Lafayette Hill lawyer Bart Banks has always banked on being able to afford soft pretzels.

by Bart Banks

The first day I started Temple University Law School was filled with pressure. The dean, in his opening remarks, told each student, “Look to the right of you. If the person standing there is still here at the end of the third year, it’s probable you won’t be.” They fully expected that half the class of 120 students would wash out for some reason or other … and they did.

I was glad when the day was over. I descended the law school steps to enter the subway on the corner. I noticed a middle-aged, somewhat weather-beaten woman standing behind a pretzel stand on wheels. She was selling pretzels for 10 cents each. They were the internationally famous “Federal Street Pretzels,” made only on Federal Street in South Philadelphia. They were wonderfully chewy and dipped in just the right amount of salt, which clung to their outer crust. The salt was easily brushed off onto your car seat or floor should you like a more bland taste.

Francisca the vendor (like all vendors) would pick them up in cardboard boxes early in the morning, travel to her post outside the law school and remain there until the last one was sold, usually in the late afternoon. In order to be an official Federal Street pretzel vendor, you needed to have a jar of yellow mustard that was so old, the crust around the top of the jar had turned brown.

Anyone could have a swab of “the must” for free from the wooden stick which was submerged in the jar and was dabbed liberally on the pretzel. The vendor would hold the stick in his or her bare dirty hand with five black fingernails on it, the pretzel in the other and would inquire, “You likeah de’ must?”

Those with pioneering spirit would answer affirmatively. The vendor would wrap the entire sumptuous snack in cheap wax paper, then take your dirty coins or bills (in the same bare hand), make change, stuff the dirty money in his/her pocket and start over.

I felt nothing but sympathy for Francisca. I truly did not think her operation would stand the scrutiny of the Food and Drug Administration or, for that matter, even the Department of Licenses and Inspections, but I was sure that somewhere in South Philly she had at least two nice kids who had to be fed, dressed and sent off to Catholic School.

I was just starting the new phase of my life. Just for luck I approached her stand and put a dime down on it. She started to ask if I wanted the magic mustard on my pretzel. I waived her off, signifying no pretzel, and walked away.

Thus, a tradition started. Each day I was in school, I would pass Francisca’s stand and put down a dime. She would hold a pretzel in the air. I would waive and say, “No, thanks.” If I had an exam or a quiz or had to hand in a brief or important research paper, I might even invoke the procedure twice in the same day. After all, one can certainly not have too much luck.

One lovely spring day toward the end of the last year, I was returning from spring break. This would be my last eight weeks of school ever, followed by the scary bar exams. I had two classes that day. Down the steps of the law school I strode. I turned left toward the subway. There was Francisca and her pretzel cart.

Reflexively, I reached for a dime in my pocket. As usual, I placed the shiny coin on her cart, once more waving off the pretzel. As I continued on walking by the cart, I heard Francisca beckon to me.

“Hey, mister, pretzels are 15 cents now!”

Bart "Bunky" Banks, 87, of the Banks & Banks Law Firm in Lafayette Hill, has tried murder cases, taken companies public, been a civil litigator and corporate lawyer. (And he has even done stand-up comedy.) He is married with four children and nine grandchildren. He has taught at local universities, lectured at seminars and made guest appearances on radio and TV shows. His articles have appeared in many local newspapers, and he has authored four books. This article is from one of them, “What I Learned After I Knew it All.”