Five Senses: One Worcester

Being born and raised in Brooklyn, New York, Coney Island has been a popular day trip for my family and I.  Whether it was going to play arcade games, taking a ride on the Cyclone, or going to the beach, each trip had one thing in common: a trip to the original Nathan’s for some hot dogs.  So after I heard about Coney Island Hot Dogs here in Worcester I was intrigued to say the least.  Could a Coney Island delicacy really be imitated outside Coney Island?  I am going to find out.

I wait in the long line filled with customers waiting to get their lunch.  Not sure of what I should get, I see a sign that says, “try our Coney Island Dog” and it convinces me.  I’ll get one Coney Island dog and one hotdog with mustard, my favorite.  The line moves quickly and before I know it Shirley, the old waitress with short blond hair and a black, half tucked in collared shirt with the Coney Island Hot Dog emblem on it asks for my order.  I tell her and she walks over to the grill where the steaming hotdogs have just been placed into the lightly toasted buns.  She slops mustard on one and mustard, onions, and chili on the other.  I pay and proceed to sit in an old wooden booth that has generations of etchings marked into it and a chipped red tabletop that looks like it has not been changed since Coney Island Hot Dogs opened in 1918.  The place is a little run down, but so is Coney Island.  I like that.

Now comes the moment of truth: eating the hot dogs and seeing if they live up to their expectation.  I take a look at the hot dogs and notice that they look slimmer than the plump hotdogs I’m used to.  Now hesitant, I close my eyes, zone out all of my other senses, and take my first bite into the Coney Island Dog.  I guess the saying “it’s not the size of the dog in the fight, but the size of the fight in the dog” really is true as the first bite is an explosion of flavor across my taste buds.  The texture of the crispy bun and the texture of the steaming hotdog juxtapose each other like meat and potatoes of a shepherd’s pie and give off a salty, meaty taste.  The mustard, onion, and chili add a spicy kick to the Coney Island Dog, which sends sensations like fire burning across my tongue.  I then take a bite of my hot dog with mustard.  The most perfect combination of a salty-spicy delight brings back memories: the feeling of digging your feet in the hot sand, taking your last breath before the Cyclone plunges down, winning a prize on the boardwalk.  As I chow down the rest of my hot dogs I reminisce about summers spent at Coney Island.  With a smile on my face I bring my tray to the counter, say goodbye to my waitress, and walk out.  I’m not sure if my next hot dog will come from Coney Island Hot Dogs in Worcester or the Nathans’s in Coney Island, but that is okay with me.

The Heywood Boot and Shoe Company factory is not what it used to be.  During the late 19^th century and early 20^th century stood a brick building that housed a vibrant and bustling factory that produced hundreds of upscale boots and shoes a day. Now all that stands on is a quiet five-story building that houses a few small businesses.  The brick on the lower part of the factory is pink and rundown.  The mortar between each brick is slowly chipping away and the bricks are wearing out.  This starkly contrasts the clean red bricks of the upper stories of the building.  The red bricks of the upper stories are neatly stacked and look like they may have been added just yesterday.

*The first picture is of the Heywood Boot and Shoe Co. Factory in 1879.  The second picture is what the former factory building looks like now.*

Where the pink and red bricks meet is a disappearing, painted sign that is barely visible.  When looked closely at, I can make out the letters and realize what it spells: Heywood Boot and Shoe Co.  That sign is the only one left on the building that indicates it’s past.  Now the flat signs of the Go Bare Spa, Evolve Haircuts, and Infodiligo hang lifelessly on the brick.  The windows of the building, too, appear tired.  The windows, the sad eyes of the building, allow passersby to peer into the building and see it’s empty soul.  None of the windows even give a hint that there could be people stirring inside them.  The windows at the ground level are boarded up with tan plywood and gated with a red metallic material that crisscrosses and is slightly brighter than the rundown pink bricks.  Half of these windows are broken and the jagged pieces of many windows remain next to them.  One window, slightly above the ground level windows, shows a boarded up room with a garbage pail and yellow mop bucket.  The lifelessness of the building gives off a sad yet eerie feeling.  It’s so cold. So empty.  So alone.

As I turn around and take a closer look at the other buildings that surround the old Heywood Boot and Shoe Company factory I realize one thing: all the other buildings around here are just as dead and lifeless as this one.  Chipped brick buildings, broken windows, and rusted gates compose this dreary landscape.  The whole area is empty and it is not until I have been exploring the area for fifteen minutes that I finally encounter a Worcesterite.  He walks into a nearby parking lot down the block, gets in his car, and drives off.  The Heywood Boot and Shoe Company factory does not appear to have many visitors anymore, and this one is taking the shoes he’s in and walking home.

*This picture shows the view from across the street of the building.*