THE FRANKFURTER MAN

One of the earliest recollections I have in my life is of me in my Mom’s kitchen in Brooklyn. The room was the last of five rooms, and facing the backyard. The apartment itself was on the third floor of the three-story walk up, and on one side was an alley. The alley led to a two-door garage, and the doors swung open like a barn. Inside the garage was stored; two frankfurter carts.

The carts had two large wooden wagon wheels, and a big red and white sun umbrella with stripes that radiated out of the center top. I would watch the owner of the cart, as he would pull the cart out in the morning, and return it in the evening, slowly pushing it in the alley into the garage. Whenever I watched him, I felt that I was peeking over his shoulder, grabbing a glance and intruding on his privacy, all the while being compelled to look. I was maybe 4 or 5 at the time when I first noticed this, and was always fascinated by the sight. To this day whenever I see one, I stop and remember those days and my curiosity about the cart.

The wooden cart had these little compartments all over the place, with a few sticks for mustard and relish, with a compartment for the rolls and two flip doors that lay flat on the cart. Inside those doors were frankfurters, in hot water, which the vender took out with a big long fork, with one hand, and grabbed it with the bun in his other hand, while the doors were flipping, all in one motion. Then he slapped on some mustard, went to a flat laying cover and with the same fork, pulled up some sauerkraut and gently placed it on top of his creation. The final touch was the reaching down to a low shelf where he kept his napkins, it was a little fascinating rolling restaurant, and it was the class of the streets of the city called New York.

There were other vendors along the streets, the fruit and vegetable man, the fish monger, and even a junk man, with a horse that clopped down the street, leaving a clue to the fact that he had gone by, laying in the streets, that looked strangely like straw that was eaten. None of them could match the fascinating frankfurter man and his wonderful cart.