As a boy growing up in the 1970s Bronx, there were more than a few television commercials that played repeatedly on local New York City stations—businesses chumming for customers in the sprawling demographic. Mount Airy Lodge in the Pocono Mountains—the “premier honeymoon hideaway” with its floor-to-ceiling mirrors, heart-shaped bathtubs, and every conceivable amenity—was one of them. “All you have to bring is your love of everything,” the resort’s commercial jingle intoned. No mention was made to bring a credit card, which I suspect would have come in handy as well. Their ads always ended with the melodiously uplifting lyrics: “Beautiful Mount Airy Lodge.” Why would anyone want to honeymoon anyplace else? After seeing its various commercials—probably hundreds of times over the years—one couldn't help but feel that Mount Airy Lodge was somehow immortal, and would be there for generations to come.
So, imagine my shock when I discovered the place had fallen into utter disrepair in the 1990s—a dilapidated eyesore that had little choice but to face the wrecking ball lock, stock, and barrel. Even beautiful Mount Airy Lodge had a finite lifespan. Nothing lasts forever, it seemed. (Having been completely demolished, the Mount Airy Casino Resort now sits on the same terra firma.)
Finally, and perhaps the bitterest pill to swallow, was the closure of the Albert Merrill School in Manhattan. One commercial with spokesperson Jimmy Randolph ran for years on local TV. It featured a young woman, by happenstance, bumping into Jimmy Randolph, who was standing pensively on the busy streets of New York and staring off into space. She recognizes him immediately as the man who does the commercials for the Albert Merrill School. Coincidentally, she’s looking for the place, which gives Jimmy the perfect excuse to walk her over there while simultaneously extolling this grand vocational school's countless virtues. It’s funny, but this was the only commercial I remember ever airing, yet the actress recognizes Jimmy Randolph from the commercials. A Seinfeld episode? Post-modern television for sure. But even the Albert Merrill School is a mere memory now, which I never would have thought possible when I was a teen. It, too, didn’t endure as a permanent fixture on the landscape to aid and abet students of all ages in this increasingly dog-eat-dog world of ours. Rest assured, everything here today will be gone tomorrow—one of these days.