If the Walls Could Talk,
The Stories They Could Tell
unched high on a hill overlooking downtown Kent, the hospitality host of an earlier heyday holds forth, a once-noble relic of a livelier age when its halls resounded to the strains of organ music and the sounds of diners, drinkers,
and the “clink” of fine crystal.
Dedicated in 1920, the Franklin Hotel, reaching five stories above one of the city’s higher promontories, became the crucible for civic, social, and political events. Only four years into its existence, however, it was marked by tragedy when an elevator cable snapped, sending the car plummeting and killing C.P. Patchin, the owner.
But the tall sentinel at the corner of S. Depeyster and East Main went on unfazed. Known in later times by such monikers as the Hotel Kent, Hotel Kent-Ellis (when Frank Ellis owned it), and the Townhouse, the building was the place to stay, when visiting the city.
The owner from 1935-60, the late Russell O’Conke, recalled livelier times, when the hotel was also the cultural center of the city. He rented most of its 50 rooms for $3.00 per night to salesmen and other travelers. Himself a musician, Russ played an organ on the mezzanine for the enjoyment of guests and recalls when those guests included much more famous musicians than he—the likes of Glenn Miller, Harry James, and Guy Lombardo—who had come to town to entertain at the university.
The hotel hosted the Rotary Club on a regular basis, as well as political fundraisers and recognition banquets. Made of poured concrete with a brick exterior, the venerable hostelry featured a staircase of white Italian marble. Not long ago, during one of many remodelings, an entire lower floor of hand-laid, burgundy-and-black mosaic tile was discovered beneath five layers of paint.
From the time the hotel became the Townhouse, it seemed—figuratively—to slide downhill. The upper floors were condemned for human occupation, while the street level saw a succession of businesses, including, in recent years, Mooney’s Goose restaurant and tavern and the Cornerstone Grille coffeehouse. Joe Bujack had become the owner, but repeated proposals to return the fine, old landmark to some semblance of its earlier glory proved economically discouraging to potential investors, including the City.
“Hope springs eternal,” they say, and there is still widespread hope that the historic edifice can be saved. Full of character and built to withstand the ages, the hotel needs an infusion of capital to ensure its continued viability. Perhaps a knight on a white horse will yet emerge, to save the day. It would be a terrible setback and a day for mourning, if the “grand old lady of Main Street” were to be lost to a wrecker’s ball.
