The Pine Point Lunch

The yellow and green Pine Point Lunch on Boston Road was a place to grab a quick sandwich and a cup of coffee. Despite its midday name, the diner was open 24 hours, as in the 1930's it was the last place to get a bite to eat before heading towards the then sparsely settled 16 Acres neighborhood, meaning travelers would stop there at all hours. Whether late in the evening or early morning before sunrise, the lights were always on at the Pine Point Lunch.

The proprietor of the diner, Mortimer Hoyt, bought the place in 1922, when it was a thriving business with plenty of customers. Times were good in those early years, but then came The Crash. Soon, running the diner came to feel like drifting along aboard a slowly sinking ship. The Depression caused many local business to close. The Indian Motocycle cut back, as Van Norman Tool laid off scores of workers. Package Machinery was operating with a skeleton crew. Many of the workers at these establishments were Mort's customers, and if they had little or no money, that meant they couldn't patronize the diner. Still, there were usually at least a few people at the counter, if only a few unemployed guys nursing a cup of coffee. Could he hang on? Mort was afraid to answer his own question.

A few blocks away on Hood Street, Jimmy Flagg looked at the alarm clock in the half light. He was glad there was no patter of raindrops outside - rain meant no work. Irene, his wife, rolled toward her husband asking, "Six o'clock already?" Jimmy said nothing as he shuffled into the bathroom and turned on the single bulb above the sink. He dreaded having to shave with a dull blade. "Not even enough money for razor blades," he muttered under his breath.

As he was carefully shaving, Jimmy could hear Irene preparing a lean breakfast in the kitchen. Her father had brought over some eggs from his hen house the night before. Irene also had a ten cent soup bone and a loaf of Hathaway's bread. Without these things, there would have been no breakfast. Sometimes Irene had to make a hard decision between who would get the most of what little they had, her husband, who needed nourishment so he could work, or the kids, who of course also needed to eat. She hated being put in such situations, resenting that her husband, who had once promised her a life of fluttering around the Butterfly Ballroom, had instead brought her to this place of hard choices.

"When we got married I didn't really know him," she thought, "and I'm not sure I do now."

Jimmy was glad to see the eggs and toast on the breakfast table. Sitting down, he lowered his head and mumbled a short prayer. Hunching his shoulders, he ate his breakfast without looking at his wife. He didn't like to remember the pretty young girl who danced with him beneath the rotating crystal sphere that twirled over the Butterfly Ballroom, and certainly he didn't want to contrast that memory with the care worn, seemingly terminally tired woman in the kitchen with him now. Was it he who had done that to her with all the drinking and the fighting?

Last night there had been a battle royale. Jimmy came home feeling good, not really drunk, just feeling in a playful mood. Irene had been waiting for him in the kitchen by the big black stove. Their food had nearly run out, and all the kids had for supper that night were "federal foods" pancakes. "Jimmy," she groaned, "how could you drink up the last few pennies we had!"

"Aw, c'mon Irene. Can't I have a little fun?" His wife's eyes flashed with anger and she spoke with open contempt and disgust, "You're not married to me! You're married to the bottle!" The condemning words hit Jimmy hard, suddenly he felt a blinding red rage that made him lash out at his wife. Irene screamed as she fell on the kitchen table and then slithered to the floor, where she lay, sobbing. What a terrible night, but not the first that had ended in violence. "Why think about it?" he told himself. "Why remember? No point."

*

To save money, Mort Hoyt and his wife Dora had recently moved from the Forest Park neighborhood to State Street Hill. From their third floor attic apartment on Andrew Street, it was easy to catch the trolley to Pine Point. Mort got up in the dark at 6am each day and then made his way a half hour later down the narrow stairs and outside to the trolley stop by the Indian Motocycle factory. He got off the trolley at St. Michael's Cemetery and would always arrive at the diner before 7am to relieve Bill the cook, who had been up all night preparing food for the next day and serving the occasional night owl at the counter.

