How we feel when they leave

On Wednesday, I parked my car on State Street to attend the 4th of July fireworks at the Empire State Plaza.  Parking on State Street meant that once the fireworks were over, I could quickly get to Cardachrome and drive home, without getting stuck in a parking garage for three hours.

While I was gathering my camera gear for the fireworks shoot, I saw one of the Albany Aqua Ducks amphibious car-boats motoring up State Street.  I had my Kowa Super 66 camera in the car at the time, and I took a picture or two as the duck-boat drove by.  A couple of the riders quacked at me with those duckbill-shaped kazoos.  I waved back.

And then yesterday, I heard the news that the Albany Aqua Ducks were sailing away from Albany permanently.  Not a migration – it’s a new buyer, and a new location.

Yesterday it was the Albany Aqua Ducks.  A few months ago, it was the Miss Albany Diner.  Before then?  The Pioneer Food Co-Operative in Troy.  Before then?  This business and that sports team, this restaurant and that nightclub and this barbershop and that whatever it was.

They all leave for a thousand different reasons.  There’s a new buyer.  There’s not enough business. The fans didn’t come out for all the games.  The fans came out, but the building was too small.  They couldn’t make a profit.  They sold the business at a profit.  This and that.

And we try to rationalize it.  We say, “Don’t leave, we don’t want you to go.”

But it’s too late.  They’re leaving, and nothing you can do, no amount of pleading or promises, no amount of begging or cajoling, will bring them back.

What can you do?

One last meal.  One last ride.  One last trip to the arena.  One last haircut.  One last hamburger.  One last ride at the amusement park.  One last time to pet the animals.

And then they’re gone.  But you’re still here.

You still have the ticket stub in a shoebox somewhere.  You still have the pennant from when the team won the championship.  And you say, “I remember when …”

Just like a generation before said, “I remember Sounds Great … Mike’s Submarines … Denby’s … Flah’s … Cahoots …”

But they’re gone.

You try to rationalize it.  “Oh, that’s just the consequence of living in Smalbany.”

But in your heart of hearts, you don’t want them to go.  Maybe you hadn’t thought about them recently, but now that they’re leaving, you’re like Wilbur discovering that Charlotte isn’t making webs any more.

You savor the good memories.  You try to forget all the bad ones, scrubbing them from your mind with whatever Brillo pad is at your disposal.

It’s not just businesses that leave.  Friends relocate.  Family members pass away.  Relationships crumble.  TV shows get cancelled.  Radio stations change formats.

And even after they’re gone, you still see reminders of their existence.  The Albany Patroons logo is still part of the digital advertising board outside of the Armory.  The restaurant marquee for the K.W. Savory sandwich shop in downtown Albany still stands, even though the eatery has been shuttered for the past 15 years.  There are still signs advertising Frontier Town, even though Frontier Town is more of a ghost town.

It’s part of the cycle of life.  Everything has a beginning and an end.   It’s line segments.  It’s not rays.

And in the back of my mind, I contemplated this concept.  “I remember having this great time riding the Albany Aqua Ducks boats…” “I remember enjoying great breakfasts at the Miss Albany Diner…” “I remember the time the River Rats won the Calder Cup…”  “I remember the time we rode on the vintage cars at Gaslight Village…”

And then, in the middle of the night, I thought… “How would I be remembered on the day I leave this world?  Would people remember the good things about me, or would they pick out every mistake and screw-up I made?”

It isn’t going to matter.  In the end, everyone and everything leaves.  Whether it’s an amphibious boat tour or a petting zoo / game farm, nothing remains forever.  It may remain for a very long time, it may change its name and its appearance and its mission, it may even outlast us … but it never lasts forever.  We can say “see you soon” all we want.  But in reality, it’s just “goodbye” and we’re not willing to let it completely go.

And we’ll feel this sense of loss when the next business closes or moves away.

It’s finality at its worst.