A Life On College Hill

by Lawrence F. Dooling

  The mascot of the local high school was a Viking. We named the new restaurant the Viking Room to give it a connection to the community. We were slammed every day for the first couple of weeks. There was chaos trying to get all the new employees on the same page but we managed. After the first hectic couple of months, we settled into more of a routine.

  We put a good deal of thought into the design and décor of the restaurant. We had a large amount of wall space to decorate. Mrs. Goldman gave us photographs of the department store to hang in the new entrance. Some of the photos were decades old. They gave patrons waiting for a table something to look at and fueled the nostalgia some locals felt for Goldman’s.

  People in Central Valley followed high school sports with religious fervor. We installed a bulletin board on one wall and used it to post schedules and news articles for all the local teams. There was also room for people to post notices like babysitting services, lost pets, apartments for rent. We added a chalkboard where we posted scores for the local teams. It didn’t take long for people to start coming in after the games and posting the scores themselves.

  The original idea behind opening the Viking Room was to give the locals their own space. It didn’t make good business sense to shut out the entire college market. Locals were accustomed to seeing the keg party college kids. There was a much more refined side of the college. I knew people in the Art Department who were always looking for somewhere to display their work. We created a gallery wall and periodically selected student artwork to display in the restaurant.

  It was a win-win situation. The students were happy to have somewhere to show off and occasionally sell their work. The unveiling of the selections drew large crowds. Students and their friends and families came to admire the artwork and stayed for lunch or dinner. The locals got to see a different breed of college student.

  Renting the other half of the building was not a problem. It was prime retail space on the best block on Main Street. There was no shortage of businesses looking to lease the space. The college bookstore wanted a Main Street annex. The campus location was too small, and there were limited opportunities to expand on campus.

  The college signed a ten-year lease, which afforded us a steady source of income. It also ensured us a steady stream of college students walking past the restaurant. Never having been able to afford a new textbook, I mastered the fine art of the swap. The first Saturday of each semester, I arranged a book swap at the restaurant. The swaps brought in a good crowd of students looking to buy, sell, or swap used books. Many bought breakfast or lunch in the process.

  We continued keeping the Grill open all night during finals week. It had proved popular over the years and had become something of a tradition. Meghan, however, was not thrilled with me working all night when we had two small kids at home.

  One night a steady stream of truckers mixed in with the students. A gasoline tanker had overturned on the Interstate, causing the complete shutdown of the roadway. Gridlocked drivers who could exit found their way onto Main Street looking for somewhere to take a break.

  Chet came in around five and immediately took note of the new clientele. The truckers told us there were hundreds of trucks backed up for miles in each direction. It seems that there are a few thousand trucks that make east-west runs on Interstate 80 every night of the week.

  Chet and I looked at each other and laughed. We had been so obsessed with townie versus college markets that we had completely ignored the thousands of people driving the Interstate highway just a few miles from town.

  Three months later, Chet and I stood on the shoulder of Interstate 80, about twenty miles east of town. We were admiring the newly erected billboard that advertised Chet’s Grill, now open 24 hours. To lure in the trucker business, we offered free coffee with their meal from midnight to six a.m. An identical billboard was put up west of town.

  There had been more applicants than available positions when we opened the Viking. It wasn’t difficult to find people willing to work an overnight shift. Meghan had been a trooper about me working the overnight during finals week. She wasn’t about to put up with it on a regular basis.

  The nighttime quiet of Central Valley’s Main Street was soon shattered by the rattle of idling diesel engines. We were promptly paid a visit by Sergeant Kelly. It seemed that many residents of the town were unhappy with the noise. Getting a trucker to shut his diesel down is as difficult as asking him to part with a kidney. We tried to serve the truckers quickly, so Sergeant Kelly didn’t have a field day writing citations.

  My job became more manager than cook. We had over twenty employees working between all the shifts. Cooks, waitresses, busboys, and cashiers had to be hired and trained. Scheduling was always a challenge when your staff consists primarily of high school and college students. You had to be aware of semester breaks, dances, and proms.

  The first full year of operating the new venture was uncharted territory as we grappled with the problems of a growing business. We had a huge payroll, bank loans, and a dozen new suppliers that had to be managed. Being a landlord came with a unique set of problems. I got to know plumbers, electricians, and locksmiths better than I would have liked.

