The Modern Penguin: The Nathan’s Trip

(By Modern Penguin I mean stories that are part of my adult life, that are in my memory banks as well as in the memory banks of others. This does not mean I am not misremembering, just that this is the way I recall it. I am sure that Mrsfabp or CollegeBoy or MillieJupiter or someone will quickly correct my stories so that they are accurate…)

When I was in college one of the guys I hung around with, I’ll call him Hud, was from Brooklyn and he had some very strong Brooklyn tastes. He like his bagels and lox, loved his Brooklyn pizza, cold, and had a special place in his heart for Coney Island.

For those who might not know better, Coney Island, was the equivalent of Six Flags Amusement Park at the beach. There was sand and boardwalk and amusement park rides and one of the world’s oldest and best roller coasters, The Cyclone. This is where the Hot Dog Eating Contest is held every year, right in from of the famous hot dog and Coney Island staple, Nathan’s.

You can buy a Nathan’s hot dog at the grocery store now a days but as good as it is, it is not as good as one eaten with relish (yes, double entendre there!) with the sound of the surf in your ears and the smell of the ocean in your nostrils. Well, Hud was partial to the dogs there and to raw clams on the half shell so it was not out of the ordinary for him to ask if anyone with a car might be interested in a 2 am trip to Nathan’s. It was only 20 minutes from school at that time of night, more like an hour during the day, fighting the Kennedy Airport traffic, so it was an easy trip and I had a car.

So one night, 3 am or so, Hud knocks on the door and asks about a Nathan’s run. On top of the hot dog and raw clam goodness, he has an opportunity to introduce a non-city boy, we’ll call him Noel, to the greatness of hot dogs at that hour. Noel was from the northern NYC suburbs, had never been to Coney Island or had a Nathan’s dog so a trip it was.

No traffic, no problems and before you could say Gulden’s mustard, we were on the sidewalk in front of Nathan’s. Of course it was quiet but there were some people there, probably headed home from their local tavern and in need of a bite to eat. Well, it was hot dogs and sodas all around and Hud got a plate of raw clams, drenched in hot sauce and awaiting a slurp, which he did oh so well. This is where things get interesting.

We are standing, munching out on the dogs, when Noel notices that Hud has something different. He asks what that was and Hud says clams, would you like one. Noel says sure and Hud spends a minute explaining how to tilt the head back and slurp it down. Noel does the job like a pro and then Hud asks him what he thought of it. He said (a paraphrase after 30+ years but pretty damn accurate) “Well, it’s a bit salty but I was expecting it to be hot. It’s weird that they would cook it and then cool it down.” Hud replied in three simple words “They are raw” at which point Noel doubled over, grabbed his stomach and evacuated its contents onto the sidewalk. Yes he threw up on the sidewalk in front of Nathan’s. Quickly one of the workers ran out with a hose and washed the clam, hot dog bits and soda off the sidewalk and onto the street.

After a few minutes, we climbed back into the car for the drive back to school with a story I would remember and tell several times a year ever since then. MillieJupiter just came in and with a smile told me this is her favorite story that I tell and I have to admit I think it is my favorite too.

Labor Day, Hurricanes and the First Day of School

This time of year always puts me in mind of these three separate ideas which over time have become entangled together in my mind. I thought I would explain how this happens for me.

I was born in February 1955 so in September 1960 I was 5 ½ years old, too young for the first grade by the Catholic School Standards, which required you to be 6 years old by July 1st of the year you were to begin first grade. However my mother used her influence to get me tested before the previous school year ended, to see if I was “ready” for the first grade early. I can remember sitting in a school desk in the middle of the gym, facing a single Sister of Mercy nun, in the classic nun/penguin suit, while the hustle and bustle of the grammar school went on around us. I guess I passed, not remembering the questions now, but I was given a glimpse into the first grade classroom of Mrs. Menzie as we left, and being told this was where I would be in September.

