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The closing of the Hotel Belmar earlier this month was met with much sadness in both my heart and my mind.
My heart, because of the relationships I had there, and my mind because of the memories that date back to my childhood.
You see, I grew up at 1420 Third Ave. in Altoona, and from my bedroom window for the first 20-plus years of my life, the brightly lit Belmar sign could be seen every night.
In the summertime, when I was really young, I could hear who was going into the establishment on a nightly basis. And if I stayed up really late, I could hear who was also being asked to leave on a nightly basis.
The coolest thing as a youngster was when my mom and dad would need change for a $20 bill. I was either asked to go to Don's Corner Store (across from the Belmar), or the Belmar, which was much cooler because it was a bar.
When Al Mignogna Jr. bought it in the early 1980s, things began to change.
I went to Our Lady of Mount Carmel with all the Mignogna children so I knew good things were to come.
My brother John had his rehearsal dinner there in 1985, and in 1986, when I turned 21, it became one of my main hangouts.
I didn't drink much, but even if I did, I was about a minute from my backyard if I went out the Belmar's side door.
Of course, you didn't think you would read a column of mine without an amusing story to be told, and though it took a few paragraphs to get to one, these are some of my favorite memories of the Belmar.
There was the time I was dumped on New Year's Eve, and my friend, Jeff Ramos, decided to take me out to the Belmar to cheer me up.
We were in the establishment, sitting at a table with three very attractive women, when my mom and dad and an aunt and uncle entered the building. My mom saw me. She knew what had happened to me that day.
This was her way of cheering me up, paraphrasing for comedic affect: "There's my Scotty! I don't care if you got dumped today. I still love you!"
That was followed by a hug and a kiss on my then hair-filled head. Nothing makes a guy in his mid-20s look more attractive to three single females than an emotionally-downtrodden guy who is only loved by his mother.
When my wife and I were dating, we used to go to karaoke night there. One night, we went with my brother, Tom. I got up and sang Rick Springfield's "Jessie's Girl" to her. But since she and my brother were hiding in the back, I had to make like Bill Murray and lounge-lizard my way to their table. You can't hide from me. But they tried -- and failed.
To paraphrase again: my brother said this to Ann Marie: "You already said yes to his marriage proposal, didn't you?"
She nodded yes with her eyes aimed at the floor.
"Well, you're stuck with him," he added.
And in the process, she missed a great Rick Springfield impersonation.
Belmar bartender Brent Frank and I used to sing America's "Sister Golden Hair." How good was it? Let's just say that it was as if the band gotten back together and had camped out on the corner of Fourth Avenue and 15th Street.
And one of the best memories was the night Ann Marie and I got married, June 18, 1994. We had to leave the Sons of Italy by
9 p.m. because my uncle, Jerry Risoldi, had to get the hall ready for a spaghetti dinner the next day. No one wanted to leave, but a spaghetti dinner is a spaghetti dinner, especially when it's at the Sons of Italy run by a guy named Risoldi.
You know what we did? Ann Marie and I invited whomever wanted to come to go to the Belmar.
Mr. Mignogna was there that night and gave us the back room, and he made sure a waitress was in there all night long.
I don't know what will happen to the business, but I really need to drive by there one more time. It makes me hope that someday my four kids will have a place they can call their Belmar.
Even better, hopefully they'll find people inside who are just as nice as those who were inside the Belmar.
Scott Franco works in the Mirror sports department. His column runs monthly.