The Clams of Yesteryear

Rick Lee posted this photo of the Jersey side entrance to the Holland Tunnel, which leads to lower Manhattan.

He thus evoked memories of childhood trips from our "farm" in Pennsylvania, in the hills just west of the Delaware River at Upper Black Eddy, back to New York on summer Sundays. Sometimes we'd buy gas on the Jersey side, where it was cheaper (do you believe 23.9 cents a gallon?), and cross through the tunnel. The smell of the city heat and a slight sour smell of garbage was distinctive.

More often, we'd take the ferry at Hoboken. Before the ferry was "Kelly's Clam House," later just the "Clam Broth House," pictured above. The place had been around since Prohibition, and had hexagonal tiles on the floor, which was covered in sawdust and clamshells. Every night, someone would sweep up the whole mess until they could start over the next day. There were multiple doors, all the way down the block. Like Philippe's famous French dip restaurant in L.A. My father said it was because from time to time the Revenooers would padlock one set of doors, and the next day the owners would open another set of doors.

An early childhood memory was eating a whole pot of steamed clams, and sometimes a fine rare roast beef sandwich, too. Then the ferry across the river and the trip home, where, of course, I always insisted on eating something, no matter how much I had devoured in New Jersey.
PS. The pots of clams at Kelly's were far bigger than this niggardly bowl.