Cancer hasn't dimmed hot dog slinger's passion for sports, helping others
Posted on Thu, Nov. 22, 2007

BY MANNY NAVARRO - mnavarro@MiamiHerald.com

Ronnie Arbetter has spent most of his life sweating behind a counter steaming frankfurters, jiggling grease from hot fries and running one of the most beloved family restaurants in South Florida. He served his first hot dog when he was 6.

''When you're working there, it's work,'' he says. ``But when you're not there, it's funny how you miss it.''

These days, there is a lot of missing going on at Arbetter's Hot Dogs, which has occupied its northwest corner of Bird Road and Southwest 87th Court for 35 years. The hot dogs ($1.90), kraut dogs ($1.95) and chili dogs ($2.05) are, more or less, the same as always. So are the flimsy paper napkins and the institutional-bland fluorescent lights, the newspaper clippings and sports paraphernalia on the walls and many of the customers. But one thing is not the same: Ronnie.

Suffering from cancer of the pancreas and liver, Arbetter, 52 -- a lifelong friend of sports and, particularly, high school athletics -- rarely makes it in to work anymore.

''I miss the customers,'' he says. `` . . . I've got to admit I do miss the store, even the employees.''

Since his diagnosis in May, Arbetter has lost some of his hair to chemotherapy, and his once-athletic body has shed 35 pounds. He is sometimes weak and often in pain. Yet tonight, when he sits down to Thanksgiving dinner at his sister's house in West Kendall, he will be grateful for a work ethic that brought him pride and friendship, for the win/loss lessons of his years in high school sports and for -- oh, just say it -- the glorious miracle of his beloved Boston Red Sox.

GOING DAY BY DAY

''They still don't predict for me to live more than a year,'' Arbetter says. ``But you never know. Sometimes you get lucky, and God comes into play.''

Doctors first told him he would survive for no more than six months. He's going on seven now, ``and I'm still doing about the same. . . . I don't look to the future too much. I just go day by day.''

When the Red Sox, also going day by day, reached the World Series in 2004, Arbetter's Hot Dogs quickly became a sanctuary for fans. When the team whipped St. Louis for its first World Series title since 1918, Ronnie fulfilled a promise of his late father and ladled up free baked beans. Bob Arbetter died in 2002, and ''the night they won, we looked up into the sky and said a few little prayers,'' Ronnie says. 'I told him, `Dad, what a day you missed.' . . . It was almost typical of how the Red Sox would break your heart. We're talking since 1960 he was waiting to serve baked beans. We were thinking about him that day all day, sharing stories of what he would have been like.''

In October, when the Sox swept the Rockies for another Series championship, there were more free beans, and Ronnie was feeling well enough to serve them.

''I had a blast,'' he says. ``It really made me feel good. It was very uplifting just seeing the customers again and all those wacky fans. I'll admit, I thought the Sox were done when they fell behind three games to one to the [Cleveland] Indians. To watch them come back and win like that and then to sweep was just great.''

Opened in 1960 off Flagler Street and 19th Avenue, Arbetter's moved to its present location in 1972, where it became a popular pre-big-game hangout for athletes from nearby Columbus, Southwest and Coral Park high schools.

''The hot dog is just a different style,'' Arbetter says, ``a steamed dog. To put chili on a steamed dog is a little unusual.''

A little homey, too. The chili recipe is his mom's, and the restaurant is as small and cramped as a house full of visiting relatives.

''I think what made people feel connected was the way the place is set up, with workers literally three feet or four feet away from the customers,'' Arbetter says. 'You'll hear . . . `Hey, get me that pot of water.' The customers like watching that stuff when they're waiting in line, and the boys are kind of fast, and that speed is pretty amazing.''

Around here, sports analogies squirt and plop along with the mustard and catsup.

Columbus alum and future Notre Dame quarterback Lou Pagley got his first job at Arbetter's. Brian Griese, Mercury Morris, Ron Fraser and Alex Rodriguez have been regulars. Ditto Roy Firestone and Larry King. A few years ago, a Food Channel crew showed up to shoot a segment on the restaurant's corn dogs for a food-on-a-stick feature. ''They asked me a few silly questions,'' Arbetter says. ``It was our five minutes of fame.''

It might have taken a corn dog to make Ronnie Arbetter a star, but his customers should know that in the early 1970s, this 5-5 self-described ''pipsqueak'' was on the Southwest Eagles junior varsity basketball team that ended Coral Gables' 39-game winning streak. In his senior year, Arbetter was the Eagles' starting varsity point guard.

''At the time, we had some really good athletes,'' he said. ''Gene Swindle [the team's star] was the center. We had guys, 6-7, 6-8. The problem was, South Miami [High School] opened up, and we lost many of our good athletes.'' The Eagles finished the year with a forgettable 5-16 record that Arbetter never forgot.

Because there were no three-pointers in those days, ''my high game was only about 19 points,'' he says. ``But I would have had an average in the 20s for sure. My scoring average was about 10 points, even though some people thought I had a tremendous long-distance shot. But I preferred to be a true point guard. I was very good at assists, and I assume I would have been among the leaders in that department.''

KNACK FOR LEADERSHIP

''In a lot of ways, he's lived his life the way he played basketball,'' says Arbetter's brother, Dave, ``being the assist man and letting others take their shot. If Ronnie had gone to college, I'm convinced he probably could have ended up being a great high school coach. He had the knack for being a great leader, someone who could teach and get out of the way. And he obviously loved helping young kids. There are so many kids who got free lunches from Ron and his dad.''

In fact, Ronnie was still playing pickup games at the Southwest High gym until last fall. Usually, he was the oldest guy on the court, but Southwest basketball coach Tom Moore says Ronnie could still beat guys half his age with his speed, quickness and high-arching set shot. Then his stomach began to hurt.

''He went to see doctors about a thousand times, and he kept going and going and at one point they thought it was in his mind,'' says Arbetter's sister, Jill. By the time doctors finally had a diagnosis, Ronnie's condition was inoperable. Within weeks, the word spread, and Moore and Royce Green, a teammate of Arbetter's at Southwest High, were planning a Ronnie reunion. More than 100 people showed up, from former Southwest cheerleaders and former athletes from rival schools, to coaches, referees and life-long customers.

''We had to have this party for all that he and his father and this little hot dog stand has meant,'' Green says. ``And because we all had to get together and tell him while he's still here.''

The event was ''one of the most fulfilling days of my whole life,'' Arbetter says. ``You can't explain how you feel.''

When Ronnie had been among the shortest high school basketball players in the country, he had been offered a scholarship to Florida College in Tampa. But when it came time for him to leave for school, his father had convinced him to stay in Miami and help run the restaurant. Does he regret that he stayed? Yes. Does he realize that staying was for the best? Yes.

''I never got married or had kids,'' Arbetter says, ``but I have a brother and sister and a bunch of nieces and nephews. I made a lot of friends, met a lot of great people. So I can't complain.''

In sports, where the headlines focus on telegenic hunks with mega-million-dollar contacts and endorsement star power, what sort of impact can one former high school point guard and his little hot dog restaurant have?

''The thing about the Arbetters is that they've always cared about people,'' says Moore, who estimates that at least 20 of his former players at some point had found work at the restaurant.

'When I had a player who needed to make some money to help his family or pay for his sneakers, I'd call Ronnie, and he would say, `Send him over here.' The support Ronnie and his family have given to high-school sports can't be measured,'' Moore says, `` And I just hope he realizes that.''