Policeman Tests the Franks Ranks : He Sells Fifth Avenue Hot Dogs on Streets of Santa Ana

Before reporting for his eight-hour night shift, when he cruises the streets of Santa Ana in a black-and-white patrol car, Steve Arnds can be found in a red-striped shirt and black bow tie, wheeling a steaming pushcart and peddling gourmet New York hot dogs.

“I’m kind of like the LAPD,” says Arnds, 35, referring to the Los Angeles Police Department’s motto “to protect and to serve.” “I serve during the day and protect at night.” Arnds says he hopes to make an extra buck selling hot dogs to the Santa Ana Civic Center’s lunchtime crowd on his off-duty hours while bringing “a little bit of New York to Santa Ana.”

His red, white and blue cart features New York-based Fifth Avenue Franks, a $1.90, all-beef hot dog served on a sourdough bun with the buyer’s choice of mustard, catsup, relish, onions and sauerkraut.

On the front of the cart is a laudatory quote from--you guessed it--New York Mayor Ed Koch.

Fifth Avenue Franks is the brainchild of Tim Moore, a 31-year-old former journalist from Tennessee who came up with the idea four years ago while strolling down--he regrets to say--New York’s Lexington Avenue. Soon after he started selling the hot dogs, he caught the attention of Bloomingdale’s, which invited him to sell his dogs in the store. The rest is history.

In a recent telephone interview from his offices--on New York’s First Avenue--Moore said that Fifth Avenue Franks are now sold from pushcarts in 70 locations across the country, including such upscale spots as Marshall Field’s department stores, Burdine’s in Miami and the Irvine Ranch Market in Newport Beach.

Moore said he expects the company to hit the million-dollar mark in sales this year, with 300,000 pounds of franks sold so far.

“People who wouldn’t eat hot dogs will eat ours,” said Moore, who said New Yorkers often pass up a nearby Sabrett pushcart--the city’s best-known brand of hot dogs--for his flagship cart in front of the Plaza Hotel. “Maybe we are the hot dog of the ‘80s,” he muses.

For Arnds, Fifth Avenue Franks are not only the hot dogs of the ‘80s, they could be his future. He said that if business at his single cart takes off, he would consider giving up the badge he has worn for more than 11 years.

So far, Arnds is the only Orange County street vendor for the franks, which also can be found in a few area stores.

“It took a lot of guts to put on this outfit and stand next to the police station,” said Arnds, referring to the wisecracks he gets from his colleagues as they roll out of the station’s garage, chortling at his hot dog vendor’s garb. “It’s a dog-eat-dog business,” he quipped, wrinkling his nose at the predictable line.

Getting started, for instance, has not been entirely smooth, he said. Last Friday, his fourth day out, Arnds dropped a container of 20 hot dogs--four pounds of pure Black Angus beef with a wholesale value of about $11--and looked on helplessly as they rolled down the sidewalk.

“If you knew how cheap I was, you’d know how that broke my heart.” Arnds confided.

And if that wasn’t enough, the day he unpacked his long-awaited Fifth Avenue Franks pushcart, steadying it in his driveway, it, too, rolled away. The $6,000 cart rolled into its own trailer, breaking not only Arnds’ heart, but the plexiglass holder for the paper and tinfoil wrappers.

Despite the minor setbacks, he says business is picking up daily as the word spreads. Last week, after their first four days out, Arnds and 19-year-old Marty Garcia, the fledgling company’s only full-time employee--took in more than $900, according to Joyce Downs, Arnds’ girlfriend and bookkeeper.

On Tuesday, under a cloudy sky, Wanda Wilson, a regular, showed up for an early lunch break from her job at the records section of the Santa Ana Police Department.

“At my age, I have to eat them earlier in the day,” said Wilson, 49. “But these are better--they don’t repeat on you.”

“This is my third day here,” said Wilson’s enthusiastic lunch companion, Maria Jewell, a police clerk who grew up just blocks away from New York’s Times Square and has known many a dog in her day. “We’re in trouble.”

But not all of Arnds’ customers give his dogs high marks.

Harry Cohen, for example, was disappointed.

Two bites into his frankfurter-with-everything-on-it--everything, that is, except ketchup (“Ketchup is not the right way to have this; that’s a western perversion”)--Cohen shook his head and pronounced his verdict: “Close, but no cigar. It’s good, but it lacks the spice of the New York hot dog.”

Then, after munching a third mouthful, the bearded psychologist, 47, declared: “It doesn’t have the authority I like to see in my hot dogs.”

Understandably nervous about public opinion, Arnds turned to a friend passing by and shouted, “How’m I doing?”, unaware that he had just uttered Mayor Koch’s favorite line.

“I’ve never been to New York,” Arnds said with a shrug.