"Morning, Mr. Hoyt," Bill greeted him as usual. They talked a little about what had happened overnight, and what Bill had prepared for the day's luncheon special. At one point as they chatted, there was an odd change in the pitch to Bill's voice, as if he was nervous about what he was about to say. "Mister Hoyt," he finally blurted out, "this is my last day working here."

Mort was startled. "What's wrong, Bill?" he asked, "Can I help?"

"Nothing is wrong," Bill said sadly. "It's just that I got an offer to cook downtown at the Bowles Lunch. They pay better, and I really need the extra money, plus my wife wants me to get a job where I can be home at night." Bill sighed and added, "I'm starting tomorrow." Mort knew he couldn't afford to match the salary of the Bowles Lunch, and had little else to offer to entice Bill to stay, so Mort replied simply, "You're a good man, Bill, and I wish you and your family all the best of luck." Mort opened the safe and paid Bill his last week's wages. "Thank you, Mr. Hoyt," Bill said, "I sure do hope things work out for you." They shook hands, and Mort Hoyt was without a cook.

*

Finishing his breakfast, Jimmy gave his wife a peck on the cheek and left for the WPA job he'd been working for the past few weeks. Soon, as he had every day after signing in, he was standing on the edge of a hole dug beside the overpass on State Street near Mass Mutual that was slowly becoming a stairway to the street below. There were two large boulders that had to be removed, and Jimmy and his co-workers Knight and Holmes were the ones who had to dig them out. How Jimmy had come to hate coming to this job every day. So this was President Roosevelt's answer to the Depression? Jimmy was almost regretful that he had campaigned for him.

There was no doubt that the government relief job constructing the stone staircase on State Street was a long way from his former life as a traveling salesman known in bars all over Springfield as "Coast to Coast Jimmy." Now stuck in Pine Point in an increasingly loveless marriage, Jimmy was beginning to feel trapped. Just before 10 o'clock break, Jimmy heard a boy's voice calling him. "Dad! Dad, it's me, Haskin!" Suddenly Jimmy was acutely aware of how he looked, all dirty and dusty with the hard physical work, but despite his embarrassment, Jimmy still managed a friendly wave.

Since it happened to be time for the 15 minute morning break, Jimmy took his son aside and asked why he had come. In a brave, but trembling voice Haskin said, "I wanted to talk to you about all the yelling and crying last night." Jimmy looked at Haskin and felt ashamed to have upset his son. On the other hand, Jimmy figured Haskin was almost ten, so perhaps he would understand. "Haskin, I'm sure you are aware of the problems your mother and I have been having...." He paused, dissatisfied that he sounded so academic.

Jimmy started again. "Haskin, after last night, I've made a decision. I will never fight or lay a hand on your mother again. I swear to God." Haskin looked deep into his father's eyes, and he believed him, even though he had heard that people can't control themselves when they drink too much. "There's demons in a liquor bottle." he recalled his grandmother saying. Did no fighting also mean no drinking? Still, Haskin felt better about the night before and his father felt relief when he saw it in the boy's face. When it was time for Jimmy to return to work, Haskin, who was visibly more cheerful, headed back towards Pine Point.

At noon, the foreman called a halt to the back breaking work and the three men climbed out of the hole. Only the first boulder had been successfully pried free, removing the other one would be the task awaiting them when they got back from lunch. "Hey Flagg," Holmes exclaimed, "why don't you join me and Knight for lunch at that diner in the Point?"

"Nah, you go ahead," Jimmy replied, "I'll just rest here until you guys get back."

"Oh c'mon," Knight urged, with Holmes joining in.

How to tell them? "I don't have any money," Jimmy finally admitted.

"C'mon anyways," Holmes said, "between the two of us we can get you a sandwich. Besides, we need you full of energy this afternoon so you can help us get that second boulder out!"

