Good morning!
A few weeks ago I was headed back from the dentist’s office in East Longmeadow. The Novocain had worn off, my stomach was rumbling and I wanted a good meal but had resigned myself to stopping in Holyoke and eating at Cracker Barrel.
Driving along Main Street in Springfield I spotted the Student Prince and decided to give it a try. I parked on a side street, fed the meter and walked a block north. The 80-year-old German restaurant manages to survive despite being surrounded by shuttered businesses, an abandoned theater, dirty sidewalks, drifters, dealers and the ubiquitous odor of marijuana smoke.
The lights were low and no one was at the maitre d’s desk when I walked through the door. A long mahogany bar was on the right and the main seating area was on the left. Beer steins lined the overhead shelves and the walls were adorned with black-and-white photos and prints.
The waiter, Matthew, seated me in a booth near the bar and took my order. The servers are friendly, efficient, and know intuitively when to come or go, notably Matthew, Ella and Stephanie. After polishing off a Reuben and fries, Matthew began to read off the desserts and mentioned Indian pudding.
About to say no thanks to everything, he’d caught me off guard with the last offering and I ordered it with black coffee and cream on the side. The last restaurant I knew of that regularly served Indian pudding was Chandler’s in South Deerfield but it closed in 2017.
The 17th century dish is a mixture of cornmeal, molasses, scalded milk, eggs, butter, and brown sugar, baked on low heat for at least two hours and served warm with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top. It was delicious.
Filled with the sort of contentment that comes after a good meal, I walked outside, turned the corner and saw a parking ticket on my car, white and red and hard to miss. Later at my grandson’s baseball game I mentioned the buzzkill to my daughter’s mother-in-law Mary Greene.
“I always appeal,” she said.
“Ever win?” I asked.
“No, but it’s worth a try.”
A few days later I parked on Court Street outside Springfield City Hall, put two quarters in the meter and looked up at the 113-year-old granite structure that had been built in better times. The steep granite stairway reminded me of a scene in The Godfather when Don Barzini is shot trying to flee up the courthouse steps.
My walk through the corridors to the City Collector and Treasurer’s Office in Room 112 was a stroll back to the way the city was, before budget cuts forced landmarks like Forest Park to decay.
The clerk said ticket appeals were done at the Parking Authority building on Bridge Street. I thanked him, walked outside and down the steps to my car and found another parking ticket on my windshield. You’ve got to be kidding, I thought.
I grabbed the ticket, looked at it and realized I’d paid for the car in front of me; same meter for two spaces left and right.
After filling out two appeals forms inside the parking authority building the clerk’s assistant made copies and said I’d be notified of a date and time for a phone hearing. “Allow up to two hours to receive your call,” she said.
“If it’s longer than two hours to wait how about I send you a ticket?” I joked.
When the call came the parking hearing officer told me the appeal was being recorded and that he had photos of the front of my car, the back of my car and my license plate, together with the time, date and location of both infractions.
It was like Alice’s Restaurant after Officer Obie arrested Arlo Guthrie for littering. “They took twenty seven eight-by-ten color glossy photographs with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one explaining what each one was to be used as evidence against us.”
Once the recorder went on I knew I was doomed. I’m from the country and hadn’t used a meter in years. City meters are complicated, hard to understand and don’t take debit cards. The second ticket was an honest mistake, putting quarters in the wrong side of the meter and being only 10 minutes in and out of City Hall, had the meter maid been laying in wait behind a tree?
Both appeals were denied. I sent them a check for $50 and put it in the mail on the same day, together with a note saying Springfield was mean and cruel and falling apart.
It hasn’t stopped me from going to the Student Prince, mostly for the Indian pudding. Lunch ends at 4 p.m. and the dinner menu is pricey. Two weeks ago I parked a block south of the train station, put a dime in the meter and had 12 minutes to find change for a dollar. I walked past a building, looked through the window and saw several people sitting around a table. I opened the door and stepped inside and they were all staring at me so I nodded and left.
Twenty yards down the sidewalk a voice behind me yelled, “Hey! You need something?”
After I explained my plight we went inside and in a booming voice he announced: “This guy needs four quarters for parking.”
“He’s got a dollar,” he added after no one responded.
Finally someone said, “I’ve got four quarters in my truck.” We went outside and he rummaged through his spiffy black pickup truck and emerged with the coins. “This one’s on me,” he said when I tried to give him the dollar.
Be careful where you park in Springfield. One afternoon I walked down Liberty Street onto Main Street into the shadow of a railroad overpass. A group of teenagers came up from behind me including one who was dressed in black and wearing a black hood. I watched him reach into his pocket and pull out a jackknife. After a couple of flicks a five-inch blade popped out of the handle.
I never felt like I was in danger. They crossed the street and disappeared. It was play day, and I guess that’s what city kids do these days.
SQUIBBERS: Eaglebrook trustee Bill Gutfarb is part of an ownership group that has a horse named Rhyton in the sixth race tomorrow (July 4) at Saratoga going 5 1/2 furlongs on the turf. Morning line odds hadn’t been posted at this writing. … Assume Nothing will forever be remembered as the last horse to win at Aqueduct, hitting the wire at 8-1 under Jaime Rodriguez. … Reminiscing about playing at Fenway Park while he was with the Rangers, MLB radio analyst Doug Glanville told play-by-play partner Jon Sciambi: “We didn’t have any hot water for three straight games here.” … Wyndham Clark was booed after he won the U.S. Open at Shinnecock because fans remembered how he trashed two lockers at Oakmont after missing the cut at last year’s Open. … Asked how much he loves soccer, pundit Erik Erikson said: “I love soccer when they shrink it and put it on ice with a puck.” … I don’t know how else to express it but to wish all of you a happy Fourth of July, it sure beats Groundhog Day.
Chip Ainsworth is an award-winning columnist who has penned his observations about sports for decades in the Pioneer Valley. He can be reached at chipjet715@gmail.com.