Greetings friend. I’m under the axe.
It’s poor business sense to air your laundry, but in this case, I believe it’s good citizenry. For those who’ve been asking, and to squash the rumors — the building where my Pub resides has been sold to (you guessed it!) an out-of-state holding company, for a price I’ll be honorable enough not to mention. Nor will I mention the landlord who sold me out for only a small amount more than I was able to offer.
I was a thin hair away from pulling off the deal, but was out-gunned, out-manned, out-maneuvered, and out-bid. That’s business, right? Live and learn.
My future is presently unknown, but you can guess what is soon to happen to my beloved old building – the building I poured my soul into giving a new life when it was in desperate need of resuscitation, and the renovation that brought my landlord a pretty penny. But let’s be honest: it’s the dirt, not the architecture, my new masters are interested in.
There are those in town who know how I struggled to build my own business, to find a little success. Having no family money, I worked alone for six months, 18 hours a day, restoring the worn-but-beautiful Wiley Building, and waiting tables at night to keep a little money coming in. In those days, I couldn’t afford to hire any help, except when absolutely necessary; and when the back-bar addition absolutely required completion in time for Double-Decker (or going broke was a distinct possibility), I and my staff of good friends worked 52 hours straight to make it happen – and it did, because we willed it so. It’s worth the pride I hold.
During the original renovation, I’d arrive home around midnight and fall asleep at the table before finishing my supper. In the morning, I would rise again with the sun and force myself to continue, because I wanted to prove to my new wife and her family that I could be a good man and a good husband. There has never been inspiration quite like the love of a wonderful woman (and the piercing gaze of her worried parents).
These things don’t matter in business. They really don’t. A good heart will almost always lose to a fat wallet. Guaranteed. And there’s little room for emotion in a market gone horribly awry.
I would like to thank and praise the Oxford Historic Preservation Commission for working with my wife and me during our attempts to own our own future, as well as continuing to fight to preserve some semblance of Oxford’s character. I’d also like to apologize for being unable to make our plans happen. I’ll do better next time.
I’m quite aware of those who have disagreed with me politically, as well as those who are probably elated that a vice-peddling business like mine is on the cliff looking over… and to all, I say this: I will NOT go away, I will not waste time licking my wounds; nor will I hold resentment for the winning team.
I will simply begin again, the same way so many others are presently being forced to do, as their landlords chase the big payoff, and Oxford transitions from a town of neighbors to a city of investors. My sweet Oxford, who will rescue you?
Thanks for reading.
Parrish Baker is owner of Parrish Baker Pub on the Oxford, Mississippi Square. Email him at parrish@parrishbakerpub.com
