.png)
I did not know what I was missing. My “world” was small, limited. Unaware I existed in a major municipality. New York City composed of five boroughs: The Bronx, Brooklyn, Manhattan, Queens, and Staten Island. Each borough is coextensive with a respective county of New York State, making New York City one of the United States municipalities in multiple counties.
If there was a highlight, a favorite place to visit living in New York City, at least that I can recall, was when we would have dinner at the Automat Lunch Room. This was a bright, inviting space with marble counters and floors, stained glass, chrome fixtures, ornately carved ceilings, and Art Déco sign-age—everything felt new and inviting. I found I needed to squint upon entering. So much food, so many choices. Dad would carry me along the rows of enclosed boxes, and I pointed while we moved nearer to the desserts.
A gigantic, coin-operated vending machine with row upon row of windowed compartments, resembling glass-fronted post office boxes, housing dozens of menu items. While window shopping, I chose, then dad could drop a nickel into a coin slot, turn a knob, lift the door and retrieve our food, and place it on a tray that slid along a rail.
In a few moments before we had time to move on, like magic, the food would reappear. I chose, and no one said no. I was denied nothing. This was New York City, the greatest city in the world. Special for many reasons. But for me, unlimited choices and no flatware, metal cups, or eating utensils needing to be washed.
The glittering surroundings of the Horn & Hardart Automats — Food we ate on real china with solid flatware. Not on mismatch dinnerware or tin cups. Best of all, someone cleaned up after we completed the meal.
The coffee flowed, my dad’s favorite, from silver dolphin spouts that Joseph Horn found in Italy. I did not know where this place, Italy, was, thinking perhaps it was close by, a place we could visit on another day. Three heaping spoons of sugar for Dad while Mom added cream. And that French-drip coffee, always piping hot and potent, a Navy essential, a cup of “Joe,” served on the big boat in the mess. Here freshly brewed every 20 minutes, and until 1950 it cost merely a nickel a cup.
Why “Joe?” General Order No. 99 [July 1, 1914, Secretary of the Navy Josephus Daniels issued the order.] prohibited alcohol aboard naval vessels, or within any navy yard or station, strictly prohibited. The presumably disgruntled and sober sailors weren't happy with the changes, so they called coffee a “cup of Joe” out of spite.
Automats delivered food quickly. They made meals from scratch using fresh, high-quality ingredients. Items prepared shortly before eaten, and food not allowed to linger overnight. If only we could visit here for breakfast.
It is always a treat to get out of the apartment and have someone else fix dinner and cleanup, and Keith, always fascinated by all the choices at the Automats. It was rare that we had done much together, to spend time sitting around a table engaged in conversation, catching up, bonding for a time, or connecting. Except there was a difference. Dating couples could talk continuously about nothing and everything non-stop. Now I noticed lengthy spells of quiet. Inconsequential topics, small talk. Keith sat without a peep, eating, looking around, oblivious to the world beyond his plate. This was a treat I’m sure he will remember.
The military was in charge and even with its upside, our world was tiny, constricted might be a better descriptor.
I’m a small-town girl. The younger sister. The quiet sister. Wilma, the elder sister. The gregarious sister suffered severe asthma as a child. It was for this reason that the family moved from Illinois to Pennsylvania and, later, to New York. As a matter of fact, Wilma attended three different schools during 4th grade because of the frequent moves the family made during that year. First Elmira, then Mansfield, then back to a different school in Elmira. Dad had found a job at Remington Rand Corporation as a supervisor. His primary occupation throughout his life was a Tool Engineer. I dutifully followed along with each transition.
My resume is simple: grew up in a small town, moved around in a series of small towns, went to school in a small town but certainly never expected to end up in Brooklyn, New York. Elmira, New York, a city of approximately 50,000 humans, give or take a few dozen on any given day, compressed into an area of 22.5 square miles of surface area of which 1.4% is water. I knew my way around. I had my friends.
But, for now, I’m contemplating our next visit back home a mere 236 miles along I-80, non-stop, takes four hours, two minutes. I need to engage adults in adult conversations. I need family. (Source material provided by Kathryn Nelson)
Adulthood, marriage, parenthood, life clarified by reality.
Kommentare