A Cheese Burger Story

When I was a little guy{ six or so }my pop would haul me along on his Sunday afternoon stops at a beer joint called " The Spot "...I'd sit up on the stool next to him and eat a beer sausage, or a beet red pickled egg.
The big guys would talk over the events of the week, and tell a few dirty jokes while I'd catch a peek of all the topless pin-up posters on the walls; sometimes Pop would even give me a tiny sip of beer, I thought I was a real dude!!!
Under the counter, there was almost always a handgun or shotgun being raffled off, and the wall behind that same counter had pegboards of Kaywoodie pipes, and lovely tobacco ads of all kinds; you could even buy a Barlow knife for under two bucks ,right there at "The Spot".
Must have been 1959 or 60...no place like that now, these days they'd drag my Dad off to jail, but to me ,he was a God.

I had bachelor uncle like that. When I was very young he was into English sportscars and introduced my to Triumph and MG. A little older he got into sailboat racing and taught me how to sail. He was a great guy and I loved him dearly. Rip, Uncle Dave. I do not recall cheeseburgers but he did introduce me to Abalone steak and eggs, which was not rare back then.

Back in the late-1950s and thru the mid-1960s I would spend many afternoon's in the firehouse where my dad worked. He was a NYC Fireman, for 25+ years. After returning home, back to NYC from WW-2...he decided to take the tests and work for a secure NYC job. He passed, and worked as subway conductor for about 5 years, and then took the Fireman's test, which he also passed. He became a fireman around 1952-'53, and the 5 years that he worked as a subway worker was transferred over to the fire-dept. Anyway, firemen have very odd hours. In NYC you worked from 9:AM-6:PM or 6:PM-9:AM ....with rotating shifts, and you got some days off in between.

Many, many, times dad would return home late because the fire he was fighting lasted past his normal quitting time. When he was working his 9-6 shift on a Saturday...I would walk over to the firehouse, and stay with him until quitting time and come home with him for 6 PM. I got to the fire house around 2:00PM-3:00 PM, and hung out until 6:00PM. Most of the men, were younger, post WW-2 former soldiers, but there were a few old-times still around. Down in the vast basement there were dark smelly coal bins, work shops, sewer pipes, a barber chair, a card table, and my favorite....a tournament size, old fashioned pool table! The table was built like a tank. It had to weigh a ton. Tournament tables are a gigantic, 5ft X 10ft....longer and wider than a standard pool table. I could sit there for hours watching the guys shoot pool or play cards. Many of the local precinct cops would hang out with the firemen, shoot the breeze, and play cards. I liked sneaking a peek and looking at all the sleazy calendars, and girly magazines that were laying around but my father gave me "the eye" when he caught me looking with just a little too much interest. I got to know all of the other firemen, and they were all nice to me. When I needed it, I got my hair cut by one of the fireman, usually for free, no charge, but my dad always slipped him some money. If your TV was broke, there was a fireman who could fix electronical things. Radios, TVs, no problem. He saved me the magnets he took from the broken speakers. He learned to repair them while he was a soldier in WW-2. I learned how to solder a wire connection. Car needed new brakes....there was a mechanic-fireman that could do that, too. The side-yard always had some cars that needed work, dents removed, some touch-up paint. All firemen back in those days, "moonlighted" on their days off. They had to, to make ends meet. NYC paid their employees next to nothing back in those days. When my dad finally put his papers after all the rioting/looting/arson, (sound familiar?) back in back in 1977 his pay was around $17,000 a year.....and that's after risking his life for 25 years! He left the job. Got disgusted. Said he had to take orders from too many of the young dopes fresh out of the fire academy that knew nothing about about fighting a fire, and were too stupid to know they were stupid. They endangered their own men.

By that time, when he left the firehouse, I was 17 years old and wanted nothing to do with the pool table or the firehouse, anymore. The magic only lasts for a little while. Dad's "retirement" was spent by working, full-time, for another 20 years in a local, private, Catholic /School-Academy as a painter, and he would also fixed things that were broken, repaired windows that were stuck, fixed door locks, repaired book shelves....you name it, dad could fix it....or make it work better. The nuns loved him and enjoyed listening to him whistling or singing as he worked. I also worked at that old Catholic school for a few years, painting classrooms, while I was on summer break. It was built, as a Victorian mansion, overlooking the Long Island Sound, before it was later converted into a private, all girls, middle school. Years later that school caught fire and the top floors, classrooms, art studio, the library, music room, and roof were all badly damaged... rebuilt, "modernized"....but that old Victorian academy never looked the same. Dad was retired by then, and most of those old-fashioned nuns who always cheerfully greeted him when he got to work, those nuns who served him hot coffee with homemade cookies, those nuns who gave him homemade Christmas gifts, and hand-painted Christmas cards, who remembered us in their prayers, were gone too.

Things change, and, change fast. That simpler, less stressful life I had and knew back when I was a kid, will never return. But, some things can change for the better. But then, when I watch the news on TV.......