Travel Inconveniences

 “Pay your money and take your chances,” my friend Niel often says. Part of the art of travel is confronting and adapting to the unknown and the unexpected. It is not always easy, and often we become fatigued and frustrated.

My journey to Portland was not going to be easy to begin with. I anticipated arriving in Oregon tired, after a long flight that would get me to the hotel late at night. Little did I think how difficult the first leg of the trip would be. My departure was from Harrisburg, a regional airport where security and check in is easy. Calculating cost in the long run, the little more in airline fares is offset by the additional travel to airports further away, parking, gas, and time. The downside, of course, is then something goes wrong there are fewer options to rearrange travel plans than at a larger airport. A technical issue with the aircraft scheduled to take us to Chicago O’Hara necessitated a call to the mechanics. The flight would be delayed at least an hour. A change in plans: crabcakes at a restaurant in the airport in Harrisburg.

I returned to the gate. More bad news. The nearest mechanics were located at Washington Dulles, a two-hour drive from Harrisburg. Quickly, it became apparent that I would not going to make my connection to Portland. My rescheduled trip would now involve an overnight in Chicago, at the airline’s expense. But we still needed to get there. The gate crew started bringing out water and snacks, soon they promised to order pizza from a local place in Middletown. The talk shifted to bringing a replacement airplane up from Dulles to get us on the way. Gate B1 was becoming monotonous. Shops and restaurants were closing. Shortly afterwards, an announcement was made that the TSA Security checkpoint would be closing as well. The terminal shifted to nighttime work. Construction and cleaning workers started an overnight shift, something most of us do not see in a busy airport as we scurry to our destinations. While the bustle of the airport changed its focus, the automated announcements, such as “Welcome to Harrisburg International Airport…” and “Enhanced security procedures are in place…”, never stopped.

We finally boarded the airplane a full six hours after the scheduled departure and were in the air by a quarter to midnight. The flight was only half full because many people made alternative arrangements. The flight attendant seemed befuddled by the whole process and experience. After waiting in the terminal for so long, many people were exhausted. I was among them. I did ask for a water when she came by, but otherwise tried to doze. At twelve thirty, the flight attendant made a solicitation about the airline’s credit card – given the previous six hours that was a pointless act. I realize that people like the flight attendant are just trying to do a job, none of this was her faculty. I try to offer a kind word and express gratitude in situations like this. But this time it might have been a mistake. I was dozing when I was startled awake to find the flight attendant telling me she had just spoken to the co-pilot, and we were about 45 minutes from Chicago.

When you are tired, looking forward to a bed, knowing that your sleep time will be limited, everything is liable to go wrong. It is times like these, when I am tired, when I am most prone to make mistakes. I considered my options carefully and selected the hotel closest to the airport to minimize the travel time back and forth. I was told in Harrisburg that I would need to retrieve my luggage in Chicago and recheck it the next morning. Baggage claim was a long walk, obscured by confusing signs, and discovered that it was not true. My bags were going to Portland without me. Had I known, I would have bought toothpaste and a toothbrush in Harrisburg. After a short bus shuttle ride, it took fifteen minutes to check into the hotel. First, because I did not have a reservation, the airline just sent my name, the desk clerk had to create one for me. When filling out the reservation, the clerk inadvertently made the reservation for the following year. But it took quite a bit of time for everyone to figure out why the system would not allow me to be checked in (because my reservation was for a year hence). Then, of course, as if fate was aligned against me, there were no toothbrushes at the from desk. They would send someone to the room with one. A short delay, but I thought I should wait until it arrived before I got undressed. The nice gentleman who delivered it did make me feel good by saying, “there you are young man.”

Even though not quite six hours of sleep, waking up meant a new day. After a quick shower, an email check, and a perusal of the news, I was back at the airport. Rather than waiting in line at a fast-food place and trying to find a corner to stand and juggle coffee in a paper cup with an overly sweet bakery item, I opted for a sit-down breakfast. I deserved it after the previous night. It was a decidedly American breakfast, even though the café touted itself as Tuscan. The server, a woman about my age, had a distinctly German accent, while Ella Fitzgerald’s version of “Ain’t Misbehavin” was playing in the background. Deciding when it is proper to remove one’s mask while eating is still weird. Nevertheless, coffee in a proper mug portends a new beginning. Optimism restored.

