Uncredited
for Elaine Equi
Woman in Drugstore, Receptionist, Counter Lady with Change for a Quarter, Clubwoman, Saleslady, Train Passenger, Hospital Nurse, Telephone Operator, Hairdresser, Tearful Courtroom Spectator, Secretary, Scrubwoman, Night Court Judge, Concerned Mother, Second Woman Getting Autograph, Stockroom Girl, Waitress, Woman Helping to Look for Ring, Nurse with Castor Oil, Nun in Infirmary, Salvation Army Woman, Woman in Apartment No. 1, Servant, Head of Lingerie Department, Dinner Guest, Woman Exchanging Foreign Currency in Bank, Cockney Moll, Shepherdess, Hospitable Farm Woman, Lady at Charity Party, Hostess, Headmistress, Customer, Woman in Doctor’s Office, Woman in Movie House, Woman at Railroad Station, Schoolteacher at Accident Scene, Lady with Lipstick, Drama Coach, Innkeeper, Fish-Hawker, Matron, Woman in Theater Balcony, Landlady, Injured Patient, Powder Room Attendant, Woman at Funeral, Reformatory Inmate, Beautician, French Maid (scenes deleted), Mother of 12 Wanting a Divorce, Woman Talking to Police, Laundry Woman, Lazy Spoiled Woman, Nagging Wife, Beauty Contest Contestant, Hat Check Girl, Passenger on Boat Deck, Equestrienne Wearing Black Vest, Chorus Girl, Reporter, Boardinghouse Maid, Cook, Earthquake Survivor, Midwife, Flower Vendor, Woman Buying Parrot, Beer Garden Patron, Client Paying $5,000 Fee, Passenger with Diamond Bracelets, Barmaid, Woman at Circus, Suffragette, Wife of Soldier, Old Woman, Hysterical Woman, Woman Prisoner.
For an after-school
snack, while watching
reruns of sitcoms
in the family room,
you’d grab a can
from the pantry,
pop open the lid
by the metal pull-tab
(a recent modern
convenience), and
behold the rounded
tops of the sausages,
six circling one in the
center, like bullets
in the cylinder of
a revolver. With
your fingers, you’d
try to extract one—
no easy feat, as
they were tightly
packed and coated
with a slippery film
of transparent gelatin.
But once you freed
the first, the rest
were loose enough
to pluck right out.
You could greedily
eat each sausage
whole, or savor in
several bites. They
looked like little
hot dogs, but had
a fancy (delectable)
taste. Your mother
would be miffed
that you helped
yourself, as she was
saving them for a
special occasion.
She’d learned (from
recipes on labels and
in magazines like
Good Housekeeping)
how to transform
the plain sausages
into holiday hors
d’oeuvres: smoked
in a morass of thick
barbecue sauce, baked
in a “blanket” of
puff pastry, or diced
and skewered—with
a cube of cheese and
slice of green olive—
on “party picks,” like
miniature kabobs.
I’d be loath to try
one now—another
childhood taste I’m
sure would fail to live
up to the memory
of it, like Triscuits
or Wheat Thins. Or
those International
Coffees (like Vienna
Sausage, a suburban
novelty), that came
in small rectangular
tins and were pro-
moted in television
commercials by a
stagey actress named
Carol Lawrence, who
promised you the
flavor of exotic lands:
Cafe Francais, Suisse
Mocha, and Cafe
Vienna—home of the
beloved sausages!
The lid was oval, and
sunken into the top
of the tin, so you had to
pry it open with a spoon.
Once you did, you’d
be hit with a whiff
of sweet and strangely
spicy brown powder.
To Avoid Censorship
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and unalived himself.
