Vienna Waits for You
Few people outside of my family know this, but since we're close (aren't we?), I feel comfortable sharing.
I LOVE a good hot dog. How 'bout you?
I don't care what kind you give me: straight up, New York, Chicago, or the variant of my Southwestern people, the Sonoran, I love them all. Give me a dog, a bun, and I am happy as a pig in slop - and yes, I fully understand that is likely what I'm eating. You can't dissuade me with facts. I love me a good dog.
My personal hot dog shrine is "Ted's" – whose locations only reside in two locales, Buffalo & Phoenix. My two favorite cities. Did they follow me here, or did I follow them? It doesn't matter, as I am never far away from my favorite place. For me, a hot dog from Ted's, served with a side of onion rings, is a religious experience.
I take my hot dogs seriously. But not as seriously as at Hot Dog University.
Yep, that's right, Hot Dog University.
Yes, HDU is a real place. They may not have a football team or fraternities, but they do serve up some fine food.
According to an article on Wired.com, "Hot Dog University is a place where people from different zip codes, different races, and different lives all come to the same strange road back to a place tucked into the back of the Vienna Beef factory on Chicago's North Side. Part classroom, part test kitchen, part pilgrimage for anyone who's ever dreamed of slinging sausages for a living, every graduate of Hot Dog U knows the drill."
Condiments? Well, as far as Hot Dog University is concerned, it's simple. For a Chicago dog: yellow mustard, neon green relish, chopped onions, tomato wedges, a pickle spear, sport peppers, and just a dash of celery salt. And they should know, they have their PHD. (that's Professor of Hot Dogs).
And while they're at it, no ketchup. Unless you still ride a tricycle (and can prove it), you're pregnant (we don't argue with cravings), or it's your wedding day (and we'd better see the dress) – NO KETCHUP.
The article states, "There's something quietly radical about HDU that, in a country where 'entrepreneur' has become a buzzword for tech bros and hustlers, the students at Hot Dog U are a different breed. They're working-class dreamers. Retired couples. First-generation families. Individuals who wish to avoid disrupting the industry. They want a patch of sidewalk, a roll of napkins, and a line of hungry customers."
It's Ted Lasso meets Shark Tank – and it resonates with me.
There is a certain romance to owning your own hot dog stand—independence and freedom, physical and financial. Go where you want to go, serve what you want to serve, and be the king of your domain. These are people who want to bring something simple, good, and joyful to the world—and somewhere along the way, that started to sound like what we do.
Think about it.
As a teacher, I wander from room to room (to the stage), teaching what I want to teach, when I want to teach it, and how I want to teach it. I choose my own music, schedule rehearsals, and attend the festivals I want to participate in. We have liberties and freedoms that our English and math counterparts do not have. They are tethered to a space, teach what the curriculum dictates, and report to a department chair.
There is a freedom in what we do, teaching music that is. We get to make decisions and choices that most teachers (and most people) do not get to make. But whether it's hot dogs or Host, those freedoms come with responsibilities that most people don't have.
Now more than ever, we're swimming in data, deadlines, and digital noise. Every app is yelling, every notification is urgent, and every moment of every rehearsal matters. It matters because we choose for it to matter. There is urgency because we have chosen to value our time and place and put importance on what we do. Our sacrifices are rewarded both in the present and in the future.
When I first read about HDU, I couldn't help but smile. I connected to it. I even considered attending it, albeit briefly. Because beneath all the bun jokes and relish puns, there's something profoundly human about the whole thing.
I feel that way about teaching music. You're not just learning notes and rhythms; you're creating community. You're the architects of a space where kids have a place of shared experiences, passions, and a place of belonging. Your role is not just important, it's indispensable.
Hot Dog University graduates don't dream of Michelin stars, well, at least I don't think so. They dream of serving something real to real people. That's music education. We don't dream of Carnegie Hall or conducting the President's Own, well, at least I don't think so. You dream of nourishing real experiences, real interaction, with real kids. This authenticity is what makes music education so powerful and meaningful.
The idea of a hot dog stand hits me differently now that my own son is in the band. As I watch him walk into that rehearsal room, put on a uniform, and prep for a contest—I relish the days I got to watch my students do the same. It wasn't about changing the world; it was about helping those kids find theirs.
And I miss the simplicity and beauty of that.
In a world of chaos, confusion, and constant change, students don't need more noise. They need more music. They need meaning. They need—dare I say it—a little mustard on top.
Just no ketchup – unless you're a child!
Have a great week.
Scott