The building known for many year's as Harpole's Main Street Exit, then for a few more as Woody's, came crashing down Thursday morning with the help of a demolition team. What's left is a pile of bricks and rubble, along with thousands of memories from those who stopped in over the years to have a drink, shoot some pool, dance, catch some live music, or get kicked out — like I did.

The first six years of my career were spent on our rock sister-station, 103GBF, and doing a live broadcast at the Main Street Exit to help promote whatever band was playing, or whatever event they had happening on a Friday or Saturday night was a fairly regular occurrence. But, my friends and I would also make Harpole's a recurring stop to catch some of our favorite local bands like Three O'Clock Charlie or Gonzo's Toy Box, among others. Which is what we were doing on that fateful night where an alcohol-fueled lapse in judgement on my part ended our night a little earlier than planned.

That night it was neither Three O'Clock Charlie nor Gonzo's Toy Box we were there to see. At the time a friend of ours was the guitar player for the band So Right (formerly known as Mother Rule). They were booked to play the annual Suds on the Ohio bierstube which took place in the parking lot of the Main Street Exit. We had done a little "pre-partying" before heading to the show so I was already feeling pretty loose by the time we got there.

The memory is a bit fuzzy, for obvious reasons, but I do remember there being one particular song the band covered during each of their shows that I really liked (the name of which escapes me at the moment, of course), and I told our guitar-playing friend before they started that I was going to come up on stage when they started playing that song. He laughed and strongly advised against me doing it that, but my mind was already made up (thanks beer!).

Let me paint the picture; since the show was outside, the stage was a flatbed trailer like you'd see a semi truck haul down the Lloyd Expressway, the height of which came up to about the middle of my chest (I'm 6'3"), and of course I made point to be right up front for my moment to shine.

Despite the warning from my buddy, the moment the band played the opening note of the song I had been waiting for, I hoisted myself up onto the stage having no idea what I was going to do once I got up there. I'm sure my thought was the band would let me sing along, or something ridiculous. Whatever the next thought was, I had zero time to do it as security promptly removed from the stage about two seconds later and escorted me out the main gate and onto the sidewalk. I remember waving back to my friends with a smile on my face from the other side of the make-shift orange fence that had been put up around the perimeter of the parking lot as they just sat a shook their heads.

I don't recall exactly how far into their set the band was when I made my move, but I don't think it was long as my friends weren't too thrilled with the fact that they had to leave (they were my ride).

I have plenty of other memories from the Main Street Exit where I enjoyed my time and left when I was ready to leave, but as I saw the pile of rubble laying on the corner of Main and John Streets Thursday morning, this was the one that stood out the most.

Take a look at what the building pictured above looks like now, and feel free to share your favorite memory in the comments below.

(Ryan O'Bryan)
(Ryan O'Bryan)
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(Ryan O'Bryan)
(Ryan O'Bryan)
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