Post #134045 by the75stingray on Wed, Jan 5, 2005 2:45 PM

Well, here is my report. As far as the center circle, BigBro, I think it was a tiki design years and years ago...but can't recall. I'm currently looking through old scrap books to see if I can find the logo that they once used. Very similar to a Mark Pi's logo...more Japaneese than Polynesian. But it's been gone a long time. I took some video and will try to do some snippets and post some pics asap.

Chris- Belive me...I carry a gun and I was not about to venture inside that place at night when I was last out there! However, I did walk around the building as recently as a year ago, posing as a utility worker, trying to find some way to enter without getting shot or easily prosecuted. I was quickly approached by some wanna-be gang kids who wanted to know what I was looking for. I simply said I was the utility company checking the meters and allowed them a glimpse of my right hand on a Sig P226 inside my jacket. They moved back, but not far enough away for my comfort. I left. But, for what it's worth, I did try.

Okay...My report:

Wednesday, January 05, 2005

Through dreary freezing rain of a gray and dismal Wednesday afternoon, I watched the large, yellow Komosto beast pick and choose the next victim of the Kon Tiki theater that he would carefully crush with his giant claw and drop into the large brown dumpster.

I stood in the rain and immediately struck up conversation with a photographer from the City of Trotwood. We exchanged memories of what a grand theater the Kon Tiki once was and what we last saw on her screens. We discussed the red and orange décor and the rock throughout the lobby. We reminisced about the lava-encrusted restrooms with their large seashell sinks. (I had all but forgotten about that!)

As we stood in awe of what had once been and what was happening, we observed various cars that arrived and departed, one after another, in the large parking lot to pay their respects to the Polynesian monument. Most vehicles kept a discrete distance, but many occupants were observed shaking their heads in disgust and helplessness.

By the time I arrived at the landmark, one half of the building had been torn down. (Right down the center.) The yellow machine was rolling over a small mound of rubble, red plastic seats and the yellow cushions that once adorned them.
One side of the exterior arch was still visible. One side of a lobby wall still standing. A theater style light fixture dangled in the winds that were becoming stronger and colder. The orange and red curtains on a wall remained in front of a gray stonewall projection booth.
The left side remained as it had in its glory, with six tall pine trees guarding the front sides of the building. One half of a arch stood, heavily damaged, with two white ball lights suspended from them, as they always had. The light blue front sides held strong behind the arch, giving support where there soon would be none. The middle, stone and cement, remained as well. The doors on each side of the stone center were not visible behind the debris that piled in front of the building. The small, round light in the center of the arch and above the doors once had a tiki on it, (I believe) but now was just a blank white circle, as it had been for several years.

Large pieces of crushed and mangled machines, which once serviced us with drinks and hot hogs, were seen lying under metal beams and sheets of metal.

What can be said of a building that sits in an area where it can not thrive and survive? When a flower is placed among weeds, it too will get smothered and die. At one time, the Kon Tiki Theater had sat in close proximity of Georgie Rudin’s Tropics on Main Street that had been torn down for a pharmacy years ago.
Along Salem, driving back towards downtown Dayton, similar architecture can still be admired in a Pancake house and an abandoned Burger Chef restaurant...but none compaire to the splendor of the Kon Tiki Theater.

The creaking of the heavy yellow machine continued and the rain became heavier, I could watch no longer.

As I drove out of the Kon Tiki parking lot for the last time, I received a respectful nod and wave from the single salvage worker walking the mountain of destruction. He looked as heartbroken as the many faces I had watched drive through the lot to view the spectical. I looked back and thought that the uninhabited Kon Tiki was not so much of a community eye sore as it was a depressive daily reminder, to those who drove past, of what has become of our society, our suburbs, our treasures and our memories.

[ Edited by: the75stingray on 2005-01-05 14:49 ]