in Chicago, from birth to the age of 23 when I moved to New York, my family and I lived in a Salvation Army-owned flat building on Madison Street, in the 1500 block, one of the city's seedier neighborhoods. Tom’s Restaurant was on the ground floor. It had dittoed menus and served roast beef with gravy and mashed potatoes (65 cents), and two pork chops with sliced tomatoes on the side (50 cents).

There were two waitresses I liked, Rose and Betty. They were sisters. Betty boarded with us for a while and used to take Tula and me to the nearby Union park. I liked her a whole lot. Later Betty married someone we all considered “rich” because he took her away from Chicago to, I think, Florida. Rose stayed behind and worked herself to pieces waiting on people in Tom’s Restaurant. I remember wondering why Betty left her sister behind and didn’t give her some of her money. It was inconceivable to me that a family member doing well would leave a sibling to live in near-poverty.

Later when Mom worked, and during school vacation when Tula and I were on our own, we would be given money to eat and would go to Tom’s Restaurant. My favorite was the pork chops.

When we were playing outside and got really hot and thirsty we would go into the restaurant and be given a glass of water. The waitresses were never too busy to be nice to us. Any time I felt like it, I could walk through the restaurant, through the kitchen area, and out the back to my alley play area. I do not exaggerate when I say I loved that alley which had branches leading to three different streets.

Tom, the owner, lived on the 2nd floor of the building and owned a female German shepherd that Tula and I had named Rex. We didn’t know Rex was a boy dog’s name. Tom, who wasn’t all that touchy-feely, kept Rex chained up outside his rear flat door. Tula and I made a point to stop and pet Rex whenever we could and she was always grateful. I pine, now, thinking of what a sad life she had, always chained and tied to her duties as guard dog.

My first time in Tom’s Restaurant was when I was about 7 and my father took me there one morning for breakfast. He ordered coffee and buttered toast for both of us and taught me how to dunk my toast for the best taste. He was so right about that, but I don’t dunk anymore. In our house, children could drink coffee. (Apparently giving children coffee is common in Greece.) Indeed, Mom would make Turkish coffee for us and Tu and I and Mom would sit at the kitchen table and enjoy it, drinking from demitasse cups. It was very thick and strong. I loved it. When we were finished, Mom would turn our cups upside down in our saucers and would then “read” the grounds patterns and tell us our fortunes. What a Mom, the kind you hardly don’t get anymore.

Do you think it was the strong coffee that interfered with my growth? I don’t. My sister drank it too and she got to be 5 ft., 4. Anyway, she got the height and, if I may say it, I got the common sense.

xx, Teal