Since I lost my dad some years ago, Father's Day has become a time to remember things. George Cokinos was born at home on 9th Street Northeast to Greek immigrants in 1916. He grew up here and never left the DC area except to travel. We didn't sightsee unless we had out of town guests. We didn't go to the Smithsonian or other museums, but he did leave me an appreciation for living in the District, and I'd like to thank him for many things:
Taking me to the zoo. A lot. Sometimes just on the spur of the moment, sometimes for a birthday. I suspect he liked it because it was uptown, free and outdoors. I remember he would park our station wagon right near the elephant house and partly on the sidewalk. Crazy, right? He had a little home made sign that he would put on the dashboard which said "Modern Linen -Making Delivery." That seemed to do the trick.
All those DC stories. George worked mostly in the restaurant world, and he had the low down on how the Italian statues got into AV's yard on New York Avenue, or how Ulysses "Blackie" Auger got his start after World War Two when everyone was craving meat after years of rationing. He sold steaks from the trunk of his car for a short time, but soon opened his own place called "The Minute Grille." When he had made enough dough to buy the property at 21st and M, he called it Blackie's House of Beef. The kitchen was in terrible shape. One day my father and Uncle Mimi happened by to see the new place, and Blackie asked whether he should spend his money on improving the kitchen or buy a sign. My father said go for the sign, and that's exactly what happened. It was a big sign!
All those DC stories. George worked mostly in the restaurant world, and he had the low down on how the Italian statues got into AV's yard on New York Avenue, or how Ulysses "Blackie" Auger got his start after World War Two when everyone was craving meat after years of rationing. He sold steaks from the trunk of his car for a short time, but soon opened his own place called "The Minute Grille." When he had made enough dough to buy the property at 21st and M, he called it Blackie's House of Beef. The kitchen was in terrible shape. One day my father and Uncle Mimi happened by to see the new place, and Blackie asked whether he should spend his money on improving the kitchen or buy a sign. My father said go for the sign, and that's exactly what happened. It was a big sign!
Introducing me to DC centric food
George always asked for a half smoke over a hotdog. He also liked the fried chicken wing sandwich at the Florida Avenue Grill which came with another story. Chewing right through the cartilage and spitting out the bones, he would talk about how his parents would have the priest from St Sophia's over for Sunday dinners when he was a kid. The chicken on the table only went so far with a family of five and an honored guest. The priest would get the biggest piece, and my grandfather would get the next biggest and so it went. My grandmother always insisted that "Georgie loved the wing." I guess it happened so many times that he believed it, too.
Teaching me how to drive with impunity. Technically I learned to drive a VW bug with a driver's ed teacher, but my father taught me the finer points of operating a motor vehicle with his mind bending lane changes on the Beltway and sometimes stunning U turns on avenues around the city. Even though he constantly scared the crap out of my mother, he gave me a lot of confidence behind the wheel. And unlike my mother, he taught me how to pump my own gas.
Taking me to see the Watergate concerts. I feel like I dreamed this, but there once was a floating barge on the Potomac River where concerts were held. The band played on the float, and the audience sat in folding chairs in the road or on the steps leading up hill to the Lincoln Memorial. After I grew up, I caught the movie "Houseboat" on TV and realized it was the same venue the kids went to with Cary Grant.
It's a good thing they caught that era on film because I can't imagine stopping traffic for anything like that now. Once upon a time the staircase was meant to be part of a grand entrance into the city, but now it's just a strangely marvelous out of place phenomenon on Ohio Drive.
Taking me to Sherrill's Bakery. When I first met the "girls," as George called them, Lola, the owner, started yelling at him in Greek as soon as we walked in. She seemed angry and scary to me. Her daughters Kiki and Dottie were less frightening, but I didn't know what was going until the scene devolved into pinching cheeks and handing out cookies. They loved my father and were scolding him for not coming by more often.
The bakery was once a mainstay on Capitol Hill and served breakfast, lunch and dinner 364 days a year in a time capsule of a 1940s diner which is when Lola and her husband Sam Rivas bought the place. A cigarette machine and a fortune telling scale flanked the front door, and I thought it was cool we didn't have to pay for the cookies. Former busboy and local film maker David Petersen almost won an Oscar and did win a well deserved Emmy for capturing those crazy and hard working women and their customers in his documentary "Fine Food and Pastries." Hit the link to see it as there's nothing left of Sherrill's except memories now. Lola worked at the diner until she was 92 years old, but had to quit after a fall.
Showing me how the linen service worked. In the 1950s my dad and my Uncle Mimi started a company called Modern Linen which meant I got to go through the back doors of a lot of restaurants and meet the people in the kitchen. I worked at the laundry in the summertime and saw how all consuming the restaurant biz was. Customers were constantly having crises. They would run out of clean napkins or dish towels after hours, sometimes a delivery truck would break down, and my brother or a cousins would have to jump in and drive the order in a car. When I decided to be a sign painter my senior year in high school, I think my father thought I was nuts, but he let me paint the trucks, and that was the last time I worked at a laundry.
Taking me to Sherrill's Bakery. When I first met the "girls," as George called them, Lola, the owner, started yelling at him in Greek as soon as we walked in. She seemed angry and scary to me. Her daughters Kiki and Dottie were less frightening, but I didn't know what was going until the scene devolved into pinching cheeks and handing out cookies. They loved my father and were scolding him for not coming by more often.
The bakery was once a mainstay on Capitol Hill and served breakfast, lunch and dinner 364 days a year in a time capsule of a 1940s diner which is when Lola and her husband Sam Rivas bought the place. A cigarette machine and a fortune telling scale flanked the front door, and I thought it was cool we didn't have to pay for the cookies. Former busboy and local film maker David Petersen almost won an Oscar and did win a well deserved Emmy for capturing those crazy and hard working women and their customers in his documentary "Fine Food and Pastries." Hit the link to see it as there's nothing left of Sherrill's except memories now. Lola worked at the diner until she was 92 years old, but had to quit after a fall.
Showing me how the linen service worked. In the 1950s my dad and my Uncle Mimi started a company called Modern Linen which meant I got to go through the back doors of a lot of restaurants and meet the people in the kitchen. I worked at the laundry in the summertime and saw how all consuming the restaurant biz was. Customers were constantly having crises. They would run out of clean napkins or dish towels after hours, sometimes a delivery truck would break down, and my brother or a cousins would have to jump in and drive the order in a car. When I decided to be a sign painter my senior year in high school, I think my father thought I was nuts, but he let me paint the trucks, and that was the last time I worked at a laundry.
