Byron's Story

Byron was a street rat and my night time pot washer at the Savoy. The pot station was at the end of the cooking line so Byron had a lot of responsibilities. Not only did he collect and clean all the pots, skillets, roasting pans and trays but he was in charge of the lobster tank. He filled it with critters, checked and adjusted the salinity and temperature and split every lobster before sending it down the line to the fish cook. Before service Byron peeled potatoes and shrimp, cut julienne fries, cubed potatoes for soups, kept the warmers full of hard & cinnamon rolls, fetched goods from the freezer downstairs, dry goods from the storeroom and fresh fish and seafood from the walk in. After service he helped the cooks ice down and put up all the fish, swept and mopped the kitchen, took out all the trash and made everything nice for the day crew. It was a hard job and Byron did it without complaint, in fact he was the kitchen comedian, always teasing the old grumpy cooks, joking with the waiters and flirting with the girls in the pantry.

I always hoped Byron would work his way onto the line and become a cook. Bomar had started as a pot washer and was now my saute man, James, the daytime pot man watched the baker closely and eventually took his job. We had a lot of people on staff that had been at the Savoy for 15 years or more.

One day Byron was helping me hump whole loins of beef off a delivery truck and into the walk-in. We were both bloody and tired after moving a couple of tons of prime cow. We were washing up in the pot sink with big bars of the lye soap we made on the premises and Byron asked me, "Chef you know that there's niggers?" I answered, "Yes Byron I'm aware of that." Then he said, "And there's crackers and honkies too." "Unfortunately." I responded. "What's that make me?" Right away he says, "You're the chef." Then I say, "Byron you are a fine young man."

I was sad when I had to let Byron go. He'd taken a day job with the City, with the Parks Department working outside all day long watering plants, mowing grass and picking up trash barrels. Because he was the new guy on the crew all the older men worked the dickens out of him while they hung out around the Gott cooler cutting up. By the time he got to his night job at the pot station he was beat. One night after finding him asleep in the storeroom for the third time I had to say. "Byron, this working two jobs isn't making it." I sent him home to get some rest and think on what to do. A couple of weeks later he showed up to pick up his last check. He figured he had more of a future with the city and eventually I heard he got a job as a zookeeper. What a scamp.

Almost 12 years later I took a job as food service director for The Friends of the Zoo and I found Byron in the elephant yard. He'd grown into a big strong fellow shoveling all that elephant dung. He was the only keeper that could handle the male elephant. He said, "It was easy chef, easier that making friends with you." Now Byron you know that's not true.