Way Back When
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, we had all of the freedom in the world, the world had us in cuffs, we romped around like kings, we were jesters with Four Lokos. In short – man, would I go back to those times. Last blog, I tried to reference an old blog I thought I had written about The Nevele, only to find out I used a picture of the place and never actually wrote about it. The disappointment I felt in myself was quickly replaced with a childish spark. I haven’t written about an abandoned site for quite some time now! So, entertain me while I rack my noggin and try and take us back to a chilly day in October of 2022.
The Grand Entrance
Before this place, we took a peek at the Pines Resort. Cangro and I weren’t happy with just the sample. We wanted the whole meal. So, after a little research and some help from Google Maps, we located the big brother of the Pines Resort – The Nevele Grand Hotel. It was an amusement park with a 10-story, 430 room centerpiece that offered more to a middle-class Jewish family than a Six Flags ever could.
“Nevele” is “Eleven” spelled backward — according to lore — after the eleven nineteenth-century schoolteachers who discovered a waterfall within the present-day property. Also (according to family lore), the founder, Charles Slutsky, had eleven children from 1880 to 1906 and the name might have come from that instead.
After reaching our destination, we pulled into the street that led to the once-bustling resort now in disrepair. Naturally, the entrance to the right which led to The Nevele was blocked off. However, the road that skewed left was wide open and welcoming. Too welcoming…
Turns out, it was an employee’s worst nightmare. The retreat & conference center on the left looked ready for anyone with an ‘unobliging’ team looking to create a ‘healthy and cooperative’ work environment. Golf, tennis, mahjongg. You name it – they have it. But just wait until Monday, Beth, that match of tennis you insisted upon just sent your ‘hostile’ team back years.
The Premises
We parked a ways away to avoid suffering the consequences of the law. And as we walked over, those consequences were hot on our trail. The idea of hiding in the long brush from a couple cops was certainly enticing, and if asked we were of course just working on a photography project. However, when you’re a spineless bitc-scared of being reprimanded like myself, these situations become way less fun. They cooled off and left, and I tried to pretend I was being cool the whole time.
This whole meal was almost too filling for us. It had an ice rink, a ski lift, a golf course, and apres-ski lounge that would have made Hugh Hefner green with envy. The place must have really been something back in its day. I would have been willing to stand outside the gates, a mere child, sobbing as I renounced my Roman Catholic upbringing in 1977. My Judaist friends would have played a round of golf and then a quick game’a puck on the ice. Unfortunately, I would only ever get to hear the rooster crow three times before midnight.
After checking out the amenities The Nevele had to offer, we made our way towards what made The Nevele, The Nevele. We scampered to the back of the 10-foot story main hotel since you could see a small sect of the lot from the road. As we made our way up, I felt the air in my lungs restrict. An unsettling chill swept through the floors. Sinister was no longer a movie franchise, it was now company. The air grew colder and as we got closer to the sun, it only got darker…
Until a fucking pigeon.
The Scream
Cangro and I had finally arrived at the top floor, when Pops made my hotline bling. Like any father would (should) he was just checking in making sure nothing reckless was afoot. Little did he know, something reckless was afoot. We chatted and I showed him the views from the top floor of this abandoned hotel. As he admired the rolling hills amongst a setting sun, a woman’s scream ripped through our conversation like a hot knife through cheese. A brie, maybe.
With haste, I tiptoed into the other room only to watch the last couple seconds that pigeon spent in their until zooming out. “Where did she go!?” I exclaimed with great exasperation. Quickly, I came to find out there was no banshee that had made its home atop The Nevele. It was just man spooked to his core by a rat with wings. The same man I walked into this building with.
I was still on the phone with my dad, and as Cangro forgave him for the slew of curses that he let ring through the valley, I walked over to the broken window. I looked down wondering if the fall was enough to kill me. My dad knows I hang out with a Soprano now. And not one from the HBO hit series greenlit in 1997.
I turned away from the jump, knowing a life like Stephen Hawking’s without the brains is far worse than death. Also, as per the last post, part of The Nevele did burn for 15 long hours in March.