Edward

When I lived in New Ulm, Minnesota, I would eat at a place called Happy Joe’s. It was owned by the son-in-law of our neighbor, and was what you’d call a family restaurant. They had pizza, an award winning “hot dish” (or casserole, as it’s known in other parts of the country), chicken, spaghetti, and American options like burgers. I got to know the staff well enough that they joked about sending out search parties if I hadn’t been in to eat in a while.

Every day for lunch they had a smorgasbord, which was a buffet showcasing their hot dish and pizza choices. I normally went on weekends, but sometimes I’d venture out during the week instead. On those trips, I’d often see a man sitting alone in a booth kitty corner from where I’d usually sit. He was an older man, thin and short and somewhat hunched over as elderly folks tend to be. His skin was tanned and his slender face was wrinkled from years of working outside. A well-worn hat sat atop his head, adorned with the logo of a machinery company I did not recognize, while wisps of gray hair peaked out underneath.

The booth he selected faced a TV mounted near the ceiling, and he would make comments to those who passed by about whatever was on. His voice was strong but his enunciation was poor, so sometimes it was hard to understand what he was saying. He was always upbeat and he greeted everyone with a smile.

He ordered the same thing every time: a burger and a cup of coffee to start, and a sundae for desert. The staff knew him so well that they would just walk over to him after he’d seated himself and simply ask if he was ready for his meal.

He always came in alone, and never met anyone at the restaurant. He drove a large, newer model red truck that he parked in the handicap space outside the front door. I wondered what his story was, but I never felt comfortable asking. He probably would have enjoyed sharing it.

I stopped seeing him at lunch after a while. Perhaps our schedules no longer intersected. Perhaps his health no longer allowed him to come.

I believe his name was Edward. He seemed straight out of a Norman Rockwell picture, and epitomized the small town experience I would enjoy in New Ulm.