TWO AMAZING BUT TRUE DC TURKEY STORIES

FIRST STORY: THREE TURKEYS - ONE HOLIDAY?

One little, two little, three little turkeys. except that they were great big turkeys, and each one became the family turkey in succession, three turkeys in 24 hours. How did this wretched excess happen?

The first turkey was bought the night before the day before Thanksgiving, in a late-night splurge at the Social Safeway. Because we were having so many guests, we needed a 24 lb. turkey, and the Social Safeway in Georgetown seemed like the likeliest spot to snag a fresh one. Bingo! The turkey and all the trimmings filled every inch of free space in the car. We were so tired after all the purchasing that emptying it late at night was a chore we were all barely capable of organizing. Somehow we managed to empty the car of everything – except the turkey itself. The turkey spent the night in the car.

Horrors! The Turkey Institute had done a fine job of prosyletizing everyone against leaving out the bird. I called their Turkey Hotline reluctantly, dialing with trembling finger. Sure enough, they managed to convince me that I should throw out that fine bird, that I would be endangering a large number of guests as a result. Never mind that the weather was cold and the possibility of poisoning them was quite remote. They told me it had to go, so out it went. Turkey Number One bit the dust!

Now this was the day before Thanksgiving, and very large turkeys were beginning to be difficult to find. Not to worry. I worked not far from Hechinger Mall, where one of the biggest Safeways in the District was located. On my lunch hour, I drove straight to Hechinger Mall and snagged the last remaining huge turkey. Bird Number Two was a beauty! Mindful of the need for keeping it cold, I paid for the bird and asked the staff to put it aside and keep it chilled. I would return right after work and take it home. I had a lot of work to do and arrived at Hechinger Mall well after nightfall. No problem, I’d have plenty of time to cook and get ready for the big day. But WHERE was my turkey?? I looked and looked and called for the staff. They finally were forced to confess that they must have sold it. Sold my turkey??!! The last big turkey they had had in the store? It was a horror story. No way was I going to accept any excuse. So…

I dug deep in my pocket and hauled out my secret weapon - the tool that I had been promised would take care of any serious situation. At least ones involving Safeways! I was an Advisory Neighborhood Commissioner with a tiny Safeway in my jurisdiction. After a great deal of effort on my part, I had gotten a major zoning change rammed through the city that allowed the Safeway Corporation to eliminate an unneeded parking lot and double the pitiful size of our Safeway. (Even doubled, it is still small enough to be known locally as the Soviet Safeway because it hasn’t room for more than one of anything!) The Safeway Corporation owed me big time for my successful efforts on their behalf, and showed their appreciation by giving me an Executive Safeway card. It was usually given to their upper level executives, and gave me no extra savings, but it was supposed to act as a kind of Get Out of Jail Card. It was supposed to solve Safeway problems; I put it to the test. I brought it out and passed it back and forth under their stricken noses. I announced to them that by their reselling my already-paid for turkey, solving the problem of finding me a turkey to serve over 20 guests the next day was now their problem. They had till tomorrow morning to solve the problem. I went home to a sound sleep.

Somewhere in the farthest reaches of Maryland’s Eastern Shore, a 24-lb. unfrozen turkey was still unsold. The union leader was promised double or even triple time if that turkey could be long-distance hauled to the District. At 7:00 am the next morning, when I had already started to string the celery and slice the mushrooms, Turkey No. Three arrived at my door. It was perfect – twenty-four people dined well. Moral: a bird in the hand is worth three in the bush, if those birds are hiding in the car, the supposedly safe location and the far reaches of the Eastern Shore!

SECOND STORY: THE LONG LINE, THE TURKEY, THE DOG AND THE GYPSIES

Many years ago it was possible to buy a live turkey in DC and have it executed, defeathered and rendered oven-ready while you waited. Eating a freshly-killed bird was thought to be both healthier and more delicious than eating a previously rockhard frozen turkey which had to be thawed (usually in the bathtub) for several days before cooking. Far fewer people were vegans or even vegetarians in those bygone days, and a really fresh turkey was considered to be the epitome of a gourmet approach to cooking a bird, especially a Thanksgiving bird.

The result was a huge line the day or two before Thanksgiving. People would wait for hours for their bird. On this day before Thanksgiving a good three decades ago, I found myself in such a line. It is quite common for strangers who are stuck in what seems to be a permanent line, to start talking to each other to pass the time and eventually bond together. This is exactly what happened that morning. We found each other congenial as well as slightly demented from the wait. Stories were passed around, judgments were made on public events, politicians and musicians past and present, and anything that could be dredged up to help pass time during the long wait became fair game.

Now fair game is precisely the right word. It was hard not to notice that a few of the butcher’s stock in trade were small birds strutting around outside amongst the persons in line. They pecked away at invisible goodies in the hard, rocky soil, quite unaware of their impending doom. Probably the butchers allowed them a small period of freedom as they couldn’t get away, having had their wings cut as chicks to deter flight. Their potential for fine dining was gratefully commented upon by the waiters-in-line, who had nothing better to do with their time as they waited.

Now as it happened, the potential purchasers were not the only assessors of the little birds walking around. A tough old mutt lurking nearby seemed also to be sizing them up. The dog was sufficiently dirtyy and fierce-looking that it was assumed to be on the loose and without an owner. It looked hungry. Eventually, specific hypotheses began to develop around the question of whether the dog might have an eye out for a free dinner, as it seemed to be hanging around for some dinner-related purpose. The waiters began to hope for the possibility of a genuinely time-passing event. Having nothing better to do, and slightly crazed from the hours in line, they began to encourage the mutt. The mongrel was evaluated and positively rated for adequacy of size, potential speed and sufficient nerve to carry it off. Bets started to be laid whether or not the dog would have the nerve or capacity to grab a bird. To assist the game, the waiters parted just enough to give the hardened old dog enough space to do the evil deed. The dog looked up at us, scarcely believing that it was being encouraged to abscond with a bird. Go for it, the waiters cried, and go for it the mutt did. It made a quick dash, grabbed the bird by the neck and threw it over its shoulder and took off at top speed to the wild applause of those who had bet that he would make the attempt.

What I learned only later was that the dog was the prize valuable of a band of gypsies camping nearby. The dog had been trained to provide them with a free dinner upon command, and did so regularly. It took the waiters, however, to turn his depredations into a genuine, DC sporting event.