In honor of the Old Newark luncheon at
Krug’s later this month, I’d like to share a story.
My parents were friends of Krugs’ owners, and it was definitely
one of their favorite spots. Stopping into Krug’s one afternoon,
my father hung at the bar while I sipped a Coke in the backroom
playing shuffleboard.
Getting tired, my father had me take a nap in the car, which was
parked in the lot out back. Restless, I decided to play behind the
wheel for awhile, pretending to drive. After a few minutes, I laid
down on the back seat and went to sleep. Unfortunately, while playing
I took the car out of gear. Slowly, during my nap, the car rolled
out of the lot onto the street, coming to rest, coincidentally,
in front of my aunt and uncles’ house, the Conroys, and blocking
Napoleon St.
Awoken by flashing police and ambulance lights, I was non-plussed
and told the officers I was unhurt, and led them to my father in
Krug’s. Nowadays he would probably have been arrested for
child-neglect, but instead he had to incur the wrath of my mother,
a much-worse fate.
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