Goodbye Shalimar Diner

Goodbye Shalimar Diner

I grew up in Rego Park, Queens during the 1950's and 1960's when Rego Park was an idyllic place.  Named for the Real Good Construction Company, Rego Park provided an abundant supply of moderate cost housing for growing families post World War II.  The Boomer generation was to be enormous and Rego Park was filled with two and three bedroom apartments needed by returning military and their young families.

Filled with Middle Class Boomer kids we walked to P.S. 139 alone from the time we were six years old.  We all lived in those red brick six story apartment buildings that still identify Rego Park and we played in the schoolyard after school every day and on weekends.  My bedroom window faced the schoolyard and I knew to come home and do my homework when my mother closed the window shades, an early form of "texting".

A predominantly Jewish neighborhood, the stereotypical Sunday dinner was at Sunning Chinese Restaurant, the ice cream parlor was Jahn's where the "kitchen sink" was something that a group of us might try but never finish, Shelley's Bakery provided an endless supply of rye bread and cookies and Knish Nosh was another favorite for its potato delights.  

Many of our parents never left Rego Park. My father was a doctor who died in his Rego Park office at the age of 70 and my 89 year old mother died in 2010 in our Rego Park apartment where she had lived for more than 56 years. 

As often happens in Middle Class neighborhoods, our parents aged and most of us moved away from Rego Park.  And when we came back to Rego Park on holidays or when illness struck our aging folks, we gravitated to Ben's Best Delicatessen on Queens Boulevard or the Shalimar Diner which was "up the hill" on 63rd Drive.  Both institutions brought back memories and gave us a sense of being home.  More importantly, they were providers of consistent comfort food and symbols of our lives growing up in Rego Park. It was not unusual to run into old friends at both restaurants, adding to the special experience.

When I turned 65, I celebrated my qualification for Medicare by hiring a small shuttle bus and taking my daughter and my closest friends on a magical tour of my childhood haunts. We all dressed in 60's attire to make the journey more real.  Some of the party goers had grown up in Rego Park but the majority of my friends had never ventured into Queens.  Our first stop was Ben's Deli for a good old fashioned Rego Park dinner and we passed the Shalimar along the way. We sang to a 60's playlist compiled by my daughter and I regaled the captive audience with stories about my Rego Park adventures.

When I learned that Ben's Best was closing this past summer I was shocked and disappointed.  And when I heard yesterday that the Shalimar was closing at the end of this week I was heartbroken.  All because of rents that retailers no matter how large cannot afford.  

Yes, Rego Park has gone through so many changes over my 69 years of existence.  No longer is it a densely populated community of Jewish people many of whom went to Queens College, if at all.    Rego Park has become a melting pot of immigrants from Asia, Russia and elsewhere all striving for a better life for their families.

I learned to ride my bike on the site on Queens Boulevard that eventually became Alexander's and then Sears, both only part of my history.  I remember having peppermint stick ice cream this time of year at Howard Johnson's which growing up was only a restaurant.  We would go for sodas at Charlie Kaye's and shop at the small grocery owned by Mr. Hochberg.  Citibank was First National City Bank and I opened my first checking account there (I still use that account as my primary personal bank account) when I went away to college.  I took the public bus to school as I grew older and the fare was 15 cents for each ride.  If we wanted to go into "the City" we would get dressed up and either take the GG train or the Q60 bus.  

While there were so many changes in Rego Park over my 69 years, I knew that I could always return to Ben's Best and the Shalimar when I needed a good and "memorable" meal.  As of Sunday, those days are officially gone.  So very sad.

The Hungry Man

I worked out this morning.  It was a beautiful cool morning and I did my time at my gym.  As a reward, I headed to Starbucks for a grande coffee and a multigrain bagel (no butter of course).  When I got on line I noticed that the man in front of me was a contradiction in style.  He looked kind of preppy with a fleece vest, khaki pants, baseball cap and running shoes.  But when I looked closer, his vest was covered with what looked like cat hair and he had virtually no teeth.  He was carrying a bag from a local chain drug store and so I assumed he had some money.  When we got closer to the counter, he reached down and began to take several juices, yogurt parfaits and sandwiches and stuffed them in his bag with a fervor that only a desperate hungry man can have.  He did not look around and the Starbucks folks were all behind the counter so they could not see what he was up to.  The man was tall but I did not fear for my safety.  All I saw was this hungry man.  I briefly thought about telling the Starbucks people that the man was stealing what would have run up over $50 but in the end I was heartbroken.  I thought in the scheme of things, the $50 was meaningless to Starbucks and the food would keep the hungry man and whomever he might be feeding as well alive.

Monika

A seemingly healthy and beautiful 21 year old woman died last week.  I teach one class a week in an Undergraduate Business program on Monday afternoons.  Her name was Monika and she was always in class early.  She was always prepared, talked rarely in class and sat near the door.  I could always count on Monika to close the door when class began.  She smiled, looked at me and did her job pleasantly and efficiently.

