My Conversation With Bill

Bill XXX

Born- 1927
Enlisted in the Army at 17 years old (1944)
Served in Europe in a Combat Unit
Met him at a Local Starbucks 7/19/2011

 In he comes, the man with a cane and pushing a shopping cart, which he parks outside the entrance to the local Starbucks. Hobbling over to the barrista, he orders up a venti vanilla latte, and then proceeds to shuffle over and sit down in the overstuffed chair next to me. I took a look at him and figured that he was about my moms age (85), and because of that I wondered if he had ever served in World War II.

Now, for those know me, also know that I am not shy about striking up a conversation with total strangers. In this instance, however, I hesitated. I was not sure why. Perhaps it was because many of the older people that I try and talk to, seem to have lost it, or are hiding it, perhaps figuring that all the young people like me (55) simply have to learn about the world on our own. Or perhaps they think that we would not be interested.

After a while, however, the old man begins to talk to me. Speaking as clearly as any 30 year old, he tells me that he is 83 and that he came in to get a coffee for his wife and was taking a rest before crossing the street back to his house. Somewhere in the conversation he mentioned that when he was in the Army (my ears perking up now) they drank coffee all the time, but did not have anything like Starbucks. He also said that he used to drink a lot of beer too - but that was when he was young.

Alerting on his introduction of the Army into the discussion, I took my shot and asked him where he was stationed. Whereupon he told me his story.

“Oh yeah, I was in the army, I was a runner for General Patton in Germany during World War II. I enlisted when I was 17, and was shipped over there real soon. I was in the infantry, and was supposed to be in a foxhole, but somehow the Army found out that I was a long distance runner and that I had been doing that since I was a little kid.

They also discovered that I had a good memory, and after that, they assigned me as a runner ( and I mean that literally) to carry messages back and forth between General Patton and the other combat units during the fighting in Germany.

It wasn’t like it is nowadays, where you have radios and all that stuff. It was a situation where actual messages from one commander to another several miles away had to be read, committed to memory, and then delivered in person by a guy like me - a runner. Not only that, we had to memorize three messages - exactly. One of them was the real message, and the other two were fake messages so that if we got captured by the Germans we could give them a fake message.

To deliver a message meant we had to head out cross country in the direction of the other unit, and actually navigate through the combat zone during the fighting. Because a fighting line is not something straight, we had to travel behind enemy lines in order to reach our units on the other side. Because of this, we traveled in peasant clothes so as to not draw enemy attention. We also had to travel across our own units who were fighting with the Germans and so we never knew when we were going to be shot by Germans, or our own soldiers.

During one of those message runs, our squad came under attack by a German unit and we were pinned down pretty good. There was no way it looked like we could hold out, and so, our new 90-day Lieutenant, fresh from the States, told us that it was no use and that we had to surrender. We did not want to surrender as we were afraid of what the Germans would do to us, but the Lt. insisted. It was at this point we told him to go on ahead for himself if he wanted to be the first to try out his idea.

So then, up out of our position he went to surrender, where he was immediately shot dead by the Germans. After that we (all 12 of us) were captured by the Germans. After our capture, they stood us in a line, with me standing at the end, and proceeded to shoot us dead, one-by-one, right down the line. Now, we had one of our guys who was some sort of Indian, and he did not speak very well, but he was kind of a big fella, and when they shot the man next to him, he fell down as if he had been shot, and in doing so the knocked me to the ground. My helmet came off, and the German officer in charge, after having his men get the Indian back up and shoot him dead along with the other 11 of my squad, saw my blond hair and blue eyes and asked “Sind Sie Dutsch?”, to which I replied in my bad German that indeed I was German. Hell, if he had asked if I was Japanese, I would have agreed to that too.

And so it was, that out of all 12 of us, plus our Lieutenant, I was the only one that lived. I was sent to a POW camp, and about 4 months later, when the Germans had to retreat, I was liberated from the POW camp.”

At this point, I asked, just to make sure I heard him right, if me meant that all of his buddies were stood up and shot dead right in front of him like ducks in a row.

“Sure, we were shot dead just like that. It was a war, and that was the way things were done. We did the same things on our side, and the Germans were just doing what you do in war. You can’t have a bunch of captured soldiers bogging you down in a combat zone with bullets flying all around, and everybody on each side knew that.”

After a reflective pause, he continues .....

