Walter Coulter's Gone There is a traffic signal light in the center of the little plaza which marks the point where Detoit Ave., Sloan Ave. and the Rocky River bridge join. That traffic light should be draped in black today, for the little plaza has lost its most familiar and best-liked citizen. Walter Coulter is dead. To those whose only impression of those Rocky River corners is that there is a traffic jam there every Sunday night, the passing of Walter Coulter will mean little. But those who really knew the corners know they can never be just the same. To the old motormen and conductors of the Detroit-Clifton line, a friend has gone. To those who have seen the growth of these corners, a man who seemed part of them has gone. Walter Coulter was out there with his little lunch counter when Scenic Park was down along the river and horses were hitched to the railings along the roadway. Coming from his boyhood home in Wooster, he started out with a little lunchroom at the corner. Walter was cook, waiter and everything. He never changed. A car crew dropping in for a midnight sandwich might find him on the job, or the first crew in the morning might find him making fresh coffee. The corners changed. Walter Coulter's business expanded. The restaurant kept getting bigger. He added a drug store. He added a fountain. The one-story, semicircle building was always changing and getting too crowded, but Walter Coulter was there. Everybody knew Walter, and while he didn't know all the customers, he never forgot those faces he did know. Walter Coulter was a simple and unassuming man, but if the little plaza ever needs a statue to ornament the meeting of highways, Walter Coulter should be standing there - maybe in a white apron.