Mrs. Estelle’s Place
2006
This story took place during the summer of 1965 when I was about twelve years old. Our family had bought a home at the foot of Old State Road, which is now Old Bridge Road. My mother worked for the Pennsylvania Railroad and we commuted back and forth from Baltimore for a number of years, until she was transferred to the Eastern Shore. That was the day! I could live here full-time from then on. I thought I was in paradise.
It was a hot day in West Ocean City. I, along with my new found friend, Eltee Shockley, were riding our bikes down the Old State Road. As we passed this one particular shanty house, I smelled the most wonderful odor and it was very close by.
I asked Eltee, what it could be that smelled so good?
Eltee answered, "That's Mrs. Estelle's place. She's cooking soul food. Would you like to go in and eat?"
I hesitated and said, "In that place?"
"The foods' good," was his response.
That's all it took for me to get up the nerve to go in.
It was a small place. Most would have mistaken it for someone's house with an old white picket fence in need of paint and repair. The walkway was made of red brick with marsh grass growing through the cracks. Steps led to a screen door with an Open For Business sign on it. As we entered the small eatery we could hear laughter and soft voices.
We were greeted by, "Hello boys, come on in."
Estelle Kitt was an old, black lady and looked to me to be well into her sixties. She wore enormous, black-rimmed glasses. She was short and thin and her hair was gray and held in place by a black nylon stocking that she had cut off to make a cooking cap or hair net as was required in kitchens in those days. She was standing behind the counter where the cooking pots were steaming on the old cook stove. There were five small eating tables with chairs. Each table was covered with a white starched tablecloth on which sat salt and pepper shakers and a vase containing a few artificial flowers. The floor was swept clean and the walls were decorated with pictures of Martin Luther King and John F. Kennedy. There were five and ten-cent store curtains at the windows and in a corner was a flytrap tape hanging from the ceiling. I bet there were two hundred flies stuck to it. The room had two other doors other than the front door, one that led to a tiny bathroom and the other to Mrs. Estelle's living quarters.
We sat at the counter, and with the best manners that we had, ordered up her "We Got The Best Today" special platter. We were reminded by Mrs. Estelle to go wash up and on the way back to get our bottled sodas from the ancient ice chest near the counter. She had Nehi Orange or Grape soda and my favorite Coca Cola to select from. We opened our drinks with the old bottle opener screwed into a beam that was holding the ceiling up.
A man came in and sat at the corner table. I gave him a glance and looked him over real good. He was as black as tar and had a smile that revealed a mouth of missing teeth. Sweat was dripping down his face and he sat for a while drooped in his chair. All of a sudden he jumped up and broke into song at the top of his voice. I could not understand a word he was singing,
"Don't be scared of him-that's just Gilly," Mrs. Estelle told us as she put our platters in front of us. It smelled wonderful. The plate was laden with roast beef, greens, rice and a small yam. The rice was smothered with brown gravy. Boy, did we dig in. While we were eating, Mrs. Estelle left the counter and headed for the black man. She told him to get out. "I want you to get your drunk, no singing self right out ah here."
Gilly came back at her with "Estelle, you know I don't sing that good, but I can dance. Let's dance. Dance with me." And with that, Mrs. Estelle grabbed Gilly hard by the ear and led him out the front door. That was some excitement for twelve-year-old boys! We didn't know we'd get a floorshow with the meal. As we finished our food, Estelle's sister, Martha Campbell, who was a partner in the business, pulled a sweet potato pie from the oven that was to die for. "Later boys, not now," she said.
As we left the little shanty house and walked to our bikes, I said to Eltee, "That was the best roast beef I ever had."
He started laughing, giggling, and snickering.
"What the hell's so funny?" I wanted to know.
"That wasn't roast beef you ate, you silly goose, that was COON, like in Raccoon."
After a long, long hesitation, I said, "I knew that."
From that day to this, I have been a soul food connoisseur.
A post note to this story is that Estelle Kitt and Martha Campbell ran their little business until 1968 or 1969 when the property owner, John Dale Showell, III, decided not to renew the rental contract on the property. Today, million dollar homes sit on this site and other nearby lots on Old Bridge Road.
Gilly, also known as Gilmore Purnell, died in the year 2006. He had worked for Trimper's Amusements for 51 years.
My friend Eltee Shockley has been diagnosed with terminal cancer. I let him read this little memory story about our experience at Mrs. Estelle's Place. He cried. I told him the only thing we take with us is our memories. For both of us, this was a golden memory.
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