Was the Automat the Lost City of Atlantis?

According to ancient legend, there once existed a place, which employed technology and an advanced, enlightened notion of human organization to provide a beacon of light, literally and figuratively, into the future. Teams of scientists and explorers have ranged over a host of underwater shelves and crevices looking for and in some cases they claim, finding, hard evidence of the existence of this place as a real phenomenon.

Unequipped with diving bell or scuba gear, I think I have discovered the remnants of this mystical place and, in fact, possess many of its actual physical remains. Atlantis, it turns out, was not one place but forty, the same well-documented number of acres promised, but never delivered, to each freed slave. It was not underwater either, but rather, during its reign, surrounded by various bodies of water, river, ocean, bay, and "kill." Atlantis was the "Automat", sitting on a hard table of bedrock known as Manhattan, sustaining, inspiring, and offering a blazing lighthouse for the citizens of what has been, arguably, the most influential city on this planet during our own collective lifetimes. Yes, and symbolized by a dolphin, spewing unending streams of water, clear and sweet, bracing and soothing, to remind us of our lost home by the sea.

The best way to conceal something, it has been said many times, is to "hide it in plain sight." What more conspicuous place is there to put something out of view than on each of the most heavily traveled locations within the most densely populated place on all the earth: 14th street, 34th street, 42nd street, all the major intersections underneath the largest collection of manmade objects on the planet, that sliver of incongruities sometimes called Gotham? What better way was there of guaranteeing the eventual triumph of the values and ideas most treasured by the first Atlanteans? How better to preserve this ultimate manifestation of man's potential to evolve and discover his destiny, than to scatter its germinating seeds, like two handfuls of nickels, on the most otherwise life-unfriendly, concrete and asphalt-covered place known to mankind?

It has been said, "When the Automats were open, there were no homeless people." Indeed, there is no more Atlantean notion than millions of citizens sharing a single kitchen, and ubiquitous places for virtually anyone to sit, muse over, design, and make real our common dreams. What more binding experience is there than the provision of good nutrition and healthful comfort, safely away from the deadly insults of icy winds and Atlantic Ocean birthed drenchings? What higher aspirations could any existing, or even mythical or "ideal" society, ever hope to realize?

So long ago, we felt that twinge of true freedom, settled down and sent our ships back to their homeports. We looked all around, took a deep breath and thought we were, once again, where we belonged. But, the great "A" is no more; the search is on again and we know, sadly, that out eyes must, at least one more time, skip nervously along the horizon line, looking for that tiny speck of light.


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Why should we care about some "Fast Food" restaurant?
The Last Automat