Columbus is a well-swept, prosperous city, with large corporate buildings and the usual appurtenances of a state capital. There are public parks, immaculately kept, and solid-looking public institutions. There are twenty- (maybe even thirty-?) storey office buildings. I slept the night before in my tent, and while the weather is very mild, January camping is generally the kind of thing that makes you appreciate the indoors, so I drove downtown, parked my truck, and imagined I would find myself breakfast somewhere in the city. I walked around for about an hour and a half, and, not finding anything open anywhere – nothing at all – I returned to my truck and made a meal of the various things I have been carrying in my truck. I found a few cafes – open only on weekdays. Some other restaurants I presume will open for lunch. But there was no place to eat or sit anywhere downtown on a Saturday morning. After camping out the night before, I would have eaten almost anything.
The downtown is doing well, in general: everything looks fine, there are no empty buildings, there are large banks and office buildings. But there are no small businesses. The symbol of this is Main Street, which I presume at one point had at least some commerce. In fact, it probably had a lot of small shops. The large corporations and government offices which are now found downtown had no use, presumably, for the small shops on Main Street; and since this is a state capital, and you want to keep things tidy, as buildings got abandoned they were promptly bulldozed. Now there is basically nothing on Main Street: just the city’s dead heart. There being no homes anywhere nearby, there are no people, no neighborhoods, no children, nothing, just building and pavement and lights. Occasionally a car goes by.
There are two pawn shops on Main Street, and a bail bonds place – the courthouse must be near. The pawn shop windows are now the entirety of the holiday window shopping on Main Street in Ohio’s capital city. I especially admired the neon “Colt 45” sign.
Needless to say, the “Lutheran Book Concern” is not only not there anymore, but the culture that produced such a billboard is gone with it.
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