The next morning I got up, got dressed, opened up early, and walked out back to the brick smoker Otis built in 1975, and pulled the one loose brick at the bottom he made me promise to open only if somebody came for the joint, and behind it, wrapped in foil against the grease and smoke, was the thing that saved Otiss BBQ.
The stadium man had come in during the lunch rush and told me the city was partnering on an entertainment district, that my block was being redeveloped, that Id get a small offer, that an old barbecue joint did not fit what they were building, that Id take the offer or the city would take the building.
He did not know what Otis sealed behind that brick.
Everyone assumed my husband rented this place, but behind that loose brick was the recorded deed showing Otis bought the building free and clear in 1978, along with the papers from when he got it listed for its place in this citys jazz and barbecue history, a historic designation that protects it from being bulldozed for a parking lot.
Otis opened the joint in 1971 and bought the building outright a few years later, and he was proud of what this corner meant, the players and the ballplayers whose pictures hang on the walls, the neighborhood that grew up on his ribs. So he got the building recognized for its history, and he kept the deed and the designation behind a brick in the smoker he built with his own hands, and told me to pull it only if the wolves came.
The wolves came talking about the city taking the building. But you do not take a building for pennies when the owner holds a clear deed, and you do not quietly demolish a place with a historic designation tied to the citys own heritage. Their lowball offer, and the threat behind it, both fell apart the moment I had the papers.
My lawyer, a man who grew up on Otiss burnt ends, took one look and said, maam, they were bluffing, your husband owned this outright and protected it besides.
When the stadium man came back, I did not argue. I handed him the recorded deed and the historic designation and I said, I hear you, I told you. My husband owned this building since 1978, free and clear, and its recognized for its history. You cannot take it for a parking price, and you cannot tear down a designated piece of this citys story. Build your district around Otiss ribs, the way this neighborhood always has.
They did. The entertainment district went up two blocks over and left my corner alone, and folks who come for the games now walk over for the ribs after.
An old barbecue joint doesnt fit what were building, he had said. This one fits this neighborhood just fine, and it owns its own bricks, because Otis bought them and protected them and hid the proof in the smoker. My grandson keeps that smoker going with me now. The recipe I still will not give out, same as Otis. And the pictures on the wall still watch over every plate.