Below is a paper I wrote for a high-school English class. (Sorry about the literary and other references that might have been funny at the time but might not make much sense now.) The assignment was to write about a time when you had to say "goodbye" to something. I wrote about saying goodbye to my favorite eating establishment--the Burger Barn. Only trouble was, the Burger Barn was still very much open, operational, and serving up fabulous fare at the time. So, although the paper is laced with actual happenings, I pretty much made up most of the story. Little did I know that I was playing with the power of foreshadowing; Jerry's Dairy and Burger Barn, as we knew it, closed for good about five years later. Now, along that dark desert highway, rests a not-to-be forgotten house of memories, where once stood a barn of hopes and dreams.

16 February 1993

"On a dark desert highway--cool wind in my hair; Warm smell of [the country] rising up through the air; Up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light; My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim--I had to stop for the night." These lyrics from the Eagles' "Hotel California" remind me of an adventure I experienced one cold, dark Monday night in January with my friends Mark and Mike. Three young men searching for excitement set out for the promised land, the blessed oasis, the "shimmering light" in the distance: the Burger Barn. Through snow, through wind, through fog, we ventured out. Our quest lay before us. We did realize, however, that our quest could not last forever; we had to be in first-period English in a few hours. But we could not stop until we made it. Thus began our search for the "Barn," the destination of destiny.

Man is born to explore, and explore we did. But what we found was a "Barn" full of memories to which we would have to bid adieu. It was only a short time ago that I came up with this crazy idea that I'd take some of my friends to go get some "grub." The only question was where to go. And then the vision came; my questions were answered. A voice in the night whispered, "Go the distance: go to Salem, Utah." My memory was triggered. I recalled a place my family had visited often before moving north: Salem's own "Jerry's Dairy and Burger Barn." And so south to Salem we went. As we approached the town, riding in the old brown station wagon, the unmistakable smell of cows and dairies and farms overcame us. The "Dairy" and "Barn" could not be too far away.

After rounding the final bend, we saw it--the great and famous "Barn O' Burgers." But something was different. The lights on the sign by the road were no longer flashing; the statue of the cow was no longer on the roof; the sculpture of Monterey Jack cheese was no longer hanging above the door greeting and inviting customers; the Burger Barn was no longer the Burger Barn. "The horror! The horror!" It had been transformed to Mac's Mini-Market. Perhaps the real "Barn" was a bit further down the road, we hoped; but no--it was true--Jerry had sold the blessed plot of land, which had for so long been his magnificent dairy and burger stop, to Mac, a developer of modern convenience markets. I would now have to face the truth and bid the Burger Barn "goodbye" forever.

The memories of my youth came dashing through my mind. I could see my dad ordering a sensuous "Super-Barn Special." I could see my mom ordering the "Regular-Barn" burger and a drink of water. I could see my sister ordering skim milk. I remembered the time my friend spilled his chocolate shake all over the Burger Barn floor and somehow convinced me that I should clean it up. Ah--for the "good ol' days" at the Barn.

Mark and Mike probably believed I was insane when I sat out in Mac's Mini-Market parking lot for a few minutes, saying nothing, reflecting on the many hours I had spent at the Burger Barn while in my youth. Siddhartha would have been proud of this great meditation. The glory days were over. The "Barn" was not the "Barn" anymore. A piece of my childhood had been swept out from under my feet. But I knew I could make it through this tough time with my great friends beside me, comforting me as I drove home through tears of reflection, listening to Alabama and the Eagles singing on the radio.

This experience that cold night in Salem taught me one especially important lesson of life: Hold on to your memories, but do not let them get in the way of your driving. Learn when to say "goodbye." See ya', Burger Barn! Mac does serve a mean ice cream sandwich at his Mini-Market.