  Bottom of the Seventh Inning

  Having a business that is open twenty-four seven is daunting. Obviously, it wasn’t possible for me to be there all the time, but the complexity of our newly expanded business required so much more of my time. My biggest challenge was balancing my home and work life. My wife and kids were more important than the business, yet I needed the business to take care of my wife and kids.

  Holes in the work schedule often required me to work a shift at the grill. Working the grill was like therapy for me. I didn’t have to answer the phone or deal with problems while I was cooking. Working at the grill didn’t seem like work, but it still took stamina to be on my feet all day. The interaction and conversation with the regular customers compensated for the physical discomfort.

  One of my favorite regulars was Professor Murry. Every time he came in for breakfast, I remembered the panic I felt facing my flunk-or-be-fired dilemma. I’ve often wondered where my life would have gone had I refused to cook breakfast for him that morning.

  At the beginning of the spring semester, the good Professor was sitting on his usual seat at the counter when he said, “Mr. Duffy, your business seems to be a success.”

  “Well, sir, it was a struggle getting it off the ground. So far, we’re pleased with the results.”

  “Mr. Duffy, did you hear I was offered the opportunity to chair the Business Department at North Eastern State?” he asked.

  I had tried for a number of years to get him to stop calling me Mr. Duffy. He was too set in his ways. All of his students, current and former, were Mr. or Ms.

  “That sounds like a great opportunity, Professor. We’re going to miss you,” I replied.

  Laughing, he said, “No, you won’t, I turned them down.”

  I waited for an explanation.

  “I turned down the offer because they don’t have a Chet’s restaurant at North Eastern,” he said. “It’s not just because I love the food.”

  He paused to take in another mouthful of his hash browns and wash them down with a sip of coffee.

  “The Business Department at Central Valley has had any number of successful graduates. I finally have the opportunity to watch one build a business.”

  His answer floored me because I was pretty sure he was referring to me.

  “Mr. Duffy, as I recall, you were an average student.” He was completely serious when he said it.

  I laughed and replied, “That’s very generous of you to say, sir. As I recall, I only got up to average on my better days. It’s a miracle I passed some of your classes.”

  He didn’t disagree with my recollection.

  Smiling, he said, “Chet told me how hard you were working to put yourself through s
chool. I decided your work ethic entitled you to some extra credit. I always rounded your grade up one level.”

  “I suppose I should thank you for that courtesy. By my senior year I was questioning, every day, whether a diploma was worth the effort. My GPA wasn’t going to get me a job. I came very close to dropping out of school.”

  “Mr. Duffy, a good GPA is useless without a good work ethic. This, coincidentally, brings me to a favor I would like to ask of you and Chet. I’m teaching a Senior Research class this semester, and I would like to assign a group of students to do a report on your restaurant.”

  Senior Research is probably the most daunting class a business student is required to take at Central Valley. You are assigned to a team of five students and given a project to complete. Sometimes it involves a local company and requires onsite investigation. Sometimes it requires research of published material on a national company. Some projects investigate a concept or idea.

  My team’s project was to study the feasibility of building a shopping mall in Central Valley. (The mall we determined would be impractical was doing a booming business out by the Interstate interchange. I’m glad they couldn’t change our transcripts.)

  Professor Murry continued, “The students I want to assign to you are all Dean’s List students and are brilliant in the classroom. Unfortunately, I don’t believe any of them has any idea what goes on in a real business. None of them has ever worked so much as a part-time job.”

  Saying no to Professor Murry was impossible. I told him I’d be happy to work with his students. Arriving home after work, the boys were both asleep. Meghan had just finished the dishes and was watching television.

  She saw how tired I was and had me sit on the floor, in front of her, while she massaged my neck and shoulders. Meghan had traded her career as a nurse for the opportunity to be a stay-at-home mom, but she still had that healing magic in her hands.

  “Professor Murry was in today,” I told her. “He wants to assign a group of students to do a Senior Research project at Chet’s.”

  “That sounds like it could be fun,” she replied.

  “I just don’t know how I’ll find the time. I feel guilty as it is spending so much time at the restaurant. I’m afraid the boys won’t know me soon.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, you’re a good dad.”

  She leaned down, hugged me, and then ran her finger over the scar on my nose. She started to laugh and said, “I was talking on the phone with my mom. She was telling me Dad keeps raving about how well the restaurant is doing. He thinks you’re a genius and wishes you had accepted his job offer. Mom reminded him that he tried to run you off when we first met. He told her he was glad you didn’t scare easy.”

