Goodbye, Big Pig

Growing up, my family almost always ate dinner together.  The menu was often uneventful and usually included meat, potatoes, and a vegetable selection.  We rarely had a meal without bread and butter, or what I now refer to as 'The Olsen Family Salad'--a medley of iceberg lettuce, croutons from a box, and Western Dressing.  But my dad loved hamburgers, so on Saturdays all that well-balanced meal stuff went out the window, and we had burger nights.  My mom would fry up a whole mess of thick, homemade patties on her electric griddle.  We'd scarf them down with potato chips and baked beans, and sometimes even root beer floats.

On special occasions, we'd all pile in the car and go out for burgers.  There wasn't a burger in the Twin Cities that my dad hadn't tried, and he did not discriminate.  His favorites included 'Gut Bombs' from White Castle, and cheese-filled Jucy Lucys from Matt's Bar.  But his top choice for a good old fashioned hamburger was Porky's Drive-in on University Avenue.  It was the 70s, so carhops actually brought platters piled high with burgers, fries, onion rings and shakes, right to the car.  I loved how the tray rested on the partially rolled down window, and how my dad would divvy up the food.  I would sit in the backseat, munching on the greasy goodness, imaging that Fonzie and the Happy Days gang were going to show up at any moment.  I would stare up at the Porky's sign, watching the Big Pig in his top hat and bow tie, as he winked his neon eye at me from high above the parking lot.

As time went on, and my brothers and sister and I grew older, burger nights were history, and our family outings to Porky's became a thing of the past.  My dad's visits there continued, but it became less about food, and more about tradition.  He would jump in his 1950 Ford pickup truck, cruise up and down University Avenue, and meet up with his hot rod buddies in the parking lot.  They would pop open their hoods, compare parts, and 'shoot the shit' for hours and hours.  Almost every time I saw my dad, he had a story to share about something that happened at Porky's.  It was such a big part of his life that at his funeral a year and a half ago, dozens of his classic car cohorts came to pay their respects, and share Porky's Drive-in stories with my family.

This past weekend, Porky's closed its doors for good after 53 years.  I drove by one last time, and the memories came flooding back.  I thought of my many childhood trips there, but mostly I thought of what a special place it was for my dad.  I recalled the last time I was there, three years ago.  It was a warm summer evening and I had tried numerous times to reach my dad on his cell phone.  When he didn't answer after several hours, I began to worry.  I called my older brother to find out when he had last spoken to him.  He asked if I had checked Porky's.  I drove up to the restaurant and didn't see my dad at first.  But then I heard his laugh and spotted him at a picnic table with four or five of his friends.  There were several empty red plastic burger baskets in front of them.  As I got out of the car and approached the table, he didn't think it was at all unusual that I was there.  He invited me to join him and the gang.  I sat down on the bench and his friends immediately started cracking jokes about my dad.  I will always remember that night, how happy he looked, underneath the Porky's sign, with the Big Pig in his top hat and bow tie, winking his neon eye.

Goodbye, Big Pig.  Thank you for making my dad smile, and for bringing my family many years of joy.  You will be missed.