From high-brow to low-brow

When I accepted an invitation to attend the annual Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial Lecture at Lewis & Clark Law School, I figured it would be a sober affair -- and it was. Tuesday's gathering in the natural light of the Legal Research Center was attended by local judges and attorneys, law professors and their students, and various others from the academic community.

The featured speaker, William T. Coleman Jr., a virtual living legend at age 90, spoke for only 14 minutes by my count, but his words about justice and equal opportunity carried a moral authority that comes from having played so many important roles in the recent history of our country. My colleague at The Oregonian, Metro columnist Anna Griffin, interviewed Coleman before the speech and wrote with her usual insight and intelligence about this remarkable African American man -- a Harvard Law School graduate and former Cabinet member under Gerald Ford; an adviser to six U.S. presidents; recipient of the Presidential Medal of Freedom; part of the legal team in historic cases that helped strike down discrimination at our nation's public schools and private universities. Read Anna's column here: "Legal icon William Coleman reminds us that, as dark as things seem, we've overcome worse"

The audience was respectful and chuckled appropriately at just the right spots during introductions by the college president, the law school dean, Coleman's daughter (also a lawyer) and, later, during Coleman's prepared remarks. On my way out from the event, I chuckled to myself when I saw the college president, behind the wheel of a sleek Infiniti, pulling out of a reserved parking space next to my less-than-mint-condition '67 VW Beetle.

From the campus in Southwest Portland, I headed to lunch. And in a spur-of-the-moment decision, I found myself at the Original Hotcake House at the east end of the Ross Island Bridge. It's one of those locally owned restaurants that stays open 24 hours and attracts all the hipsters and, no doubt, its share of inebriated patrons. In all my years in Portland, I'd never been there.

It was pretty much what I expected. A small, greasy spoon. Order at the grill, grab your own silverware, find a seat at a Formica table and wait for the ponytailed dude in tattoos and tie-dye clothing from the Sixties to bring you a platter groaning with a half-pound cheesburger and a mess o' fries. The burger was big, though not particularly tasty, and there were a lot of taters on the plate, though they were overdone. (What? You were expecting a shrimp salad?)

You'd think a place like this would have a certain charm. But on a weekday afternoon, I found no reason to go back. As one reviewer on Google put it: "Classic drunk breakfast food." Guess I'll have to come back under different circumstances. Or not.