The Hollywood Inn of Maryland

By the time my father George was twenty years old, he was supporting his wife Bebe, a young son Peter, and a new baby. My grandparents Pota and Pete were still crazy upset that my parents had eloped in 1935, and that my mother was not a Greek girl. Pota still refused to accept the situation, but in 1937 when my sister was born, my grandfather Pete was ready to cave. He had bought property near Camp Springs some time in the early 1930s thinking the urban congregation of St Sophia's might want to use the grounds for picnics and gatherings. The Hollywood Inn, as it was called, was near the middle of nowhere in an area so rural, it didn’t have a street address. The area which was once known as Red's Corner or Meadows. Unfortunately the church thought the place was too far from the city and not as much fun as an excursion to Marshall Hall. Pete upped his game when he secured a license to sell beer in June 1933 as soon as regulations prohibiting the sale of beer were relaxed and before the official end of prohibition at the end of that year. Here's a Hollywood Inn ad from 1934.

And here is a photo of the family on the front porch around 1935. My grandfather Pete is in the back standing between his brother Alec and his daughter Catherine. The front row is son Nick, Alec's wife Koula and my grandmother Pota. The children belong to Koula and Alec. My father is in the very back grinning.

After my sister was born, Pete decided to let his son live there in exchange for running the roadhouse. During the week, George worked for Quick Service Laundry. When he was out driving the delivery truck, he would put flyers on parked cars advertising Saturday night dances and chicken dinners on Sunday at the inn. (Chicken plucking was also on his resume.)   

I am guessing my father got an extra good deal on these business cards because his name is misspelled.

I only have one rather desultory photo of the Inn's interior. Seems like everyone is waiting for Godot including my grandfather Pete who is standing to the right of the stage.

Both of my parents grew up in the city. This was their first run at life in the country with chickens, dogs and cats. I love this goofy photo of my sister sharing her playpen with a dog and puppies. Her brother Pete has his head at the bars.

One memorable Saturday, the Inn was rented out to a group who wanted to have a "smoker." George had no idea what was involved until the entertainment arrived. My father took one look at the four dancers and decided he should ask my mother to leave her hostess stand and stay upstairs for the rest for the evening which, as it turns out, was cut short by a raid. As my father told it, a nosy neighbor caught wind of the affair and called the police. The incident garnered a mention on the front page of The Evening Star on February 5, 1938. My father was arrested and fined for his ignorance, but he always loved to tell the story.

A year later the word "smoker" took on a whole new meaning on a windy night in March.  My parents hosted a friend's birthday party earlier in the evening. They had cake and danced, mostly to "Hold Tight" which was in heavy rotation on the music box as my mother called it in her journal. The party broke up just before midnight, and after shutting down the Inn, my father fell asleep while Bebe was reading in bed. She heard rustling noises in the attic and wondered why they still had rats with all of the new cats roaming the property. She woke up George, and after listening a moment, he went down the long hall to investigate. When he pushed open the trap door to the attic, he discovered flames and yelled back to my mother to wake the household which included their helpers Mary Louise and Horace. They left the building at 12:15. My father went back in with Horace to try and save a few things, but it was too smoky. Half of the building was already consumed by flames.  George drove his DeSoto four miles to the Forrestville fire department to get help, but by the time he returned, the inn had burned to the ground. The devastation took less than forty five minutes, and the recruited firemen used their resources to save the woods and neighboring houses. 

George and Bebe lost everything that night except the clothes on their backs which were pajamas. They stayed with a neighbor and had to borrow clothes to drive into town the next day. Pete eventually sold the property to Andrews Air Force Base. My father found an apartment on E Street a week later, and they started over from scratch with donated clothing and furniture.