Nostalgia

So the other night, I was out with some friends, when the bars closed up. Everyone went their separate ways, and I decided to just walk around a bit, since it was a phenomenal night. It was one of those perfect nights, about 60 degrees, light breeze, clear sky, no humidity. And it hit me. I really wanted a gyro or a hot dog. Not just any gyro or hot dog. One of Taki's. It was a strange feeling that I had come over me. It doesn't hit me often, but every once in a while, I'll just have an old memory just come up out of nowhere. And this time, it was Taki.

Taki Iatropoulos was a friend of mine. This guy had lived, before he died. He moved to the U.S. from Greece to make his fortune. And along the way, he had all sorts of ups and downs in places ranging from New York City to Palm Beach to Carbondale to Champaign-Urbana. He wasn't the sort that people made heroes out of. And that was what I liked about him. He was just another guy. He cursed a little too much. He knew that he wasn't the best husband or father. He had been cheated by some people. And in the end, he did what he knew best - made tasty food, and added to his collection of memories.

What I saw was a guy who worked hard. He used to have this hot dog cart that he would set up on Green St. He'd be out there starting at 11am for the lunch crowd, and he'd be there until 3 am to sell to the kids coming out of the bars. And over the summer, he'd be out there 6 nights a week. In the winter, despite the freezing cold, it was the same story. It was during the summer of my junior year of undergrad when I became friends with Taki. That was a strange summer for me. I was down taking classes for the summer, but I didn't really know many people down here. So a lot of evenings, I would head down to Campustown, and just get a beer to do a little people watching, and then maybe grab a cigar and walk around, and do more people watching.

So, it was then that I discovered that there was a little hot dog cart where I could get a decent gyro or hot dog (complete with the grilled, red sauced onions like you get in NY) at 1 am after bars closed (this was back in the day, before the bars stayed open until 2). It was a slow night at the hot dog cart, so I just parked it out there and chatted with the guy who was running the cart. We discovered that we both had some roots back in NY. Myself up in Schenectady, Taki in the city. And we became friends by chatting about things out east.

I would drop by periodically during some of the slow times (like at 2 in the afternoon, between classes). At this point, he had rented the little kiosk on 4th and Green, so he could close up shop for a little bit and take a nap. But it also allowed him to bring some of his memories with him. Whenever I dropped in to chat with him, he'd always offer a soda, a shot of ouzo, or a cigarette. I'd generally accept the Diet Coke, but decline the ouzo and cigarette. And a couple times, he'd show me his album. All sorts of photos with famous people in his NY restaurant. Rockerfellers. Kennedys. I recall John Glenn. There were also menus and flyers of his restaurants in NY, and afterwards when things weren't so hot for Taki. And he told me some stories. His biggest regret was leaving NY. From what I recall, that Taki, at the urging of a friend, sold his place in NY to open up a place in Palm Beach, which pretty much tanked and ate up his life savings. After this, things were a struggle. But Taki persevered. Places opened up, made a little money, and then closed down. And he worked 15 hour days all throughout, trying to make do for his two daughters, Nicole and Eleni. I still remember having a conversation with him about faith, religion, and life. His thoughts were interesting. He hated the Church, was sort of weary of God, but was intent on taking his daughters back to Greece to be baptized. That was Taki. Somehow fate, for better or worse, brought him to Champaign-Urbana.

Eventually, he saved up a little money and was able to get out of the weather, and open up a restaurant, called Mykonos. The menu expanded a little bit. And now there were refills on the sodas. But if Taki was working the grill when I was there, there'd still be an offer of ouzo or a cigarette. And I think that I eventually took him up on the offer of ouzo, but only once. That was enough. Quite a few late nights were spent at Mykonos. I'd always bring friends out there after we had gone out. And every once in a while, I'd stop in during the day to chat. Taki coughed a little more than he used to, seemed more tired than I remembered, and would often be napping in a little closet during the day. I didn't know it at the time, but I should have. I wasn't really seeing life clearly then. I had ran into some tough times in my own life late in 2001. I didn't get out to Mykonos at all that fall. Taki passed away in early 2002. He had cancer, which eventually led to liver failure. I was sad that I never had a chance to say goodbye to my friend.

After a while, a new place popped up in Taki's old space. Cafe Luna, which I've written about. I'm normally one to try new places pretty quickly. But I held off. It took me almost 3 years to get over it and set foot in there.

It's still hard to get a good hot dog around here, particularly with those grilled onions with the red, sauce. And it's hard to see the old Mykonos, with the success that Cafe Luna has experienced. But every once in a while, it becomes easy to remember Taki. And it would be a shame if I didn't write some of the thoughts down, in case the memories become harder to see in the future.

-Chairman