Hot Dog and Potato Sandwich
Sue Scarpello, a widow, living in a small two-bedroom apartment in Newark, with her two sons, Larry, Jr. and Louis, was feeling generous. Money was always tight. Her husband had had a promising career as an expert machinist, but he was killed in action during the Korean War. Nothing had come easily since his death.
Her sons, aged 10 and 9, were good boys, but she worried about them constantly. The North Ward neighborhood they were living in was changing. She couldn’t afford to send them to the Catholic school, at St. Francis Xavier, but she made certain they attended Catechism classes every Tuesday after school.
She was standing in the doorway of the bedroom the boys shared. Both were idly reading comic books, which she hated, but allowed. It was summer after all, and it was already hot that middle of July morning. “Larry, why don’t you and Louis clean up your bedroom? I’ll give you a special treat if you do a good job.”
Larry, a skinny kid with a crewcut, looked up at her. “What kind of treat, Ma?”
Louis, who looked like a shorter version of Larry, chimed in. “Are we going to Seaside Heights this afternoon? Is that the surprise?” Seaside Heights was a Jersey shore town, 65 miles away and a good hour’s drive. The town had a beach and a boardwalk every kid in the neighborhood dreamt about.
Sue, wearing a house dress and kerchief to hide the bobby pins she hadn’t removed from her hair yet, stared at her son, her good mood quickly fading. “I’m afraid it isn’t that good,” she said, her voice dropping a full octave on the word good.
“What’s wrong with you, Louis? Mommy doesn’t even have a car. You’re making her feel bad.” Larry, always a sensitive boy, was the kind of kid that seemingly learned empathy before he stopped sleeping in the crib.
“Well, I don’t feel like cleaning my room. You do it,” Louis said. He went back to reading his Superman comic book.
“We’ll clean it, Mom. But if Louis doesn’t help, he can’t have a treat, ok?”
“We’ll see. Louis, help your brother, please. Your room is a mess. I want all those toys picked up and the dirty clothes put in the hamper.”
The boys got up and did a decent job of cleaning. Louis mumbled his disappointment over not getting to swim in the ocean, but he worked diligently. Larry reminded him about their financial situation. “Last night, when she thought we were asleep, I overheard her asking grandpa for another loan.” Their grandfather lived in the neighborhood and stopped by often with groceries. “I think he gave her some money.”
“If he really wants to help us, he can buy Mommy a car,” Louis said.
When the job was done, the boys went into the living room and sat down. “What are we having for lunch?” Larry asked. His mother was in the kitchen.
Sue walked into the living room and sat between the boys. “I know you’re disappointed and I’m sorry we can’t go down the shore, but maybe you’d like to walk up to Bloomfield Avenue and get yourselves hotdog and potato sandwiches. How does that sound?”
“Better than peanut butter and jelly, I guess,” Louis said.
Sue stroked his hair. She was especially worried about him. He was a highly spirited boy and hard to please. “There might be enough money left over for lemon ice.” She handed Larry three dollars and said, “Keep it in a safe place.”
Larry took the money and said, “Let’s go Louis.” He quickly tucked the money in his back pocket. The boys walked and ran the two blocks to the avenue. At the corner of 4th Street and Bloomfield Avenue, they turned right and decided to race each other to Sal’s Luncheonette. The door was open in a forlorn attempt to cool the place a bit. Anyone walking by would smell the onions, peppers potatoes and hotdogs frying. Sal had lured many a customer to his place that way.
They walked in and ordered two regular Italian hotdog sandwiches. Larry got the works. Louis only wanted the hotdog and potato; no peppers or onions for him. They both asked for 16-ounce bottles of Pepsi too. They sat at a table and waited, sipping their sodas. When the sandwiches were ready, Sal’s wife, a short, stout woman, said, “That will be two dollars and ten cents.” Larry stood up and reached for the bills in his back pocket. They weren’t there. He quickly searched his other pockets. He even looked down the front of his T-shirt. The money was gone.
“I can’t find my money!” Louis, did you take it?”
“How could I take it? You must have dropped it on the way here.”
Larry turned to the woman. She had a blank stare on her face. To his deep chagrin, Larry started crying. “I’m sorry,” he balled, “I lost my money. I can’t pay you.” He was getting very upset. He was embarrassed. He was sure his mother didn’t have another two dollars to spare. He had been careless. How many times had she drilled into them the need to be very careful with money?
The woman was about to say something when an elderly man, who lived one block down from the Scarpello’s walked in. “Hey, Willie Scout!” The boys turned to face him. “You’re Sue Scarpello’s boy, right?” Larry nodded. “Did you lose something on the way over here?”
Larry quickly wiped his eyes, even more embarrassed now to be caught crying. “I lost three dollars,” he said.
“I know,” the man said. He pulled the money out of his pocket and handed it to Larry. “It fell out of your pocket when you ran past my house. I’ve been walking up and down Bloomfield Avenue looking for you.” He grinned and patted Larry’s head. “You’re lucky I found you.” He turned to Sal’s wife. “Stella, do they have enough dough to pay for everything?”
She smiled and nodded. “I was going to let them have it for free anyway.” She pointed to Larry. “This one was crying his eyes out, poor thing.”
Larry thanked the man and the boys sat down and ate. Larry was so relieved, he didn’t even mind that Louis teased him about crying. He never noticed how close his brother came to crying too.