Loaves and fishes squeeze out fast-food vendors

Few Catholic teens buy fries, let alone peameal bacon on a bun, columnist JOE FIORITO writes

By JOE FIORITO
Thursday, July 25, 2002

Because, not far off, the Mounties in their red serge tunics are warming up for the musical ride.

Reg Gilmore leans against his tractor-trailer.

He is lean and leathery, a trucker who hauls the horses for the RCMP. He squints, he smokes, he takes in the scene. Hard work, hauling horses? Horses are easy. They walk on and they walk off. Not like a load of lumber.

I don't smoke but I squint like Reg and as I do, I notice the horses have maple leaves shaved into their rumps. "Not shaved," says Reg. "It's done with a stencil. I brush against the grain of the hair with a wet brush."

Some of the horses have white stars on their foreheads; some have white socks; all are handsome Hanoverian thoroughbreds.

Constable Tim Doyle emerges from the trailer. He's sitting this ride out, but he shows me how the horses are loaded in the trailer -- three in back, three up front, six in the middle; the horses have feed bags under their noses and wood shavings at their feet.

Most horses travel easily. "They lock their knees. They can sleep standing up," Constable Doyle says.

"Like some of our riders," cracks Reg.

It's an easy, sunny summer day. Many of these kids have never seen a horse up close, let alone Mounties in red serge tunics, armed with lances. When the ride is over, a French girl snaps a photo and an American boy scratches a horse's forehead.

Meanwhile, down on hot dog row, the food vendors are doing some head-scratching of their own. They're being killed by loaves and fishes.

World Youth Day has an official on-site caterer. The pilgrims get meal chits; yesterday, 80,000 kids had lunch and 100,000 had supper.

Few Catholic teens are buying hot dogs or fries; most have never heard of peameal bacon on a bun.

Ali Topyurek owns a hot dog cart. His sausages are drying out on the grill. He's getting killed. "I sold nothing today, man. I paid $3,000 for my licence to come here for five days. Today, I made not even $10."

Nazmi Isufaj -- Mr. Sweet Tooth -- says, "It cost me $750 to get a licence for one day. I bought a licence for three days. I made only $60 today. I have just taken an Aspirin. I feel sick."

Just then, a tanned and sweaty young man comes up to the counter. Nazmi pours soft ice cream into a cup and drowns it in butterscotch. Is the young fellow a Catholic?

"No, man."

Not far away, Rasoul Konoi has shut his cart down. These kids all have their own food -- beans yesterday, macaroni today. "I was expecting somebody from World Youth Day to come here to take care of our business, but nobody comes. Normally I put my cart on University Avenue. If I was there, I would be making a living."

Dave Clements of North Star Catering has been hit the hardest of all. He serves hot dogs, fries and peameal bacon on a bun from the side of a 53-foot trailer. He would, if he could. He's got a five-ton reefer truck full of unsold food parked nearby.

"They told me I'd sell five tons of potatoes in three days. So far I've gone through 10 22-pound bags. Most of those I gave away free to the police. And I paid for all my licences but I was just told I had to buy three more licences if I wanted to serve any food. The city's killing me with taxes. I'm hoping I get fined so I can go to court."

By now, the musical riders have dismounted, and Constable Doyle leads the horses into the trailers. Reg Gilmore puts his rig in gear and drives away.

But Ali, Nazmi, Rasoul and Dave can't drive away.

They're stuck.