What Should I Do with the Rest of My Life_ - Bruce Frankel [73]
Miller likes to order an omelet or a couple of blueberry pancakes for breakfast in the summer and oatmeal in winter. “The main reason I go there—in addition to the camaraderie—is I like the way I’m treated. The women who work there—Robin and Tracy and Loretta—actually care about you. If you don’t show up after two or three days, they’re on the phone asking if everything is all right. It’s a family diner, and you feel as if you’re part of the family, not just a number or a dollar bill or a tip.” If a customer needs a sympathetic ear, Loretta becomes a trustworthy confidante who listens with care and true interest. “It’s never just, ‘Really?’ or ‘Okay.’ She wants to know what’s really going on. She has had a lot of hard knocks in her life, but no matter her age, she has come out with determination and she doesn’t harp on what has happened in her life. This is her life now. And she puts her heart into it. She is the heartbeat of the Silver Leaf Diner.”
Ken Taylor, a retired New York City high school English teacher and mystery writer, began eating at Loretta’s diner to economize. The diner is an important part of his daily schedule. He usually wakes around 4 A.M. and later dresses and drives from Gouverneur to the Silver Leaf, where he often waits for it to open. “It feels like the whole area is dying,” he lamented. “The lead mines and the zinc mines, the paper mills and the matchbook companies have all closed. But Loretta has carved out a pretty secure niche with her reasonably priced meals.” It was more than thrift and more than her coconut cream pies that have made Ken a loyal customer. One morning when he arrived, he was surprised that the sign in front of the Silver Leaf listed more than specials. It also read, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KEN! “That’s not something that would happen in New York City,” he said.
One day when Mark Macdougall, a middle-aged construction worker, was calling across the counter to a waitress, Loretta trained her eyes on him. “What are you asking for?” she said sharply from the table in the dining room where she was sitting.
“I asked for another roll,” he said loudly.
“You can have another roll,” she yelled back, relishing the verbal tennis match.
“Thanks, Grandma,” Macdougall said.
Loretta took a breath, as if watching the word “grandma” form and dissipate in the air. “All of a sudden, I became Grandma. At first I resented it. But then I realized for a lot of people to say Grandma is a compliment. They mean it that way. So my only rule is this: you can tell me the pies or the food are as good as your mother’s. But you may not ever tell me it’s almost as good as your mother’s.”
As much as the diner has given to others, it also sustained Loretta during additional grief. In 2003, the year after it opened, Linda Lou died, after an eight-year battle with cancer. “She was more than a daughter, she was my best friend,” Loretta said, adding that she drew on her daughter’s example in fighting to turn the diner into a place that matched her dream.
In the spring of 2009, Loretta was still getting up at 6 A.M., having her coffee, reading her devotional, and heading across the road to cook, bake, and greet her loyal customers. Though the diner has, for the most part, been a happy distraction, at seventy-six Loretta had begun to wonder how much more time she wants to spend filing paperwork to meet state regulations and worrying over the day-to-day operations. After eight years, the diner’s novelty had worn off a bit. But when she was made an offer, the year before, she decided to give herself an extra day off instead of sell. It has worked out well, even as the current recession has brought plant closings to General Motors and Alcoa in Massena, to Corning glass in Canton, to a cheese factory in Heuvelton, to the zinc and talc mines in Fowler and Gouverneur. “It can be very depressing to listen to the news. But then I go to the diner, and we have a great day. I’m amazed by how well we’re doing.