Ernie's Famous Diner

Ernie's Famous Diner

When I picture Ernie's Famous Diner I picture it the way it used to look when you were on your way there, maybe on a nice summer night, going for a coffee and a piece of coconut custard pie and maybe some converstation with Gus. Coming down Cherry Street, past Saint Clements, past all the narrow brick buildings (mostly filled with art students and old men), looking down the elm-lined street, down to the corner, you could see this little green displaced railroad car, looking like there should be a train attached at the other end, huddled in indigo shadows, spilling out warm yellow light into the summer night from its little windows, looking so friendly under street lamps. with this blue-green neon sign up there, over that old sliding wooden door, that said, "Ernie's Famous Diner".

I don't know who Ernie was, I never met him. Maybe there never was an Ernie. But somebody decided to call it Ernie's' Famous Diner and it wasn't Gus -- I know because I asked him. And the more I thought about it, it was a kind of inappropriate name, considering that no one knew who Ernie was, and the only people who knew about the diner at all were some of the art students and a few old men.