Charlie's Dog House
Puddin’ was a little black girl who spent the summers with her Aunt Pearl next door to me on Henry Street. She was from North Carolina.
She was the only girl friend I can remember having as a young child. I was 7 and Puddin’ was 5. She was petite with lovely chocolate skin, which is why her family named her after a famous chocolate pudding- Amazo Instant Pudding.
I never knew what her real name was, but who was I to talk about names.
We became friends immediately after her first day of summer vacation.
Puddin’ always had 5 or 6 braids sticking out all over her head with different colored barretts. She usually wore a little white shirt with a peter pan collar and dungaree shorts with little white sneakers.
I had your basic rice bowl # 10 haircut from Johnny the Barber, striped short sleeve shirt and shorts. My sneaks were blue Keds, so I could run faster and jump higher.
Puddin’ and I kept to ourselves most of the time. My brother and his friends would continually make us a target of their cruelty, name calling and jokes, none of which were funny. They would call us vanilla and chocolate pudding.
Puddin’ would sit in my red wagon while I pulled her around the neighborhood showing her all my favorite places, Beaver Pond Park, the back lot of Baldwin School where I would roller skate, and Kane’s drugstore where we would sit at the soda fountain and order ice cream sodas.
Around the corner from where we lived was a neighborhood legend called “Charlie’s Dog House.” This was a tiny shack located in the middle of a parking lot that accessed two streets, Orchard Street and Dixwell. Charlie’s Dog House sold hotdogs, hamburgers and french-fries. Only open in the summer, it was the place to get hotdogs.
Charlie the owner was a gruff kind of guy, who took your order as a cigarette dangled from his lips. He could be heard outside yelling orders, “Two dogs to travel,” “One Frenchie with them.”
When Charlie fell on hard times, the Dog House went up for sale. Neighbors were worried that their favorite hot dog haven would be silenced.
Much to everyone’s surprise, the Dog House was purchased by the Farrells, the family who owned the row house we lived in.
Rose Farrell’s brother, Uncle Nick and her son Raymond took over the operation of the Dog House. Raymond would take the orders and work the grill, Rose would take the money from the customers. Nick would work in the back peeling potatoes and preparing them for french fries. He would place the peeled potato, one by one in a “chopping” machine that looked like a slot machine. It had a space to place the potato standing on its end, a lever next to it that you would pull down, and presto, the whole potato was sliced into long giant pieces that would then be thrown into the vat of boiling hot oil. God, they were good.
More than once Nick sliced his fingers while attempting to hold the potato in place as the guillotine came crashing down on Mr. Potato head.
One summer day as Puddin’ and I were sitting on the front steps of 139, Raymond came out with a bag in his hand and asked if I could deliver it to Nick at the dog house. He offered a dime to the both of us for this errand.
Jumping at the chance to show Puddin’ the inner workings of the Dog House,and hopefully a hot dog, I took the brown bag, took Puddin’ by the hand and walked around the corner to the Dog House.
Just as we neared the Dog House, Puddin’s Aunt Pearl walked out of Willie Mae’s Beauty Parlor. Eyeing the bag she asked what we were doing. When I told her of the errand we were on, she took the bag and opened it.
The next thing I knew Puddin’ and I were being dragged to the Dog House. As we entered the front door Aunt Pearl started screaming at Uncle Nick:
“What is wrong with you people”?
“I’m going to call the police and have you arrested.”
"My neice could have been killed."
“We came up north to avoid this garbage.”
With that, Aunt Pearl took Puddin’ and told us we would never be allowed to play together again.
Little did I know that inside the paper bag was a loaded gun.
Raymond wanted Uncle Nick to have it at the Dog House for protection.
She was the only girl friend I can remember having as a young child. I was 7 and Puddin’ was 5. She was petite with lovely chocolate skin, which is why her family named her after a famous chocolate pudding- Amazo Instant Pudding.
I never knew what her real name was, but who was I to talk about names.
We became friends immediately after her first day of summer vacation.
Puddin’ always had 5 or 6 braids sticking out all over her head with different colored barretts. She usually wore a little white shirt with a peter pan collar and dungaree shorts with little white sneakers.
I had your basic rice bowl # 10 haircut from Johnny the Barber, striped short sleeve shirt and shorts. My sneaks were blue Keds, so I could run faster and jump higher.
Puddin’ and I kept to ourselves most of the time. My brother and his friends would continually make us a target of their cruelty, name calling and jokes, none of which were funny. They would call us vanilla and chocolate pudding.
