RIP, GVCC

In a week that saw the loss of pop culture luminaries such as Dick Clark and Levon Helm (and on a lesser scale, Jonathan Frid, the original Barnabas Collins on "Dark Shadows"), I got hit with another demise much closer to home.
I called to check in with my parents on Friday, and The Old Man was quite upset. Green Valley Country Club, he said, had finally been torn asunder, fractured for good. If you were well and truly a devotee of "American Bandstand"or The Band, you'll get the parallel. Honestly, I feel as though a giant chunk of my childhood has just vanished forever.

Green Valley Country Club

A bit of background here. Green Valley is the little club down the street, less than a quarter-mile down the hill from my parents' house. It was founded in 1926 by the owner of Berks County department store Pomeroy's as a gathering place or retreat for his employees. Over the years it grew into a private club, but not for the well-to-do. The Old Man always referred to it as a "working man's club." Originally a parcel of 100 acres, there were swimming facilities, picnic groves, summer bungalows, courts for everything from tennis to basketball to shuffleboard and, of course, the clubhouse, which featured a restaurant and a ballroom for banquets and dances.
My mother and father built their house in 1960, and The Old Man began moonlighting as a bartender at the club not terribly long afterward. He was as involved as involved could be, and ultimately served decades on the board of directors, including a good chunk of time as president.
Over the years, though, as membership declined, little pieces got stripped away. The bungalows were torn down. A large parcel got sold to the local school district for new elementary and middle schools. And now, as of a special meeting in the middle of this week, officially all that's left is the swim club. GVCC is down to six acres of outdoor facilities surrounding its two swimming pools. The clubhouse and remaining land were sold outright to a local restauranteur, who apparently already has begun remodeling.
I can only hope he'll have some sort of nod to the old place's history somewhere.
In the meantime, I feel a need to grieve and reminisce.
Quite literally, I grew up on the grounds. My mother, Saint Joan, was almost as involved as The Old Man. She cleaned, did laundry, filled in at the office whenever they needed her to. She also was heavily involved in the Ladies' Auxilliary. Wherever the parentals were, I was.
And there was always something going on.
During the club's heyday, the ballroom was packed every Saturday night. The Old Man helped bring in a roster of pretty impressive talent for a lot of years: Johnny Mercer, the Glenn Miller Orchestra, Duke Ellington and more. The acoustics in the cozy ballroom were superb. Lionel Hampton loved playing there so much he  insisted my father take his private phone number, saying, "Man, anytime you got an opening, you call me. I'll be here."
The clubhouse was huge, and I knew every nook and cranny. I lived at the pool all summer as a kid. Every sunny day I'd walk down the road with my lunch and change for the phone and some penny candy. The folks were seldom with me, but I never stepped out of line ... I knew they'd find out if I did.

The back patio of the concession stand.
I've personally tended bar out that window
 and cleaned off those tables.

Of course, the older I got, the more involved I, too, became. I helped wherever I was needed, from cleaning or helping set the ballroom to manning game or food stands at the Member's Day or Labor Day picnics, which drew hundreds of people in the 1970s and '80s. And as my older sister waitressed in the dining room in high school and college, so I spent four summers sweating my butt off at the poolside concession stand. I was grill jockey, sandwich board wench, counter help, bartender ... you name it. We worked hard, but we had a lot of fun.
And, of course, my wedding reception was held at GVCC. My sister's, too. Incredible parties, both, even though they fell 28 years apart. My sister's made smashingly good use of the original front porch for cocktail hour. Sadly, the porch has long since been closed in. As for mine, we shut the whole facility to outside traffic for the day. With more than 225 people, we had doings in the dining room, ballroom and both bars. Of course, I think it turned out so well because the manager at the time was deathly afraid of my mother hurting him if the slightest thing went wrong.
Sure, there will still be a restaurant on the property. Families will continue to sun themselves poolside and buy GV Burgers and penny candy (or is it quarter candy now? ... inflation, you know) from the concession stand. My logical mind knows the place has been trickling toward this outcome for a long time now. But the finality of it somehow still feels jarring.
In my childhood, I'd look at the darkened dance floor and imagine dancers swirling about as faint music echoed off the walls. Then I'd see my parents and their friends sitting around the bar or the picnic grove, young and real and vibrant ... laughing, coming together as a community. It felt like a home. And that's how I'll forever see it.
Rest in peace, old girl.