Last weekend was Easter in Richmond, and what a nice time I had. (I realize that it was Easter everywhere, but I am not really concerned about the rest of the planet.)
I will now avoid talking about the parties and dances over the weekend, and the Easter Parade, because the Times-Dispatch is perfectly capable of handling that. I need to tell you all about my stay in one of Richmond's also-ran hotels.
The Massad House has been around since the '20s. I'm not quite sure what its original name was--it seems odd that a '20s hotel in Richmond would have had such an Arabian name--but I've never been able to find out much about the place because frankly, I never gave a damn. To the best of my knowledge, it has existed as a little tourist hotel on 4th street forever.
I never really intended to stay at the Massad House. I have always been secretly pleased that when most other cities have long forgotten such things, a little "tourist class" hotel still exists in downtown Richmond.
"Tourist class" hotels, in general, are a thing of the past. The name is--and was-- a bit of a misnomer, or probably a euphemism. These were the sort of hotels that never had grand ballrooms, usually didn't have a restaurant, and were fairly lucky that they even had elevators. Nonetheless, they were cheap and they flourished in every city of any size. Richmond herself had several of them. In the dying days of downtowns, most of them turned into flophouses--or, one of my favorite terms, "hot pillow joints."
I decided to stay at the Massad House because I just didn't feel like crashing on anybody's sofa, or blowing the cash for the grandeur of the Jefferson. I also categorically refuse to stay at one of the city's new hotels. And, the Massad House is cheap.
I've been walking or driving past the old place for years. The upper three floors still boast the '20s Tudor-ish architecture of its origin, but the first floor, as long as I can remember, flaunts an early '70s update. No worries really--this is now old enough to be historic in its own right.
When I checked in (the desk clerk couldn't have been nicer, but this IS Richmond) I noted the Super Seventies lobby decor. I was sorely tempted to hang out in the lobby for a bit, but since Tourist Class hotels don't have bars, I had to forego the temptation. The clerk pointed me toward the elevator.
It has been a good thirty years since I've seen an elevator like this in full function. It's just a regular wooden door, like any other room. You open the door, pull back the iron grille, and step in. There is enough room for you and your suitcase. When I mashed the button for "4" (the clerk told me that he'd given me Suite 401), the elevator crankily came to life. I got to see the other floors drifting past. (This was cool. Very few elevators like this still exist.) Unfortunately, the elevator, obviously annoyed at being called to life, climbed up to the fourth floor, took one look around and promptly went back downstairs. Maybe it was just trying to give me a good ride. Back on the first floor, another dude got onto the elevator. He told me that you just had to be nice to it. Apparently, the elevator knew him and respected him. He got it to take me to the fourth floor and, when I jumped out, it took him back to the third floor (where it seems that he lives).
Suite 401 is a far cry from the usual plushiness that I expect of Richmond hotels, but then I'm used to the Jefferson. It is, however, a suite, which is something I don't get from the Jefferson, because the Jefferson charges a cool thousand for a suite, and this was only ninety dollars.
It also features some of the most bizarre seventies furniture I've ever seen, very strange paintings, and windows that still open all the way. Why don't hotel windows open anymore? Well, most hotels have central air now (the Massad House does not) and they're afraid you'll fling yourself out of them. Should you want to off yourself in 20's tabloid-paper style, you can still do so at the Massad House.
Suite 401 contains a parlor (aforementioned 70s furniture), a bedroom (surprisingly comfortable bed, if crummy pillows) and one of the more bizarre bathrooms I have seen to date. The bathroom apparently had only a tub originally, but sometime between 1927 and now, someone decided that it needed a shower. The original tub was removed and a tub/shower was installed. Unfortunately, this seems to have required the construction of a strange bump-out in the wall, which means that the resulting tub is about four feet long, three feet wide, and six inches deep. The shower head, which has to span that bump-out, is nearly two feet wide. I don't quite get it, but it was highly amusing.
When I looked at "Trip Advisor" after the fact, I was somewhat disturbed to read all of the negative comments about the Massad House. After all, in my mind, nothing in Richmond can do any wrong at all. And there wasn't anything really wrong with the place.
People had commented that "it smells like smoke." Hey, folks, it's Virginia, we smoke here. "It's old." Well, you knew that going in, didn't you? "The elevator is scary." I thought the elevator was one of the cooler aspects of an already cool weekend. "The air conditioner didn't work." Mine did, although I didn't need it to, because the windows actually open and Richmond's air is probably nicer than wherever you came from in the first place.
I may not need to stay at the Massad House again, but I wouldn't mind. It wasn't perfect, but it WAS clean, and it DID have character. I could have spent the same amount of money for a totally sterile place in the suburbs which would have been much less convenient. I think that the people who don't like places like this are mostly just products of Mall Culture: they want everything to be brand-new and cookie-cutter style. This old hotel is still doing exactly what it was meant to do: provide decent and clean but not particularly luxurious accomodation.
Even if I never stay in the Massad House again, it's likely that I will show up once in a while to ride the elevator. I think that I finally made friends with it.
