The Wiener Wars

[June 25th, 2003] When Kansas City native Jeremy Swearingin moved to Portland last November, he didn't have big dreams, but he soon had a plan--to open a hot-dog cart and make a living. With his stepfather's help, in April he opened City Dogs at the corner of Southwest 10th Avenue and Yamhill Street, and soon he conjured an idea that he thought would up his brand--the Dollar Dog.

The elegant concept of a wiener for a mere buck plays well to the demands of capitalism that reward those who can provide it faster, better and cheaper. The 23-year-old entrepreneur was right--the Dollar Dog caught on. But it caught on too well, and now he finds himself in a dog fight with a cart less than a block away. For, as City Dogs and its neighbor Ala Kart have found out, in the battle for cheap-wiener supremacy, 10th Avenue's just not big enough for the both of them.

Swearingin didn't start with the Dollar Dog; he originally stocked pricey, Fletcher's-brand all-beef dogs, which, at $3, didn't sell as well as he would have liked. On a whim, in mid-April he started selling lower-quality franks for a buck a pop on Fridays. Cash-conscious customers lined up at the cart, waving singles as if the Bar S-brand jumbo franks (68 cents a pack at WinCo Foods) were particularly fetching strippers.

Soon, Swearingin instituted the Daily Dollar Dog. But clearly success has its drawbacks. Just weeks into reaping the fruits of his labor, disaster struck. "I was putting my cart on my stepdad's truck bed when I saw the sign," he says.

Down the block, Ala Kart, which began life in January as a barbecue stand, posted a scrawled note reading: "Hot Dogz, $1."

Although he never confronted Ala Kart, Swearingin says things went from bad to worse. In an attempt to distinguish City Dogs from the competition, he introduced the meatier Fletcher's Polish frank for $2.50 and a veggie dog for $1.50.

According to Swearingin, Ala Kart literally dogged his every business move, showing up with similar menu items only days after City Dogs posted them--they even copied his sandwich board.

"I hate it," Swearingin confesses. "I feel like I'm working hard and, because they're copying me, my profits are cut in half." Currently, City Dogs pulls in around $90 per day, selling 40 to 50 hot dogs each shift. With an estimated cost of 60 cents for every 8-incher with bun, condiments and overhead costs rolled in, that's barely enough to buy supplies, let alone make payments on a recently purchased $4,000 hot-dog cart.

Shouting-distance away from City Dogs' gleaming silver chassis, rival dog stand Ala Kart proudly displays its hazard-orange Dollar Dogz sign. The scrappy station hawks crisp-fried wieners with all the trimmings, from sweet sautéed onions to tear-jerking homemade salsa, piled as high as you can balance, for a single buck.

The beat-up red cart, which owner Willis Anderson inherited from a former dogger/acquaintance, looks as though it bears the battle scars of a few past dog wars. Its sole employee, Gordon Vavages, takes a more cavalier attitude toward ethical frankfurter policies. "When he [Swearingin] did that $1 dog thing on a Friday, we went 'Oooh, let's try that!'" Vavages unabashedly recalls. Ala Kart tested the same Bar S bargain frank on a rainy Saturday and sold 90 wieners in one day. "I guess it kind of started our little dog war," Vavages says.

Thirty-odd years as a caterer and cook led Anderson to open Ala Kart at the beginning of the year. He originally focused on a menu of spicy homestyle soul food, including barbecue spareribs and grilled chicken breasts. Anderson says Ala Kart always had hot dogs--in this case, what he calls "East Coast-style" franks that he sold for $2--and when summer hit, he shifted the cart's focus from ribs to dogs.

Although the parties don't agree on all the facts, both businesses maintain that Ala Kart took its neighbor's Daily Dollar Dog idea and ran with it. "It's free enterprise," says Vavages. "If customers are buying [one-dollar dogs], we have to compete."

Anderson and Vavages both admit that the original Dollar Dog belongs to Swearingin but say his other claims don't quite cut the mustard. They say Ala Kart has sold both Morningstar Farms veggie dogs and spicy Louisiana Polish sausages from John Morrell since opening for business in January, although they increased advertising the two products considerably more after the dog war started.

By the end of May, Swearingin says, the battle had taken its toll, and he was forced to cut his losses. Signs soon appeared on his cart offering two dogs for a dollar; this wasn't a new marketing approach--it was an attempt to liquidate his cheap stock. His new focus was on quality, and he stuck to selling higher-cost all-beef dogs. This didn't work either. Swearingin went out of business this past Monday.

Changing City Dogs' location would have meant forking over at least $60 to the City of Portland in order to clear the cart's spot change, plus major footwork on Swearingin's part to seal the deal with new adjacent property owners. It was a price this harried hot-dog man wasn't willing to pay.

So why is City Dogs, originator of the Dollar Dog, going down while Ala Kart has no plans to leave the corner? The Ala Kart reps cite taste: They say they offer a better product. They may be right. Ala Kart's dogs are doused in olive oil and grilled on an iron skillet until the skin is charred. Ala Kart is smart with its condiments--the onions and salsa help mask the cheap-dog essence and make the wiener seem more gourmet than it actually is. City Dogs, in contrast, is less ambitious: Swearingin's dogs are steamed, and the condiments are the usual ketchup-and-kraut staples.

But probing reveals it's not just taste that is causing Ala Kart to come out victorious--it's also capital. Even though both carts sell about the same amount per day, Swearingin's only income is the cart, and he can't live with this small a profit margin; Ala Kart is only one of caterer Anderson's projects, so it can resist nips at its heels.

Although what Swearingin sees as menu piracy has upset both his sense of fiscal chivalry and his plans for success, it has not defeated his basic respect for the dog arts. "Legally, there's nothing wrong with what Ala Kart is doing," he says. "It's just about class. I'm not selling their chicken and ribs."

Ala Kart's Anderson sees the 10th Avenue debacle a little differently. "When everybody on the street started wantin' hot dogs, we gave them hot dogs," he says. "It's just a matter of taste."