I did not know Monika well.  We spent a total of less than 13 hours together.  But because our class is relatively small, all of "my kids" are special to me, even the ones who do not come to class or who look at their smartphones all class.  But Monika was always there, earlier than most.

Monika was a senior, about to embark upon all of the excitement and unknown that newly minted graduates have to face.  She had a part time job in retail and was a bit of a fashionista.  Who knows what her life would have brought her.

But as the priest said so well at her dreadfully sad funeral, Monika's stay on this earth is over.  A brain aneurysm robbed her of her bright future.

And so, when we return in another week from Spring Break, Monika will not be there to greet me when I arrive early to set up the audio visual tools for my class.  Monika's quiet smile is gone.  Someone else will have to close that door.  Or maybe we will leave it open so that if Monika might want to join us, she can from wherever she is.

The Blue Line

If you are a Whole Foods shopper you may have noticed that they have changed the traffic route for checkout to three separate lines:  Blue, Yellow and Green.  The instructions that are posted say, go to the line that is shortest.  And so, just now, when I went to my neighborhood Whole Foods store, I saw that the Yellow and Green lines had six people each but the Blue Line was empty.  At first I hesitated.  In fact, I conferred with the person behind me who also hesitated.   We both said, "Hmmm.  Do you think the Blue line is broken?"  But having a new found sense of daring which has infused my self ever since I was laid off more than a year ago, I decided to take that risk and go down the Blue Line.

The Yellow and Green line people stared at me as if I was doing something wrong.  The excitement rose as I waited to see what would happen when the Green line got their cashier number and the Blue Line was next.  I have to admit I was a bit worried.  Had I made a stupid choice?

And then, validation.  The Blue box showed number 24.  And I proudly (or really, sheepishly) walked quickly to cashier 24 feeling glares and anger behind me.  I had taken the plunge and my reward was to be served ahead of 12 less daring shoppers.

Why do we all just follow the Yellow and Green lines?  Why are we afraid to take that riskier step and go down the Blue Line???

Perhaps unemployment and founding my own business has been painful but it has made me a much more daring person.  A year ago, I might have been on the Yellow and Green line with the other twelve people.  In fact, I had a history of going on the wrong grocery line to check out.  Always the slowest, always a problem.  Never the first one to the finish line.

But now I am a Blue Line person.  Isn't that amazing...

Why I am afraid to get old

My mother is 88 years old and has many ailments.  I have noticed more and more that many doctors that she visits have no patience for her.  She can't hear, she can't walk very well and she can't see that well either and I suppose that is a blessing in a way.  She is incredibly sharp and has always been an extremely intelligent woman.  And so, if she could pick up on the lack of respect, impatience and disregard of the elderly, she would be heartbroken.  She and so many others deserve much better treatment and certainly more respect.

In the not too distant future, I too will be elderly as will all of these doctors whether they like it or not.

Torstein Tranoy

Hi.  When I started on my entrepreneurial journey in early 2008, I looked at some really cool office space down in Tribeca.  The "incubator space" project was one of an eleven point initiative started by the Bloomberg Administration to help unemployed financial services professionals reinvent themselves.  I spent a couple of really fun hours with the owner of the space on Debrosses Street and he advised me not to sign up until I really knew that I was going to start my own business.  Later on that afternoon I got a call on my cellphone from a European caller.  At first, I thought, "Great.  Here I am unemployed and I am receiving wrong numbers from Europe".  But the caller told me he was actually looking for me.  He was a Norwegian journalist who was writing an article on the Bloomberg program and he was downtown talking to the owner of the Debrosses space who suggested he talk to me.

Torstein Tranoy met me a couple of days later at Bouchon Bakery in the Time Warner Center.  He had a stringer photographer and I felt like a true celebrity as Torstein interviewed me and the photographer snapped dozens of photos.  We had a wonderful time and Torstein was one of the important people who encouraged me to continue on my journey.  He was kind, funny, enthusiastic and extremely interesting.  And shortly thereafter, he sent me the article, complete with my photos, which ran in the Norwegian equivalent of the Financial Times.

I don't know what made me Google him a few days ago.  But I did.  And it was in Wikipedia that I learned that Torstein died very suddenly in September of 2008.  He did not know the many times that I have told the story about receiving his call.  He did not know how much I enjoyed getting to know him although so very brief.

And so, I write about my sadness about the loss of Torstein Tranoy.  Rest in peace, my friend.

It's Raining Cats and Dogs

It was raining cats and dogs in NYC today.  Roads were flooded and it was unusually warm.  Had a near miss on the Henry Hudson.  Huge tree fell on the highway blocking any travel north.  If I had left twenty minutes earlier, I could have been under that tree.  Wow.

It is amazing to me how the world obsesses about Brangelina and the state of their marriage.  After a week of coverage of the poor people in Haiti, we are back to Brangelina and how Elin caught Tiger.  Things never change.