr. G's Round Hill Lodge went from a beautiful little gathering place on a remote hill in the bucolic country-side of Orange County, NY to nothing but smouldering ash and cinders. A half century. (I remember when anything over 50 years old was on the verge of being classified as an "antique". Well! Those of us who remember G's because we were there ought now, to be considered "collectibles".)

I've been asked, over the course of years, maintaining this web-site, why I "bother" with it. Surely, there are so few remaining who "remember" the place. And of those, precious few who make any use of the internet, let alone a computer. Don't I consider this to be just a waste of time?

The answer is simply: "No." G's was, to a great many of us, back then, a place of refuge from a world that was, in those days, quite oppressive. For some of us, time spent at G's was a few hours of being able to enjoy breathing Earth's air, in peace. Granted, much of the time was music... the old "juke-box" blaring, but in that music, there actually was a "peace" of mind and spirit. We were able to laugh and cry with one-another, to talk of our time before G's, to ponder and plan our time after we left. One way or another, time at G's was always a "celebration" or a "commemoration". We could celebrate successes, relationships. We could "commemorate" anniversaries, personal to each one of us. We could console one another with others who understood.

For me, personally, the importance of G's was summed-up once upon a time when some-one pointed-out:
Were it not for G's, I wouldn't be "here", even today, to remember, to type these words. "George", the proprietor, was, literally, a "Life-Saver"... and I don't doubt that I was the only one. In those days, there were many efforts to "dispose of" us, to "exile" us.

For me, personally, one of my most vivid memories was the evening of a Halloween party evening when I managed to make my way to "The Lodge", walking in with blackened eyes, swollen lip, open scratches on my chest. I'd managed to survive another assault... "at home", as it's called. Beaten, having had furnishings thrown at me, frantically. In a moment's lull, I made my way for the door, with keys to the car in hand, and I bolted, almost blindly, into the night.

I'd stopped first, at my grand-mother's house where I knew my mother would be, and walked in to let them both see what they'd tried their best to remain ignorant of. My "father" had taken another rage, "another". He was rather prone to those, and I was usually the target of what-ever anger he'd held at the time.

"Tell me he loves me... I dare you to look at me and tell me that he loves me." I calmly said to my mother.

"In his way, he does." she began. "But if you don't leave the house... now... one of these days he's going to kill you. And think of the stigma on your brothers and sisters, growing up knowing that their father killed their brother. You have to leave."

I knew where I'd go that night, because there was no going back to "the house". He WOULD kill me, that night, if I dared step foot "back home". The only place I knew of where I'd not have to think about "safety"... Mr. G's. And so, as calmly as I'd walking into my grand-mother's, seeing that she was having no part of the situation, I went back out into the night, driving, as quickly as I could, to "refuge".

Turning off the main road and driving, through the darkness, along that old, bumpy dirt road, the kilometer (hlaf mile) through the silhouettes of trees, round the turns, up the hill, as I crossed the little "brook", I left the Hell of the evening behind and making that last turn at the top of the hill, at the "Main House", I can still hear the music coming through the front door, across the porch and into that October night. I could hear the voices of the people inside, the cacophony of talking, singing. I was "home". I was "safe". Finally, after what seemed to have been hours of not breathing, I took in a deep breath of air, turned off the car and made my way along the dirt and gravel drive to the grand front porch, climbed the stairs to the front door and stepped out of a violent world and into the surroundings of "Friends"... "Family".

I was quite the sight. I'd not "cleaned-up" in my rush. So by the time I arrived, blood had dried, the dark circles around my eyes had grown even darker. As I smiled at the people mulling about, I could feel that my lip was swollen. And today, I don't recall the names, but out of the crowd, a fellow came, looked at me and asked, in a "panicked voice"... "WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU? ARE YOU ALRIGHT?"

I was calm now, and answered quietly that I was great, now. And as I explained, truthfully, the events of the evening, I was hurried into the bar. "What do you drink?" he asked, and as I told him, he called the "order" to the bark-keep.

"Here" he said, handing me a glass, "It's on the bar. Drink this and wait right here. OK?"

I still remember how refreshing that first sip of scotch tasted and how I had to make sure it didn't get to the gash in my lip.

A moment later, the young fellow returned to say "You're not going any-where tonight. There's a room up-stairs for you. Stay here for the week-end. We'll figure it all out tomorrow. There's towels. Go get yourself cleaned-up and come back down when you're ready. OK?"

Through that night, everybody I met with, people I knew, people I'd never met before, were compassionate, kind, concerned. There was a "show" for the Halloween holiday. (I'd planned on attending that anyway, and I'd been dressing to go when the "home assault" occurred.) The show was wonderful. The people were wonderful. And for all intent and purpose, it was another wonderful week-end night... the juke-box played, we danced as we always did... and when the bar closed, I pitched-in to help with the clean-up and closing for the night.

