Doubts don’t dog him

I sing today of a happy man, who sits in the sunlight of a free country, celebrating the right of individual choice, one hot dog at a time.

At 35, Shawn Yekikian has for the last 18 years exercised that right by shunning the big-time competitive world of moneymaking to sell dogs, chips and soft drinks from a small cart parked less than a block from the ocean.

“It’s what I want to do,” he says, preparing a hot dog for a customer with the loving care of a gourmet chef, removing it carefully from its steamy confines and laying it into a Vienna bun. “I’ll do it as long as I can.”

He tells about a man who drove up one day in a new $300,000 Lamborghini and bought a hot dog. “I asked why a guy with a car like that would buy a hot dog from a vendor,” Yekikian says. “He said because he liked to help the little people!”

The hot dog man laughs loudly. He’s a big man, 300 pounds and 6 feet-plus, and his laugh fits his size. “So I guess I’m a little people.”

He calls his stand “Rainy Day Hot Dogs,” in honor of his 4-year-old daughter, Rain, whose name he chose because rain is gentle and soothing. His logo is a hot dog in a cloud, with rain falling from it.

I had passed his stand many times at Topanga Canyon Boulevard and Pacific Coast Highway. There was always someone sitting with him at a small table he brings so his customers can relax and eat their dogs, and maybe join him in discussions of sports and politics. Music from a portable radio plays softly throughout the day.

I love hot dogs almost as much as I love ice cream and martinis, so I stopped by one day, and his dogs are delicious. Yekikian buys kosher Shofar products, which he considers the best, and asks all his customers “Is that OK?” as they eat, even if they have stopped by daily for months and obviously savor every bite.

What struck me, in addition to the care he displayed preparing the dog, was the aura of joy that seemed to surround him. I sensed a happy man, and in a world of mind-numbing stress, happiness is a rarity indeed. He lives no life of quiet desperation but rises each day at 4 a.m. to face the prospect of doing exactly what he wants to do from dawn to sunset, at least six days a week.

Bearded, with longish hair and thick-lensed glasses, Yekikian was born near Boston, and although brought to L.A. at six months, that part of him that loves sports remains in Beantown. He wears a Boston Red Sox cap and a Boston Celtics T-shirt. His good luck piece is a Boston Patriots cap hanging from the front of his cart.

He began selling hot dogs just after high school, helping an old man who taught him the business, and decided that the life of a hot dog vendor was what he wanted. It was a laid-back outdoors existence for a guy who is easygoing and loves meeting people.

But his Armenian parents wanted their sons to be professionals. Of Yekikian’s brothers, one is a lawyer, the other a dentist.

At first, Yekikian lied and said he’d given up selling hot dogs, when in fact, after his mentor died, he’d bought one of his carts and had gone into business for himself. Later, feeling guilty and wishing to honor his father’s request, he attended college for two years while a friend watched his cart, and he earned an associate of arts degree in criminal justice. Finally, he told his pop the truth and won his blessing to spend his life adding to the 2 billion pounds of hot dogs Americans eat each year.

“I love this place,” he says, referring to the oceanside location, as the number of customers increases proportionately to the going-home commuter traffic. A man in a Mercedes stops to buy a dog. A young guy in a pickup buys two, as he does every day. Then: a dude in black leather in a black SUV. A motorcyclist. Two women in a yellow VW. A Mexican day worker.

A hot dog sells for $2.50. You select your own condiments from containers laid neatly in a row, except for the mayonnaise, which he keeps refrigerated.

“This isn’t the most important job in the world,” Yekikian says, a little self-consciously. “It’s not like being a policeman or a fireman. But I like it.” He makes enough to get by, he adds. What more does he need?

I write of Shawn Yekikian because in his way he glorifies America’s basic freedom, that being the freedom to choose a career less traveled. It is in the same category of not doing what everyone else thinks is right, but setting off on a path of one’s own because that’s what a whisper in the wind says to do.

Hot dogs may not be the healthiest food in the world and they aren’t even native food, but they somehow represent us, and the spirit displayed by Yekikian.

So celebrate America the next time you drive into the canyon from the ocean. Buy a hot dog.

Al Martinez’s column appears Mondays and Fridays. He’s at al.martinez@latimes.com.