The other day I met my daughter in the park to share a pizza lunch.
She works at the Baseball Hall of Fame.
A pretty little park, presided over by James Fenimore Cooper, is right next door to the Hall of Fame. It’s quiet and green.
However, Cooperstown in the summer is anything but quiet. Walking down the street looks like this:
People. People. And more people.
On busy weekends, sometimes it can be hard walk down the street, and even harder to move inside buildings.
So my daughter asked ME to pick up the pizza for lunch. She only had 30 minutes, you know.
Our favorite pizza place is Sal’s Pizzeria right on Main Street.
Below, you can see Sal in the front window — if you squint a little and use your imagination.
I love their pizza. They make a good thin crust, use just the right amount of garlic on their white pizza, not put too much sauce on their cheese pizza, and make a great Hawaiian pizza.
Years ago, when all the children were little, ordering out a pizza was a treat. About once a month, we would gather all the loose change from around the house and from the car until we had enough for two pizzas. I would apologize when I dumped all that change onto their counter, but Sal always said, “Are you kidding? We love getting all this change!” I never knew if he was saying that just to make me feel better, or if he really could use quarters and dimes and nickels on a Saturday night.
You know, how you want to go where everybody knows your name — I call it the “Cheers” effect. I think that’s the thing I love most about Sal’s. I can walk into Sal’s on a hot, busy, overcrowded day in the middle of summer, wait in the sea of people for my chance to order a few slices to share with my daughter, and, at some point, Sal or his brother or both, will make eye-contact with me and smile.
They’ll ask about my husband, my children, and my father.
Small towns afford that luxury. On the busiest of days, somebody knows me and cares enough to say hello.