Monday, March 28, 2011

Cheeseburger and Pepsi

Guy's Cafe

Walk with me to a place I call yesterday. In years, it is more than half of a century gone; in my reverie, it was a few hours ago. Yesterday was 1958, and the place was downtown Johnson City, Tennessee. Open your mind and see the little corner cafe as it was in a simpler era, a time when there was no use in hurrying and scurrying about living a daily life. Men worked during the days on jobs in factories, stores, and small offices. A majority of women were home raising and teaching their children. Most families owned a big, wooden box with a small screen displaying less than perfect black and white moving pictures which could enhance their lives with the latest news and entertainment; a time when news and entertainment were not the same thing. In the evening, a man would come home from his daily job duties where there would be a meal cooking on the stove and soon the family would sit down together and feel blessed by their fortunate circumstances. After supper, they would migrate to the living room of their modest but well cared for house and watch TV for a few hours. The viewing fare then was about the same as now; local news followed by network feed news from around the world. One thing different clearly manifested itself; the news was more important than the news anchor person. In those days, a commercial would be interrupted for breaking news whereas now breaking news is at the mercy of senseless commercials. After the news was over, the few available channels offered variety shows, sit-coms, police and detective shows, and western dramas where having a horse between a cowboy’s legs was more important than the cowboy being between the legs of a saloon girl. The children of the American family were usually in bed by no later than nine o’clock with the parents following by ten. There was really not much to do compared to what we now take for granted; it was an age of routine but not at all boring.
Guy’s Cafe was located at the corner of W. Market St. and McClure St. on the edge of downtown and at the time of my innocence the little sidewalk covering over the door did not exist and neither would a weed like the one shown been allowed to flourish. Remember with me the plate glass windows that ran the length of the McClure street side. The two front windows were regular house-type windows and the door was a heavy wooden door with glass panes in its top half. Inside and along the windows was a row of booths, not many, but they were typical vinyl and chrome of the period. Near the back was a jukebox which seemed to be in a constant mode of musical activity. Beside the booths was a narrow isle and opposite them was a counter with stools which matched the decor of the booths. The lighting was mostly from the large windows in daytime and from small overhead fixtures for the supper crowd. Attached to the back of the counter between each two stools was a miniature of the corner jukebox and they were also placed on each booth table. This feature was a boon for the worker who had a short lunch break and wanted to eat his beans and cornbread while listening to Hank Williams sing Kaw-liga.
At the back and the very end of the isle was a single uni-sex bathroom for use by the public and the establishment workers. behind the counter there was barely room enough for two workers to pass by each other and over another small counter behind that was the long, narrow kitchen and storage area. The entrance and exit end of the dining counter was cut diagonally so the front door could be opened and leave room enough for people to stand while paying their bill at the cash register.
One summer day when I was 14 years old, I was in town with my mother; we had bought new school clothes for me because the time of my annual autumn angst was approaching. Afterward, she was mostly window shopping while awaiting my dad to come and pick us up in the car. She suggested–probably after sufficient whining by me–that I go along to Guy’s Cafe and get myself a cheeseburger and Pepsi. That was at a time when mothers didn’t have to worry about their children being abducted while walking alone in the small city. She gave me a dollar and down the streets I merrily went to have the best cheeseburger in town, and for all I know, in any town. I went in and found an empty stool and just as I sat down, I felt someone squeeze my shoulder. I looked up and beside me sat my uncle who I had not seen in many years; one day he just picked up and caught a bus, looking for new horizons. No one in the family heard of him for all that time, and all of a sudden he was sitting beside me. He said Wayne is that you and I nodded and said Buford is that you. We sat eating burgers and talking; he asking how everyone was I asking where he had been. He had worked his way to Chicago where he found a good job in a car factory and he lived in a boarding house; he was a lifetime bachelor and was able to drift with the wind. Finally my parents came in and there was momentary shock on their faces at seeing their “little” boy having a happy talk with whom they thought to be a stranger, and even more shock when I turned and grinned about my “find” and Buford was recognized. It was a good time to be 14 that day; I had finally become old enough to be trusted lallygagging around town on my own, finding my long-lost uncle, having a superb cheeseburger, and getting to keep my dollar because Buford paid for my lunch.
I don’t really miss the “old days”, but would like to go back, even if only for a few minutes to places like Guy’s Cafe and once more enjoy the sights, sounds, feels, smells, and tastes of indelible memories such as this.
I made the photo in 2007; since then the little building has been demolished and there is a little used parking lot in its place. In my real world, it will be there forever as dishes tinkle, smells of fresh cheeseburgers come from the kitchen and the Everly Brothers are on the jukebox singing All I Have To Do Is Dream.

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