“Yeah, after that, I was sent down to Dachau. You know Dachau don’t you? The camp had been liberated by that time, but all the prisoners were still there because there was no place else to put them, and it was just a horrible situation.”

Another reflective pause ......

“And you know, many years later, that German Officer wrote me a letter telling me that his daughter was getting married and inviting me to the wedding. He sent me a plane ticket and money for all my costs to come.”

You mean, the same guy who had all your fellow soldiers killed, invited you to the wedding, and that you had kept in touch with him.??

“Sure - he and his soldiers were simply following their orders, and that was just the way it was in war. It is not all sweetness and nice in a war.”

So you went to the wedding?

“Sure I went.” “ Now I think also he wanted to hook me up with his sister, but that never happened.”

And thereafter our conversation turned to other things.

Never Give an Ape an AK 47

Good Things in Old Towns

Well, it didn’t take long for me to blow my schedule. You see, I was on the road traveling IH35 to go to Northern Louisiana for a funeral and along the way I made a stop at the Czech bakery in West, Texas to get a sugar fix. I had intended on it being just a quick stop, but sure enough, along the access road to get back to the hiway, this is what I found. Too good to pass up.

　

As I was taking these shots, I saw an old water tower, way in the distance with its peeling paint and rusted frame, and putting my camera away, and even though I wanted to go check it out, I resolved to just get back to my travel and come back some other time.

Well, that resolve lasted about 14 seconds, because on my way back to the entrance ramp to IH35, I made the mistake of looking down that lonely road. What the heck, just a quick trip up there to see if there is anything interesting, right?

Making a U-turn, I kept telling myself " just a quick stop". Another 3 minutes had me in a different world, as I entered the sleepy town of Abbott Texas, which looked like it could have been the set for that TV series, Friday Night Lights. Over the train tracks and past the general store/post office and then to the town’s major intersection, all of which are within 200 feet of each other, I found my first "mark", an old "townward" facing Methodist church from the 1800's. Right across the street, and likewise facing "townward," in a religious pissing contest, was the other side of the coin, a Baptist Church.


After taking some photos, I ambled down to get some shots of the general store, and went inside to introduce myself. I was greeted by an older man sitting in the back who looked as if he had been there all day just waiting for me, a first customer. No one else was in the store, and indeed, it appeared to me that the store gets maybe 2-3 customers a day.

We got to talking, and I told him who I was and what I did, and he let me take a few pictures. Remarking on how his place reminded me of the country store along the route of the country school bus that my brothers and I used to ride, he told me that the town was still like that and that it was the birthplace of Willie Nelson.

Shut Up! I had earlier seen some county music tee shirts and some Willie Nelson CD’s laid up on the shelves, but I just figured that he liked country music. We talked a bit more and then he told me that Willie Nelson owned the very store that we were standing in, and that the house the Willie grew up in was over there down the street.

I later went to "over there down the street" and sure enough, and just as he described it there was the house, and unassuming white wood screened porch affair much as in any on Americas small forgotten towns.

I have not previously listened to much Willie Nelson music, however, next time I do, I will listen to see if in the music I can hear chords that have sprung from Abbot Texas.

Interesting People

In my travels around town I run across the most interesting people. This time at the Starbucks down at San Pedro and Cypress. There is the local bum that daily comes into the place, looking like he has spent the night in the most trashed out dumpster he could find. Then, following right after him is the business man on his way to his next sales appointment.

I Love My Job!

Of course, there is me, the guy in the corner sitting before a Panasonic ToughBook computer and wearing half dirty denims, a tee shirt and tennis shoes that are scuffed and stained from the mornings’ opportunity photos taken of the graffiti- marked trains sitting on a siding up on the north side of town.


There are others in the store, too. The mother and daughter sitting across the way, apparently working on some sort of school application. The nursing student to my right, studying furiously, as if some patient’s life depends on it - all while listening to tunes on her smartphone.


At the long rough-hewn table where I am sitting, a spot across opens up, and a young woman takes the seat to begin her morning activities. A student, I presume, yet she comes in with more of a purpose than I generally find in the students that I am used to seeing in the store.


After a while, I see that she has pulled out an iPad , followed by a keyboard. Intrigued, I wait for an appropriate time and ask about that keyboard - especially if it is wireless. No - I ask not because I want to hit on her, but because I want to know how far things have come in the technology department - and to learn about what different people are up to. (Well, maybe a little bit is also motivated by the fact that Apple stock has gone crazy in the past several years and this iPad thing may be a reason for that.)


