In a middle-class neighborhood of Brooklyn, New York in the mid 1950s, there was a corner luncheonette across the street from J.H.S. 246. Inside were red leather booths and formica table tops. A waist-high counter stretched the length of the left-hand wall and dark red stools marked the row in front of it. At predictable places were sugar, salt & pepper containers, and crystal ashtrays that were sometimes chipped, but serviceable. Jessica and I would go there for lunch on a daily basis and always order the same things; a tuna fish sandwich on toast and a cherry Coke with lemon, please. It cost us only fifty cents then, a bargain anyway you looked at it. Coffee was a dime and the refills were endless. Getting served, well it took as long as it took, but somehow we were always back to school on time, unless of course, we played hookey for the afternoon. That did happen sometimes, although not too often. On Saturday nights I heard that Moondog, with Allen Freed would be playing on the radio, but evenings never found us there. |