. . . That Same Small Town in Each of US
By David Steffen
My immediate post-high school years were (in no particular order) college, Navy, playing in my band, dating, broadcasting, and then the music business. It was the music business that, as I’ve mentioned before, moved me around the country, and required me to do some world travel. And while most of my business travels were about flights to major cities both here and abroad, I made an extra effort to visit many smaller cities in the United States. When I went to Denver, I’d make stops in Colorado Springs and Boulder. When I went to Dallas or Houston, I’d visit Amarillo or Austin. A trip to Cleveland would include a stop in Columbus, Akron, Canton or Pittsburgh.
One of the fringe benefits of business travel was “discovering” places for foodies. For example, in Pittsburgh I found a great pizza place downtown near my hotel. I believe—don’t hold me to this—it was “Tony’s”. In Austin I had fried chicken and fried fish that was, as Rickie, my old associate at A&M might describe, “to die for.” In Oklahoma City we enjoyed some amazing BBQ. And in the ‘80s, Tad’s Chicken and Dumplings just east of Portand (in Troutdale) was the best chicken and dumplings since Grandma’s. [NOTE: I’ve learned Tad’s closed a couple of years ago. Sigh.]
One of my favorite memories was ordering lunch for 6 of us on a stopover in Texas. I was told by either Larry or Nick, from our office in Dallas, that [a] we had to order in advance (almost a week in advance), [b] it was all cash—leave your fancy Amex card at home, and [c] it’s not really a restaurant. That recommendation brought me to “Bryants”. As it turned out, “Bryant’s” wasn’t a restaurant. It was a suburban ranch house somewhere an hour’s drive from the A&M office. We parked in front of a typical ranch house, walked around the side of the house to the backyard, and discovered BBQ heaven. The backyard was huge, with 8-10 picnic tables, three long tables in a line for people to identify themselves (to get the right order,) and then to pay and pick up the food. The lovely, senior lady behind the table greeted me, and then said, “what’s your name honey.” I told her, she looked at her order book and said, “Yep. You’re here. That’ll be $125.00.“ Forget inflation. $125.00 more than 30 years ago was a lot of money for a little ol’ cash-only BBQ place. So I peeled off 7 $20 bills. She just looked at me. So did my friends. I got the message and peeled off another $20. That worked, because I got a look, a smile, and a sincere “Honey, don’t you forget us now.”
We sat at a picnic table, devoured every bite, dropped our mess into the garbage and got ready to leave. It was at that moment I realized I didn’t get a receipt (for my expenses.) So I went back to the lovely lady and explained that I needed a receipt. She looked at me, and with a proverbial twinkle in her eye said, “Honey, we don’t have no register. All we have is a cash box.” I thought for a second and then asked her, politely, “How about you just write it down on the paper there.” She looked, smiled, tore a 3 foot by 2 foot piece of butcher paper (pre-greased), wrote down the amount I paid, and then handed me my “receipt”. I wasn’t certain if I was breaking a rule, but smiled and said, “Young lady, would you mind signing this receipt? My boss will want to know it’s authentic.” She smiled and signed the greasy receipt. I had the feeling that I may have been the first to ask for a receipt at Bryant’s.
I took great pleasure attaching that oversized, greasy, piece of paper to that week’s expense report. I received a call from A&M’s accounting department who said, with an over-the-phone smile, that Mike (the VP of Finance) was amused. The real point here is, that backyard BBQ place in Texas was maybe the best BBQ I ever had. And that elderly and delightful woman was part of the charm of our business lunch that day.
So last Friday, I stopped in at Trink’s Cafe in Gualala. It’s not an every day ritual, but I will admit it’s at least 3 or 4 times per week. (OK, maybe sometimes 5.) Depending on the day and the time of year, there might be one or two people making the same stop at 8 am. Other days it can be 10, 12 or more people in line when they open. Trink’s in Gualala is about more than their lattes. Or their scones. (The Ginger Scones are awesome.)
One day last week was a classic “busy day”. There were, in fact, 10 people in line and Trink’s hadn’t officially opened yet. When the door was unlocked, we all began a slow, casual walk to re-form our line inside. No pushing, no shoving, no anger, no hissy fits. While some of the faces were familiar, others were tourists exploring the coast. It is the norm, that even when there are a dozen people in line, all craving caffeine or a scone or full breakfast, there are simultaneous congenial conversations going on, and few (or more often than not zero) people talking on their phones. Ten years ago that could be explained by poor cell service. These days the phones work, but few people make a call.
Just before I got to the counter to place my order, I saw my friend Dan. We chatted for a few minutes and I noticed Val was behind Dan. And standing three people behind Val was Phil. As we chatted, Phil’s wife Jeri later joined our conversation (having left their canine friend Quest in the car. Believe me, Quest didn’t need any caffeine.) The line moved and shortened, as most found a place to talk, think or simply look at the ocean while they sipped their drink.
This part of the California coast has been like that. People are welcoming, and comfortable. And I’m not simply talking about locals. One day last week I chatted with David and Wendy from Napa. Another day I spoke with Kelly from Chicago. She asked me if I lived here, and for how long, and did I like it, etc. She was here on business, loved what she saw but couldn’t wait to get back to Chicago as she missed her two-year-old son.
The bottom line is, I really do like it here. And I’ll miss it when I’m gone. Now that cell service has become reasonably reliable, the complaint I hear most often is from coastal business people who cannot find enough help to keep their businesses operating. I’m told it’s due primarily to the high cost of housing, And I don’t know just how, or how soon, that will improve. Nevertheless, it will. Necessity drives so much of our commerce. And good people are a necessity.
I’ve got nothing against national and regional chains, but so far, our little world here has survived with hard working local owners. We need to continue supporting them. And they’ll be here for us.
