Saw some farmers putting up hay yesterday, reminded me it’s that time of year.
Today in mid-Missouri the first cutting of hay, maybe all the cuttings, get turned, literally, into big round bales, some wrapped in plastic. In Nebraska we used to make silage from the first cutting, a lot messier job, and pack it tight in a steaming earthen pit.
I don’t miss the work. But I do miss eating at Shorty’s.
For a kid working a silage crew in the first hot weeks of summer, there wasn’t a whole lot to look forward to. The wind through your hair as you rolled back and forth, field to pit, pit to field with the wagons loaded, empty, loaded, empty. If you worked the pile, the heady smell of fresh chopped hay, thick, unctuous, was sweet, until it wasn’t.
If luck held, there was dinner in town.
Not lunch. That was the afternoon sandwich provided by the house. Dinner was the noon meal at Bloomfield’s pool hall, officially the Stockman’s Tavern and Café. I never heard it called anything but Shorty’s.
Shorty Schmoldt started working the main street business in 1946, bought the place with Norman Bruegman in 1955, then bought out Bruegman in 1960. I have good memories of him: tough, friendly, with a heavy shock of white hair, mopping a counter, hoisting a barrel of coffee out from the kitchen.
With an ornamental antique bar, carried thirty miles by rail from Hartington in 1905, Shorty’s was grounded in the early 20th century, a foundation made all the more authentic by its menu. Uncle Herman wouldn’t eat anywhere else. When tempted with a quick hamburger or flash fried basket of tater tots across the street, Herman scoffed and said Shorty’s was the only place in town serving a workin’ man’s meal.
Not that you couldn’t get a burger at Shorty’s. But why would you?
The dinner plate came in three varieties (beef, pork, and a mystery rotation) and one size (more than you can eat). The third choice was usually German sausage and sauerkraut, but I remember rainbow trout leftover from a late Lenten season. Meat was trimmed with a baked potato, green beans and corn. Every time.
Each platter came with a side of two slices of white bread in wax paper with one pat of butter sandwiched between them. To drink there was coffee, water, or a can of Coke or Seven-Up. I ordered the soda and always got a red plastic tumbler with exactly one ice cube. And one ice cube only.
Some of the guys, like my uncle George, thought Shorty’s had the best coffee in the known universe. “Get ya enough of that bug juice to make your eyes float brown, get ya through the afternoon,” said my Uncle George. One of the ladies behind the counter was always adding more grounds to the boiling pot, eggshells included. (The eggshells kept the overcooked brew less bitter.)
Shorty sold the café in 1988, and I haven’t kept up enough to know what’s in the building today. Maybe somebody who knows will read this and leave a comment.
Meanwhile, I wonder if there’s a place like Shorty’s still out there, dishing up basic grub in planet sized proportions to workin’ men who eschew precooked fare, who long for a true dinner time meal laced with boiled coffee, warm soda, and white bread.
If so, save me a seat.
This reminds me of a different part of Nebraska. The Broadway Cafe in Scottsbluff was a frequent late night/early morning stop for me in the late Sixties/early Seventies. The counter cook was a short, scrawny, elderly person named Shorty. She served a great bowl of chili that had a half-inch layer of grease on top and she made a mean Western sandwich. She was a person you wouldn’t want to mess with — more than once I’ve seen chase down a deadbeat who ran out without paying. A wonderful lady and an interesting character to talk to. I hadn’t thought of her in years but your post jogged some good memories. Thanks.
Jerry, I’ll bet that chili was good. I do remember Shorty’s in Bloomfield sometimes had a stew on the burner. I’m thinking it was like the coffee and they just kept adding to it as the day passed!
Enjoyed this one, too. The white bread wrapped in wax paper is a deeply buried memory of my own. I’m guessing you can still get fed like this at one of two places I know of north of Grand Island. One is the bar and cafe in St. Libory. The other is Nightcrawlers, in Worms, which has been there forever.
Ron, I’ve written those names down and will sure to look ‘em up sometime. Most troubling to me –I can’t recall any dessert at Shorty’s. Surely they served a lard crust pie or cake.
Appears as if such places are a thing of the past. I do remember lots of hay hauling. How I made my money as a teenager.
Charles, I’ll bet guys like you and I remembering hay work are soon be things of the past as well! But those are some fine memories. When I was older I got a radio mounted on the fender of the tractor. Man, I thought it was heaven!
Would’ve liked to given Shorty’s a try, sounds delicious.
Oscar, it was indeed good –too good as I remember walking away stuffed. But thirsty. One can of Coke was the limit.
I love these slices of your family history, Rich. Makes me wanna time travel back and eat at Shorty’s myself.