Turns out that the keyboard is indeed wireless, and that her iPad has an internal chip that connects it to ATT wiifi for about $15/month for internet access most everywhere!!!. Thus ensues a discussion about all the communication and connectivity technology that is available nowadays. My tablemate showed me for example, all of the apps that she can get on her iPad, and in particular, showed me her book app, which she says is a real money saver because she can get her textbooks in electronic format for about ½ the price of a hard copy. We both agreed that hard copy books were what we liked to read, BUT, as she stated to me, the convenience of having electronic books and magazines delivered direct to the iPad made not being able to read real books more palatable.


I asked if she was a student, and she replied yes. She said that she already had her psychology degree and was doing additional work to become a funeral director. This, then, led to some more discussion about that particular field and the perceptions of some toward it. In this regard, she told me that one woman told her that "Girls can’t be funeral directors,"while another was concerned that she was "too young (25) to be a funeral director." Go figure.


As I said, I meet the most interesting people in my travels around town.

Street Corner Philosopher

His name is Bill and most days, rain or shine, sweltering heat or numbing cold, he can be found at the intersection of Broadway and Loop 410 in San Antonio Texas, waving and nodding to passers-by as he shows off the day's headlines on the newspaper that he has for sale.

His face, etched by what looks like years of hardship and hard living, reminds me of an old worn shoe, with creases that appear to have been etched by years of exposure and hard knocks - and possibly bouts with the bottle. Bill looks like a street person, what with his crumpled clothes and all, however, those clothes are clean, and so I surmise that he is not spending his nights under a bridge.

As the cars come to a stop, some people extend their hand, showing a dollar, in return for which a paper is thrust to the window for them to grab before the light turns green while others begin to honk in their own haste to get to nowhere. Sometimes there is more than a dollar that changes hands, and I wonder as I see this, how much can a man make standing on the corner selling newspapers to passers-by.

I myself do not take a newspaper, but nonetheless, I find the sight of him to cast a beam of permanence in this impersonal world, and like a stubborn weed clinging to that last bit of soil to be found between the crags and crannies of a hash and unforgiving landscape, so too this purveyor of the morning news purveys more that just the news, for in his act of being there without fail, he demonstrates stability and perseverance in the face of whatever life throws.

Why do I write about Bill? I guess it is because to me he represents the honor of work instead being on the dole as are the bums that inhabit the other corners of that same intersection. Bums and miscreants, who, holding out their cardboard signs with scrawling handwriting proclaiming their "Vietnam Veteran-ness", ask for a dollar here or there because they are just "Oh so homeless." Such disgust I have for these, as they, standing there in their hundred dollar pair of Nikes and with their 5 dollar pack of cigarettes, assault the eyes and senses. One can tell by looking at any of them that they are of the most distasteful sort, preying on the sympathy of the sheep who now and again extend out a hand with a dollar or two. As livestock gravitate to where the food is, so too do these miscreants gravitate to their food supply, given by the people that are doing nothing but enabling them and fostering their return the next day so that they may assault the eyes and sensibilities yet again.

I have always wanted to stop and talk to Bill, and after a year or so of passing him by, I did stop and strike up a conversation. Bill tells me that he has come from Louisiana, and from the speech and the manner and the weathering of his face I tend to believe him.

He said that he lived just east of New Orleans, and that everything he had was wiped out by Katrina. He said that did have a job at one of the oil refinery or pipeline companies ( I did not ascertain which), and told me that he used to go around and look at all the gauges on the oil storage tanks to make sure that they were not leaking.

As to his current job of standing on the street corner for hours at a stretch in the aftermath of Katrina, he says that he makes 20-30 dollars a day, and that even though he lost everything, he really does not miss it and feels freer than at any point of his life.

Becoming a philosopher, he proceeds to tell me in his muted Cajun drawl, that all that stuff just held him back, and remarks that his whole life up to that time seemed to be directed toward keeping up with the Joneses -  and that doing so was killing him. He follows this up by saying that because of the attachment to stuff -  and the payments that go along with having it -  that if a man loses his job he stands to lose everything.

Street corner wisdom, and, indeed, I have heard this from another who told me that he never has felt so free as when he had nothing in his pocket and did not know where he was going to be sleeping that night.