The Cubs: A coda

Early April found me back in Chicago. I have embraced the World Series win, but have found it difficult to do my “baseball homework” for the upcoming season. Andrew assures me that the Cubs have gotten even better. I was discussing with Jeff, who grew up in North Carolina, how we became fans of out-of-town sports team. Cable television in the 1980s offered a different world, one that was more local and regional. On his package were WOR-TV and Madison Square Gardens Network, which carried New York Rangers games. I told him about having WGN-TV when I was in high school and being able to see Jack Brickhouse and Harry Caray every day after school. It was a good discussion of East Coast (New York) versus Midwest (Chicago) loyalties.

I made the pilgrimage to Wrigleyville. With all the signage, including the iconic red sign at the entrance to Wrigley Field, pronouncing the Cubs as World Series Champions, I sought a different visual affirmation. My first stop after getting off the L was 3633 North Sheffield, home of a simply blue sign with white letters. There is no explanation, simply EAMUS CATULI on the left side of the building; and AC followed by a series of numbers on the right. For more than two decades, obvious to television cameras along the right field wall, it has kept a running track of the futility of the Cubs in the playoffs. Latin for Let’s Go Cubs and then Anno Catuli (Year of the Cubs) followed by the number of years since a division win, a league pennant win, and a World Series win. The number had grown to great proportion AC 00 71 108. I left the Addison stop walking toward Wrigley and made the right turn down Sheffield, just beyond the recently reconstructed and enlarged right field bleacher, where Andre Dawson and Sammy Sosa, played was the building in question. I looked for the familiar sign and regarded the new numbers. There was a sense of closure and satisfaction as I absorbed the words: Eamus Catuli 00 00 00. Indeed, the Cubs had won the World Series, and the Sisyphean task of a new baseball season was about to begin. 

The Ghost of the Cubs

Marker noting the location of West Side
Grounds (1893-1915)

Early October 2016 found me in the Chicago area. With my commitments finished at a conference, I put on my 1914 Cubs logo t-shirt and went in search of the location of West Side Grounds, the last (and, thus far, only) stadium to host a World Series championship for the Cubs. In the process I toured the city from the perspective of a Cubs fan and relived many of my own nostalgic memories.

Only a small sign indicates where a stadium once stood over a century ago. I sat down for a few minutes in the beautiful courtyard of the UIC medical campus. It was a peaceful place; there were very few people around that late-morning Saturday. It was a perfect blue sky, untouched by clouds, and there was a cool breeze with the temperature in the upper fifties. I imagined a time, almost 108 years to the day, when the Cubs last won the World Series. The 1908 Series between the Cubs and the Detroit Tigers featured five future hall of famers. With an absence of motion pictures, and a Cubs team that is favored to make it deep into the 2016 playoffs, it is tempting to think about what that championship would have looked like. I spent some time trying to recreate in my mind and imagining those October days at West Side Grounds. While sitting there, I jotted a few notes and had a quiet reflection. Three people walked by during the twenty minutes or so that I was there. Each moved from one building to another, and smiled an acknowledgment. Did they know the real reason for my visit, or were they simply engaging in what they thought was a professional courtesy?

Where center field once was...

The Cubs won the series four games to one, splitting the two games played at West Side Grounds on October 11 and 12. During the October 11 game (game 2 of the series), the Cubs broke a scoreless tie on the bottom of the eighth when Joe Tinker hit a two-run homer. The Cubs would go one to score four more runs in the inning and won the game in an hour and a half. The next day, Detroit beat the Cubs by a score 8-3. During the game, future Detroit hall of famer, Ty Cobb hit three singles and a double. He had two stolen bases, and was thrown out trying to steal home in the ninth inning.

I sat on a bench, which I estimated to be somewhere in left-center field based on where the sign indicating the centerfield entrance was located. If my guess was correct, it would have been near where Jimmy Sheckard would have played. Across the field, at first base, player/manager and future Hall of Famer, Frank Chance would play for several seasons. He would go on to coach and play for the Chicago Whales of the Federal League, the first occupants of Weeghman Field, later known as Wrigley Field. But Chance is more famous for anchoring the double play combination with Evers and Tinker. The combination of Tinkers, Ever and Chance was the bedevilment of early twentieth century National League teams. Famously, in 1910 as the Cubs approached yet another World Series appearance, New York columnist Franklin Pierce Adams penned the poem, “Baseball’s Sad Lexicon.” The poem would be published in the New York Evening Mail, 12 July 1910.

