At was the queer old complexion of the long straight street, however, that most came home to me: Hudson, in the afternoon quiet, seemed to stretch back, with fumbling friendly hand, to the earliest outlook of my consciousness.In 2008, the main character in a novel, returning to a fictionalized Hudson called Columbia in 1983, after years of living abroad, describes Warren Street (called Washington Street in the novel) in this way:
As he walked up the dead-straight backbone of the town, he saw, on brand-new signs announcing each cross street, the same grinning whale. Why whales? He vaguely recalled being taught in school that Columbia had been a whaling port. . . .
In the haze of this last leg of his journey up Washington, one sight stopped him.
Just over Third Street, across from the neglected Painted Lady Lounge, was the General Worth Hotel. Once grand, it was now falling down. It was three stories tall, nine windows wide, made of brick. Now all the windows were boarded up or broken, graffiti and bullet holes were prominent, and the classic portico held up by four Doric columns was sagging badly to the right. An old sign read GENERAL WO HOT . Orville had a vision of his mother, wearing a dazzling cobalt-blue satin gown, as President of the Hospital Auxiliary at the annual Spring Fling benefit, flanked by her beloved candy stripers as she made her grand entrance down the majestic staircase to the ballroom of the Worth.
The archival picture of the General Worth Hotel, taken shortly before it was demolished, is from the Library of Congress.
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