Headline: HIPPIES AND HIP CHECKS: A PLEASANT RESTAURANT, A CRUMBLING OLD HOCKEY RINK SLIDE INTO RETIREMENT
Reporter: By Gregory Freeman

Publication: ST. LOUIS POST-DISPATCH
Last Printed: Sun., Apr. 26, 1998
Section: METRO, Page: C3, Edition: FIVE STAR LIFT

Farewell to old friends
   My son and I visited a soon-to-be-defunct institution last week to reminisce about a soon-to-be-defunct institution.

Will and I ate dinner at Sunshine Inn. For those of you who somehow never heard of it, Sunshine Inn was perhaps the best bastion of vegetarian food in the region. Well, it started out as a vegetarian restaurant. Later it added fish and chicken. Most of the food on the menu, however, continued to be vegetarian.
   Ken Cooper, a fellow Washington University student, took me there for the first time in the 1970s. He was on a vegetarian kick at the time and insisted that I go with him to the restaurant. A fellow student, Rudy Nickens, was an owner of the place, and Ken had learned about it through him.
   Being a dyed-in-the-wool meat eater, I was somewhat reluctant. But Ken insisted, and I went. The food was great. The atmosphere was greater. It had sort of a peace-and-love atmosphere about it. This was the '70s, mind you, and the clientele here was an interesting, eclectic group that ranged from writers to hippies. Some were both.
   I remember I ordered vegetarian fried rice and fell in love with the place. In those days, the restaurant had no sugar, just honey, and I remember being disappointed when I tried to mix honey into my iced tea. But everything else was good. I was hooked.
   Over the years, my wife and I ate there often. When Will was born, we brought him with us, too. We liked going there for brunch, to enjoy their turkey sausage and the fresh, hot rolls they served.

As we sat there last week, Will munching on his chicken tenders and me downing a cup of vegetarian chili, it was as if we were visiting an old friend for the last time. The restaurant is closing Sunday, and we're going to miss it.
   The building was bought by developer Pete Rothschild, who wants higher rent for the place. Sunshine Inn will be no more, to be replaced by a Latin-themed restaurant called Babaloo's. Nickens and co-owner Martha McBroom have no plans to open another restaurant elsewhere.

So as we sat there eating our last supper, we thought about another friend that was soon to be no more.
   Mayor Clarence Harmon last week announced plans to tear down The Arena, after trying to find a redeveloper for it. A couple of competing aquarium ideas had been floated, but they sank when the proposed developers were unable to get financing. The mayor has a company on the hook that will build offices there and provide 500 jobs.
   It's too bad that The Arena has to go, but it's costing the city $50,000 a month just to keep it standing. It makes sense, sadly, to tear it down.

Will took a bite of his Caesar salad, and I wolfed down my tofu fried rice, as we thought about the times we'd visited The Arena.
   I vividly remembered my first visit to the big barn on Oakland Avenue. It was the early 1960s, and my dad took me to see the Three Stooges at the Police Circus. I was thrilled to see Larry, Moe and Curly Joe, who by then were up in age, along with Captain Eleven, a children's television character who had hosted a daily barrage of Three Stooges clips on Channel 11.
   Will remembered his first visit there, too. It was when he was about 4, and Elizabeth and I had taken him there to see "Sesame Street Live." He recalled that he'd also seen "Disney on Ice" there.
   We also remembered that I had taken him there to see his first and only Blues hockey game. Longtime readers may recall a column I wrote about that once. I knew absolutely nothing about hockey, and it was the first time I'd ever even tried to watch a full game. The Blues won that night, with a score of what I had thought was 35-30. We found out later that the score had been 3-2. I had been following the scoreboard for shots on goal.

By now, Will was finishing his apple pie, and I was polishing off what was to be my last purple cow, a drink made up of frozen yogurt and grape juice.
   We made our peace with our dying friends, Sunshine Inn and The Arena. We understand why both have to go, but it makes us no happier.
   It's hard to say goodbye to an old friend.

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