“Three Finger” Mordecai Brown did not appear at West Side Grounds during the 1908 World Series. Brown, who had been injured in a farm accident as an adolescent, was the star pitcher of the team. He would go on to play for the Chicago Whales, with Frank Chance during the 1915 season at Weeghman Field.  

We often forget how much baseball has shaped our language. “Hitting a home run,” or to do really well, is not an idiom known outside of North America. It is also used as a euphemism for sexual intercourse as well. The idiom, “out in left field,” a term which means “crazy” or completely unexpected and one that was often used by my father, originated at West Side Grounds. By today’s standards, the West Side was oddly shaped with an exaggerated outfield wall. Beyond the left field wall, a home for the mentally ill patients once stood. One account noted that the patients would often yell at the fans causing much consternation.

Ron Santo outside Wrigley

I am increasingly ambivalent about my feelings toward major league baseball. Much of the joy of the game has given way to marketing and hype. The changes in the Cubs, the organization and even beloved Wrigley have contributed to my ambivalence. Some of these changes are and were unavoidable. The death of Ron Santo, famous third baseman and later beloved radio announcer, was difficult. His life-long battle with diabetes was an inspiration to many and hits close to my family. It is difficult to replace him for loyal listeners like myself. His enthusiasm, optimism and exasperation are sorely missed. As the Cubs continue to do well, I think how he would have been in the booth and on the field with the guys. There is my own sense of nostalgia as well. When I see a game these days I note that Kris Bryant is wearing Mark Grace’s number; Jon Lester is wearing Kerry Wood’s. As the Cubs creep inevitably closer to ending the long drought of World Series Championships, after all “anyone can have a bad century,” I remember many of the players I wish had had an opportunity to play for the team in the World Series.

Harry outside the bleacher entrance at
Sheffield and Waveland

I think back to the death of Harry Caray and his closing words on his final broadcast on WGN: “Next year maybe will be the year we all have been waiting for forever.” Caray was a primary reason for becoming a Cubs fan. I would often tune into Cubs broadcast in the afternoon after coming home from school, just to hear what he had to say. Harry was famous for leading the Wrigley Field faithful in his rendition of “Take Me Out to the Ballpark,” seemingly inevitably, followed up with him shouting: “Let’s get some runs!” Even today, every once in a while, I find a clip of Harry singing just to give myself a lift. One of the most memorable renditions did not occur at Wrigley, but across town when Harry was announcing for the White Sox in 1979. He tried to calm a rowdy crowd who had stormed the field in the aftermath of the Disco Demolition Night promotion. In vain, Harry sang while the crowd started fires and began to tear the stadium apart. Watching replays of the event, Harry’s effort never fails to make me laugh, albeit with a little embarrassment for him.

After all these years, it is still a thrill to see Wrigley from the Addison L station, even as the area becomes increasingly gentrified. One of the great things about Wrigley was that it was in the midst of a neighborhood. I remember watching Cubs games in high school and college wishing I could stand out on Waveland Avenue to shag home run balls as they left the park. Yes, I too would have thrown balls from opposing players back. Many of the buildings on Addison, across the street from the stadium, have been demolished to make way for luxury apartments. The changes seem too much. I wanted the Cubs to win the World Series based on the city that prided itself on hard work. Increasingly baseball seems more willing to sell anything to make a buck. History and identity is lost. Yet, my love of the game’s history and the social impact of the game remains. While there is a temptation to look away, I just can’t.

Two weeks to the day after my visit to West Side Grounds (and Wrigley), the Cubs met the Los Angeles Dodgers in the decisive game 6 of the National League Championship Series. The game was never in doubt, but watching there was a worry that the Cubs could implode at any minute. They did not. As the game moved to the ninth inning, it became increasingly clear that North Siders would appear in the first World Series in seventy-one years.

