Palmer House Chicago

It was 1964. I was 13. A skinny little vanilla wafer with long brown hair and a large leather hat - pointy red shoes and feather earrings. I must have looked ridiculous. My father had an important meeting of the Ceramic industry’s premier annual conference at the Palmer House in Chicago. I wanted to look cool but when I walked into the lobby with my three brothers and motherand could not contain my aloofness. I was stunned and awed by its beauty. I remember the high ceiling, the intricate, abundant and extravagant gold décor surrounding every wall, entrance and archway. The chandeliers were larger than my bedroom at home and the paintings on the ceiling made me feel like I was in Italy or France. I remember twirling in the center of the lobby while my parents checked in. I loved the click of my shoes on the tessellated marble floors.

I read about the history of the Palmer House. Giving the Hotel as a gift to his new wife, Potter Palmer spared no expense in design and size. The Palmer House was the largest hotel in the world. It burned to the ground in the great Chicago fire 6 weeks after it opened, only to be rebuilt in greater magnificence.

I remember walking down State Street to the record shop and buying my first Beatles 45. It was actually the first record I every purchased. I had been given records, but never purchased one. I couldn’t help myself. I had checked in. My transfer credit summit would begin in two hours. I had a direct flight from Tampa to Chicago. I walked into the Palmer House, I looked at the ceiling and had a sudden urge to twirl. So I did!

Isn’t it beautiful!