Famous Nathan by Mr. Lloyd Handwerker Page A

“I kept on making two feet more, five feet more, stretching it out. Another piece of store, another piece of store.”
    The place was small, and for the whole first season, it was anonymous.
    At the end of the summer, a woman approached the store. “Who is the boss?” she asked.
    Nathan didn’t want to tell her. He was standing in front, on Surf Avenue, hawking frankfurters. Questions were never good. Questions slowed him down. They implied a problem with customers or the intrusion of authority.
    His workers, Ida and his nephew Joe among them, knew enough to stay silent, but the woman was persistent. “Why don’t you want to tell me? What are you afraid of? I must know who the boss is.”
    The woman seemed almost ready for a fight. Nathan turned to her. “Ma’am, why do you want to see the boss? I’m the boss.”
    â€œI’m sending people to you, and they can’t find you. You haven’t got a name on your place. Why don’t you put a name on so we can be able to find you? I know your stuff is very good. When I send my friends from the Bronx, they come here and can’t find you.”
    â€œLady, this is the end of the year. Labor Day is going to be here soon, and I’ll be closing up the place for the winter.”
    By the following summer season, he told himself, when I open up, I’ll have signs. “Next year,” he promised the pestering woman, “I’ll open up with a name.”
    As annoying as the nudge was, she had a point. Nathan started to think about a name for his store. I’ve worked for Max’s Busy Bee. But if I put Nathan Handwerker on, “Handwerker” would be hard to remember. It would take a hundred years to know how to find the store if it was called Handwerker’s. So why can’t I do the same thing like Max’s Busy Bee in Manhattan?
    Nathan’s. Not “Nathan’s Famous”—that addition would come along in a few years. “I put on Nathan’s, and I paid three and a half dollars for the sign.”
    The Coney Island sign painter of choice in those days was Harry Wildman, who came to America from Austria in 1875. He designed the green Nathan’s logo, complete with elaborate curlicues and serifs. Wildman’s iconic work has survived, with a few modifications, to this day. As he had done with numerous signs and ads around Coney, he painted the broadly stylized lettering on oilcloth. Finally, the store had a name.
    In later days, when the press agents took over publicity for the business, they deemed the true origin story too banal. A more romantic legend got cooked up, linking the naming of the business to a song that was popular at the time. The new story presented Nathan at the store, mulling thoughtfully over what he might call his new establishment. From a nearby café, a gramophone record played Sophie Tucker singing the chorus of a song, “Nathan, Nathan, Why You Waitin’?”
    According to this version of events, while trying to come up with a name for his business, Nathan overheard Sophie, the “Red-Hot Mama,” belting it out. He said to himself, Wait a minute—my name is Nathan, so why don’t I just call the place “Nathan’s”?
    Naturally, in the way of all press-agent confections, the tale got mangled over time. “Nathan, Nathan, Why You Waitin’?” wasn’t a Sophie Tucker’s song—at least, she never recorded it. It was actually another chanteuse, Rhoda Bernard, who first put out a novelty number called “Nat’an (For What Are You Waitin’, Nat’an?).” Comedian and singer Fanny Brice came along afterward with a reply song called “Oy, How I Hate that Fellow Nathan.”
    The lyrics of the Rhoda Bernard original offer a charming glimpse into romance, circa 1916.
    Nat’an, Nat’an, Nat’an, tell me for what are you waitin’, Nat’an?
    You said we’d marry