[Faith-talk] A Thanksgiving Reflection for Friday, November 29, 2013

[Paul]

Hello and good day to all my loyal readers.  Once again we've come to the end of another workweek with the weekend to look forward to.  However, as I write this, you in Australia and New Zealand are already in your Saturday.  I hope that, by God's matchless grace and His providential care, that you are all doing fine.

The day after Thanksgiving Day here in the U.S., I have no doubt in many homes, presents the occupants of the same with something called leftovers:  leftover turkey, potatoes and gravy, cranberry sauce, stuffing and other foodstuffs.  Well, we have a leftover Thanksgiving Day article for you today.  It is entitled "Trouble At the Melrose Diner" by Richard Kuback of Philadelphia PA and is rendered as follows:

Thanksgiving was one of our biggest days.  Now a flood threatened to ruin it all.

November 22, 1990.  It was the worst possible time for disaster to strike--the day before Thanksgiving:  D-Day--when you run a diner with a bakery attached to it.  All day long we'd been helping take orders for cakes and pies, helping out in the kitchen and otherwise dealing with the hectic rush that any good neighborhood restaurant and bakery gets during the holidays.

Not that the Melrose was just another neighborhood restaurant.  Ask anyone in South Philly, and they'll tell you the Melrose is special.  A legend, really.  Not because we have the best food around--though I like to think we do--but because of our attitude.  My Dad, Dick, started the Melrose in the thirties, soon after he arrived in America, fleeing Hitler's Germany.  Like countless immigrants before him, Dad was short on money and long on dreams.  He wanted to start a diner that would reflect the Old World values he'd grown up with, in particular, one that followed the Golden Rule:  Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.  Dad lived by those words, personally and professionally.

>From the time he opened it--in an abandoned diner that no one else wanted to touch--the Melrose was special.  In a time when decent working conditions were not exactly at the top of most restaurant owners' lists, Dad wanted to provide a genuinely good environment for his employees.  He even supplied his waitresses with orthopedic shoes!

In the early fifties, when Dad got the chance to build a brand-new diner a block away, he took pains to design a space where the staff would be as comfortable as the clients.  He installed central AC in the dining area and piped it into the kitchen and bakery, as well.  What was good for people, Dad learned, was good for business.

Ever since 1973, when I came aboard full time, I'd done my best to keep the Melrose running with those same values.  We developed an employee assistance plan that included psychological counseling programs.  When our head baker came down with an allergy to, of all things, flour, we created a special elevated area where he could still decorate the cakes and supervise the baking without coming into direct contact with sacks of flour.

But, of late, the Melrose had been a struggle.  Running a restaurant where the staff's satisfaction is just as important as the customers', is not always the most practical business model.  It seemed like each new month brought with it some new expense, some incentive to cut corners and put the Golden Rule on the shelf.

"Give it up, Rich" one of my friends told me.  "Your dad was a great guy, but you can't run a business these days thinking like he did."

I found I was working harder, staying later, and worrying more.  That Tuesday night before Thanksgiving, I got home at 11:00, grabbed a quick shower, and was out cold by 11:30.  The phone by my bed woke me two hours later.  It was Paul Tierney, the Melrose's general manager.  His voice was grim.  "Richard, a water main broke.  The entire basement is full of water.  The power's out.  We're completely shut down." This will kill us, I thought.  I staggered out of bed and put on some warm clothes.

It was past 3 A.M. when Paul and I got to the Melrose.  The street was a river.  Stepping down into the basement, I couldn't believe my eyes.  There looked to be about three feet of black, murky water down there.  Baking tins, pie boxes, and fruit from our largest inventory of the year bobbed on the surface.  Even one of our walk-in freezers was floating.

I plunged into helping set up some pumps and temporary electrical power.  As the pumps came on-line the water started to go down.  By 7:30 A.M. it was down to a foot.  Maybe we can open after all.  Suddenly, there was a rumbling sound.  The water instantly went from one foot deep to seven.  We ran out into the street.  "Looks like a section of the floor gave way," the fire chief told us.  "We're back to square one."

There was so much water and mud in the basement now, it would be a solid week's work to get it out.  Not to mention all the lost inventory and revenue.  Thanksgiving would come and go with the restaurant's doors closed.  We'd be lucky to open by Christmas.  By then, who knew what the financial damage would be? Could the Melrose even survive?

Some employees formed a bucket brigade to aid the fire department pumps snaking down into the black mess.  One body less won't make a difference now.  I headed to my office.

My eye caught a photo of Dad on the wall.  Dad was just about 20 years old--a young dishwasher, new to the country, knowing only a few words of English.  But his eyes were bright with hope--hope and faith that the values he'd brought with him to America were the right ones.  The timeless ones.  Work hard.  Be Honest.  Do unto others.  For 55 years the Melrose--Dad's dream come to life--had survived.  At least I could be thankful for that.

The office door swung open.  Paul.  He was wearing a huge grin.  "I think we're going to make it back sooner than we thought."

"Impossible," I said.

"I called the staff and told them we'd be closed through Thanksgiving.  No one wanted to see that happen to the Melrose after everything the place had done for them.  Half of South Philly is on its way over.  I think we can do this."

Paul was right.  There were waitresses, neighbors, customers--even reporters.  Within the hour the place was packed with help.  It did feel like half of South Philly was there.  Within hours, cakes and pies were going out the door again.

Incredibly, by Friday morning, we were fully operational, serving up food to a packed dining room.

Dad always said the Golden Rule worked if you just stuck with it through thick and thin.  That Thanksgiving, I found out it worked both ways.

And there you have it for today.  In case you might think this is fictional, I vividly remember that, when I was taking training in Philly from late 1967 to March 1968, some of my fellow trainees mentioned the Melrose Diner and that we should go there the best way we knew how.  Not being familiar all that much with Philadelphia and its businesses, I went along and found that it was really a special place.  Anyone on this list from Philly and, if you are, have you eaten in the Melrose? I know of one person receiving this post from Philly, but don't know if he's been there before.

And now may the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob just keep us safe, individually and collectively, in these last days in which we live.  Lord willing tomorrow will present another Daily Thought article for your reading pleasure.  Your Christian friend and brother, Paul