Sunday, May 23, 2004
Greasy Spoon Defined
Last Sunday I tried to go to the Thorndale Coffeeshop which I found closed. So on a whim I made my friend accompany me to dine at The Lake Breeze restaurant. The Lake Breeze sits under the Thorndale El Station and, in fact, has a doorway leading directly into the tiny station. As far as greasy spoons go, this one is classic. It has not changed an iota since the sixties. Walls plastered with misspelled hand written signs. The original menus with the prices taped over several times whenever raised. Loud friendly staff stumbling over each other.
There is a horrible mural painted on a few sections of the walls, heavily browned by years of grill cooking. About four very small booths and eight stools adorning the counter. Changes include the No Smoking signs and the selling of phone cards over the counter.
But the touches that made this a walk-by place in the sixties are still live and well as my friends water glass came decorated with a lushious set of lipstick marks all over one side. But his critique on the burger was good and the Milk Shake apparently very good. It is one of those places that brings you the "extra" shake in the tin blender cup to your table.
I will post a few pictures I took soon, but by far the best part of this miracle-to-still-exist eatery is the nostalgic feeling of stepping back into one's youth to a place much like a time capsule, unchanged by time.
...no matter how decrepid.
-kac
Thursday, May 20, 2004
T.J.O.'s ...Seriously
TJO's in the sixties. Our resident gang of hoodlums. TJO stood for Thorndale Jag Offs. Let's break this down
...
How is it a good idea to label yourselves Jag Offs? Isn't that the responsibility of the people who have run-in's with the "gang"?
Although I am sure once drugs came into the neighborhood that the TJO's were sucked up into a larger gang and eventually became a threat to the neighborhood, but honestly, I have never heard witness to a TJO run-in that resulted in true violence. I mean c'mon, they were somewhat likable. Distinguished only by the blue cotton jackets and the Lark cigarette hanging from their slack jaws, they were just a little less menacing than Ralph Mouf and Potsie Webber. My only run-in with the TJO's was a chance meeting on the Swift School steps as I was passing on a Sunday afternoon during my 4th grade year. I was surrounded by about five of them, all at least 3-5 years older than me. It went like this.
TJO: Hey kid, c.mere. You, kid, come over here.
ME: Wha?
TJO: Kid, what were you for Halloween last year?
ME: Ummm ... I don't 'member.
TJO: Well next year you can go as one of the Three Stooges ...
At that moment he smeared a covert handful of shaving cream on my face.
And oh how they laughed. I just continued walking till I got home. The trauma only set in as I was trying to explain the events to my Dad, but while walking away from the school steps I couldn't help thinking ... "Is that all there is?"
-kac
