A frightened mother once arrived at my motel with a baby and only $11. Thirty-one years later, her daughter returned—and saved the motel just when I was about to lose it.
I ran the Starlite Motel on Route 9 for forty years with my husband, Cecil. It wasn’t much. Twenty-two rooms. A faded blue sign. A tiny office that smelled permanently …
A frightened mother once arrived at my motel with a baby and only $11. Thirty-one years later, her daughter returned—and saved the motel just when I was about to lose it. Read More