MANSFIELD — It’s been quite a year for the Wiener King.
It was early in March when I first sat down with owner Jimmy Smardjeff to talk about chili, kraut dogs and mafia rumors. Back then, you would not have predicted that 2016 would deliver a big surge in business, the restaurant’s first major refurb since 1976, a grand reopening drawing their biggest-ever crowd, and for Jimmy, at the age of 55, a heart attack.
Now, as we sat at a window booth a few days before Christmas and a month and a half after a double bypass, Jimmy was looking good – and not about to complain.
“I consider this a fortunate year. In many ways,” he told me.
The heart attack, although unexpected, was not completely out of the blue.
“I’d been getting warning signs for a couple of years,” Jimmy admitted. “Dizzy spells. Blurred vision. Then I started getting this tightness in my chest. Not pain – just a tightness.”
But you didn’t see anyone about it?
“No, I was in denial. I mean I used to be an athlete, and I still felt as strong as an ox. I could run, I wasn’t getting short of breath. I never thought it would happen to me.
“But it was harder and harder getting up in the morning, and one evening (at the restaurant) I lost sight out of my left eye. It started going black and the blackness closed in till I could see nothing out of it. I didn’t panic but I thought: oh boy. Still, you know, I wrote it off. I just pressed on.”
I noticed Jimmy becoming slightly distracted, and his eyes wandered to my untouched hot dog.
“You’re not eating. Your food’s gonna get cold.”
“It’s fine,” I said, grabbing my cheese dog and taking a bite, “I can eat and write at the same time. Keep talking.”
Satisfied, Jimmy continued: “Then we had the Grand Reopening.”
This was the fancy ribbon-cutting ceremony held this fall, after a group of regular customers – mainly formed from the Monday night cruise-in crowd and the Thursday night biker crowd – banded together to raise funds and give the restaurant an overhaul.
“I’d never seen a crowd like it,” Jimmy said of the ceremony, “not even in the ‘70s. We were at double our capacity that day – more than double. It was standing room only.”
“It looks great in here, Jimmy,” I told him, “but I’ll be honest: when I heard the place was getting a makeover I was nervous. I was worried they’d mess it up and you’d lose the magic.”
“Well, yeah, me too,” Jimmy said. “I mean I was apprehensive. But I figured never look a gift horse in the mouth. And I turned those guys loose. I had very little impact on what was going on.”
I told him I was relieved he kept the vintage menu, pointing to the old-school menu boards hanging over the counter.
“Yeah, well I would’ve put my foot down about that. The wallpaper I was sorry to lose. But it wasn’t something you could fix up and repair.
“So we had this big celebration,” he continued. “Then a week later, it happened. I woke up on Sunday and felt so bad. I thought: I can’t open today.”
“That’s a big deal for you, right?” I said.
“Right. I mean in 15 years I’ve never taken a day off. I really felt guilty but I stayed home. Then on Monday I got up and showered and suddenly had this overwhelming feeling: I don’t want to die.
“I made it to work, even though I could barely stand up. I felt like I was being being stabbed in the chest.
“Finally it got so bad I drove myself to the ER. They put me in a wheelchair – then I got up again and left to pick my daughter up from school.
“I mean, it was crazy,” he told me. “Turns out I was actually having a heart attack and I’m driving to Bellville. I looked like death warmed over. And as soon as my daughter saw me she drove me straight back to the hospital.”
This time they didn’t let him leave.
“I was scared. I was lying in that bed, thinking is this it for me? Are these my last memories? I didn’t think I was getting out. I made a last will and testament, who knows whether it was legal.”
Thankfully it wasn’t needed, and Jimmy has nothing but praise for the medical team that pulled him through.
“Here’s the thing though, believe it or not, they told me I couldn’t eat hot dogs anymore. I said, come on, you’re kidding me. That’s not gonna work. Do you know who I am? I’m the Wiener King! How’s that gonna look?”
I laughed. “You got a second chance, man,” I told him.
“Absolutely it’s a second chance,” Jimmy replied, “and I’m gonna take advantage of it.
“Dragway ‘42 is going to reopen,” he said, referring to the racetrack in West Salem, “and I want to ride again. I was a two-time national champion drag motorcycle racer, back in ‘99 and 2000.”
Drag racing, I said – that’s like in Happy Days, right?
“Yeah, but this a closed environment, it’s all legal.”
Jimmy is full of hope for the future, and he made it very clear to me how grateful he is for all the help and support he’s received from the community.
“Johnny Matthes and John Kinton,” he said, referring to two of his committed regulars who were behind the remodeling and ran the restaurant while Jimmy was in the hospital.
“They kept the place going. They’re like family. They’re better than family. If it wasn’t for them I would have had to hand over the keys to this place.”
“O.K. Jimmy,” I said, wrapping things up, “I’m going to need a couple of photos. And since it’s Christmas …”
I reached into my bag and pulled out a bright-red Santa hat, figuring I was going to have to talk him into it.
“Yeah, I’ll wear it,” he said, grabbing it and putting it on without hesitation.
As we set up the shot and I fiddled with my camera, he started talking about old-school Mansfield and underground crime. I’d stopped taking notes by this point but he definitely used the phrases “Little Chicago,” “Al Capone” and “Numbers Game.”
He’s doing it deliberately, I thought.
“Come on, Jimmy,” I said, “you know half this town still believes that stuff goes on here in a secret basement.”
“I know!” he laughed. “I never actually deny it. I just tell ‘em to watch out for the trapdoor.”
As I left, Jimmy had one more thing to say.
“This town is loaded with good people. I knew that a long time ago, but especially with everything that’s happened to me this year. There’s some bad, sure – but there’s a lot more good. I’m very fortunate to be in this town.”
I feel the same way myself. Merry Christmas, folks.
