“Timmy, how have you been? I haven’t seen you for a long time. How is retirement?”
“Man, it’s good to see you, too,” I replied. And I meant it.
He left the sandwich station, wiping his hands on a towel before we shook hands, but pointed out the space to one of his people, indicating for them to slide into his place to ensure that his momentary absence didn’t slow the grind of feeding hungry people.
We made small talk, but Niko Turlia remembers things: faces, names, family, and special orders. He’s the hardest-working man I’ve met, and I know plenty who work hard.
“How is your son? Still up north? Kids?”
I answered in the affirmative, and he smiled, finding out I was now a grandfather.
I’d phoned in a pizza on my way home, knowing my fridge was empty—again. I was even down to my last couple of eggs at the house, which are my go-to when the cupboards echo upon closing.
As I drove, visions of one of Niko’s Greek pizzas drifted through my head. There is no better way to infuse spinach, feta, and garlic into your body.
The owner of Angelo’s Pizza in Bangor and Hampden is one of the most gracious, giving individuals I’ve ever met. In the years I worked for the city, I ate at his restaurant more than any other place. He was incredibly kind to the first responders, and he still is. He cares about the people who work for him, too. I know he is not a rarity, but he personifies a boss who wants to see his employees thrive and improve, keeping track of them when they move on to college or careers. Some stay with him for a long time, which speaks to how he treats his people.
When someone mentions immigrants, I think of Niko. He came because he wanted the better life that America has since provided him, and he’s worked tirelessly to get it—I can assure you that Niko wouldn’t take it for free.
My Dad liked Niko, too. One trip inside his place with me secured Art Cotton’s place as a special customer, and from that point on, he was treated respectfully because he was family.
While Dad was still driving, he’d swing by Niko’s place for steak sandwiches or pizza, sometimes a salad. Niko would always notice him in the crowd, speak to him kindly, and occasionally slip him a slight discount. He made my Dad feel special and unique, and in turn, my Dad would always ask me if I’d seen Niko lately.
Long after he was sequestered to his apartment, no longer getting out for steak sandwiches, Dad would suddenly pipe in and ask about his friend in the food business.
“I like him. “He works twenty-four hours a day,” or “Niko always said hello when I stopped in. Isn’t he a great guy?”
Last night was no different.
“Timmy, I haven’t seen your father for a long time; how is he?”
I was able to get out, “He passed last winter,” before my eyes watered like they tend to do.
“Oh, I was worried that might be the case; I am so, so sorry. He was a good man, your father. I almost didn’t ask.”
But not asking about him wouldn’t be Niko, would it?
“You carry on; you are the grandfather now. Those kids, up north, visit them,” he said.
Niko always sounds wise when he speaks—there are no wasted words, just sound advice and friendly admonishment, and he’s always poignant.
I don’t follow baseball, not at all. I stay away from all professional sports except baseball, and I only watch any because my Dad loved the game.
I’ve written before that the Old Man tried out for the Yankees in 1960, almost making it to the farm teams but refusing to lie about his age to do it.
I stayed up and watched the game last night; pizza and baseball go pretty well together, and it was evident that the Yanks would pull that one out.
Sometimes, you know these things ahead of time.
From the Jagged Edge, I remain,
TC
*The rest of the story is that the Yankees lost the next night, and the Dodgers became the world champions. None of that mattered to me at all. Thank you for reading my stuff, thanks for the support at the BuyMeACoffee app. If you want to purchase my books, you can get them on Amazon, order them at your local bookstore, or order them from me, signed. This is how we keep the desk lamp on. Be well.
TC