The next morning, I woke, had a look at the some-what bruised face in the mirror, made my way down-stairs to the kitchen and helped prepare breakfasts and such with the staff who, for the most part, treated me like "part of the crew"... in their exceptionally human and humane way. And the "guests" arrived in what was the "dance floor" last night, to the tables, to have their Sunday morning breakfasts.

That after-noon, we, "the staff", sat at the tables, and they discussed what I was going to do. "The room is still yours for as long as you need it." We talked about "opportunities" and "alternatives", plans for when I'd leave G's. It was decided that I'd stay the night and on Monday morning I'd head out, head back to "the house". If I needed, there would be a place for me to come back to at G's. I shouldn't hesitate.

I didn't have to go back to G's on Monday. And from that point forward, so much of my life swiftly changed. I had no "home"... it was made clear that I was a "guest" in that place now, and for the week following, hasty arrangements were made for my departure.

I never did get the chance to actually sit and thank George for his kindness. With-out him, there was no telling where I'd have gone to, what I would have done. And with-out him, I would have had no place to be that week-end... No, I never did get to thank him.

This web-site has become my enduring "Thanks". Although I'm sure that most of us who enjoyed so much time at The Lodge are now "gone"... we were, on average, then, in our 20s, some in the early 30s, and there were a few who were, I'm sure, older still... I'm careening into 70 years these days. Some perished during the 80s. After G's was incinerated, we dispersed, off to meet in other places that NEVER even compared to G's. We've moved about the planet... "Life" happened.

I'm sure there are other places, for other people, that hold, for them, a sense of "serenity", a moment's absolute JOY, and hopefully some of them are still around and about. But for me, Mr. G's Round Hill Lodge will always be a place of highest importance because, as I say, were it not for The Lodge and the LOVE of those there... this site would never be... nor... would I.

And so... 50 years (plus) later, the "back story" is brought to life. That "fateful" night was October 1973. I'd moved away some 160km (100 miles) 2 weeks later. When I could, I'd drive back down to G's for a week-end.

When, on the week-end of 26 January, I stopped by at "my parent's place" to visit, I remember having a little bite to eat with my mother and when I said that I had to get going she asked:
"Where are you going?"
"Well, I'm here, where else would I be going?"
"I don't think so." she said, rather calmly, and got up from the table and shortly after, returned to the kitchen where we'd been sitting. In silence, she placed a copy of the local news-paper on the table, and sat down quietly.
There, on the front page (a copy of it is here, on the site)... the "news".
I stayed the night and left the next morning...
My "connections to home" were severed... incinerated.

"Life" is strange... "Time" too. Traumatic events register in the mind so vividly, and as both "Life" and "Time" pass, those are the moments that linger the strongest.

Mr. G's was a refuge, it's connected, intricately, with my "first real love" and the "other loves" we tend to have in our youth. It was a place of "Friends" (a term I don't apply liberally), and "Family" (which are not to be confused with "relatives"). In my mind, my memory, it's still very much "there", some-where. And if there are ANY "others" in this old world who were there, I've no doubt there are many more accounts that could be told of times... good, perhaps not-so-good, of love, romance, Friendships, arguments, disagreements, "new loves", separations... but the music, the juke-box... surely, the relatively small collection here that I've held close to heart over these years, will impart the moods, the sentiments. And I hope that those who WERE there will be able to enjoy what's here... and for those who never had the opportunity to participate, may this be of some inspiration...

And George, if you're out there... THANK YOU! What a most magnificent human being you were... a heart that embraced so many, so often, at a period of human history where that compassion was SO desperately needed. THANK YOU.

The Evening News


BUILDING BURNS -A large structure at Mister G's Round Hill Resort on Rt. 208, Washingtonville, was destroyed by fire Sunday night. Here fireman douse smouldering embers.


Resort Fire Fought
WASHINGTONVILLE - Two firemen from the Monell Engine Co. were injured today as a result of a fire at the main building of Mister G's Roundhill Resort, on Rt. 208 that kept firemen at the scent [sic] for 12 hours.
A spokeman for Arden Hill Hospital said Melvin Cox, who had been brought in for observation, and James Sonley, who suffered a dislocated shoulder, are both reported in good condition.
A spokeman for the Monell Engine Co. said firemen were called to the scene at 11:30 p.m. Sunday. At 11:30 a.m. Monday, he said, they were packing their hoses and preparing to come back. Also responding to the fire, a spokeman for Mutual Aid said, were the Salisbury Mills, Mountain Lodge, Monroe, Campbell Hall and Chester fire companies.

Meanwhile, from the old juke box against the wall on the right, the music plays in distant but vivid memory:

*Good morning heart-ache, here we go again.
Good morning heart-ache, you’re the one who knew me when…
We don’t have tomorrow… but we had yesterday.
*"Good Morning Heartache" Decca Records Irene Higginbotham, Ervin Drake, Dan Fisher 22 January 1946 (Billie Holiday)

I would call you up every Saturday night
and we’d both stay out ’til the morning light.
And though time goes by I will always be in a club with you in 1973…*
*James Blunt, “1973” Atlantic, Warner, RCA Mark Batson and James Blunt

 

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