EPA JOURNAL 1977

A friend of mine was throwing out some boxes when he discovered an old EPA Journal from 1977 when I was acting Director of the Water Management Division at the Regional Office in Boston. The subject matter was “Would you spend more to make your drinking water safe?” A recent program on WGBH showed how we have clean water to drink today, but explained that was not the case 150 years ago. Catch the rerun. It is most interesting. This is what I had to say in 1977. Hope it is legible.

THE RIDE FROM HELL

My father never owned a car. Why would he. He could walk to any place in Southie and if he had to go farther afield there was a wonderful bus and subway system that could take him there. In the 1950’s I worked the night shift with my Father at Joe’s Spa. After closing the restaurant we would head for home. My Father was 39 years older than me. He was in his mid fifties and I was a teenager at the time. Up East Broadway we would head at a pace I couldn’t maintain. I’d fall behind then race to catch up, time and time again. When we got home at 2:00 A.M in City Point near the L St. Bathhouse he would stop and tell me to take in deep breaths of the wonderful sea air. All I wanted to do was to get into my bed. He loved to walk. No wonder he lived to be almost 103.

Sometimes we would get an offer for a ride home. If the bakery delivery guy ended his route at the Spa then he would make the offer. I should describe the van he drove. Basically it was a large high box on wheels. It had no seats except for a stool like seat for the driver. But get this, it had no doors. That way he could make his deliveries without wasting time opening and closing doors. He thought of himself as an Indianapolis race driver. The major difference was the van’s center of gravity was much higher than an Indy race car. As he drove at break neck speeds around the corners his van would barely keep all of its wheels on the ground. My father and I held on for dear life. It was a white knuckle ride from hell. He literally got us home in minutes.

I often had nightmares of being thrown from the door less van. Even today I get chills talking about it. I wish my father had refused those rides.

HOT FUDGE SUNDAE

Before I was old enough to work behind the counter at Joe’s Spa I was put to work in the back near the walk in cold storage area. My job was to make the hot fudge topping that the Spa was famous for. My uncle Jim was the expert and it was he that put in the various ingredients. My job was to stir the “pot” (really a huge pickle barrel type container). He would show up at certain intervals and add huge blocks of chocolate, sugars, vanilla and God knows what else. I would start in the early morning hours and finish sometime in mid afternoon. When the product was complete there was enough hot fudge topping to last most of the summer season.

When I graduated to behind the counter I took pride in the various sundaes I dished out to the adults and children that came into the Spa . The banana split was my specialty. A banana split down the middle placed in an elongated dish with two scoops of vanilla ice cream surrounding a scoop of strawberry in the middle. Topping it off was whipped cream , strawberry sauce, chopped nuts and a cherry on top. But back to the hot fudge topping I had labored over in the back.

It was a Sunday when a gentleman had come in and asked a special favor. His wife was quite ill and was lying in a hospital bed in the Carney Hospital just down the street. He just had come from there and his wife felt she couldn’t leave this planet without having one last hot fudge sundae from Joe’s Spa. Could I make up a special container and add an extra layer of hot fudge. Of course I would.

The banana split may have been my specialty but for at least one day it took back seat to the hot fudge sundae I had prepared.

ROSE

I marveled how good the waitresses were at Joe’s Spa where I worked to earn money for college in the 1950’s. They were an elite group that formed a close bonded relationship among themselves. One waitress in particular stands out in my mind these many years later. We knew her as “Rose”. Rose had an uncanny ability to remember orders like I had never seen before or since. On those Saturday nights when all of Southie descended on the Spa after the bars closed the waitresses had to be on their toes because of the demands for food orders.

Most of the waitresses used note pads to record the orders but not Rose. She would take orders from 2 tables with 6 seated at both without any notes whatsoever. When she approached me I knew I had to be ready with my notepad because she rattled off the orders with no hesitation. “Liverwurst with wheat bread hold the mayo, club sandwich with an extra slice of bacon, turkey on white without lettuce, ham and swiss cheese on white ,etc.”

God forbid if you got her order wrong. She was of the no nonsense class of waitresses that didn’t suffer fools. If she could remember all of her orders then she expected you to do likewise. She was my favorite waitress and has a special place in my memory bank of good people I have known.

HONESTY IS THE BEST POLICY

Honesty is the Best Policy

I worked as many hours as I could at Joe’s Spa during my summers between semesters at college. I needed spending money for the winter months. Therefore it wasn’t unusual that I would work the Saturday evening shift with my Father then return on Sunday morning with my Uncle Jim. I should tell you that Saturday evening was the most hectic time at Joe’s Spa. In those days in the 1950’s the Blue laws were in effect..that meant all the bars in Southie closed at 12:00 A.M. At 12:15 A.M. anybody who was anybody ended up at the Spa for a midnight snack. It was standing room only. It was the only time the Spa opened the back part of the restaurant.

“Freddie” from the Czechoslovakian Club on Columbia Rd. was a regular Saturday night customer. After he closed his Club he would come in to the Spa and order the strangest drink. It was a strawberry frappe made with strawberry ice cream, half milk and half hot water. As much bedlam as there was, he only needed to raise his hand and I would have it on the counter for him. He was a big tipper and I learned early on you never neglect a big tipper.

When “Freddie” would show up he obviously would have had his fill of alcohol. One Saturday night he plopped down a $10 bill, drank his concoction and left without his change. I knew I would see him mid morning on Sunday so I put it aside for him until then. When he showed up Sunday much sober then when I saw him the night before, I handed him his change. His face dropped a mile. He couldn’t believe I just didn’t pocket the money. He went on and on how he appreciated my honesty. Needless to say he left me big tip.

The tips were even larger than before when I saw him on those following Saturday nights. More important than the money I had made a lifelong friend.”Freddie” taught me a lesson I have never forgotten. The adage that ‘honesty is the best policy” is true.