I've come to expect a little excitement when I enter Robert Wholey and Company, 1711 Penn Ave., in the Strip District. I'm rarely disappointed.
Once I was 10 steps into the store when there was a blast on the loud speaker.
"Marilyn McDevitt Rubin, don't take another step!" a voice commanded.
My head went up, and my hair stood on end. It was Robert Wholey Sr., who, when I looked up, was barreling down the stairs from his balcony office, where he had a view of the entrance.
We did my shopping together, which was more fun but took a lot longer than doing my shopping alone. He was like a jeweler fussing over the inventory.
Robert Wholey died in 1998. I miss him. I remember that he once told me he wasn't afraid to die because if he made it to heaven, he'd find his father there. When Robert Wholey was a young boy, he'd ride with his dad in his horse-drawn wagon, selling fish door-to-door.
Recently, walking down Penn Avenue, I ran into another Robert Wholey -- his oldest son. Bobby reminds me of his father. Those Wholeys always want to do something for you. We were standing in front of Wholey's, and when I saw my bus, I turned to Bobby to say goodbye. He did two things. First, he told the bus driver to wait a minute, and then he rushed over to a street vendor selling flowers. He grabbed a bunch of wild asters and thrust them on me. Startled, I carried the flowers, dripping water down my front, all the way to the newspaper. I was charmed.
Because of Wholey kindness, I had no hesitations about asking his oldest son for a favor. Every year, I do a tour of the Strip District as a fund-raiser for The Arthritis Foundation. All the purveyors who participate are generous, and Bobby would be no exception. He was, in fact, enthusiastic.
"What about this?" he said with a keen smile.
I anticipated the mischief.
He proposed that designated members of the tour would be entitled to as many live lobsters as they could grab and hold in one minute.
As the tour is generally purchased by couples, the husbands get this job and, to my surprise, none has hesitated to roll up his sleeves and plunge his arms into the pool. We've played the game for several years, and the average haul is four 1 1/2-pound lobsters. The visit is a big success.
When entering Wholey's swinging doors, there is the sense of a jamboree. Grown-ups and kids crowd the space, toy trains are running overhead, talking mannequins make you stop and wonder. From the fish department, one moves to the meat department then on to cheese, followed by produce. In one corner of the store is the kitchen turning out fried fish sandwiches.
Upstairs are tables where the sandwiches can be enjoyed. Decorating the walls are old lithographs of Pittsburgh's riverfront 100 years ago. Mixed in with the prints are photos of the family. We watch the four daughters and five sons of Lois and the late Robert Wholey grow up. The daughters are so beautiful they belong on, and are sometimes on, the pages of glossy magazines.
Four sons work in the business. Bobby seems to me most like his dad. Strolling the store, he often stops customers, asking them questions or giving them answers.
On a recent visit, the subject was U.S. catfish vs. the Vietnamese product. U.S. fishermen, concerned with dropping sales, want the Vietnamese to stop referring to fish they call "tra" and English-speaking people call "basa," as catfish. The fish looks like catfish and tastes like catfish, but calling it catfish and selling it for $1 a pound less than the farm-raised product is cutting into the profits of fish farmers in Alabama, Louisiana and Mississippi.
The Vietnamese have several powerful advocates. One is Sen. John McCain, R-Ariz., a former Vietnam prisoner of war who has worked for years to normalize relations between the United States and Vietnam. Recently quoted in The New York Times, McCain spoke out against the "offensive trade barrier" imposed by Congress, claiming it benefited wealthy U.S. agribusinesses by killing competition.
The Food and Drug Administration approached an expert in the field inquiring if the label catfish was being misused by the Vietnamese. According to The New York Times, Dr. Carl J. Ferraris Jr., an adjunct curator of ichthyology at the California Academy of Science, who specializes in the world's catfish species, assured them Vietnam was not misusing the label.
Still the controversy continues. Seafax, a Portland, Maine-based provider of information on the seafood, meat and poultry industry, recently reported that, by a 5-0 vote, the U.S. International Trade Commission will advise the U.S. Department of Commerce to proceed with an investigation into alleged "dumping" on the U.S. market of Vietnamese frozen basa and tra fillets.
According to Seafax, if the investigation finds that the Vietnamese product is exported at lower prices than those charged in the home market, duties could be imposed on the imports as early as December.
Such duties, say the Vietnamese, would seriously affect the 400,000 people employed in the Mekong Delta fishing industry. Approximately one-third of basa and tra fillets are exported to the United States. Significant amounts also are exported to Europe.
For Bobby Wholey the debate turns on which tastes better, farm-raised or fish from the Mekong Delta. He proposed that we conduct a taste test, inviting people in the store to participate. At Wholey's they are accustomed to taste tests. Customers curious about the flavor of any fish can request that a sample of it be cooked for them in the kitchen.
We took two baskets of crisply coated deep-fried catfish to the balcony, and folks who passed our table were invited to sample and compare. Those who took part were pleased to share their opinions. Among the dozen or more people who sampled both fish, there was a unanimous conclusion. The Vietnamese product won. Everyone was surprised. While not very scientific, the absence of even one dissenter seemed revealing.
"It's all about taste," Bobby Wholey said.
Marilyn McDevitt Rubin can be reached at mrubin@post-gazette.com or 412-263-1749.
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