Uncle Henry's Pots and Pans

For those of you that don't know.... my Brothers, Sister and I are "restaurant brats". The Rainbow Restaurant in my home town, Pittsfield, MA was first opened somewhere in the 1930's (a guess) by my Great Grand, and Paternal Grandparents. Before too long, my Dad, then Uncle Tommy, then Uncle Henry all joined my Grandparents in running the place. My parents, and Uncle Henry's family, lived above the restaurant in two side by side apartments until our families grew too large. My Great, and Grandparents lived in a house on the restaurant property. So if I wasn't IN the restaurant growing up, I was ON TOP, or ALONG SIDE of it. When we outgrew the little apartment, my parents and Uncle Henry and Aunt Millie bought a duplex just a half block down the street.

I was probably about 8 or 9 years old when I really began hanging around the restaurant in earnest. I mean, all my cousins hung around when we could - it was a cool place to grow up! When I think back, it was the kitchen that enticed me the most. That, and running up and down the hallway between the tap room and dining room. But the kitchen was really, really cool. Uncle Henry ran the kitchen and my Dad and Uncle Tommy ran the bar and dining room. I loved to watch Uncle Henry and the others work, especially when it got busy. I grew to know that was a time for me to keep my mouth shut and to stay out of the way. Uncle Henry actually started to let me help out a little, sweeping floors, helping Phillipe peel onions, going down to the ice machine in the cellar with Tony the Blind man... "where's the light switch I'd ask him?".. I don't know was his reply along with a long laugh. I finally found the switch, but every time we'd go down there, I'd ask him anyway - just to hear him laugh. He was a great guy. We had our "routine". One of my other duties was to listen to Uncle Henry shout "BAR!". That was my signal to carry a customer food order out to my Dad behind the bar. There were plenty of "routines" in the restaurant.

Back to Uncle Henry! "Want to wash the pots and pans Johnny?". A bit of a preface here for those of you that don't know what a typical double pots and pans sink layout is . They were made of stainless steel and were each roughly 30" wide x 30" long x 28" deep. To their right was the landing area from the dishwasher and to their left was a drip pan. From the floor to the rim of the sinks was probably 48" or so. The rim came up to about eye level for me at that time.

So... do I want to wash pots and pans? Heck yes! That would be fantastic. Some of those pots were so big (20 and 30 gallon) that I could play hide and seek in them. I know because I did. Uncle Henry says we need to get you set up and with that he produces a wooden crate and a length of rope. Uncle Henry says, I am going to be getting busy pretty soon and won't be able to watch you so what we'll do is stand you on top of the crate so you can reach inside the sinks... And here's the part that I have sketchy memory of, but I swear I remember seeing "The Count" standing over by the bread station muffling laughs and whispering to a few waitress who were also smiling... I asked "Uncle Henry... what is the rope for?". I am going to tie one end of the rope around your waist, and the other end around the drain pipe! But why? God Bless His Soul, Uncle Henry says.. listen, those sinks are deep. If you should fall in, all you have to do is pull yourself back out with the rope!

Made perfect sense to me!

And so it was, I don't know how many times I did it but distinctly remember several or more times.. I would ask Uncle Henry if I could wash the pots and pans and he would always say yes. I would slide that crate out from under the sinks, tie the rope around my waist and the drain pipe, climb up on that crate and get busy. I never gave it a second thought, but would see guys from the bar, standing in the hall near the men's room, looking into the kitchen, laughing and returning to the bar. I think it was "Emma" (a waitress) that finally told me what was going on.

My Dad was only home on Monday and Tuesday nights and rarely smiled except for when watching The Melton Burl or Red Skelton Show on TV. But I swear, to this day I remember the incredibly warm feeling I got when my Dad would walk into the kitchen to pick up an order, look at me standing at that sink with that stupid rope tied to my waist... and smiling at me.

In case you haven't figured this out yet, let me enlighten you. Uncle Henry was the prankster of the family. Considering my very early fascination with the kitchen operations, and that I lived literally right next door to him the first 10 years of my life, I was exposed to many of his pranks and as time goes by, I will try to recount some of them in this blog.

Good Morning Deep Creek Lake............

...first note.... for whatever the reason, sometimes you can click on the pictures for a full screen view, other times not. I'll figure it out some day but until then... these pictures are clickable.

After a pretty long, exhausting, nerve racking day Sunday getting the trailer "winterized" for our one month stay at my Sister's lake house in Maryland..... this is what I saw the instant my eyes opened. The clouds were as dark and ominous as they appear, but the sun shone through a small break in them, illuminating the shoreline hills just on the other side of the creek channel. I snapped this first picture before I was fully awake.

A moment later I saw the rainbow just a bit more to the North and snapped this picture. I know that a picture is worth a thousand words, and I am sure you understand, having said that, these pictures are no where near as beautiful as the actual scene was. Altogether - awesome!

