By David Lund
I like writing stories about hotels and my experiences in the hospitality business. It is no wonder, I guess, in part because I grew up in a unique place. Guess what it had and still has? A great hotel.
A small town in eastern Canada that boasts a lovely summer resort. As a kid in the 1970s and early ‘80s, it is no surprise that this town and the hotel formed a major backdrop for my life.
Most people grow up in a place that has a factory or some other mainstay, but my hometown did not have any of that, it had a hotel. Funny thing was and largely still is this, most of the people that work there are not from St. Andrews. They’re from some other place. As I came of age it found me and, as they say, the rest is history. But not so fast. This story is about the pedigree of that institution and how it not only appealed to me but also left its mark on me. It is also about cracking that code, the code of the GONK.
When I say most of the people that work there are not from my town, I bet you are not really believing me, but it is true. As an adolescent and teenager growing up, I vividly can remember the excitement and extreme activity that spring brought to my town almost entirely due to the hotel gearing up to open for the summer. There was an onslaught of new people every spring that just arrived in what seemed like one day. All these new people and license plates were almost entirely from Ontario and Quebec.
They were the hotel summer staff, and they were all imported from upper Canada. All the positions in the hotel that required any polish or presentation were not from my town, at least not very many and that is largely still the way it is today. The people who worked in the maintenance department and on the golf course were the exceptions. These departments were staffed largely by the locals, due in no small part to their lack of guest contact.
My initiation to the hotel world came two-fold. One, as a teenager I found my way into more than one staff party at the hotel. These parties were famous because of their exclusivity and reputation for being the place for fun and especially for me and my friends as the place to find the girls. Those elusive summer girls that worked at the hotel, much like the guys, kept to themselves. Cracking the code meant access to another world that was right at my feet but almost inaccessible because I was a “townie.”
Looking back, I do not blame the hotel guys for limiting admission to their little club but at the time it was a big deal. The male hotel summer staff was held in a certain regard, or should I say disdain, by me and my townie friends because of their reputation for snobbery. No townies were allowed near unless you knew the secret handshake or possessed a magic invitation.
The hotel summer staff would occasionally be rumored to have mixed with some of the townies and it often resulted in a skirmish or some other notable incident. Such as it was, this was the reality of my town in the summer. A flood of new and interesting people but largely keeping to themselves and not mixing with the locals. To me this was an opportunity that needed to be pursued.
The hotel backdrop was a special place to be growing up. It is where the rich and famous went to be pampered by the seemingly rich and famous staff. The upper crusts and blue bloods, as it were, was the popular notion for me and my townie friends. An exclusivity existed for access to the facilities. The pool, tennis courts, golf course, restaurants and even public spaces were seemingly off limits by and large to townies unless you possessed an expensive pass or better still an invitation.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not jealous. But it must be said that growing up in this place that has such nice things that were inaccessible was a bit of a frustration and a mystery at the same time. I decided to find my way inside, or should I say, it found me.
This leads me to the second part of my initiation. It came in the form of a high school romance. As her mother would say, “He arrived one day with his stereo and that’s when I knew it was serious.”
I did bring my record player and my albums to her house and they did get a lot of play. Her father was the hotel general manager, another person from Upper Canada.
Being on the inside of this hotel world was magic to me. Not only the romance but the all-access card that came with it allowed me to see and experience a world that was right at my fingertips but not previously accessible. You must be reading this and wondering what all the fuss was about, but, seriously, for me the excitement and thrill of the hotel world was forever stamped on me that year.
So many things about the hotel were revealed to me directly as a result of my relationship with her. I remember a week-long spring break trip with her and her family that included three incredible hotel stays. I was just part of the entourage but what I experienced was right out of the movies, and I mean the good ones. The finest suites, the immense facilities, the elaborate and memorable room drops, the non-stop wining and dining, all the service and pampering you can imagine. It was almost too much for me to handle! Did people really live like this?
I was hooked, there was no turning back. My initiation was complete and even though the romance ended not long after spring break and the stereo came home, I was now on the inside of this world and determined to make my own way. Little did I know that being bitten by the hotel bug meant this townie was on his own path to a different world. A world that would include many, many hotels over four decades, both as a hospitality manager and guest.
I will wrap this one up by acknowledging my thanks for being exposed to the hotel world like I was at that time and my townie roots. My story is heartwarming to write about because looking back and remembering the way things were and how they have turned out for me means a lot.
