See how this all started here: http://bkatranch.blogspot.com/2012/01/bc-and-kathies-excellent-adventure-to.html
When I saw the Rathskeller on the super 46 list with their Frikadelle sandwich I just knew I (Kathie) would be writing this blog instead of B.C. He could write about the sandwich, sure, but he has nothing else to offer about this place. Where as I do. I am connected to this magnificent and magical building by the very core of my heart. So this time my dear readers, settle in not for a short and sweet blog, but for a story of a little girl discovering her passion while being driven by a sense of adventure in an old historic building called the Athenaeum. 
As we pulled into our parking space, the view of the beautiful red brick “castle” almost took my breath away. The memories started flooding out of the deepest parts of my mind and my eyes began to swell with tears. Happy tears. My heart began to race and my body became covered in goose bumps. I couldn’t believe how excited I had become.
We entered the Rathskeller and as we opened the door and walked down the stairs I saw myself as a little girl sliding down the intricately carved wooden stair casing under the handrail. The familiar smells filled my nose and I was taken back almost 30 years in an instant. I was dizzy with visions of the nights I spent here with my family as a child celebrating our German heritage. My hair in pig tails with red ribbons, my dress an authentic Dirndl-like style. We would feast on brats and sauerkraut and the adults would be singing, laughing, dancing and yelling, “Eins Zwei Drei SUFFA!” and then they would take a huge gulp of beer out of their fancy beer steins. The highlight of the night for me would always be the polka “chicken” dance.
We were seated in the bar area which is also the main dining room. I glanced over at the bar and it appeared to be virtually untouched from how it looked so many years ago. I blinked my eyes and when I opened them again there I sat with my good friend Katy. We were all of 8 or 9. We spent a lot of Saturday mornings together roaming the ancient halls, hidden corridors and passages, finding what we believed to be “secret” rooms. We would always end our adventures by quenching our thirst with a “Shirley Temple” in the basement. (At the bar) Don’t ask me how we got away with that, but I’m sure it had to do with the fact that Katy’s dad was some sort of big wig there at the time. So of course I had to order a Shirley Temple. I smirked as I watched 3 people behind the bar trying to figure out what a Shirley Temple consisted of. They brought it to me in a much taller glass than I remember but it tasted exactly the same, like a sweet sweet cherry 7 up. I had a vague memory that the old bar tender would stick a little sword through the cherry instead of just placing it free floating on top of the ice. None the less, my thirst was once again quenched.
We ordered our Frikadelle sandwiches. The magazine describes this sandwich as the German ancestor of our American Hamburger. It is a savory mix of pork, beef and bratwurst meat. For my side I chose the German potato salad and B.C decided on a Potato cake. The sandwich was scrumptious! The combination of meats sang a wonderful medley in my mouth. As one would expect with multiple meats involved, it had the consistency very similar to meat loaf. The bratwurst was the lead singer of the trio which gave the sandwich a little bit of a zing. The sour dough bread accompanied the meat with a perfect thickness. Toasted on the outside and soft on the inside. Just the way I like it! My German potato salad was the perfect combination of sweet and sour with perfectly cooked potatoes. I should also mention that we were served a complimentary soft pretzel with a side of spicy mustard to start off our meal. The waitress warned us that the mustard was spicy hot and of course macho B.C. shrugged off her warning. Well let me tell you, that mustard just about knocked him out of his chair! It was so spicy that it left him gasping for air! I took one smell and decided it probably wasn’t for me. The pretzel was amazingly soft with just the right amount of salt. I don’t think it really needed any help from the mustard.
I had wandered off while we were waiting on our food to take some pictures and relive my childhood for a bit. When I returned to the table I informed B.C. that we would be “exploring” as much of the Athenaeum as we could after we ate. He complied with a warning, “just don’t get us kicked out of the place!” When it was time to leave, I took him up a different set of stairs than we had entered. He reluctantly followed as if he didn’t believe I knew where I was going. (hysterical laugh) When we arrived at the top of the stairs my eyes were met with the same architecture, but all the furnishings had changed. The gymnasium where I had spent hours of my life indulging in my passion, gymnastics, was now a YMCA. I was somewhat crushed. I had been a part of something so special in that building. I was a member of the Athenaeum Turnverein during the early years of my gymnastics career. The “Turners” were located at clubs all over the country. It was such a fantastic club that allowed me so many opportunities. We would all come together and travel all over the Midwest and up as far north as Pennsylvania doing exhibitions at all kinds of venues. I would go to the Turners Gymnastics camp every summer for a month. I remember we would have to sit at the table in the mess hall with our toes pointed and elbows off the table while we ate. If we got caught breaking the rules we had to drop and do 20 pushups right then and there. Not only did we do gymnastics but we rehearsed group routines for hours and hours so that we could perform them perfectly in front of huge crowds. We included rhythmic gymnastics in our genre as well. We did ribbons, balls, clubs that glowed in the dark, and hoops. Everything we did was a spectacle. My favorite routine was one that we performed to “Nadia’s Theme.” I watched Nadia Comaneci swing around on the uneven parallel bars when I was 4 years old and that lit a passion in me that will never extinguish. The head honcho overseeing all the clubs at the time was Bud Marquette. Bud had been the coach of Olympic Gold Medalist Cathy Rigby. He used to call me “Peanut.” I was sitting in his lap one time and he said to me, “Peanut, if you want to be good at this, I mean really good, then you need to show off what you’ve got every chance you get.” So I did. I got in trouble a lot by my school teachers for “showing off” on the play ground at school. (smile)
We turned the corner and entered an old familiar hallway. Visions of yellow and blue striped mats unfolded out of my memory and onto the wooden floors of the old hallway. I spent many a night tumbling down those halls! I could barely contain myself! I wanted to cartwheel down the hallway so bad, but I kept my cool. Next we entered the area where my brother Erik used to hang out with the Young Actors program. The beautiful red carpeted staircase glowed in the sunlight gleaming through the colossal stain glass window. The stair case took us up to the Grand Ball Room which now is the home to a Cabaret Theater. When I roamed the Athenaeum, the IBT (Indianapolis Ballet Theater) would use the ballroom. I ran into a couple dancers up there once. They were practicing jumps. I just had to show off my Grand Jete’ and my full and half Tour Jete’s . All I can say is that they were very impressed and let me practice with them for a while.
The stroll down memory lane sadly came to an end and it was time to leave. I love that old place. I was so blessed to have been a part of the Athenaeum Turners in my early child hood. Eventually my gymnastics career branched off in a different direction and was “rocketed into a fourth dimension” I never dreamed possible. But that’s a whole ‘nother story for a whole ‘nother time.
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