But what of that opening line... a pretty long, exhausting, nerve rack..... etc. etc.. In the spirit of enjoying a good laugh at myself let me pick up on a story where, with the trailer in tow, I arrive at the end, at the DEAD END, of a very narrow residential street with the closest side street about 1/3 of a mile in back of me!

I think it was in my last post that I was congratulating Becky and I for the great job we did backing that rig into a very narrow spot, literally, in the middle of the woods. Well... hold the applause! My only option was to back that 53 foot long rig up that narrow street, parked cars, nerves racked, locals looking out their doors - was that a movie camera I saw? I could just see it now... the unwilling star on America's Funniest Home Videos!

With Becky in back of me warning off any oncoming cars, I began the process. I would get it backed up 10 or 15 feet, lose sense of which way to turn the steering wheel, and begin to jack-knife the trailer. Pull forward to straighten things out, back up 40', pull forward, back 30' pull forward.......... well, you get the picture! Finally a guy comes out of his house... were those tear streaks down his cheeks? "I drove tractor trailer for 30 years... can I help you?". I looked at him, eyes glazing over, and said, well.... as long as you are here! After about 1/2 hour we finally got that trailer backed onto a side street and he suggested that he would get his car and try to locate the house / street we were looking for. He looks out his car window and says "Stay right there - don't move... we'll be right back!". So he and Becky take off in one direction, and then the other. Finally they found our destination and Becky and I drove to it.

Once there, we unloaded, unpacked, unplugged, winterized and hit the road for the lake house - about an hour away. When we got there (here) Becky's face went blank... she had left the key in her other purse. You got it... the one back in the trailer. So off we go to get the key. And then back to the lake house. All together, we actually crossed the Continental Divide FOUR times that day. The next morning I wanted to go out on the back deck. I grabbed the sliding glass door handle and pulled it open - without unlocking it. The dammm back door was unlocked. I could have saved two and a half hours of driving, and two Continental Divide crossings if I only took the time to walk around to the back of the house and checked the doors!

Well.... I've got about five weeks to recuperate before worrying about backing that trailer out of the driveway we left it in. And I will be leaving a trail of bread crumbs from there to the Interstate when I do!

A Vacation At Home...

I really don't know what else to call this week in an RV Park in Central PA - it reminds me of an ordinary "Vacation At Home" week. Becky and I haven't been out and about a whole lot, just catching up on some maintenance issues, laundry, house...errr trailer cleaning, and walking through this incredibly beautiful park. The whole park looks just like the picture. What was interesting was backing the trailer into a space that was more narrow than the width of the trailer with the slides out. When I saw the site my heart lept, thinking to myself (or maybe I said it out loud)... sure, if this was a 22 foot travel trailer, no problemo. The site itself is generous in width, but the sweet spot, where the trailer had to go was very narrow. In the picture above, that one tree that looks like it is growing right out of the top of the RV is actually butted up against the left side of the trailer and the living room slide extends beyond it. There was no room to move the trailer to the right because of the sewer connection which is in the shadows. I couldn't back in any further because when the slide out was extended, it would be crushed by the tree. So the front of the trailer is dangerously close to the roadway.

By the way... this was the first time that Becky and I backed in without help from anyone. And I must say, we did good!

Mrs. Scarafoni and the Gasoline Powered Lawnmower

Becky twisted my arm to tell this ONE story - and while I am writing about my hometown, Pittsfield, MA, I decided I would. So bear with me....



I guess the year was 1956. I was about 12 years old when my Dad surprised me with a beginning of summer present... a Gasoline Powered Rotary Lawnmower. I mean this was the katz pajamas - state of the art - landscaping marvel. We were the early innovators of Evelyn Park. By the way, here's the house I was raised in most all of my teenage years - 24 Evelyn Park.

I could very well have charged my friends five cents a piece to take a turn mowing my lawn with that incredible machine. So the chore of mowing the lawn was a pleasure. And to get fifty cents in payment was icing on the cake.


Very early that summer my Dad asked me to take a ride with him. He drove to Mrs. Scarafoni house which was deep in a very aged residential area about 2 miles from our house. I had seen Mrs. Scarafoni at my Great Grandma and Grandma's house many times and really, I wasn't sure if she was a relative or not. I can remember thinking she was about 110 years old. Doesn't matter - all my Grandma's friends and my folk's friends were just as tight as family.


So Dad stops in front of her house and says "I want you to mow her lawn every week this summer. Don't bother her, just mow the lawn and I will pay you $1.00 each week". A few days pass and I told my Dad I was going to mow her lawn today. He said good and that he would give me $1.00 when he got home from work.


"But Dad.. aren't you going to drive me there?".


The answer was NO... "the lawn mower has ball bearing wheels so you can wheel it there, mow the lawn, and wheel it back - that's why I am paying you $1.00 for mowing such a little lawn."

