The Wait

In the late 1950s, my parents moved us to 2032 Creston Ave in The Bronx. It was a six-story walk-up, which meant no elevator. You walked up and walked down and back up when it was time. If I realized I had forgotten my homework, I’d take the zero instead of climbing back up Everest. For years, I logged thousands of steps a week, and I’m probably alive today because of them. 

For my first three years of school, my parents sent me to an Orthodox yeshiva called Yeshivat Zikhron Moshe. We had two sets of dishes at home, but not for kosher reasons; one was to eat off, and the other was to throw against the wall during fights. I was not sent to yeshiva because we were religious, but because my parents worked full-time and needed a place to keep me until 5:00 p.m. On Fridays, we were let out at 1:00 p.m. because of Shabbos.

On Fridays, the school bus dropped me off at The Royal Luncheonette on the Grand Concourse. I’d arrive around 1:00 pm and wait until my mother picked me up around five. I sat at the counter in the back on the last stool and loved every minute of it. 

So on Fridays, the school bus dropped me off at The Royal Luncheonette on the Grand Concourse. I’d arrive around 1:00 pm and wait until my mother picked me up around five. I sat at the counter in the back on the last stool and loved every minute of it. Sitting alone made me feel grown up. There is nothing like studying Shlomo Yitzchaki, generally known as Rashi, while eating treif a la mode.

The owner, Julie, was one of the nicest men I ever met. Julie wore a Jewish star that sat comfortably on his curly light brown chest hair. His white apron covered both slacks and his button-down. Somehow, his apron was always spotless. The apron only came off when he went to put money in the meter or was going home. 

Julie worked the register and made egg creams, root beer floats, and lime rickeys. If I wanted candy, I’d grab something, hold it up for Julie to see, and he would write it down. My mother worked out a deal with him: I could eat and drink anything I wanted, and she’d pay for it when she got there. I loved it. At seven years old, I wasn’t like the proverbial kid in the candy store; I was him.

I sat directly in front of the grill where Hank, the short-order cook, performed his magic. When I was eight, Hank seemed ancient, probably in his early 40s. His hair was a deep gray, like the hide of an elephant. His wrinkled cheeks reminded me of ocean waves. Before heading home, he wore a cross that he’d wipe and then buff clean of work grease.

When I sat down, Hank would ask, “You want a soda?” “Yes. Thanks, Hank.” All drinks came in a six-ounce glass with the Coke logo. When someone ordered a burger, Hank would reach into a chest freezer, pull out a frozen patty, and toss it from five feet. On landing, the burger would spin like a top until collapsing onto the blazing hot grill.

Friday’s blue plate special was always meatloaf. Oh, how I loved Hank’s meatloaf. My mother never cooked anything that topped it. No offense to my wife, but to this day, it’s still perhaps the best thing I ever tasted. He would put a giant slice of meatloaf between two pieces of soft caraway seed rye bread, top it with some beef gravy, add fries, drop a few half sours, and the gates of heaven swung open.

Watching Hank love what he was doing made me want to be a cook. I’d sit for four hours, watch him, and watch dozens of customers coming in and out. Many of them thanked Hank and told him how great their meal was. He never complained and always smiled when he put a plate of his best in front of you. 

When I was 18, I considered going to culinary school in Connecticut. Thank God I was not accepted, so I cooked something at home almost daily instead of cooking for the public. Eventually, I cooked up jokes and stories to earn a living, which I loved more than you could imagine. Finding something you love to do can unlock a door to happiness.

Mark Schiff is a comedian, actor and writer, and hosts, along with Danny Lobell, the ‘We Think It’s Funny’ podcast. His new book is “Why Not? Lessons on Comedy, Courage and Chutzpah.”