My Coffee Thing

One summer in the mid-1960s I was working in a boys' camp in the Adirondacks as a tennis instructor. (Those of you who have seen me play know that the camp must have been in desperate straits that summer.)

There was a counselor there--a bit older than I and quite a bit more self-assured--who would wear a sign around his neck each morning at breakfast. It said: Don't talk to me--I haven't had my coffee yet. I think he was a bit of an addict.

I'm not. Really.

Let's back up. I had my first cup of coffee in college when Peer Pressure was working its dark magic on me. I hated the taste of it but sipped it nonetheless with what I hoped was an insouciance that impressed my friends. (The same thing with cigarettes--virtually all my college friends smoked, so I did it, too, for a few years.) I gradually came to tolerate it, then to kind of like it.

(I should add that my parents both drank it--Folgers in the can & instant, too--Sanka at night.)

Soon coffee became a Thing in my life. When I started teaching in the fall of 1966, I would drink it all day, and throughout the early years of our marriage we always had some kind of coffee device in the kitchen--everything from a teapot (for instant) to a Mr. Coffee to (now) a Keurig., which I don't use much except in the winter.

When we moved to Hudson, Ohio, in the fall of 1979, I quickly became a regular at Saywell's Drug Store (it had a soda fountain and some tables), and when Saywell's closed (after nearly a century--the arrival of CVS and Drug Mart had zapped their Rx business), I became a regular at other coffee shops in town. Coffee-on-Main (it closed). Caribou (closed). Hattie's Cafe (closed). Bruegger's (open).

When the Open Door Coffee Co. opened next door to the old Saywell's site (and included in their decor some of the old Saywell's furniture and accoutrements), I became a regular there--and still am. I visit twice a day: early in the morning, right after lunch. It's a wonderful place (but don't you go NEAR "my" chair!)

But, to be honest, I don't drink much coffee. I sip away--slowly, slowly--and probably don't even drink a full mug throughout the day.

I am not a connoisseur--just ask the baristas at Open Door. My definition of good coffee? It's hot. I do like the taste of the Open Door coffee--but I'm not sure I could explain it. (Other people rave about it.)

Oh, along the way, years back, I became a Starbucks regular. I used to go there after lunch every day (until Open Door wooed me away).

Here's a quick Starbucks story. In the early 1990s, I flew out to the Northwest to do some Jack London research and to see some of the myriads of Dyers who still live out there (my father came from a HUGE farm family near Walla Walla, Washington). Anyway, I flew on a tiny plane from Seattle into Walla Walla, where my uncle John picked me up. I had brought him, as a gift, a pound of Starbucks coffee.

As we walked through the little Walla Walla airport (more like a bus terminal--a small one), there was a Starbucks kiosk. Uncle John sniffed, said, "I hate that stuff."

Oops.

Change of plans.

Joyce and I rarely go to Starbucks anymore--sometimes through the drive-thru when we're in a hurry or on the road somewhere. I go now about once a month--on Haircut Day. The local Starbucks lies between my barbershop and the health club (my next stop), so ...

So I guess you could say I'm not an addict. But I kinda gotta have it.