As the game ended, I received texts and phone calls from friends. I pictured myself with a rueful smile on my face as I watched the celebration, thankful that no one was pointlessly talking over the traditional playing of Steve Goodwin’s, “Go, Cubs, Go.” I held my composure, thinking about Goodwin who died in 1984, sitting alone surveying the stadium and its fans. Then, Joe Buck noted that there were probably a lot of Cubs fans who were thinking about their parents, grandparents, and loved ones who were no longer here to witness this. I broke down and cried.

For me there is a great irony to this season: 2016 was the first summer in thirty years that I did not attend a major league game. As I was contemplating this, what little superstition I do have surfaced: If that was all it took for the Cubs to make it to the World Series…  

Where Journeys Begin (and/or End)

For any traveler familiar with the United States, the iconic Route 66 instinctively draws us to exploration. The legendary “Mother Road,” which runs from Chicago to Santa Monica, winds its way through eight states and beckons us west. Its legendary status has inspired song, television and more important travelers. Its 2448 miles contains some of the most famous Americana sites that grace postcards and magazine articles.

Historical marker on
East Adams Street 

Although officially decommissioned in 1985, people and legend keep the memory of the road alive. On East Adams Street in Chicago, not far from Michigan Avenue, there is a marker that denotes the place where Route 66 began on its journey westward. With the better part of a day to kill in the city, I took a trip for which the route was not designed: I decided to walk the first part, or last depending on geographic persuasion (I note that several guides have a west-to-east orientation). I had limited expectations but decided that it might be the start of a new adventure and a goal.

As I turned the corner from Michigan Avenue onto East Adams Street. I saw a three-generation Asian family posing for photographs at the sign. The grandparents were taking turns holding the granddaughter while posing on an otherwise nondescript downtown street. The mother had a selfie stick, but I am not exactly sure what she was trying to accomplish with it. I waited for them to finish their various poses before snapping a photo myself and beginning my trip west.

Wearing my 1914 replica Cubs hat, which I calculate to be about 17 years old, and my hiking boots, I knew my journey would not be arduous. Yet I was trying to beat the threat of impending rain showers. I had gone no more than a block when a guy wearing a Cubs sweatshirt, talking on his cell phone and walking toward me pointed directly at me. He interrupted his conversation, and said emphatically, “Go Cubs!” It took me a moment to process what was going on, but chuckled afterwards when I thought to myself if this guy did that to every Cubs fan in downtown Chicago he would never finish his conversation.

Within the first quarter of a mile or so, there are a several classic Chicago business. At the corner of State Street the Palmer House Hotel and the Berghoff Restaurant hearken to an earlier time. The Berghoff is a classic German restaurant that rose to prominence during the Chicago Exposition of 1893. The bar/restaurant opened in 1898 and sandwiches were given away when patrons bought a mug of beer. The owner was advertising his brothers’ Dortmund-style beer which made in Indiana. Of course during Prohibition Berghoff was not allowed to sell its beer, but focused instead sold near-beer and root beer, which is still available today. After prohibition was repealed, the restaurant resumed the serving of beer and had liquor permit number 1 for the city of Chicago. These days the food and ambiance are the primary draws rather than the beer. Nevertheless, the place oozes nostalgia and history.

There are many people, more so than in years past, asking for spare change these days. A symptom of Chicago’s economic plight. As with many cities in the eastern half of the United States, the melted snow has revealed a great deal of trash and debris that has yet to be cleaned.

St Patrick Church with the statue "Grainne" in the foreground

Chicago is obviously a much newer than many cities on the east coast. The Great Fire of 1871 brings that point home more readily. Very few buildings survived the fire. One building that did survive is St. Patrick’s Church at 700 West Adams, at the corner of South DesPlaines. Built between 1852 and 1856, the church is closely associated with the Irish community in Chicago. Across DesPlaines, in Heritage Green Park, there is a statue of “Grainne” a gift from Chicago’s sister city Galway, Ireland.

As you near Ogden there are several small parks, where pick-up games of softball are still played on Sunday morning. Row houses, both new and old, occupy tree-lined blocks as you walk west out of the downtown section of Chicago. Epiphany Church, a congregation that appears to have fallen on hard times, is at the corner of Ashland and Adams. At Ogden Avenue within sight of the United Center (home of the Chicago Bulls and Blackhawks), Route 66 took a left to head southwest out of the city and toward Springfield and points west. I, instead, made my way over the West Jackson Boulevard, which is one-way, heading east to return to the city. Turning back to the city, the Sears Tower, arguably the tallest building in the United States, becomes much more noticeable than when you are standing next to it.

