Breakfast at John’s (an essay)

 

 John:

He is a small Greek man with a big heart. His tiny café used to
be in the stylish Greenville section of Dallas, but real estate
deals and a bank forced him to move to a seedier section of
the avenue; yet, his clientele came along for the adventure,
too.

John has never forgotten who his customers are. He greets
each of them as long, lost friends arriving each day at his
door if by some miracle – some act of God, bringing them
back to him out of harms way.

One day I was there when a small, frail homeless lady
ventured to the window during a rather rushed time of year.
The line at the ordering counter was long and noisy and the
cash register was dancing with excitement as scores of eggs
over easy and bacon and hash browns were ordered. Biscuits
were beating out toast that day, I remember and hot coffee
was the real king, since the weather outside was anything but
delightful.

John looked up from the kitchen and saw the old lady. Quietly
he pushed his way through the crowd, along the line of
waiting patrons and out the door to the plate glass window
where she stood, silently watching. He invited her in. I was
close enough to hear her put up a fight. She argued she
didn’t belong because she had no money to offer. “Money.
Ha. They have the money,” John replied in his loud voice,
pointing to us. “You just come in an tell me what you want.
I’ve got breakfast covered for you. You don’t need money.”
She reluctantly entered as he held the door open, sat and
drank a hot cup of tea as John personally prepared her breakfast.
Two pancakes, lots of butter and ham. She smiled when
the plate arrived at her booth and she thanked him over and
over.

It was a good day that day. A very good day. For her. And for
all of us who witnessed the kindness of that little Greek man.

Photo: Ted Karch