The Apocryphal Penguin: Barely in my Memory - Runny Eggs

This is the kind of story that I would love to be able to check with my father about, to fill in the details, to correct my perceptions, even enhance them a bit. Alas, it cannot happen that way as my dad suffers from dementia and at this point would have no idea of what I am talking. But it is now and always will be a positive memory that I have, fleeting as it is…

A couple of times, maybe more, my dad took me with him to New York City on an early Sunday morning for some sort of “Communion Breakfast.” I will guess my age at about 8 or 9 years. I remember there being lots of his friends there so it could have been maybe city workers, or the Department of Sanitation specific, or maybe a “Holy Name” or “Knights of Columbus” or similar type fraternal order. No idea anymore, I do not remember my dad being a member of any of those groups. He was a VFW member but the memory would then be filled with flags and uniforms and patriotic fanfare, and it is not.

One time I remember it being very cold and most of the men had overcoats on. Another time it was warm but not hot so I would guess that this took place in the late spring time, when it could still be very cold and windy in the city but could also be warm and sunny too.


We attended mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral in the city, and then walked the two or three blocks together as a group, to the Waldorf Astoria Hotel Dining Room where we sat for breakfast, listened to speeches and men talked about what ever adults talked about then.

There are two very strong memory images I have of these events. One year we were seated at a table in the corner of the room. It was decorated in the red crushed velvet and gaudy gold fixtures of the time for a hotel of that magnitude and the tables had white linen table cloths and elaborate place settings. In this memory, I can see myself returning to the table with a plate of breakfast and the table being empty of people. I am assuming that the rest of the people were close behind. One interesting note is that I do not remember any other children, not even my brother, and this feels odd to me. I don’t suspect I was the only child there.



A second, more vivid memory is of the food. I can see large steam tables, with men dressed in white, serving food. It was typical breakfast fare, scrambled eggs, hash browns, bacon, sausage and toast. All of this is unremarkable except for the fact that the eggs were particularly loose, runny perhaps a better description. I can remember loving the eggs that way, not because they tasted any better than at home (they didn’t) but because they were different. We did not eat runny eggs at my house and this was the only times I can remember getting them. I can also remember looking forward to the breakfast, knowing they would have the runny eggs and I was not disappointed.

One final thought. Most of the memories of this in my mind seem black and white. The walk from the church and the men’s overcoats are in black and greys. I don’t have a specific memory of St. Patrick’s cathedral except for exiting into the side street but the hotel dining room is in color. I think perhaps there was not much color around on a cold spring day but the warmth of the dining room, brought the color back to life for me.

(Wikipedia defines the term apocrypha as a word “used with various meanings, including "hidden", "esoteric", "spurious", "of questionable authenticity", and "Christian texts that are not canonical". The story that follows is handed down in my family as history, with no one to actually verify its veracity. In the interest of full disclosure, this story is possibly apocryphal and I am making no claims that they are 100% accurate. If any of my siblings read this and make comments / corrections/ or have different memories, I will share them too.)