Here is a small example. I first met John in 1984 when he was recruited to be a senior officer at HealthAmerica Corporation. I was running an HMO in Lincoln, NE but had also taken on some additional responsibilities for the company, including helping out a number of start-up plans. One of those plans was in Arizona, a welcome destination for someone living in Nebraska when subzero winds howl down the northern plains. My first trip to Phoenix, I stayed at a typical chain hotel, not really paying much attention to anything other than work, simply happy to feel warm. Before my second trip, I met with John on a variety of matters, including the Phoenix plan. During our dinner conversation, he told me about the place he stayed at in Phoenix, and I decided to give it a try.
It was the Royal Palms hotel, on Camelback Road. But it wasn't the Royal Palms of today, a diamond class resort. It was the Royal Palms of the past. It had been built in the 1920s as a private estate, and converted into a hotel by the 1940s. The Royal Palms was a destination for the rich and famous, including Hollywood celebrities of the time. A wonderful place in the mid-century. John told me there were stories of a beautiful actress cavorting in the hotel's pool (bringing to mind W. C. Field's joke about why he doesn't drink water). Glamorous in the 1950s, but by 1984, it had gone to seed.
I arrived late in the evening, turning into a drive lined with, naturally, Royal Palms. Stucco hacienda-style buildings wound around curving drives. My room was in such a building, and while it was pretty worn, it was also well built and comfortable. Driving out to the plan the next morning, I was struck by how run down the place looked, how the peeling stucco really was peeling and not done deliberately for atmosphere. I began to question seriously John's judgment.
Returning later that evening, I headed down to the infamous pool. It was small, secluded by plantings, and most astonishing: it was heart shaped. I just stopped and stared at it for several seconds. It was deserted, as was the hotel in fact, making it easy to imagine the beautiful actress in the grip of l' amour. It was also the coldest water I've ever experienced in a hotel pool; it very literally chilled me out, something I sorely needed but for which I was (and am) temperamentally ill fit. The pool was so unusual that I remember it vividly even today, and when was the last time you have been able to say that about a hotel pool?
Soon I began to relax and open up to the experience. The view of Camelback Mountain was spectacular and unobstructed. The hotel was quiet and peaceful, despite being just off Camelback Road between Phoenix and Scottsdale. And the charm of the place, even worn down, was still in ample supply. Not merely a hotel, but a window in time - not a reconstructed ambience a la Disney, but the real thing. It remains in my memory as one of the most enjoyable stays I've experienced, something unexpected and wonderful. I went back every time I traveled to Phoenix for HealthAmerica. (The Royal Palms was completely renovated in the mid-1990s and is once again an ultra-high end resort: http://www.royalpalmshotel.com/historic-hotels-phoenix.php. It appears that the heart shaped pool is now be gone).
John knew how to find those kinds of places everywhere. He gave me ideas about places to go in California and elsewhere, knew the best places to dine that were not the usual suspects, and let us use his place in Utah for a week back in the 80's. The last time I saw John was a year ago when he was in Oakland on business (Jacqui was in Utah). Emily and I met him at a small, rustic French place in a slightly run down section of San Francisco; only locals were there and the food was excellent.
The man knew how to live. I always envied that, but he was generous about it and I was privileged to get to experience it, every so often, as his friend
Peter Kongstvedt
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