earlier"
Maybe he couldn't wedge his big body between the trucks, but Woody's view of The Strip was twenty-twenty. Originally, that flat slice of land along the Allegheny River had been heavy with industry and the homes of the working class. Level land is rare in Pittsburgh, which sits on the western edge of the Allegheny Mountain Range, and this notable section soon became known as The Strip. It was perfectly suited for the huge railroad yards and warehouses that replaced the factories. Local wholesalers were soon receiving fresh products by both rail and river. In time, The Strip District became the center of wholesale food sales for all of southwestern Pennsylvania, and now supplied most of the major grocery stores and restaurants with fresh meats and produce.
Of course, the Pennsylvania Railroad's boxcars were eventually superseded by humidity-controlled tractor trailers, and the warehouses were now being spruced up to accommodate the upscale patrons who had "discovered" the area in the last twenty years. A few of the old establishments remained, rustic warehouses turned eateries, where Woody and I used to chow down on sandwiches comprised of seasoned meats, Cole slaw and even French fries stuffed between slabs of thick bread. But we both figured it was only a matter of time until the tables of roughly hewn boards, covered with sheets of brown wrapping paper, were replaced by tiny round cafe tables, draped with red and white checkered linen. The changes would bring civility and for us, mediocrity, to our old stomping grounds. When we were finished commiserating about the negative evolution of the Strip District, I asked him what had been happening in his life since we'd last spoken.
"Nothin' much, bud. Still bouncin' and pouncin', when I get a chance, which is not all that often these days."
Woody was a confirmed bachelor and played the role to the hilt. I personally thought he was closet romantic, waiting for a beautiful princess to rescue with his manly skills, but he'd always refuted my opinion.
"No new girls to play with, Wood?" I grinned into the phone.
"Naw. Nobody wants to have any fun. I was thinkin' of going to one of those monasteries, you know, being a monk."
Now, that would be a picture. Woody with those size 48 shoulders and muscle-draped arms, lurking beneath a monk's robe. Well, if he couldn't convert the heathens with his piety, he could always kick the shit out of them. I mentioned that to him.
"Yeah, I know Rude. I didn't think it would work either." I asked him what else was new and he told me about a scare he'd had at the nightclub two nights before.
"I'm draggin' a guy outside. You know the type, expensive clothes and a big mouth. Meg was behind the bar and this asshole wouldn't leave her alone. The guy takes a swing at me and I pull him out and toss him on his ass against the building. I start to walk away and I see the guy out of the corner of my eye. He gets up and he's reaching for his ankle, it looks like. I figure he's got a knife down there."
"Oh, man," I interrupted. "I hate a knife fight."
"You and me, Rude." Woody went on. "I quick took off my jacket and wrapped it around my arm while I turned back toward him. I get in the old crouch position, ready to block him as he lunges in and the guy hollers at me. 'Hey', he says, 'What the hell you doin?' He reaches out and he's holding out a handful of money at me. He says, 'How about letting me back in, pal?'"
"No knife?"
"No knife at all. There never was one. This guy had some kind of hiding place in the heel of his cordovan where he kept his extra cash. Musta thought he was James Bond.
Maybe he couldn't wedge his big body between the trucks, but Woody's view of The Strip was twenty-twenty. Originally, that flat slice of land along the Allegheny River had been heavy with industry and the homes of the working class. Level land is rare in Pittsburgh, which sits on the western edge of the Allegheny Mountain Range, and this notable section soon became known as The Strip. It was perfectly suited for the huge railroad yards and warehouses that replaced the factories. Local wholesalers were soon receiving fresh products by both rail and river. In time, The Strip District became the center of wholesale food sales for all of southwestern Pennsylvania, and now supplied most of the major grocery stores and restaurants with fresh meats and produce.
Of course, the Pennsylvania Railroad's boxcars were eventually superseded by humidity-controlled tractor trailers, and the warehouses were now being spruced up to accommodate the upscale patrons who had "discovered" the area in the last twenty years. A few of the old establishments remained, rustic warehouses turned eateries, where Woody and I used to chow down on sandwiches comprised of seasoned meats, Cole slaw and even French fries stuffed between slabs of thick bread. But we both figured it was only a matter of time until the tables of roughly hewn boards, covered with sheets of brown wrapping paper, were replaced by tiny round cafe tables, draped with red and white checkered linen. The changes would bring civility and for us, mediocrity, to our old stomping grounds. When we were finished commiserating about the negative evolution of the Strip District, I asked him what had been happening in his life since we'd last spoken.
"Nothin' much, bud. Still bouncin' and pouncin', when I get a chance, which is not all that often these days."
Woody was a confirmed bachelor and played the role to the hilt. I personally thought he was closet romantic, waiting for a beautiful princess to rescue with his manly skills, but he'd always refuted my opinion.
"No new girls to play with, Wood?" I grinned into the phone.
"Naw. Nobody wants to have any fun. I was thinkin' of going to one of those monasteries, you know, being a monk."
Now, that would be a picture. Woody with those size 48 shoulders and muscle-draped arms, lurking beneath a monk's robe. Well, if he couldn't convert the heathens with his piety, he could always kick the shit out of them. I mentioned that to him.
"Yeah, I know Rude. I didn't think it would work either." I asked him what else was new and he told me about a scare he'd had at the nightclub two nights before.
"I'm draggin' a guy outside. You know the type, expensive clothes and a big mouth. Meg was behind the bar and this asshole wouldn't leave her alone. The guy takes a swing at me and I pull him out and toss him on his ass against the building. I start to walk away and I see the guy out of the corner of my eye. He gets up and he's reaching for his ankle, it looks like. I figure he's got a knife down there."
"Oh, man," I interrupted. "I hate a knife fight."
"You and me, Rude." Woody went on. "I quick took off my jacket and wrapped it around my arm while I turned back toward him. I get in the old crouch position, ready to block him as he lunges in and the guy hollers at me. 'Hey', he says, 'What the hell you doin?' He reaches out and he's holding out a handful of money at me. He says, 'How about letting me back in, pal?'"
"No knife?"
"No knife at all. There never was one. This guy had some kind of hiding place in the heel of his cordovan where he kept his extra cash. Musta thought he was James Bond.
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