Yesterday’s little jaunt down memory lane jogged my brain cells. I remembered another Uncle story. This one happened during World War II.

Uncle had joined the Army Air Corps at the start of the war. He was mustered out rather quickly. The story that he told was that they found that he had flat feet. Never quite believed that one myself, that was his story and he stuck to it.

Collecting his duffle, he used his bus fare to get as far as Los Angeles. He got off the bus and headed for the Follies Burlesque in downtown L.A. This was a favourite spot for servicemen. After catching Tassels LaTour on stage he came out into the bright afternoon sun. He was hungry and looked up and down the street for someplace to eat. To his right, on the south side of the theatre was a small hot dog stand. It had four stools. From the sign it looked as if their speciality was corn dogs. He ambled over to the stand, sat down on a stool and ordered a corn dog.

When the corn dog came, it was the most pathetic thing he had ever seen. Instead of a plump example of an artery clogging porker, he was looking at a skinny sad little thing that didn’t deserve the name, “corn dog.”

“What’s this?” asked Uncle. The owner shook his head, “it’s rationing. I know it’s awful, but I can only get these skinny little hot dogs these days. I’m sorry. How about if I give you a second one free.” Uncle took him up on the offer.

As he ate the corn dogs and drank his soda pop, Uncle fell into a conversation with the owner of the stand. The owner complained how he should have a gold mine with all the servicemen who went to the Follies next door. “These should be selling like hot cakes, Ya-know-wad-I-mean? But they look at these pitiful dogs and they won’t buy them. My costs have gone up and the dogs have gotten smaller!”

Finally Uncle said, “Would you like to sell the joint?” “Are you kidding, I’d love it. But, who’d buy this place? I’ve haven’t turned a profit in over a year.” “I’ll buy it. How much to you want?” said Uncle. The guy’s jaw dropped. They settled on a price. Uncle called a friend who would spot him the price and by the end of the week, he was the owner of a hot dog stand.

The old owner probably felt guilty about selling the hot dog stand to Uncle; but he shouldn’t have. Uncle was ready to make his first fortune. He knew how he was going to do it before he had finished his first corn dog. It was brilliantly twisted and very typical of Uncle.

Double dipping was how he did it. When you cook a corn dog you dip the dog into the corn meal mixture and then you dunk it into a deep fat fryer. When it’s brown, it’s done. Simple, right? What Uncle did was to dip the dog into the corm meal, dunk it into the deep fat for a count of 3; then he took it out. It was just a little tan at this point, but hard enough to be dipped back into the corn meal mixture. This second dip made the dog look fat. It looked as if rationing had never happened. He changed the menu to only corn dogs and some side dishes. No one saw those skinny dogs naked again. Busloads of hungry soldiers, sailors and marines would show up all day and into the night. They usually hit the show first and then went for the corn dogs.

So, you ask, how did it work? It worked so well that Uncle was able to make a rule: when the take in the till reached a $1,000, he closed for the day. That was $6,000 a week in the 1940s (They closed on Sunday). Of course, most of it was cash, so you can imagine that his gross and net were pretty much the same. Uncle was on his way to bigger things. The next venture was a couple of restaurants, but that story’s for another day