Peru: you'll never see more species! - eCommons@Cornell - Cornell ...

ing last year's prices on my little pad.
The white slips that were presented to
Pop did not reflect the nickle and dime
increases over the previous year. But
since I was green and it my first meal I
was allowed to survive.
For three hours of service you were
paid three meals. Each waiter worked a
half hour at breakfast, an hour at noon,
and an hour and a half during the evening
shift. You could order anything on
the menu except the expensive items like
steak. Some of the whitecoats ate before
their shift, some upon finishing. The
shifts were staggered, especially for the
evening meal when the tumult was highest.
It was the evening meal that took your
breath away. For about an hour, around
6 p.m., every seat was taken and a line
waited to be seated. The friendly bedlam
constantly assaulted your ears. The waiters
produced a steady flow of blurred
white as they streamed in and out of the
kitchen. The eaters contributed to the
dissonance with laughter and loud talk.
The talk had to be loud to be audible.
Mom watched her dining room with
quick eye and quicker tongue if you
failed her standards.
Of the two bosses, Mom was the most
gentle. Her voice had a sharpness to it
but she rarely needed to use it. Pop, on
the other hand, had a mild soft voice but
from under his moustache severe words
could issue if the occasion demanded.
Once one got into the routine it was easy
work, if hectic. Three meals for three
ing in every sense of the word. There
were few instructions. I was shown the
drawer where the rolls were kept, where
the beverages were, the butter, and desserts.
I had eaten there the previous year
which seemed to be sufficient qualification.
The sequence was simple enough. You
wrote down the order from the customer
and took the white slip to the kitchen
where the cooks filled the plate. Then,
sometimes with several plates piled on
your left arm and two in your right
hand, you steamed into the dining room.
The two plates in your right hand were
placed on the table and the contents of
the left arm dealt like cards to the appropriate
customers. Rolls and beverage
were deposited with little fanfare. Sheldon
Court did not stand on ceremony.
Get them in and out as fast as you can
was the primary rule.
The bustle and confusion was the
same as the year before and I soon was
immersed in taking and delivering orders.
I failed to look carefully at the
menu and was hauled on the carpet during
the middle of the meal. I was charg-
30 CORNELL ALUMNI NEWS
'Get to know
the cooks'
proves a rule
in peace and
wartime, too
hours made a substantial contribution to
the budget.
As the evening wound down so did the
manic frenzy of food dispensing. By
7:30, certainly by 8, there were more
waiters than customers. Informality was
the word. If there was no one to wait on,
you sometimes sat in a booth with
friends, always keeping an eye on the
door should an unfed customer arrive. If
one arrived and a waiter was not by his
side as he sat down Pop's steely eyes
would put you on your feet.
Among the college crowd, tips ranged
from unknown to nonexistent and they
were not expected. However, occasionally
a stranger, an outlander as it were,
did leave a tip. These occasions were
most likely to occur on a weekend when
some university function brought the
strangers to Ithaca. One big football
weekend, I think it was the Ohio State
game, one of the whitecoats suggested
we pool any tips so all could share. It
was agreed and all tips were deposited in
a small tea pot. As I remember I got two
25-cent tips, which went into the pot.
The following Monday the pot was divided
and my dividend was 15 cents. So
much for high finance.
An avid whistler, I was somewhat apprehensive
one evening when I caught
myself whistling as I delivered the
mounds of food to my tables. No comment
was forthcoming so I cautiously
continued with my music. The informality
was such that the whistling fitted
right in. Soon most of the whitecoats
were filling the steaming, smoky air with
snatches of the popular songs String of
Pearls, Mairzy Doats, Dipsy Doodle,
and the like.
While the cooks were gruff, underneath
they were gentle souls. Exposure
to years of college-type waiters had covered
them with a steel crust. Once one
penetrated this armor the kitchen was a
different place. It was here that I learned
a very important rule for surviving institutional
life: "Get to know the cooks."
Little did I know that within a few short
months I would put this survival technique
to good use in the military.
I soon became friends with these regal
masters of the kitchen. If I had a customer
with a special request they would do
what they could to satisfy it. After several
weeks I was told, or rather ordered, to
tell them when the plate they were filling
was my meal. I became the recipient of
substantial helpings of potato and vegetable.
If there was an extra large pork
chop in the oven it might find its way to
my plate. An extra slice of meatloaf
might be hidden under the mashed potatoes.
Often they advised me as to what was
good on the menu for that meal or even
more important what was not so good.
It was a pleasant and rewarding arrangement.
I have fond memories of those unpolished
diamonds.
The Monday after Pearl Harbor
brought a drastic change at the Sheldon
Court Restaurant. The usual dissonance
disappeared. There was noise but it was
not the boisterous, raucous blast of previous
days. Even the air was different.
The steamy, smoky, haze cleared. Every
corner was visible at a glance. The whitecoats
still delivered their wares swiftly
and with dispatch but a seriousness crept
into their talk and movements.
Within months, the whitecoats and
the diners they served disappeared from
the campus to disperse to far corners of
the world, some never to return. And the
Sheldon Court Restaurant closed its
doors.