Bill, now engaging in a bit of rhetoric and oratory, goes on to ask "What more does a man need but  20-30 dollars a day" , and further expresses the opinion that, he too, is disgusted with the way that the interlopers (I think he used the word "bums") holding up their signs of false need, and offering nothing in return, suck off the passers-by, like a tick might do on the back of a dog, for money that will just go to beer and cigarettes. He fully supports that the police now and again will pull up in their unmarked cars and take "those people" for a "little ride". (His words, not Mine.)

I like Bill.

Finding Art in the Oddest of Places

Local artist David Anaya stands before one of his large pieces
 located on the wall at Rainbow Spirits, 2811 N. Saint Marys

You find art in the oddest of places. And so it was that on walking into Rainbow Spirits at 2811 N St. Marys, I found local artist David Anaya sitting in the old barber chair right at the end of one of the display racks.

We got to talking, and explaining that I shoot "street", I asked if he knew who did the unusual modern-Aztec style wall-art that was all over the side of the building.  He modestly replied that he was the artist, and that some more of his work could be seen outside on the back wall. 

On stepping out into the back parking lot, I saw that, sure enough, there was another large piece, titled "Para Mi Primo" blasting its colors into the adjoining neighborhood.



"Para Mi Primo" - a large art piece by local
artist David Anaya

Asking how he got his style and if perhaps he had central american roots, he indicated that he did not, and that he just painted what came to his mind.

David showed me other pieces on display in between the liquor racks and near the front door, and those also had a style that was graffiti-ish, yet of a different genre. Unlike modern LA -style graffiti, with its bold strokes across broad patterns, and nowadays having a symbology that is generally the artist’s name, thrown up in so abstract a form, that although a cacophony of color, is becoming increasingly difficult to make out, David' s form is more detailed, with smaller components, painted in more of the muted greens and reds that one associates with earth tones, as opposed to "candy" tones such as those that come out of a Montana spray can.



David showed me the latest piece that he was working on, a 12x18 slab on canvas which is priced for sale at $450.

Latest piece by artist David Anaya
Oil on Canvas ~ approx 12 x 18
$450

　

He can be found most days, 12-9 pm  at his gallery co-located with Rainbow Spirits, 2811 N. St. Mary's Street, San Antonio, Tx, and is reachable by phone at 734-8920. True to form as an artist, David has his own style, such style being that he deals with patrons face-to-face, and has no website or email.

Not the Usual Stuff - Chunky's Burgers

"I’ll take one of those "Hickory Burger" things.

And so began my trip down the rabbit hole of psychedelic tongue wonder at Chunky’s Burgers located at the rear of The Hangar, one of the bars on what I call the Broadway Club Zone, located just south of the intersection of Broadway and 410.

I had come to do photo coverage of the bikini contest being held that night at the Hangar, and after a couple hours getting some shots for stock and editorial coverage, I was hungry and decided to give the place a try.

Thus it came to be that I was standing there right next to the pool table, giving my order thru the slot window at the back of the bar to the order cook who goes by the name Kino.

Cyrstal Cavazos seves up one of the
kick ass burgers to be found at Chunky's located
in The Hangar Bar, 8203 Broadway Street

Just being thankful for anything, I was not expecting much. Man, was I ever surprised, for on getting that burger and biting into it, my taste buds lit up like a Christmas tree. Talk about a dopamine rush - and speaking quite frankly, I do not see why people need to do coke when they have this kind of legal stuff all around.

First off, the burger came hot off the grill with no waiting around to get cold, and second ( a very important second) the bun was toasted on the grill, and the bottom of it was hot, hot, hot, quite unlike those that are found at many places such as Chester’s which itself makes a pretty good burger, but which has failed to catch on that you do not leave the bun laying out on a cold stainless table while the patty cooks.

Back to Chunky’s - So hot was the bun that I had to put it down because it was steaming my fingers, but because my hunger curve was steeper than my pain tolerance curve, I let it cool a few seconds, and then took my first bite.

Even before the taste of the patty, I was hit by the crunch of the onion rings laid into the hickory sauce on top of the meat itself. Next, the taste of the tangy sauce hit me, being followed in train by the prick of some sort of pepper heat., and then the burger. To me, it tasted like a good sirloin steak, having just the right combination of fat and meat, which is sooo important to having a flavorful experience, and 

Kino - man behind the scenes at
Chunky's located in the Hangar
8203 Broadway Street

I plowed right through the thing. It was not until I was about halfway thru that I remembered that I am a street photographer too, but alas that I had gotten so far ahead of myself and had already eaten the photographic evidence! Oh well, win some lose some.