First grade was to begin the day after Labor Day in 1960 but this plan was interrupted by Hurricane Donna. “For nine days, September 2 to September 11, Donna consistently had maximum sustained winds of at least 115 mph (185 km/h). From the time it became a tropical depression to when it dissipated after becoming an extratropical storm, Donna roamed the Atlantic from August 29 to September 14, a total of 17 days. While crossing the Atlantic, Donna briefly achieved Category 5 strength” (Thanks Wiki for the hurricane information). I was all set to begin but class was cancelled that first day. We sat in our kitchen watching several large trees in our yard sway until a large one, in the corner of the yard, broke, crushing our and a neighbors’ fence. I remember late that afternoon and the next day watching our neighbors’ son, cutting up and removing the fallen tree. He was about 16, very handsome boy, the kind a six year old would look up to. He was a good kid. A couple of years later, he enlisted in the Navy and died soon after in a training accident, the victim of drowning. I remember there being all sorts of whispers about this event – alcohol related, fight related, and can remember years later wondering if he was an early victim of the Viet Nam War that was gearing up in the early 1960’s.

I was too immature for school then, and this issue dogged me well into college as I was always younger than my school mates and more immature too. This was a source of extreme conflict for me. Understand first that my mother went “out on a limb” insisting I was ready for school and so she kept tight reins on me. Nothing happened in the class that was not relayed home by the time my day had ended, whether by my teacher, a fellow teacher or school principal, all who were good friends with my mother. Two situations stand out, both involving another boy with whom I had an obvious personality conflict. One day we were working on math concepts and Mrs. Menzie had a large container of wooden blocks. Somehow, this other boy, Michael Harrington, his name I believe, got into a block building pissing match which ended with us knocking over each others block towers we had built on our desks. Needless to say, I was punished that night at home and the next day saw a new “ONLY TEN BLOCKS PER PERSON” Policy in place in the class room. I mean we were doing simple single digit math, no need for 50 blocks now was there?

The second situation was more serious. My angst partner in crime, Michael Harrington, and I were conflicting over pencils as we were allowed to go to the back of the room to sharpen them and of course both of us wanted the sharpest pencil. In the course of pushing and shoving and strutting, Michael jerked his arm and stabbed a fellow student, girl type, in the arm. Not seriously, but bleeding none the less. Amid all the yelling and crying, both Michael and I were sentenced to walk home right then and there and not return until we had a note form our parents. Needless to say punishment ensued and a first grade girl will wear the scar of a lead pencil stabbing for the rest of her life.

To follow is a commentary about starting school earlier than one should…

We are whole again!

Monday, May 24th was an excellent day. No, work didn’t go extra special. No, we recorded a podcast but that was normal for the day. Had “Howard’s” hot dogs and fries for supper, FTW! But not special. CollegeBoy came home. Now that is special indeed!

Nothing I have experienced as a parent has been as rewarding as having the family whole again. It started a number of years ago when MillieJupiter went off to Syracuse University and I cried each time she left and each time she came home. The day of her graduation, we moved her to a friend’s apartment in Pennsylvania. Although that only lasted a few months, I didn’t know that at the time and basically I cried the entire 5 hour trip home. Mrsfabp knew I had to get it out of my system so she left me to my emotions and she napped while I balled like a baby for 250 miles. MJ eventually moved back home and the family was whole again.

(Not me crying but an incredible simulation of past events!)

CollegeBoy started, well, college last year. At each departure in late August I again well up in tears. We keep in touch through phone and text and internet and well, you get it, and it is good but it is not the same as when he is home and we are whole. He brings an energy, an excitement, a laugh, that is very needed and appreciated in our family. It is good that we are whole again. He will be around for 11 weeks, working to earn college money, helping us to ready our house for sale, providing challenges to our ways of thinking. Ah, idyllic youth! We are whole again.

As I move every patiently toward retirement and relocation, I wonder how this will go with “the kids.” How many tears? How much missed laughter? How long until we are whole again? I just read about a study completed in Great Britain that said couple’s relationships improve significantly when “the kids” are gone. I know this is true and look forward to the time when it will be the DW and me. But I still cannot help missing the feeling of us being whole again. I am looking forward too to the time when “the kids” come to NM to visit.