The sign of the Sausage Guy cart outside the ballpark on Wednesday, September 18 2019
Matteo Venieri
venam@bu.edu
BOSTON – The chilly wind blowing through the streets of Boston begins to carry a unique smell whenever one crosses the David Ortiz bridge on game day. It’s the smell of sausage, a staple in the diet of most Red Sox fans. As they slowly move across Lansdowne Street to enter the ballpark, they are welcomed by a man who almost put down roots in Fenway without even getting inside the stadium.
His name is Paul Skinder, but Bostonians simply know him as the guy who sells them delicious golden brown sausages yelling “Sausage guy! Sausage guy! Sausage!” next to his old blue cart, which makes him look like a Doctor Who with his TARDIS.
But don’t get it twisted: he’s not like any other street vendor. He started his business in 1992 together with Dave Littlefield – or “the boss-man,” as he calls him – and that same blue cart. They began by giving fried chicken for free at Gillette Stadium, a marketing strategy to get their name out there and captivate the fans.
After switching from fried chicken to sausages, the business grew year after year and now the website states that they cater to 250 events annually and stock more than 400 grocery stores with their sausages, all while being an unwavering presence for all the 81 Red Sox home games.
There is a certain level of competition among the vendors on Lansdowne Street. On a very busy day, especially during the playoffs, Skinder says that he sells around 250 sausages. “But today I only brought 40 and so far I sold half of them,” he says. “If I can’t sell the rest, I’ll give them to the homeless.”
He doesn’t seem to get along particularly well with his competitors, as he points at each and every one of them stating whom he goes along with and who won’t even talk to him. But he says he doesn’t care. To him, there is a much bigger picture to keep in mind that goes way beyond the sausage business at Fenway.
In his previous lives, he was a chef, a marine and even worked for the Boston Herald, a job that he says he got “by accident.” He pauses. It certainly creates a very dramatic cliffhanger in his story, but it’s not intentional. “I’m sorry,” he says as he clutches his throat while squinting his eyes. “I have cancer.”
Skinder is currently being treated at the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute, but there’s no sadness in his voice. Instead of elaborating more on his condition, he pulls out his cellphone and with a proud smile on his face scrolls through his photos.
He says that, when he goes to the institute to get his treatment, he loves to go downstairs and spend time with the kids. In one of the photos, a young girl sits on his shoulder holding a sign that says ‘One year cancer free.’ “They’re stronger than I am: if I had cancer as a kid, I’d cry like a wimp.”
By now, most of the people have already taken their seat inside the ballpark. They’re ready to cheer for their team as the season comes to an end. So what will be next for Paul during the offseason? He replies by mimicking the act of sitting on the couch doing absolutely nothing. But he makes one promise. “I’ll be back here again next year.”
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