“No Pancakes for You!” A Breakfast Story

It came as a shock to us all – the day my Pop received his transfer to California by United Airlines.

The Old Man a die-hard East Coaster was heartbroken – he didn’t want to leave our home in beautiful Alexandria and move to chilly San Francisco. But, if he wanted to continue being a pilot for United he had to get his ass in gear and move his family pronto.

It was a hot Summer day in Virginia when we left. The air was already feeling muggy and humid despite it being very early in the morning.

My Mother had thought it proper that she should dress Matty and me in Cowboy outfits as we were headed for the Wild West.

We had red Cowboy hats, checkered shirts, red vests, and boots. The whole ensemble was topped off with toy cap guns and matching holsters.

Matty and I enthusiastically fired our toy pistols – “BANG! BANG! BANG!” into the air until the whole Plymouth station wagon reeked of sulfur. 

This went on for the first twenty minutes of the ride – whereupon the Old Man took our cap guns away for the rest of the trip.

The sun rose and fell several times as Pops drove doggedly, drinking thermos after thermos of black coffee smoking his pipe, chatting with Mom and us kids as he excitedly pointed out passing landmarks.

Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity – we rolled into the dusty town of Winnemucca, Nevada one early Friday morning. 

A brick building on the edge of town sported a lurid red neon sign with a winking lady that said “Jenny’s Kozy Corner,” “Gambling! Fine Foods! Lodging! Come In and Get Acquainted!” seemed just the ticket for us weary and hungry travelers.

We were promptly seated in a restaurant-style Naugahyde booth whereupon the Old Man splurged on the Family Breakfast Special for four at a whopping one dollar and ninety-nine cents for the entire table.

Soon a mountain of heavenly steaming pancakes, breakfast sausages, bacon, hash browns, and scrambled eggs were provided – and we all dug in with gusto.

Abruptly a number was called out via loudspeaker “Number Thirty” and a man got up from a table and walked quickly to the back of the diner exiting through a back door.

A few minutes later – the loudspeaker squawked “Number Thirty-One” and another man jumped out of his seat and exited the same door the last man had taken previously.

We were halfway done with our meal when the loudspeaker announced: “Numbers Thirty Two and Thirty-Three Please.” Two men got up from their table and jogged to the back of the restaurant.

By that time my Old Man was curious – so he told my Mom he was going to pay our bill and check things out.

Within moments he was back at our table looking flustered. “Okay boys eat up, eat up – we got get on the road and get to Reno today.”

He then whispered something to Mom – who visibly blanched, wiped her mouth hurriedly with a napkin, grabbed her purse, hauled us protesting kids out of the booth and back to the car.

Yes, Jenny’s Kozy Corner served fine breakfasts indeed. It also served as one of the finest and busiest Bordellos in the area.

My Mom didn’t speak to Pop for the remainder of the trip.