The three men jumped on the trolley and took the short ride to St. Michael's, then crossed over to the Pine Point Lunch. "We'll each have a Western," Knight yelled at Mort Hoyt. "Sure enough," he replied, "but you'll have to give me a little time, I'm the only one working because my cook quit this morning." The three men sat talking at the counter until the sandwiches arrived, gulped them down with coffee, and then caught the trolley back to the job. Working with great effort all afternoon, just before quitting time the boulder finally came free. The foreman congratulated them and the crew clocked out. Knight and Holmes asked him to join them for a beer at the Charm Cafe, but Jimmy reminded them that he was broke.

"What am I doing working for the WPA?" Jimmy asked himself as he began walking back towards Pine Point. "Working like a slave for fifteen lousy dollars a week? There's gotta be a better way!"

All afternoon, Jimmy had been thinking about the cook vacancy he had heard Mort mention at the Pine Point Lunch, and decided he would walk over to the diner after work. "You still need a cook?" he asked Mort. "Sure do!" came the hopeful response. "What time do you want me to work?" Jimmy asked. "11'o'clock tonight until 7am?" Although Jimmy had already put in a full day's work, he replied, "That will be just fine."

There would only be time for a nap before reporting for work. The truth was Jimmy knew very little about cooking. As he cut through Dorman playground heading towards Hood Street, Jimmy's elation at landing the job was tempered by the challenge of learning to cook in only a matter of hours! When he told Irene about his new job, she exclaimed, "But you're not a cook! How are you going to do this?" They spent most of the time before Jimmy had to report to the diner going over some very simple recipes for meals of the sort that would be appropriate for a diner. Beyond that, Jimmy would just have to show up and fake it as best he could.

After a brief nap, Jimmy arrived a few minutes before 11pm, and Mort showed him the kitchen. Jimmy's first few customers at the counter wanted some sandwiches, which were easy. No one complained, in fact the next morning when Knight stopped by for breakfast, he told Jimmy afterwards, "Hey Flagg, you cook pretty good!" Jimmy was glad that how to cook various styles of eggs was one of the things he and Irene had gone over.

As the nights working at the Pine Point Lunch turned into weeks, all continued to go well. Jimmy's reputation as a maker of good, simple food got around, and soon Jimmy was boasting to his kids that he was actually "The World's Greatest Chef" at least when it came to sandwiches! Jimmy even started to get a bit adventurous, making a macaroni and hamburg dish that Grandmother DeGreire had suggested and which was very well received. Business started to pick up a bit, and Hoyt was nothing but delighted. "You're helping to save my business!" Mort exclaimed one day with genuine gratitude, praise he backed up with a small raise. Jimmy's home life was also improving, since having to go to work each night at 11pm eliminated the opportunity for drinking too much earlier in the evening.

But something there is in good times that makes a man feel subversive. Very late one night, when there were no customers at the counter, Jimmy stepped out on the front sidewalk to smoke a cigarette. He looked up into the dark, moonless sky, and beyond the trees of St. Michael's he could see stars. Although it was the middle of the night, from somewhere nearby he could hear very faintly the sound of a baby crying. In the direction of Old Point Street, a light was on in a single upstairs room of an otherwise dark house. Jimmy felt very alienated and very alone.

Suddenly Jimmy was jolted from his thoughts as Clancey the cop appeared, making his usual rounds. "James, my man!" Clancey exclaimed. "Can an old cop get a wee bit of coffee?" Jimmy tossed his cigarette butt into the gutter of Boston Road and held open the door for the cheerful police officer, a frequent late night visitor. But although everything was going along like any normal night, Jimmy knew that something inside him had changed.

Sure enough, the next night, instead of walking to the diner, Jimmy Flagg found his feet heading, for no reason that he could articulate, in the direction of the Charm Cafe. Looking in, Jimmy saw Knight and Holmes seated at the bar where they had been perched since they got off work. "C'mon in Flagg," Knight encouraged. "Lemme buy you a drink."

Soon, Mortimer Hoyt had to hire a new cook.