This is the memory palace. I'm Nate Demet.

The kids had been awake all night.

And the grownups wandered that way.

They brought in a rock and roll DJ. This was 1986 and this was Cleveland so it was a rock

and roll DJ to make sure the kids stayed awake and pushed through till the end.

The grownups had been doing their part for weeks. All the planning, all the meetings secured

sign-offs from the various agencies.

They ordered out the street closures, police overtime, alerted the Federal Aviation Administration.

They commandeered a quarter of a city-blocked downtown at the foot of Terminal Tower.

The architectural marvel. The quintessential Bowsart skyscraper that loomed over Lake

Erie as the tallest building anywhere in the world that wasn't New York for a quarter

century. A symbol of a city on the rise. From a time before that city stopped rising.

When the building had gone up in the 1920s, Cleveland was in its seventh straight decade

as a boom town. It was the fifth largest city in America. A leader in the oil industry

and the brand new automotive industry. But none of that lasted.

Businesses closed or moved out of town. The ones who stayed poisoned the Chiahoca River.

Accidentally set it on fire again and again.

The last time it did in 1969. Cleveland became a national joke. It could take the jokes.

The city was tough, maybe not broad-shouldered. Chicago on that. But what are you supposed

to say when you are the epitome of industrial decline? When the ranks of your citizenry,

your would-be defenders had been cut in half. By 1980, Cleveland was the 18th largest city

in America. And still had far farther to fall. But in 1986, they didn't know that yet.

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