Pastrami- One day I went to my friend Rodney Barton’s house. His family lived directly across the street from my family. We lived on a cul-de-sac, that is a word of French origin, that literally means “bottom of the sack.” In English, according to Merriam-Webster, it means, “a street or passage closed at one end.” As in, “Our house is located on a quiet cul-de-sac.”
Only our cul-de-sac, 30 miles north of San Francisco, wasn’t quiet, it was full of kids, playing all day until the street lights came on. My parents Frankie and Billy and Rodney’s parents Glen and Renata and other neighbors, would sometimes sit outside on the sidewalk outside our houses, drinking beer or cocktails, after the street lights came on, which meant more playing time for us.
One neighbor family, the Doolittle’s, were related to General James Doolittle. In addition to having an amazing aviation career, he received the Medal of Honor for his daring raid on Japan during World War II. It was a turning point in the war. When asked from where the Tokyo raid was launched, President Roosevelt coyly said, its base was Shangri-La, a fictional paradise from the popular novel “Lost Horizon.”
Again, turning to our friend Merriam-Webster, we have Shangri-La, as “a remote beautiful imaginary place where life approaches perfection: utopia. 2 : a remote usually idyllic hideaway.”
Mr. Doolittle had painted a baseball diamond, on our round street, Denise Court. We had countless hours of Whiffle Ball™ and kick-ball games. We fished in Novato Creek and Lake Stafford for blue gills.
We played with our pets Lucky Dog and Boots the Cat. We loved when Boots had a litter of kittens. We watched, “Creature Feature,” horror films. We combated boredom by endlessly riding around on skateboards, Big Wheels and our bikes.
Mr. Barton thought the ten-speed racing bikes, that were popular, were hilarious saying, “How can you ride around with your nose down and your ass in the air?” When I took my ten-speed apart to paint it and on reassembling it, found I had excess parts, he helped to figure out the mess and get my bike together. Then laughed and pointed at me saying, “Nose down, ass up,” as I rode away.
We were constantly outdoors playing. The undeveloped hill, above our houses provided a place to explore nature, climb and swing from trees and build tree-forts. Was our cul-de-sac, a sort of Shangri-La?
Sorry, I digress. This is about lunch and more importantly, the day I was introduced to Pastrami. Mrs. Barton was from Germany. She and Mr. Barton had met there after the war when he was stationed there. (We are talking the 1960s, so it’s a long time past to recall details.) The detail I will never forget- unless I get dementia- in which case all bets are off on the phrase- I will never forget- yikes, another digression! Is Pastrami!
Mrs. Barton, brought out a package of lunch meat and when she found out I had never tried Pastrami, she offered me a slice. It melted in my mouth! It was the most delicious thing I had ever eaten.
I ran home, flew open the door and shouted “Mom! Mom! Mom! Have you ever heard of PAST-TRY-ME?” She had no idea what I was talking about with my mispronunciation. “Slow down boy! What are you going on about?” I calmed down and soon made myself understood about this lunch meat. Perfection! Utopia! Unfortunately, my mother was not impressed and we as a family stuck with baloney.
It wasn’t until I moved to New York to manage the Bowery Poetry Club, which was a few blocks away from Katz’s Deli, that I really experienced pastrami. While waiting in line to give your order, the countermen always slip you a small slice of hot pastrami. Heaven!
Katz’s is well-known for the slogan from WWII, “Why not send a Salami to Your Boy in the Army.” They are famous as the setting for the scene in “When Harry Met Sally,” and Meg Ryan shows Billy Crystal how easy it is for a woman to fake an orgasm. That scene ends with one of the funniest lines in movie history, after Meg gives a stellar impression of a female climax, they cut to another customer who says, “I’ll have what she’s having.” BA-Dump-Dump!
Here is my poem “Northern California,” celebrating the hill above the cul-de-sac. It is dedicated to my poetry teacher, at Indian Valley College, David Rollison.
Northern California
One day each year,
the hills are suddenly green.
Another day they are
all at once gold.
It happens without notice,
in the glint of an eye.
The way a lizard’s tail
will break off in your hand.
The way water collects
in the crannies of a black oak
and waits there for a
child’s imagination,
to still it into a cistern,
to be drunk on a journey,
to the place where
a mind can take root.
It is fast as swinging
from a Eucalyptus tree
the branches arching
out over the downward slant
of the hill and how when you let go
for a brief moment you fly.
And so I dream of going back to be.
Too quick to hold,
one day green,
one day gold.
Photo of Frankie and Billy, outside their beloved cul-de-sac home, by Michael Monteleone. Other photos Glazner family slides captions: Skateboard Party; Gary and Kevin and the Blue Gill haul; Boots the Cat, Lucky Dog and Kittens; Kevin with Flag and Barton House; Gary and Kevin Hill and Eucalyptus Trees in background and The Swinging 60s.