I will now avoid talking about the parties and dances over the weekend, and the Easter Parade, because the Times-Dispatch is perfectly capable of handling that. I need to tell you all about my stay in one of Richmond's also-ran hotels.
The Massad House has been around since the '20s. I'm not quite sure what its original name was--it seems odd that a '20s hotel in Richmond would have had such an Arabian name--but I've never been able to find out much about the place because frankly, I never gave a damn. To the best of my knowledge, it has existed as a little tourist hotel on 4th street forever.
I never really intended to stay at the Massad House. I have always been secretly pleased that when most other cities have long forgotten such things, a little "tourist class" hotel still exists in downtown Richmond.
"Tourist class" hotels, in general, are a thing of the past. The name is--and was-- a bit of a misnomer, or probably a euphemism. These were the sort of hotels that never had grand ballrooms, usually didn't have a restaurant, and were fairly lucky that they even had elevators. Nonetheless, they were cheap and they flourished in every city of any size. Richmond herself had several of them. In the dying days of downtowns, most of them turned into flophouses--or, one of my favorite terms, "hot pillow joints."
I decided to stay at the Massad House because I just didn't feel like crashing on anybody's sofa, or blowing the cash for the grandeur of the Jefferson. I also categorically refuse to stay at one of the city's new hotels. And, the Massad House is cheap.
I've been walking or driving past the old place for years. The upper three floors still boast the '20s Tudor-ish architecture of its origin, but the first floor, as long as I can remember, flaunts an early '70s update. No worries really--this is now old enough to be historic in its own right.
When I checked in (the desk clerk couldn't have been nicer, but this IS Richmond) I noted the Super Seventies lobby decor. I was sorely tempted to hang out in the lobby for a bit, but since Tourist Class hotels don't have bars, I had to forego the temptation. The clerk pointed me toward the elevator.
It has been a good thirty years since I've seen an elevator like this in full function. It's just a regular wooden door, like any other room. You open the door, pull back the iron grille, and step in. There is enough room for you and your suitcase. When I mashed the button for "4" (the clerk told me that he'd given me Suite 401), the elevator crankily came to life. I got to see the other floors drifting past. (This was cool. Very few elevators like this still exist.) Unfortunately, the elevator, obviously annoyed at being called to life, climbed up to the fourth floor, took one look around and promptly went back downstairs. Maybe it was just trying to give me a good ride. Back on the first floor, another dude got onto the elevator. He told me that you just had to be nice to it. Apparently, the elevator knew him and respected him. He got it to take me to the fourth floor and, when I jumped out, it took him back to the third floor (where it seems that he lives).
Suite 401 is a far cry from the usual plushiness that I expect of Richmond hotels, but then I'm used to the Jefferson. It is, however, a suite, which is something I don't get from the Jefferson, because the Jefferson charges a cool thousand for a suite, and this was only ninety dollars.
It also features some of the most bizarre seventies furniture I've ever seen, very strange paintings, and windows that still open all the way. Why don't hotel windows open anymore? Well, most hotels have central air now (the Massad House does not) and they're afraid you'll fling yourself out of them. Should you want to off yourself in 20's tabloid-paper style, you can still do so at the Massad House.
Suite 401 contains a parlor (aforementioned 70s furniture), a bedroom (surprisingly comfortable bed, if crummy pillows) and one of the more bizarre bathrooms I have seen to date. The bathroom apparently had only a tub originally, but sometime between 1927 and now, someone decided that it needed a shower. The original tub was removed and a tub/shower was installed. Unfortunately, this seems to have required the construction of a strange bump-out in the wall, which means that the resulting tub is about four feet long, three feet wide, and six inches deep. The shower head, which has to span that bump-out, is nearly two feet wide. I don't quite get it, but it was highly amusing.
When I looked at "Trip Advisor" after the fact, I was somewhat disturbed to read all of the negative comments about the Massad House. After all, in my mind, nothing in Richmond can do any wrong at all. And there wasn't anything really wrong with the place.
People had commented that "it smells like smoke." Hey, folks, it's Virginia, we smoke here. "It's old." Well, you knew that going in, didn't you? "The elevator is scary." I thought the elevator was one of the cooler aspects of an already cool weekend. "The air conditioner didn't work." Mine did, although I didn't need it to, because the windows actually open and Richmond's air is probably nicer than wherever you came from in the first place.
I may not need to stay at the Massad House again, but I wouldn't mind. It wasn't perfect, but it WAS clean, and it DID have character. I could have spent the same amount of money for a totally sterile place in the suburbs which would have been much less convenient. I think that the people who don't like places like this are mostly just products of Mall Culture: they want everything to be brand-new and cookie-cutter style. This old hotel is still doing exactly what it was meant to do: provide decent and clean but not particularly luxurious accomodation.
Even if I never stay in the Massad House again, it's likely that I will show up once in a while to ride the elevator. I think that I finally made friends with it.
posted by Daniel | 2:34 AM
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