EssayThat One Piece

That One Piece: The Sea Green Table at the End of the Rainbow

by Caitlin Kelch

So many of my favorite childhood memories took place in the 1970s. During what author and journalist Tom Wolfe called the “Me Decade,” the zeitgeist of the 1960s evolved across America and some wanted nothing more than to shut the curtains on the wars and social upheaval of the previous decade. For others, the 70s fueled an aggressive assertion of identity, especially for groups who had been relegated to the sidelines, or even worse, to the shadows.

For me the 1970s was a darker palette than the avocado greens and perky oranges of the time. I remember grey skies, gas lines filled with brown corduroy figures and the peace sign being edged out by the symbol for female. The times I felt most alive and not just a silent observer of this strange time were spent at The Yellow Brick Restaurant in my home town of Shepherdstown, West Virginia. It was here that I’d discover my own That One Piece some 35 years later.

Illustration above by Viola Guerrero, @miyukuii

The Yellow Brick Bank was not yellow. But it was like a rainbow to me. It took the brown malaise of the decade and lit it up like a fantastic cabaret. Inside the YBB was Liza Minelli, Cher, Brooke Shields and Studio 54. It was laughter and pink walls and fruit garnishes. It was Mom and Zora, Clifford and Kevin and Franny and her twin from the art store in town.

It was the kind of place that felt like it never closed, was never sad and always made you feel like a movie star. At the Yellow Brick Bank I was Jodie Foster or Tatum O’Neal or Nancy Drew. But I would get sleepy as the party was just getting started and I would crawl under the table and count the gum wads on the underside until I fell asleep. It was the kind of place where a furry coat from the Lost and Found in the old bank vault would be tenderly tucked around me as I lay dreaming on the floor in my own little penthouse.

I had no idea then that one of those sea green tables would be living in the center (literally) of my home underneath a 5′ x 5′ skylight that illuminates it, as if it needed any more light.

I call it the sacred table.

Its legs are wobbly and its paint chipped. An inch of clunky and out-of-place formica sits on top of the original table top. Presumably to add a little bit more height to match the slightly higher seats on the vintage white wicker benches that Kevin matched with the tables to make private booths.

As a child I’d trace the table’s ornate wooden curvatures with my drowsy forefinger as a ritual precursor to my late-night nap. The curves became a roadmap to slumber, a drive I could make from memory or in my sleep. While others counted sheep, I dreamed in loops dripping with my favorite color from my crayon box.

I was reunited with this sacred table during what was technically a breaking and entering scenario. While I was walking past the YBB as a 40-something-year-old woman, I saw that the side door was open just a crack. I knew that door led to the upper level of the building and I remembered the stunning view that it held. I crept up the steep stairs chortling a friendly hello, but no one answered. I arrived at the top of the stairs and turned towards the wide open room now under renovation.

There it was — my sea green table, dusty and worn, looking about as lonely as a table from a rainbow could.

Later that evening, after a lot of detective work and a few five dollar bills, I took my table home and the party began again. —Caitlin

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  • This article immediately drew me in and I’m so glad I read it. I have some small things I’ve collected that were my grandparents that I have similar feelings about. I love quirky, sentimental, and special objects.

  • What a charming story and a beautiful reading! Thanks a lot for sharing your memories!

  • Oh my goodness! I’m from the Eastern Panhandle and went to college in Shepherdstown, and this nearly made me tear up! The YBB has always been such a happy place. I have a distinct college memory of eating there, and looking across the room to a fabulous, long dining table. Every seat was filled by an assortment of restaurant employees, students, and other business folks I’d seen around town. I remember thinking “Wow, I wouldn’t have guessed these folks would hang out together” – but there they were, having a great time. I think the YBB had become Mi Degollado by that point, but I remember seeing that fantastic group of happy people illuminated by great big windows and yellow-white lighting and realizing I was somewhere special, somewhere with history. I’m glad to have shared that space with you. And I’m glad you have your table.

    • Hi Emma! Small world :) just image the YBB in the late 70s – so beautiful inside and out.

      Thanks for sharing your story with me.


  • Great story Caitlin, but it ended too early! I wanted it to continue on. You have a compelling way with words.

  • For children, tables are iconic. My two year old daughter has established a play space beneath the four hundred year old “kitchen” table where my brother and I had so many adventures growing up. Your table seems equally amazing and filled with memories.

  • Dear Caitlin,
    What a wonderful tribute to the YBB, the time, and table! You made me smile and remember my own wonderful times at that magical community “common house”. That rendering of the table by Viola is charming! Thanks for bringing to the surface happy thoughts of those wonderful people you mentioned.

  • This was delightful. You really captured the essence of that beautiful space. So many memories came flooding back.