Call Me Nikko is beautifully written with great detail and authentic dialogue–heartbreaking but plausible–a world that is palpable. For me, the test of a good novel is if I feel I am in that world when I’m not reading it. And I was. Kudos!! Katie C.
It’s a wonderful story with delicate, unsentimental nostalgia. Alan B.
I absolutely love the idea of Nikko the curmudgeon cobbler blended with the stories of his customers. Very unusual and thought provoking! You’ve struck gold! Melora L.
Cinematic in style, joyous and bittersweet and engrossing, thanks both to its engaging characters—their pain, loss, and redemption—and to the power of chosen family Jay B.
Theodoros Nikolaos is a proud first-generation immigrant from rural Greece who has dedicated his cobbling life to his marginalized American customers, providing them with humanitarian aid through “proper shoe repair.” But at ninety, Nikko struggles with joint pain and memory loss and the dizzying pace of life in colorful New Orleans. When his old-world shop, already in ruins, catches fire, Nikko must accept his limitations or risk losing his shop and letting down his community.
With a heavy heart, the cobbler takes on an eager apprentice, a spirited Tulane student, whose new ideas are alarming but gradually reveal their worth as Best Shoes rebounds—that is, until the night the shop becomes a grisly crime scene. Hospitalized, Nikko faces an agonizing decision: to give up on life and his purpose in it or to embrace the new vision for his business so he can pass on his beloved shop before it’s too late.
Based on a true story
I wrote Call Me Nikko to honor of Nicko Panousopoulus. I met Nicko after the seams split on my favorite work boots. When I stepped into his Old World cobbling shop, he approached from the back, meeting me at the front counter where I placed my boots. He picked them up, ran his hands over the issue and told me about the strong thread he liked to use. He showed me the grades and colors and fibers. Each with a story. And he enriched me with story bits of his life, making it clear his fixing my boots was going to fix me in some way. Wanting more, I found all kinds of broken shoes at home, brought them in. Bought Nicko’s polishes, his finest European shoelaces–worth the high price, he’d said. I brought him hot lunch. Coffee. I’d met a cobbler and made a friend.
It pleases me to share Nicko’s story and the stories of his marginalized customers–college students, women running businesses, a tarot card reader, the elderly, store clerks, homeless vets, drag queens, social workers, foster children, police officers, and coffee baristas–people whose lives became part of his as Nikko repaired their shoes, people who find home with the cobbler.