I walked by the Bays English Muffin faculty and, even though it was closed on Sunday morning, there was a residual, pleasant smell of yeast in the air.

Neon sign at Athenian Candle Co. 

It is hard to observe classic Americana this near to Chicago; however, as you near downtown more odd and interesting places begin to pop up. One such place, at the corner of Halstead, is the Athenian Candle Company in Greek Town. The business opened in 1922 and served the liturgical needs of the Orthodox community throughout the United States. What makes the business noticeable to the traveler is the great signage and neon light that hangs on the corner.

The most iconic place along Jackson is Lou Mitchell’s, a restaurant and coffee shop that has been open since 1923. Located near Union Station, I got to the restaurant just as the Sunday brunch rush was starting. I got there just in time, after I was seated a substantial line formed to wait for tables. Because it was so busy, and I was by myself, I was seated at a communal counter with seven other people. It was a frenetic pace in the restaurant; I nursed a cup of coffee, advertised as the finest in town, while I waited to order. Waiting afforded me an opportunity to watch and observe. I was curious about several boxes lining the front window until I realized that they contained oranges for fresh-squeezed juice. I watched several orders of fresh doughnut holes go by. My server, who seemed befuddled by the rush, took my order and I had a leisurely lunch despite about chaos.

Lou Mitchell's on West Jackson

After lunch, I completed the walk ending, once again, at Michigan Avenue. My trip consisted of a total of 2.3 miles each way. I was a little disappointed that I did not even cover 0.1% of the entirety of Route 66. Nevertheless, as I walked along the streets of Chicago I thought about walking other portions of the fabled highway. The pleasures of trips considered.  

My Life with Trains (Part 1) Stations

Train stations are interesting crossroads of people and artifacts of travel methods past. For many decades trains travel opened up destinations to vast amounts of people. In an era of unreliable automobiles and non-existent air travel, locomotives took people to faraway places and opened new possibilities and horizons. These journeys often started, or ended, in grand edifices that symbolized the importance of the undertaking. These structures have fallen on hard times and many have disappeared. Yet, those that remain give us a glimpse to the romantic world of train travel.

I remember my first trip on Amtrak, Louisville to Fort Lauderdale, but I do not remember the station in Louisville very well. But vaguely I remember my parents talking about the beauty of the train station and what a shame it was rarely used any more. Today, train stations have become a fascination. I am only sorry that we, as a country, do not get to utilize them much anymore. While there has been a decline in railroads, at least some of the old railroad stations have survived.

Grand Central (March 2014)

Grand Central Station in New York is iconic. One of my favorite photographs is of the station in 1954 with sunlight pouring into the station highlighting the smoke/smog and creating streams of light that shine upon the people congregating on the main floor. Once someone wrote that we have come to love and revere Grand Central Station because of the destruction of old Penn Station. Recently, we watched an American Experience documentary on Penn Station, which chronicled the engineering feat and architectural glory of the former station. The station itself, which was private property, was destroyed as the result of a business decision. Most people lament the loss of the great landmark. Today what serves as Penn Station, adjacent to Madison Square Garden, is an inelegant structure that many revile.

30th Street Station (April 2014)

The Angel of Resurrection (1952)

On the other hand, 30th Street Station in Philadelphia is a gorgeous structure. Built between 1927 and 1933, it was one of the last great train stations to be built. Despite its beautiful Art Deco décor, perhaps the most distinctive feature of the station is the memorial to those from the Pennsylvania Railroad who died during World War II, which is stunning. Prominently displayed at the 29th Street exit the sculpture is impossible to miss. Named “The Angel of Resurrection” (1952), by Walker Hancock, it depicts the Archangel Michael lifting a deceased soldier from the frames of war. As prominent as Hancock’s piece is, another work in the station is interesting as well. “Spirit of Transportation” (1895), by Karl Bitter, was originally placed at the Broad Street Station but moved to 30th Street in 1933.  One detail that is worthy of note is on the extreme right side of the sculpture a young boy holds a toy airship, foretelling the development and utilization of air transportation eight years prior to the successful flight of the Wright Brothers.

