Nick the Greek

"Sit down already. Wha' do you want to drink?"

Gene's Coffee Shop on 60th Street was crowded
for a Sunday afternoon, and this waiter ran the
joint like a casino boss. The menu runs from moussaka to pancakes, and the food was cheap
and delicious, but the best part of all was Nick.

"Nick the Greek, they call me. More coffee? You're killing me!"

Nick shouted orders to the cooks at the grill and spoke to customers with familiarity. He was "on"
all right, full of teasing and grudging hospitality. But beneath the act was a genuine warmth.

"What are you, Irish? German? Doesn't matter. We're all good people. Different, but the same,
you know what I mean?"

When we'd cleaned our plates, he came by again.
"I like you people. I'm gonna give you something
to read." And he reached into his back pocket
and tossed on the table a worn, folded piece of paper, then walked away.

It was carefully written in a sloping hand. One of those words-of-wisdom things your aunt might email you. "If you've got a bed to sleep in at night, count yourself among the lucky 76% in this world. If you've got change in your pocket, you're one of the lucky 50% of the world population who has money to spare..." And so on. But coming from this guy in that way, the words had a lot more meaning than an email attachment. This was a guy who truly loved the world around him and felt gratitude for life.

When he came with the bill, he slipped the folded paper back into his pocket, almost a little embarrassed. "D'you read it?" he asked. And we said yes, that it was very true.

"Good words to remember," he said. "I read it every day."

"Until we meet again," he shouted at us as we went out the door, and when we waved across the restaurant, he grimaced and gave us a "Go on, get out of here" gesture.

Back to New Yorkers