Seeing that I am just the gregarious sort, and figure that everybody wants to listen to what I have to say, I went to the window, and sticking my head in, got the attention of Connie, Kino and Crystal, who at first must have thought I was coming to complain. Quite the contrary, and I told them that this was the most kickassedness burger I ever had. It was then that I found out that this Chunky’s was featured on Man vs Food when the host came down to eat the Four Horsemen Burger - the one made with the "ghost chili" - the pepper that is the hottest in the world.


We talked a bit more about what made the burgers so good, and I truly believe that it is because they come off a seasoned grill which somehow imparts a hard-to-describe body to the food. Kino confirmed my take on things.


In summary - props to Kino, Connie, and Crystal at Chunky’s Burgers in the Hangar.


StreetMan's Recommendation - Thumbs Up
　
Disclaimer:
For those of you wondering if this is one of those paid write-ups in exchange for graft and corruption, I tell you that it is not. I do not work for the clubs, or the circuit, and I was not asked to write this review. I am a street photographer seeking to explore, in real time, what people do in their everyday lives, and when I run across something that really jacks me up, I write about it. Thus it is that I came to write up this article and the others below:


The Smoke Shack
Rocker Dogz
Revolution Room
The Hangar Bikini Contest

　
Shameless Plug
In addition taking pictures, I stock them for editorial, large format fine art, and other uses. So - if you like the images in my gallery, go ahead and buy a few. Many of them would look great in 16 x 24 mounted blowup format  for corporate wall art. And certainly, if you are looking for something special in the way of photographic services drop me an email at the address on the www.koenigphotoart.com site.

Gourmet Hot Dogs? - You Better Believe It!

~ Art Koenig
San Antonio, Texas

“Gawd man, I have never done drugs, but this must be what cocaine feels like.” So said me, the guy cramming another bite of one of Chef Kris Martinez’s Rocker Dogz into my mouth.

Never in a million years would I have thought such a thing existed - out of a club vendor’s food cart no less, but that is exactly the way it went down Friday Night at the Lava Lounge on N. St Marys Street in San Antonio, where I was doing photographic coverage on the wild and crazy Beyond the Canvas Body Painting event.

Heaven on Earth ~ A Rocker Dogz (Thai Kickboxer Rocker)

At first, I was just trying to get the lay of the club while waiting for the painter’s models to show up, and after I made the circuit, I wandered back to the front, where I struck up a conversation with Kris Martinez, who turned out to be the owner of Rocker Dogz.

He was dressed in a white chef's-jacket, looking like he just stepped out of one of those Food and Wine magazines, and he was standing in from of his stainless steel vendor cart. At first, I wondered what that was all about - I mean usually when I see a club vendor they are dressed pretty much like me when I think nobody is looking. (Think tatters and tears with grease spots on the tee shirt.)

Being a curious sort, as we street scene photographers are, and asking what kind of "drug" he was pushing from the cart, and looking for a shot (photograph opportunity), he replied “Gourmet Hot Dogs”. Aww come on, I thought, a gourmet hot dog? That was like me telling viewers on my Facebook profile that I look like Tom Cruise.

We talked a bit and while doing so, Chris offered to fix me up one of his Rocker Dogz. I declined, saying that I did not want to get all filled up before the photo shoot at the club. He insisted, saying that he would do it just to show me what it looked like. I replied OK, go ahead and I can see if it makes for a street scene shot.

As Kris goes about making my dog, (Thai Kick Boxer Rocker ) the first thing I see is a bun that has toasting marks on the outside of it . Hummmm ... This looks like a good sign is what was going thru my head. Next, he lays in a plump dog having some sort of glaze to it, and then what does he do but start putting on some Thai red cabbage slaw, some pickled things that turned out to be pickled Serrano peppers, and then laying into the top of it with some sort of dressing.

Presenting it to me, all wrapped in its foil boat, he said "Here it is the Thai Kick Boxer Rocker". Seeing as how he had gone to all that trouble .......I took it, sat my camera aside, wrapped down the foil a bit, and plowed ahead.