Union Station (April 2014)

For as often as I had visited Chicago, it was only recently that I toured Union Station. My recent visit coincided with the home opener of Wrigley Field on its 100th anniversary. Cubs fans poured into the station from surrounding suburbs and made their way to alternative transportation, usually CTA “L” Trains, to complete their trip. Rather than the bustling of Grand Station or the utilization of the waiting space in 30th Street, Union Station looks empty. There are eight wooden benches, four on either end of the great hall, with the center remarkably open. The light-colored marble floors and the incredibly high sky lights gives the impression of lightness and magnitude. With so few people, the space looks even more massive. I read that the station is anticipating a threefold increase in the coming years. It seems that the station is well suited to accommodate the increased passengers.

While many stations create a nostalgic feeling of early twentieth century, Union Station Chicago has a slightly more recent nostalgia, perhaps from the mid-twentieth century. For example, the Metro Deli is an old-style bar complete with vintage advertisements for color televisions and historic photographs lining the walls. It is a traditional oval bar with a number of televisions, plus a sandwich carving station. As I looked around, I imagined men who had worked in the city having a beer while waiting for a train home to the suburbs, watching the final innings of a Cubs game on WGN. In my mind, Harry Caray was bellowing across the bar, hoping against hope for a late inning rally from the Cubs.

Penn Station (March 2014)

Lamp at Union Station Chicago

"The Spirit of Transportation" (1895)

Chicago Palimpsest 2014

Hobbies Magazine 

Lightner Publishing Corp. 

At 1006 Michigan Avenue, in downtown Chicago, the old Hobbies Magazine Building still retains echoes from the past. Three advertisements on the side of the building (and more on the back of the building) remind us of bygone days when numismatic pursuits still inspired magazine rather than webpages and publishers highlighted their contributions. Likewise, the ideas of corsets is not something that most of us consider as part of modern wardrobes; however, it is the case that specialties shops are more inclined to carry such garments today. After a quick search of the internet, I found that Gossard Lingerie, founded in 1901, continues in business today…at least on the internet, if not in downtown Chicago.

Geographical Publishing Co., 

publishers of maps and atlases 

Wear Gossard Corsets 

They Lace to Front 

Food and Restaurants 2013

Food is one of the most important aspects of culture. Some of the best travel stories, domestic or international, are food stories. Some travelers even see the kind of food consumed on a trip as a measure of authenticity. I have consumed some interesting and fun food on my journeys this year. Lately, I have been thinking about food, memories and nostalgia lately and my trips to some classic American diners have helped me to reminisce.

1930 White Castle building on East Cermak, Chicago

We live in a society where fast food is ubiquitous. The lure of cheap, quick food has multiple implications. The ease of fast food threatens to impose itself on communities. This year we saw one Australian community, located on the edge of a national park, trying to prevent the construction of a McDonald’s. At the same time, I find it fascinating to discover the remnants of old franchises. I smiled when I found a 1930 White Castle building in Chicago. It reminded me of the many adventures and late night meals I had at a White Castles in Louisville. Long before Harold and Kumar made their quest, I drove 45 minutes while in college to get a White Castle meal.

This summer I read Great Expectations by Charles Dickens and it revived some childhood memories. It was not about “the tickler,” the utensil of physical punishment Pip’s older sister employed during her capricious rants. Although I do remember our next door neighbor making her nephew (or grandson) retrieve a “switch,” a green branch from a tree so that she could administer corporal punishment. Even as a child I thought it was cruel to make the victim choose the instrument of his/her punishment. Instead, I was struck by the name of the establishment where Pip and his family celebrated his bounding to apprenticeship: the Blue Boar. This was the same name of a popular small chain of cafeterias in Louisville. On Sunday afternoons my family would gather for a Sunday meal after church. I distinctly remember my grandfather ordering peaches with cottage cheese as we would walk through the displays of different foods. It was one of his favorite salads and he would order it often.

