Franksville: A Trip Back to the Future

In the mid-1960s, my parents decided it was okay to go to Chicago Cubs games without parental supervision. I loved baseball so I took advantage of this by going with friends, my brother or sometimes even alone.

Baseball games were played quicker back in the olden days. Cubs games started at 1:30 in the afternoon; no night games were played at Wrigley because they didn’t have lights. They were usually done in two hours—sometimes less. We were home long before dinner. It took me years to realize this was a way for my mother to get us out of the house and away from her. The Cubs were my mom’s babysitter. A great deal for what it cost her.

My mom gave me two dollars—let me say this again—-TWO DOLLARS and would pack a lunch. The two bucks would be enough for the train to Wrigley and back, a ticket in the bleachers with enough left over for either a Coke or a Frosty Malt. Man, that was a tough decision.

When I got a few years older things became a bit more expensive and the food choices were a lot different. Usually, that meant eating outside the park before heading into the game. More often than not, we dined at the Franksville, at the northwest corner of Addison and Clark. It was very convenient to walk across the street afterward, plus the hot dogs were much better and less expensive than having an Oscar Meyer Smokey Link inside the friendly confines—at least we thought so.

My food order would always be the same—a foot-long hot dog, a regular hot dog, french fries and a drink. I had a much larger appetite back then, plus my gastro system could handle junk food a lot better in the 1970s than presently.

The Wrigleyville (which wasn’t a word back then) Franksville went the same way that all those little restaurants surrounding the park did—torn down for something supposedly better and way more expensive. The only times I missed Franksville was when I attended a Cubs game and was looking to find a place to eat that didn’t cost fifty bucks.

But, almost two years ago, I was driving home from Elmwood Park, after my daughter’s wedding. We decided to drive down Harlem Avenue. When we reached Addison Street, there was Franksville. Man, did it bring back all the memories! Foot-long hot dogs and bad Cubs baseball—-those were the days.

I’ve been wanting to go there since then but I haven't found the time or the inclination to make the long drive from the north burbs. But, with it being National Hot Dog Month, what would be a better way than to end the four-part series with a trip to the past. Back to the Future ain’t got nothing on me. All I needed was a DeLorean.

Last night we took the ‘long drive’ to Franksville. No DeLorean was needed. We jumped in the SUV and a half-hour later we arrived at Addison and Harlem. If I knew it was that short a ride, I would have done it long ago. However, if I knew what awaited me, I would have passed on going there completely.

Franksville still has the foot-long hot dog. I had one of those, along with an order of fries and a Diet Coke. It’s hard to mess up that kind of food but they did. The hot dog itself was fine, but the bun tasted like it just came out of the package. It needed to be steamed, plus having some poppy seeds on it would have been nice. The french fries were okay. I’ve had both better and worse. But, how do you make a bad Diet Coke? The drink was watery and could have used a lot more syrup.

When I went to order the food, there was a sign that Franksville was celebrating its sixtieth anniversary. Doing the math, that means they opened in 1964. As a prize for coming in, they gave me a coupon for two dollars off on my next visit. Thanks and congrats on sixty years, but it’s unlikely I’ll ever use it.

They say you can’t go back again, but the 2024 Franksville and the Chicago Cubs are close to the same as the 1970s Franksville and Chicago Cubs. Bad fast food and bad baseball. Believe it when you see it for the first time. I should have known better.