Hot Dogs

I came to Houston in January, 1963. Shortly thereafter, I was introduced to James Coney Island’s hot dogs by the son of my journalism teacher who felt obligated to introduce me to Houston’s treasures. The original store was downtown on Walker Street, and you had to know it was there to find it. My basic order was always the same, two all the way with chips and a drink, usually root beer. Over the years, I frequented the place until it closed.

Yesterday, I found myself on Houston’s West Loop looking for my doctor’s office. Because I hate being late, I was early, and in the mood for something to eat for lunch. There, on the left, by Beechnut I saw a James Coney Island, one of their by now ubiquitous franchise locations. They still sell the original dog with chili and finely chopped onions. I ordered two, with tater tots this time, and root beer. And just like that I time traveled back sixty years to the days of my youth when my best friend and I worked as copy boys at the Houston Chronicle and sang Downtown by Petula Clark and worked downtown, and felt big and alive and ate at James Coney Island.

Then, because I felt young again, right after my doctor’s appointment I drove back to Austin in the rain and met some friends at the Saxon Pub which is just what young people do, drive 200 miles at the end of the day to sit with friends and have a beer before heading on home. And now I’m up this morning, no worse for wear, and getting ready to start my day, and it looks as though the rain has passed, and the sun will shine, and it should be a nice day. And I think the next time I go back to Houston, I’ll gather up the two little grand-kids and take them out for hot dogs.