"you will never lack that for which you are grateful"
a new york reminiscence circa 1968
author: art bianconi
gabriel had been a successful manager for a major american watch company and, although effective and well-liked, had suddenly resigned knowing that he was going to change careers. life had become too complicated and the complexities were of a nature that robbed him of the thing he loved most: to be with people. so, in his 50s, he resigned from his job. In its place he chose a livelihood that would be simple, get him outdoors, involve him with food and put him in close touch with people: he became a hotdog vendor!
gabriel was lebanese by birth and perhaps 60 years old when I first met him. years of exposure to the sun had darkened his olive skin. laugh lines were deeply etched in his round face which was almost always smiling, and… he was happy!
he was a big man. a fondness for food had softened the lines of what had once been a strong muscular body so much so that even his thick fingers betrayed his passion for rich cuisine. with all his managerial experience, he could have run a successful restaurant. with his knowledge of food preparation he could also have been it's chef. instead what he chose to do was to purchase an old wooden pushcart with a huge umbrella, fix it up in bright pastel colors, and share himself and his specialty: hotdogs smothered with cooked onions in a thick tomato sauce, spiced with hot tabasco. It was tasty and it was hot! if you couldn't sell it as hot dog topping, my guess is he could have most certainly sold it as rocket fuel! This was a dish with substance! as well as it should be, for gabriel was a man of substance!
gabriel's favorite subject was philosophy and he was particularly fond of kahlil gibran. from the first day I met gabriel he spoke verses from "the profit". and I listened.
our meetings would always start the same way: he'd hear my motorcycle in the distance and stop whatever he was doing and prepare three of those deliciously violent hotdogs. they'd be waiting as i braked to a stop by his pushcart. i would dismount the motorcycle, unbuttoning my leathers and tugging at the straps of my helmet and, as i walked the few remaining steps to the cart, both he and I would suddenly crouch and face-off like gunslingers. for customers and passerby, it must've been a bit bizarre to see two men suddenly start circling each other like sumo wrestlers, but we never pounced. instead we started shouting keywords and passages from one of gilran's books! surely the world must have viewed us as mad men!
for years we met at his little pushcart, each sharing thoughts on everything from "the purpose of life" to the behavior of people. then, one day i drove down the street looking for Gabriel and he wasn't there. "he's taking a vacation" i thought. but days stretched into weeks, then months and it soon became apparent that both he and the cart were gone forever. i was shocked to realize how much he had meant to me and how little i knew about him. i didn't even know his last name! i was taken by an intense sense of loss.
although i never saw or spoke to him again, my relationship with a real continues. 25 years later, i can still see that round laughing face, that gold tooth sparkling in the sun and his two large hands holding out a paper plate adorned with three freshly prepared hotdogs. "for my friend kahlil" he used to call me. to this day i cannot think of him without feeling my love of the man and a deep sense of appreciation. all my life i've been surrounded by people like him: intensely passionate people who share a variety of very special qualities: humility, a desire to contribute, a genuine love of life, a deep respect for the human experience, tolerance for change, and insatiable desire to discover, to know more, especially about humanity. and above all, boundless sense of humor. gabriel was not out to impress people so he made no display about his station in life. there was neither false modesty or pretentious arrogance. to the world at large, he was simply a hotdog vendor. still, he knew who you were without knowing your name. those were fortunate to really know Gabriel, will tell you that he served up for more than hotdogs; he served up life.