AN ECHO THROUGH TIME
As I walked through the main entrance for the first time in 45 years, I experienced a slow dissolve in time and space. I had always hoped for—dreamed for, really—the opportunity to get inside the Echo Hotel one more time. I could never let it go. Suddenly, I was in the lobby once again of the Echo—an affordable, family-friendly resort in the Catskills that my family visited over many winters until it was shuttered for good in December of 1979. There was no hotel, yet there I was.
For the past four decades, what was once the Echo Hotel has been a summer camp for young Hasidic girls. Things were quiet in the lobby on this day, however, as camp had ended for the season. I was invited and hosted by a gentleman named Solomon. More on him later.
In my mind, I had always hoped that if I had the opportunity to see it once again, the Echo would look exactly the same—almost frozen in time. The lobby has hardly been changed at all. The couches on which my parents, family members, and friends used to spend hours talking are long gone. The windows that used to overlook the indoor pool from the lobby have been plastered over, as has the indoor pool itself. The wall that separated the long, narrow room just off the lobby has been removed, creating one large room.
Solomon thoughtfully guided me from room-to-room, as if he were a tour guide in a historic mansion. We arrived in the main dining room, where the adults used to eat. It was smaller than I had remembered, but remarkably the pink chairs from the room’s glory days—the ones featured on the official hotel postcards—were still in there. As were the engraved wooden doors, leading from the dining room to the lobby. This frozen in time thing was actually true.
One of the most iconic parts of the Echo was the nightclub, which was up two sets of stairs, just past the coffee shop. Me and the other kids used to dance and play on the stage during the day, putting on shows for our parents. At night, the adults would gather to watch the third-rate talent that would play at the Echo. Jackie Mason and Buddy Hackett did not have the Echo in their rotation. During the show, the adults always enjoyed a smorgasbord, as well. I hated that I could not be a part of that. Sometimes my dad would smuggle out mini meatballs for me. And my aunt and uncle always smuggled out chopped liver for their dog, Sargi. Oh, yeah, dogs were allowed to roam free at the Echo. And they did.
Once inside the nightclub, I quickly realized that this room had changed less than the dining room. The golden-colored chairs were all still in there, as were the metal gates that used to separate the different seating areas. The stage where I had “performed” was beckoning, but I kept my distance. I could feel the past and the present colliding in my soul. The feeling was very strange. So many who used to visit this place with my family have left us. Yet, I was gifted this one last visit. I felt many of them there with me.
I have to say, none of this would have been possible without the help of the Wagner family, who connected me to Solomon. I will be forever grateful to Joe Wagner, who ran the Echo after his dad Sam retired, and his daughter Alyson, who made sure that this connection took place.
As we ended our time together, I didn’t really have the right words to thank Solomon. Sometimes words are not enough, even for a writer. As we stood in the rain, I realized that over dramatization probably was not what either of us needed at that moment. I shook his hand, thanked him, and wished him well. When I got in my car, I sat for a moment before turning onto Briggs Highway. I texted Solomon from the car, “I cannot thank you enough.” He immediately responded, “You are very welcome.” Just then, I felt that I could let the Echo go.