The old Copper Grill closed down. It was one of those fixtures in town that has been there so long I didn’t even notice it as I drove by. It was as much a part of the landscape as the hundred-year-old oak on the lawn on the county courthouse or the pre-war gas station that was, inexplicably, still in service on Main, wedged in between the newer convenience stores and fast food chains that all but eclipsed it. In fact, I didn’t notice the Copper Grill at all, but I did see the empty lot where it had been for decades until last Saturday, where all that was left of it was a curiously flat patch of land, as if it had never existed at all. There was nothing to indicate that it had ever been an old greasy spoon: no rubble or excavators, no sign declaring the next project, just a spot next to the road on a slight rise where it seemed like it might make a good prospect for a business. Or maybe not.
I had patronized the Copper Grill a few times, and it was a comforting cliché: an old diner that, in years past, had a bigger section reserved for smokers than for nonsmokers. It still featured a salad bar. The heavy menus were at least fourteen inches tall, and their laminated pages took several minutes to read if you weren’t a regular. That was okay, because the waitress brought coffee and kept it coming. The lunch crowd ordered the special, but the real patrons were the regulars: the seniors who arrived early and sipped Sanka late into the morning. The Copper Grill was one of the only places to still serve the stuff, and they cultivated a crowd of retirees who seemed to meet there as an unofficial social club. The few times I’d eaten there, I almost felt out of place with all of the people who talked to each other from booths, waving hello to arriving friends and sharing observations with other folks across tables. Now that the community gathering place was gone, I wondered where everyone would go. McDonald’s didn’t seem to have the same vibe.
A few weeks prior, I noticed that the little café that I often stopped at for breakfast in the next town over had changed ownership. As a creature of habit, I was a bit alarmed, since I had fallen into a routine, and my husband and I had chosen the café for how quiet it was. As with the Copper Grill, it tended to have a largely senior clientele. The waitress assured us that the new owner wasn’t going to make a lot of sweeping changes.
She was right. Things stayed mostly the same. Even the prices! I relaxed and ate my eggs in peace. One week, I saw that there was a new flavor of creamer on the table. Nice! The next, the style of light fixtures had been replaced. Okay, some updates. After that, the menu items were all changed. Hmm. One week after the next, little things here and there started to pop up, and the restaurant started to become less and less like a comfortable little diner and more of an upscale experience. It was understandable, but disappointing. The senior discounts disappeared from the menu, as did the coffee refills. The message was clear: this is not a place for congregation anymore.
Change is inevitable. This is as true for businesses as it is for personal life. I suppose I just noticed that our senior population has supports in ways and in places that we might not give a second glance to, and when those places disappear, where can our parents and grandparents go to meet, talk, and share their communities? Sometimes that old diner is more than it seems, and it is part of a bigger service to our community than we may realize. Does your town really need another Starbucks? Is newer always better? Just some food for thought.
