Were you lucky enough to grow up with a doggie place in your town?

It’s the joint that sold freshly made chili dogs and burgers.

The grill was typically placed at the front window so that passers-by would see and smell the savory delights.

It probably wasn’t the healthiest meal, yet a dietary staple of life in the coal regions and a spot where many a railroad worker stopped for a fast lunch or dinner.

I grew up in Tamaqua, where at least three such eateries graced Broad Street.

They’re now gone. The last to close was Chili Dog located inside an old, narrow building with high, pressed tin ceilings.

One of the most popular was tiny Texas Lunch situated precariously close to the railroad tracks of the Pottsville branch of the Reading Railroad.

It consisted of one small, wedge-shaped room with about seven stools. At its peak, it opened 24 hours and did a remarkable takeout business.

Just steps away at the Five Points intersection was much larger Coney Island, occupying the first floor of the Flat Iron building.

Coney Island was more of an eat-in establishment with eight tables. They also served fried egg sandwiches with aromatic Chase and Sanborn coffee or Heisler’s Dairy chocolate milk.

But the customary fare at these places consisted of doggies and burgers sold five for a dollar in the early 1960s before prices went up a nickel.

Still, 25 cents for a hamburger was a deal, and I gladly paid for it through my paperboy earnings.

I delivered 75 copies of the Tamaqua Evening Courier up Hunter to Orwigsburg and Penn streets. It was a route nobody wanted because it involved climbing the mountainside. I earned $2.50 a week.

Being ambitious, I took on a second route. Another 80 papers delivered to East Broad, Pine and Rowe streets. That paid another $2.50. So at a combined $5 a week, I was rich and able to enjoy regular visits to Texas Lunch.

The memories of my customers, other people I met along the route, and my weekly reward at Texas Lunch have stayed with me.

Last week, I relived the adventure but had to drive 40 miles to do it.

Shamokin Coney Island is an original, timeless classic. It’s a throwback to the 1920s and looks the same as the Coney found in most larger coal region towns.

The old marble top counter has cracks in it. So do the matching tables. The stools are original and the tin ceiling is vaulted at least 20 feet high. A work of art.

To be honest, I go there twice a year.

At Christmas, the owners put up an elaborately decorated tree, 18 feet high and three times as wide as the doorway. Everyone asks: “How did you get it in here?”

The answer: It’s tied tightly, allowing them to squeeze it through the front door.

After the holiday, they cut off the branches and remove the tree piece by piece.

But for seven weeks or so, the tree and the friendly atmosphere draw hundreds to Coney. Most are baby boomers who want to relive a special part of their past.

Many bring their children and grandchildren to introduce them to a part of small town life that has slipped away.

Of course, prices gave gone up. Burgers are no longer 25 cents.

My order of one dog and one burger and a local Catawissa Private Stock red cream soda cost a bit more than ten dollars. Understandable. We live in a different time.

And I didn’t mind paying it. The experience of stepping back to my youth was priceless. It was a highlight of my Christmas.