Puddin’ would sit in my red wagon while I pulled her around the neighborhood showing her all my favorite places, Beaver Pond Park, the back lot of Baldwin School where I would roller skate, and Kane’s drugstore where we would sit at the soda fountain and order ice cream sodas.
Around the corner from where we lived was a neighborhood legend called “Charlie’s Dog House.” This was a tiny shack located in the middle of a parking lot that accessed two streets, Orchard Street and Dixwell. Charlie’s Dog House sold hotdogs, hamburgers and french-fries. Only open in the summer, it was the place to get hotdogs.
Charlie the owner was a gruff kind of guy, who took your order as a cigarette dangled from his lips. He could be heard outside yelling orders, “Two dogs to travel,” “One Frenchie with them.”
When Charlie fell on hard times, the Dog House went up for sale. Neighbors were worried that their favorite hot dog haven would be silenced.
Much to everyone’s surprise, the Dog House was purchased by the Farrells, the family who owned the row house we lived in.
Rose Farrell’s brother, Uncle Nick and her son Raymond took over the operation of the Dog House. Raymond would take the orders and work the grill, Rose would take the money from the customers. Nick would work in the back peeling potatoes and preparing them for french fries. He would place the peeled potato, one by one in a “chopping” machine that looked like a slot machine. It had a space to place the potato standing on its end, a lever next to it that you would pull down, and presto, the whole potato was sliced into long giant pieces that would then be thrown into the vat of boiling hot oil. God, they were good.
More than once Nick sliced his fingers while attempting to hold the potato in place as the guillotine came crashing down on Mr. Potato head.
One summer day as Puddin’ and I were sitting on the front steps of 139, Raymond came out with a bag in his hand and asked if I could deliver it to Nick at the dog house. He offered a dime to the both of us for this errand.
Jumping at the chance to show Puddin’ the inner workings of the Dog House,and hopefully a hot dog, I took the brown bag, took Puddin’ by the hand and walked around the corner to the Dog House.
Just as we neared the Dog House, Puddin’s Aunt Pearl walked out of Willie Mae’s Beauty Parlor. Eyeing the bag she asked what we were doing. When I told her of the errand we were on, she took the bag and opened it.
The next thing I knew Puddin’ and I were being dragged to the Dog House. As we entered the front door Aunt Pearl started screaming at Uncle Nick:
“What is wrong with you people”?
“I’m going to call the police and have you arrested.”
"My neice could have been killed."
“We came up north to avoid this garbage.”
With that, Aunt Pearl took Puddin’ and told us we would never be allowed to play together again.
Little did I know that inside the paper bag was a loaded gun.
Raymond wanted Uncle Nick to have it at the Dog House for protection.
posted by Suzy at 9:16 AM
10 Comments:
Now that I'm able to breathe again, have to tell you this one is beyond amazing.
The story. The writing. The truth of your life.
Good god, girl.
Good God.
Amazing story, as always. Your eye for detail is as good as it gets, and frankly makes me pretty darned jealous.
Who puts a gun in the hands of a 7 yr old? God Suzy, your life is an endless string of jaw-dropping stories! As always, beautifully written.
"I never knew what her real name was, but who was I to talk about names." - Love that. And I love your discription of Puddin' it is as if I could see her so clearly in my mind.
Very nice writing.
I can't comment without using my favorite four letter words! Un_______believable, just like all the rest! I know they are true, you write them so truthfully, but still, WTF? THESE PEOPLE!
WOW-that story blew me away! (no pun intended) You keep me coming back.
Holy Shit! is all I can think of right about now. Holy shit! And loaded.
On another note, I am so glad you decided to write about Puddin' and Aunt Pearl. I had a sense from the first time you dropped their names that there might be more to hear about them. I hope you had a few fun memories with Puddin' before Pearl dragged her away.
God Suzy, what a life you've lived.
Puddin!
You are a WRITER Suzy.
You paint such a vivid picture, I can see the two of you, the wagon, the restaurant, the gun.
Just beautiful.
Great attention to detail as always. I love how you are able to make your reader "know" your characters. Little details, told with so much care and attention. Wonderful stories. Wonderful writing. So when is the book coming out?
WOW...the characters in your life come alive!
You do such a fantastic job of describing them and getting us involved in the story. I also can see your writing is really growing! Keep going!
Post a Comment
<< Home