I looked up Tom's address in the phone book (you may remember phone books form the olden days) and showed up. I hardly needed an address. The cars and mob scene were crazy. You'd have thought that Abraham Lincoln and Marilyn Monroe were making special guest appearances. The line was easily twenty-five minutes long. But that little contraption was too cool. It was mesmerizing to watch one thingy-doey spill out dough into a tray filled with hot oil. Then, that dough floated along for a while. Then another thingy-doey magically flipped it over without anybody even asking it to. Then, the dough floated along some more. Then, by that time it was a real live doughnut.
IT'S A MODERN DAY MIRACLE!!!
Then, it hit a little, metal conveyer belt which mystically lifted it up and out of the hot oil. Then, the metal belt lifted higher and higher toward the sky, when it would suddenly drop the little bit of heaven onto a waiting plate below, onto which grubby fingers would grasp it for dear life. "MINE, NOT YOURS... MINE". It was incredible. Yet more proof of God's existence. I introduced myself to Tom and we got to talking. He told me he knew about the impending article, but had no idea it'd be on the front page. When he saw it he immediately went out and bought a few hundred more pounds of mix. Thankfully, he didn't need that much.
I told him how much I loved Homer Price also and we bonded. A couple of months later, I borrowed the machine and used it at a special event at Fancy-Shmancy Nursing Home. Tom insisted on donating the batter and oil (he always donated the supplies whenever anybody borrowed the thing.) It ended up one of the most horrific experiences of my life.
I couldn't figure out how everything went together. Tom was in Europe, touring with the orchestra, so I was really on my own. I've very rarely been that frustrated. I'm actually very mechanically inclined, but I just couldn't get that thing to work properly. I wanted to cry. I even snapped at one of the old ladies who lived there. (She immediately forgave me and told me that I'm a real live human being just like everybody else.) I was eventually able to get lots of malformed little doughnut holes. And everybody was happy to eat those. Afterwards, I couldn't get the thing cleaned properly either. I wanted to cry again. So, I just gave up. I'm somebody who's a smidgeon preoccupied with perfection, and brother, I didn't get it that day. It remains one of my most psychotic professional memories to this day. But I digress.
Anyhow... Tom quickly forgave me for returning the contraption in filthy shape and we've become friendly acquaintances over the years. He's a very active member of his church, which just happens to be where I held my enormous Passover Seder last spring. He and Cindy attended and both helped out, too. (I'm glad he got to see that I could do something successfully.)
I e-mailed him last week to find out when doughnut day was this year and he told me, 10.12.13. I'm too excited. So is everybody else. His children, now older, come in from college, as do all their friends to attend. In fact, 3 or 4 or 5 neighboring front lawns are taken over by children, younger and older, and dogs, playing football and eating doughnuts, while parents mingle and eat doughnuts. There will be Cleveland Height City Council wannabees campaigning and eating doughnuts. The mayor will be there of course, along with the church pastors and many congregants eating doughnuts. Franz Welser-Most, the conductor of the Cleveland Orchestra, and many orchestra members will be there, eating doughnuts. Assorted other friends, neighbors, relatives, dogs and extras will be there, eating doughnuts.
And importantly, I'll be there, breaking my diet, eating doughnuts (and handing out my business card - trying to drum up work for myself). It's a doughnut party. Nothing more... nothing less. It just doesn't get more fun than that. (Except some years ago, I had a friend who had an annual pizza party. I should tell that story sometime too.)
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| Before Doughnut Day... |
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