Another dining establishment from my early childhood was Sandy’s Restaurant on Dixie Highway. I do not remember a lot about the restaurant except that it was one of my favorites as a small child. I think one of the big attractions for me was that the waitresses were very friendly and made a big fuss of me. More importantly, however, was this was the place where I could get trees. My idea, formulated in my juvenile mind, was that the small trees used to decorate the plates could be taken home and planted. Of course, the small trees were, in fact, parsley sprigs – a quaint method of decorating plates. I would dutifully collect the trees from my parents’ and grandparents’ plates for eventual replanting. Rarely, if ever, did I follow through, but I did have the best of intentions in my mind. If I had been able to replant these small trees in our backyard, no doubt my parents would have had a virtual tiny forest of parsley trees. Sandy’s is no more; it appears to be a nail salon. It is difficult to define the link between these restaurants and classic, nostalgic restaurants of today. My culinary tastes are definitely become more international; however, I still find classic American cuisine, especially breakfast, compelling.

Shippensburg has three classic nostalgic places, the oldest of which is Goody’s Restaurant. Today, the interior resembles an old diner with an additions surrounding the core of the diner. In the back of the restaurant building are three small cabins, today storage buildings, which are holdovers of a bygone era. During the 1930s and 1940s the business also had cabins where travelers could spend overnight with many amenities of the day. The cabins are reminiscent of the auto park and cottages in the film It Happened One Night. An old advertisement in the restaurant for Geyer’s Cabin Camp reads: “Heated Cabins, hot showers, kitchen, laundry, complete line of groceries, gas & oil, garage.” Located along historic Route 11, the cabins were a popular stop along the highway that runs from the New York-Canadian border to New Orleans. Today the restaurant is only open for breakfast and lunch and has a candy display case that was probably much fuller in the past. The food is cheap, and the clientele is typically local. Breakfast, consisting of two eggs, hash browns, orange juice and coffee, costs $5.36. The chatter in the diner, especially on bustling Fridays, usually revolves around the weather. The day after Halloween, after a particularly hard storm, one waitress exclaimed, “The rain was wicked…thought my roof was going to fly off…at least it is better than snow!”

Eddie's Paramount Diner, Rome, New York

The most authentic diner in which I had a meal this year was Eddie’s Paramount Diner in Rome, New York. The diner has eight booths and about twenty stools at the counter in an establishment that resembles an actual railway car. I had breakfast, sitting on a stool at the counter, on a busy Friday morning in August. My breakfast consisted of eggs, home fries and whole wheat toast with coffee. During my breakfast, I sat across from the pie safe, which housed a number of homemade delights. Most of the cooking is done on a flat top grill that looked to be in great condition, although well-used. At the far end of the diner there is a sign for a public telephone above a wooden door. When I finished my breakfast I went to the restroom, ostensibly to wash my hands. In fact, I wanted to have a peek at the kitchen in the back and to see if there was actually a telephone. The restrooms were functional, the kitchen chaotic bur clean, and just beyond the closed door was a wooden shelf where a public telephone was once mounted.

Summit Diner, Somerset, Pennsylvania 

The Summit Diner in Somerset, Pennsylvania was opened in July 1960. Sitting just off the interstate, the diner serves both local patrons and travelers willing to spurn the predictable fast food chains nearby. On my way to Pittsburgh in July, I stopped in for a lunch of grilled ham and cheese, homemade coleslaw and unsweetened iced tea for $6.50. In September two women came in while I was eating my lunch, one carrying a young baby. An older waitress called across the diner, “How old is that baby?” The woman, a little timidly replied, “five weeks.” The waitress exclaimed, “Good. You have to be at least a month old to come into this diner. We may have to card him.”  

The Egg & You Diner in Fort Lauderdale, operating since 1956, is an old hangout of my uncle. It is diner-style restaurant that serves traditional food in a classic diner atmosphere, complete with stools across the front of the dining room. While visiting in November I was treated to a gyro, fries and coleslaw.

The diners serve as a window to the past and the communities where they are located. It is difficult to imagine the disappearance of these gathering places for the sake of eating nondescript predictable food from chains that have more money to advertise. 

Vintage South Loop Chicago

A number of item caught my eyes on a recent trip to Chicago and the following are three that are interesting but I do not have anything particular to write about.   

Blue Star Auto Parts sign – 2001 South State Street 

Universal Pluming – 1815 South State Street 

Yellow Cab sign painted on the side of a building as seen from South Wabash 

between Cermak Road and East 21st Street