What the heck.. no big deal and so every week that summer I would push that lawn mower the 2 miles back and forth, and every week my Dad paid me $1.00. It was toward the end of summer when my Dad came home one day hopping mad - at ME!


He started yelling which always preceeded the spanking - he had hands like a catcher's mit and had a way to spread the force over my butt. The balling out went something like this....

"I have been paying you $1.00 a week, every week this summer because you kept telling me that you were mowing Mrs. Scarafoni's lawn. I picked her up at your Grandma's house and gave her a ride home ... and what do I see? A jungle... NOT a lawn... A JUNGLE! What do you have to say for yourself... and by the way, you're grounded for a month and will not get a penny allowance until you pay me back all the money I have given you!"


BUT DAD! I HAVE BEEN mowing her lawn. I HAVE.


He says "Get in the car - we'll see about that". And so we drove over - my Dad stopped the car and started yelling again. When I could I said... this is NOT Mrs. Scarafoni's house Dad - THAT one is, pointing to her next door neighbor's lawn which was manicured with my famous cross cut pattern.

My Dad rarely laughed ... but on this occasion, he roared.

"The Hot Dog Ranch"

The Hot Dog Ranch is located on Linden Street in Pittsfield, MA (my home town). In days gone by, THDR was a neighborhood bar room with a few tables and booths. It really wasn't the kind of place you would bring your family to. Not that it was rowdy or grungy, but it tended towards them. They served "sandwich type" food - including hamburgers AND HOT DOGS.

I left Pittsfield to join the Air Force at age 17-1/2 and lived mostly away from there since. But without exception, upon returning, and before anything else... I would go to the Ranch and pick up some dogs for my Mom & Dad and whoever else happened to be at my folks house. Typically 30 or 40 wit everything.Becky and I were at The Ranch a few days ago. The new owners have really done a great job renovating the interior. They separated the space with 3/4 walls into a bar room, a dining room, and the kitchen.

I hesitate to call the dogs "chili dogs" but I guess that is as close to a description as there is. And it their hot dog that has has kept the doors open since the 1920's. I personally have been eating their hot dogs since I was old enough to be out and about town on my own, roughly since 1956. Here's an order of four.

As a teenager my friends and I would eat six each and would go a few more if we had the money. Back then the dogs were $0.25 each. Now $1.15 - and still worth every penny! I wonder how many The Travel Channel's "Man Verses Food" Adam Richmond could eat? I am going to bring The Hot Dog Ranch to his attention in an email.

These little pups are roughly one half the size of a regular hot dog. "Wit Everything" get you mustard, onions, and the sauce - and I will stop calling it "chili" because that undoubtedly leaves you imagining the wrong taste. Words fail me in trying to describe the taste. It's like... what does a banana taste like? Well.. it tastes like a banana! Their sauce has been a guarded secret since day one, and through what I suspect has been four different owners, it remains a secret. Becky is pretty good at dissecting ingredients from a recipe but so far hasn't figured it out. She did detect one of the spices in there. As always I will describe it as "the taste of my hometown".

Camping on the Mohawk

Yesterday I mentioned that we were camping for a few days on the Mohawk River. Here's our rig with a waterfront view of the river. The Mohawk, which extended nearly all the way to the Great Lakes, was a main water highway through the lands of the five nations of the Iroquois Confederacy. The Mohawk Indians in particular traveled down it in their canoes, bringing furs to trade with the Dutch.

Well anyway... we had a tough day yesterday and I was "sleeping in" this morning, at least trying! At about 6:30am, my eyes opened wide to a symphony of HONKS . A "squadron" of Canadian Geese decided to let us know that they had arrived.

Once I got my coffee perked, I went outside and sat on the picnic table and enjoyed the music and sights.

One final thought... those geese had better rest up fast, get pointed South.... and get the flock out of here. With morning temperatures in the 20's and 30's, those feathered friends haven't much time to get to greener pastures.

Headed South.....

Yesterday we "overnighted" in Oakham, MA. Oakham is about 30 miles North of the Mass. Turnpike.... so LOLA, our navigation system must have figured our route from NH something like this.....

If I route them down I-93 to I-90 (the Massachusetts Turnpike) and then North on Rt 67, they will have to backtrack back up North 30 miles..... So instead of that I will route them directly South into Oakham from the North. Sounds good when you say it fast but I have to tell ya... we hit every little town... every residential street... every (near) alley between NH and Oakham, MA. What a route! Anyway, we made it.

Today we drove from Oakham, MA to Troy, NY. We will be here for two days visiting with our #2 Daughter who lives nearby. Just across the MA state line in Pittsfield which is my hometown The campground, and the site we are parked in, is right along side the Mohawk River. Beautiful park but due to freezing temperatures, they will be closing on Sunday so we will have to move on. We wanted to stay a week or two but there are no parks within 100 miles that remain open.

That's about it for now....