What struck me was an unbelievable combination of tangy sauce, the crunch of the cabbage and then the taste of the dog spices and glaze. After that first bite, I took another, and just then I was starting to feel the heat from the pickled serranos. Thereafter, the tastes got even better.Holding that dog and looking at it, shaking my head, and licking the drool off my chin I blurted out to Kris the lead to this story ...“Gawd man, I have never done drugs, but this must be what cocaine feels like.”

Big smile on his face he says ... I told you so. Man was he right.


Rocker Dogz by Chef Kris Martinez

To be found outside Lava Lounge Friday and Saturday night and also doing corporate events and perk parties for staff.


Rockerdogz business number is (210)467-8066.

ROCKERDOGZ “GOURMET STREET DOGZ" page on Facebook under category of restaurant/café.



Menu Follows

Thai Kick Boxer Rocker
All beef hot dog glazed with sweet chili sauce, topped with sliced tomato, pickled Serrano peppers, mustard, Thai red cabbage slaw drizzled with mint and cilantro lime sesame vinaigrette


The "Chicano style" Rockero
All beef hot dog with savory homemade chili, roasted poblano queso blanco, pico de gallo, caramelized Spanish onion with fresh thyme, chile de arbol salsa roja and a drizzle of Mexican crema


Italian Stallion Rocker
Grilled Italian sausage topped with grilled peppers & onions, parmesan cheese, mustard and drizzle of balsamic reduction and chopped Italian parsley

Staking a Claim on Trailer-Q

“That is the best pulled pork in San Antonio”. So says the man as he drives off with his wife and his dog from the Smoke Shack, a new traveling BBQ house-on-wheels located from 11 to 2 pm in the vacant lot at the southwest corner of the intersection of Nacodoches and Loop 410 .



Chris Conger and sidekick Ben -
Serving up the best BBQ Sliders in San Antonio




For those of you on the lookout for a building with all the hoopla and with those interminable waiters asking if you want to hear the specials - don’t. Look instead for the wood-clad trailer of the sort that might just have pulled off your uncle’s ranch, and look also for some of the best BBQ and pulled pork that I have run across in a long, long time.



I first noticed Chef Chris Conger’s “shack” a couple weeks ago and wondered if it was for real. After seeing that it was there from 11- 2 pm M-F, I just had to stop and see if they had real BBQ - or if it was just some of that junk that passes for BBQ “Up North”.



Seeing that a Slider (small bun sandwich) with chips and a drink was only 4 bucks, I ordered up and was told by Chris that I was going to want another. Now, at the time I did not know that Chris, the guy that was giving me “the sell”, and the guy taking my money, and the guy that was toasting the bun, was the owner of this enterprise, and so I reserved judgement. I also reserved judgment because I am known by my friends as the guy that could eat his way across the United States on nothing but BBQ and consider myself a connoisseur of this style of Southern fine dining. ( BTW, that is how I know that roast beef, stuck in the pit for 20 minutes and covered with ketchup, ain’t BBQ.)



After a couple minutes and some conversation while I took some photos to put in my street scene photographer's gallery, my slider appears thru the window and taking it back to the tailgate of my truck, I bite into it to find that I had just received the most delectable treat this side of heaven. There it was, a chopped brisket sandwich on a gleaming grill-toasted bun, complete with the brown spot and slight amount of sheen that comes when the chef takes the time to toast on BOTH sides, and where doing so makes all the difference. I also noticed that the meat was overflowing so that there would be the proper amount of finger pickings after the main event. I also noted that the 4-bite bun stayed together instead of breaking all apart and that it was suffused with the wonderful bouquet that only happens when it is toasted on a seasoned grill.



Standing there a-scarfing my slider, I was not alone. There were the two old timers sitting on their tailgate, a couple of head-bangers ordering for their truck, and after a couple minutes a couple with their dog in tow.



After finishing, I go over and tell Chris and Ben, the guys at “The Shack”, that they were right about it being the best BBQ around. On talking with them is when I find out that I was talking to “The Man” Chris Conger himself, who tells me that he has always loved BBQ and that his enterprise at the corner is only about 2 months old.



Well. Welcome to town Chris - and get ready for the rush. I know other guys and gals that like BBQ too!



PS - For those of you wondering if this is one of those paid write-ups in exchange for graft and corruption, I tell you that it certainly is not. As an ex-businessman that knows what it is like to take a risk, and as someone that has always enjoyed running across people and businesses that “get it”, I just felt I had to do a write up on "The Smoke Shack”.