Pyatt’s last stand
You could let Pam and Ken Krantz explain what is special about what they do, and you wouldn’t doubt them. The Youngstowners are easy people to be around.
But it is better to watch what they do, and watch the enjoyment of the people who find them.
It starts with a simple food menu in a forgotten place.
The experience grows when fun banter comes from Pam. She might launch into you when you are getting out of your car 20 feet away. Few people get away without some banter at some point during the few minutes you have with them. She’ll find something to talk about with you.
The enjoyment is in full tilt when the food arrives onto the back counter – sausage sandwiches or hot dogs wrapped in foil; a heaping pile of french fries that were whole potatoes just minutes before; and most times, a lemon shake.
Ronnie Collins was in full smile when his pile of fries arrived.
“Spray; then shake; then squirt; then spray one more time. Then you’re on your way,” he said as he dressed his fries with vinegar, then salt, then ketchup, then vinegar once again. As he spoke, he never looked up. He covered his fries like he was painting a Picasso.
Ronnie and Pam can’t be more opposite.
She is a chatty white lady in her 60s and maybe 5 feet tall on big heels. He is a 6-foot-1, soft-spoken black guy in his 20s, with dreadlocks rolling off his shoulders.
But he updated Pam on his recent travels – finally making it to California – and she clung to every word of his as she has for decades.
That is how it goes with just about everyone who finds Pam’s and Ken’s food trailer, officially known as Kenny K’s Concessions.
Finding it is half the adventure.
Friends of mine who work the city’s neighborhoods on a daily basis had no idea about Kenny K’s. I found Pam and Ken about a month ago because I chose to wander city backstreets. Don’t you?
Their trailer sits on Pyatt Street just east of Market Street.
Pyatt today is an acquired taste and not for the faint of heart.
That’s not how it always was.
Pyatt was a bustling farmers market for city residents for decades. (At this point, veteran Vindy readers just said in unison “Oh, that place ...”).
Back in the day, there was a full city block of shelters hosting farmers. Ken and Pam list farmers’ names without hesitation. On its best days, 50 vendors jammed Pyatt, said Ken.
Pyatt has been their base for 35 years or so.
For the past seven years, Pyatt has been home to just them. They are the last ones standing.
On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays from April to Halloween, they hold court by themselves. It’s the same schedule the farmers kept – one day in the fields; the next day on Pyatt selling their product.
The Kenny K trailer sits under a rickety shelter with five vintage picnic tables scattered about. It is the last shelter standing, and it looks like it barely is. The sky peeks through parts of the roof. Broken concrete and huge weeds are their landscaping.
Yet, they bustle.
Cars, trucks, work vehicles and even semi-trucks pull up close enough to yell their order from the driver’s seat if they wanted.
Carla Thornton called out her order from 10 feet away as she walked up.
“One hot dog; burn it.” And when that was eaten, she ordered again. “Burn another one.”
Ronnie (of the dreads and the California trip) said it’s his sign of spring arrival when Ken and Pam open.
“I’ve been coming here since I was a baby. My gramma brought me. Aunts, uncles, everyone comes here – about 30 years now.”
He said he’s studying to be a pharmacist, and Pam shoots in very motherly: “And we’re pushing him to get there.” Ronnie smiles.
One guy said he moved away for three years, and when he moved back, he made sure to peek down Pyatt to see if the trailer was there.
Jerry Gordon, who says you will not find better french fries, was stunned to learn how long I’ve lived here and have never been there.
“You’ve been here nine years and you’ve never been here? You’re an alien. Nine years? Man, you’ve missed out.”
He looked at his pile of fries in awe. “These ... fries ...” and he just walked off without finishing his line, but with a pleasant smile.
One burly construction guy got his fries, and his eyes bulged like a 13-year-old staring at his first Playboy magazine.
All of this should answer for you what my first question was to Ken: Cool place. But why are you here and not downtown or near campus?
“Sure, you think about leaving,” said Ken. “But why fix what ain’t broken? These are our friends.”
Said Pam: “This is home.”
That’s an interesting part to their lives, too: Married for 43 years, their loyalty extends to their neighborhood east of Wick Park. They own several houses and anchor one of the nicer streets in that area. Their homes are easy to spot: Look for the American flags. Ken actually lives across the street from where he grew up. His childhood home is leveled, but he owns the lot. They like that more owner-occupied homes are taking root.
“Residency kept us [in the city],” said Ken, who retired from the city water department a few years back. They raised two daughters as they slowly built their neighborhood holdings one home at a time.
“It becomes a mindset. You have to want to build a livable place. You have to want to pick up trash. I even put cans at our street corners, and people use them. There’s a lot of advantages living in city,” said Ken.
To run a food truck, you have to like simple.
This is their fourth truck in 40 years of doing this. It’s a motor home they converted. It’s not one of those sexy, tricked-out food trucks you see on hip TV shows.
The menu is simple: Sausage, hot dogs and steak patties from Acme Foods; corn dogs; sweet or hot peppers and french fries – fresh and never from a frozen bag.
“Not Idora fries,” assures Ken, because they don’t use lard. But people still call them “Idora” due to the style.
With loops of sausage and peppers sitting on the grill, and fries ready to drop, about the longest thing to cook is steaming the D’Urso Bakery buns.
“Good ingredients – fresh and hot – that’s key,” said Ken.
A good lunch is less than $7, and it’s ready in about two minutes.
They have permits and are inspected like restaurants; they rent the Pyatt shelter space just as decades of vendors have done.
It’s been their business all these years. Well, almost.
It did start with buddy Rocco Sperati back when he and Ken were teens. But Rocco was out after a couple of years, and told a great story why when he showed up last week by complete fluke. His story:
Their potato cutter was mounted to a wall with a pull-down handle.
Ken was out walking around the festival, and Rocco had to cut fries. He knocked himself hard in the head with the handle and staggered around the trailer dizzy trying to serve customers. Ken finally got back and relieved Rocco – who decided soon after that the business wasn’t for him.
Ken and Pam have had 15 family members work for them. Grandson Chanze just started his career with them last week. Nieces and nephews from out of state have moved up for the summer to work. Former workers have become teachers, nurses, a chef, a truck driver, a firefighter, a pastor’s wife, a missionary. One of their first staffers, Rich Herrera, owns Broad Street Diner in Canfield.
Through it all, Ken and Pam smile away on Pyatt – taking slow days just as easily as they do busy days.
“We’ve had very few negative experiences, and we just don’t dwell on it. We just move along,” said Ken. “We treat everyone equal, and that’s worked for us.”
Ken smiles when he thinks of how his dad used to scold him.
“He’d say ‘If you don’t go to school, you’ll be a ditch digger,’ and I happily did that for the water department.
“And he’d say ‘If you don’t go to school, you’ll never get off this block.’ And now I own the block.”
And he said it with a smile.
Todd Franko is editor of The Vindicator. He likes emails about stories and our newspaper. Email him at tfranko@vindy.com. He blogs, too, on vindy.com. Tweet him, too, at @tfranko.