The Dinner Bell

No great insights into the meaning of life tonight. Just memories. A few years back, I got into reading a series of books by an author who sets her novels in Trenton, New Jersey, the site of my primary high school job. In one book, she alluded to a location that elicited some poignant (and humorous) memories. I was moved enough to hunt down her email address and thank her for the moment. That initiated and exchange of correspondence. It’s not like we email all the time, but we were in touch this week. The subject was The Dinner Bell. Back then, I worked in an auto supply store in a somewhat decrepit part of town (it’s a sliding scale in Trenton), mostly selling and installing tires, batteries, shocks, seat covers and an assortment of other related items. But, my primary responsibility occurred on Saturday mornings. I was to show up before the opening of the store, walk next door to The Dinner Bell, return and greet the arriving staff with coffee and doughnuts. A botched tire or seat cover job could earn me a frown. But, failing to have the provisions awaiting on Saturday was a capital offense. The Dinner Bell resembled a small road house you’d find out in the country. Wooden exterior with peeling paint. It was owned and run by Bud and Mary. Due to its proximity, we had many lunches there. Bud was a character. He looked and sometimes spoke like Will Rogers. If you were a regular, the ritual was to walk in, plop yourself down and ask Bud what was on the menu today. That was the setup for his response in a machine gun delivery, “Ham, ram, lamb, bear, beef, billy goat, buffalo and bacon.” Your response was to laugh. Every time. But he wasn’t the primary act. If Bud was there, so was Louie. He’d make his way around the diner to check on the quality of your food. By grabbing and eating some of it. He was also known to chatter loudly. Not great manners but somewhat understandable. Louie was a monkey. Try to sneak that by the health inspector these days. The supporting cast was the blue collar workers who ebbed and flowed through the place. There was always something going on. It was a fun place to be. My author friend told me that Bud died decades ago and Mary went to live with her sister in Asbury Park. The car dealer on the other side bought the property, knocked down the building (not that it needed a lot of help) and expanded their lot. The Dinner Bell may be gone, but it lives in our hearts.