  “He had me plenty scared,” I admitted. “I just kept my eyes on the prize.”

  Meghan said, “Go ahead and work with the students. I can always bring the boys to Chet’s for dinner. Robbie gets a kick out of watching you at the Grill.”

  A few weeks later, I had my first meeting with Professor Murry’s students. The project leaders were Shellie Hart and Stuart Samuels. They arrived dressed for a business meeting. The three guys wore suits and ties; the ladies sported skirts, blouses, and blazers.

  Stuart led off, “Mr. Duffy, we want to thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule for this meeting. Professor Murry speaks highly of you, and we’re very excited to have this opportunity to study your business.”

  “I’m not sure I’m all that brilliant. I think the good Professor just likes our food,” I replied.

  I was trying to loosen things up, and they politely laughed. Professor Murry had them wound up pretty tight. I didn’t see the need for business attire, and I didn’t like them calling me Mr. Duffy. They were not that much younger than me.

  “There are a couple of ground rules I’d like to establish for this study. First off, my dad is Mr. Duffy, my name is Randy. Second, every day here is casual Friday, so please dress accordingly.”

  They seemed to appreciate the informality. Stuart stated that the research project had a specific goal. They apologized for not being able to tell me the exact purpose of the study. Professor Murry wanted the group to find their own answers.

  Shellie talked about the data they would like to collect and asked if I could spare an hour or two a week for the project. I asked that they call before coming in and told them I would do my best to give them the time they needed.

  When I arrived home from work, Meghan was eager to hear about the students.

  “I think it’s going to be fun if I can get them to stop calling me sir.”

  Meghan laughed. “Feeling like an old man?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Make sure you invite them over, so I can meet them.”

  A week later, I was scheduled to meet with Stuart and Shellie at four in the afternoon. Their jaws dropped when they came in and found me working at the grill.

  “You own the restaurant, and you still cook?” Stuart asked.

  “I’m only a part owner,” I told him. “Besides, most people would think being able to cook is an asset when you own a restaurant.”

  “Did you start out as a cook?” Shellie asked.

  “Oh, no, I started bussing tables and washing dishes. I had to work my way up to cook,” I explained.

  Somewhat sheepishly, Stuart said, “But you have a degree in accounting. I didn’t expect to see you wearing an apron.”

  “I do have a degree, and I am the bookkeeper. I’m also the manager, a cook, and, once in a while, the janitor. In a business this size you do whatever needs to be done.

  “Are you two hungry?” I asked. “It’s almost dinner time, let me fix you something. It’ll be my treat.”

  “Oh, we couldn’t let you do that,” Shellie protested.

  “How can you research a restaurant and not try the food?” I countered.

  “I’ve heard the chili is good,” Stuart admitted.

  “You’re a senior and have never had the best chili in the valley? How is that possible?” I asked.

  “I lived in the dorms, all four years, and had a meal plan in the cafeteria,” he replied.

  “How about you, Shellie? What can I get for you?”

  “A bowl of the soup would be great,” she said.

  I turned toward the grill to fill their orders and flip a couple of hamburgers. Long ago, I had figured out how Chet could hear every word spoken in the restaurant. Sound bounces off the grill’s stainless-steel backsplash. Conversations going on behind you sound like they are happening in front of you.

  Shellie and Stuart were speaking to one another in a way that made me think they were more than just classmates. Excusing herself, Shellie got up to use the ladies’ room. As she turned away from the counter, I realized she was wearing a Central Valley cheerleader jacket.

  “Are you two dating?” I discreetly asked.

  Stuart sat back on his stool and asked, “How did you know?”

  Just a lucky guess,” I replied.

  “Professor Murry told us to act professionally, at all times, during this project. I guess we’re not doing too well if you figured that out already.”

  “Don’t worry, Stuart, your secret is safe with me,” I assured him. “She’s a very attractive young lady. You’re a lucky guy.”

  “We’ve been dating a little over a year. I’m not even sure how it happened. We had so many of the same classes, we worked on projects together, and then one day she asked me on a date. I never would have had the nerve to ask her out.”

  “I know how you feel, Stuart. My wife had to ask me out on our first date,” I admitted.

  Acting as if he didn’t hear what I had told him, he slumped forward on his stool and leaned his elbows on the counter.

  “I don’t know how much longer it’s going to last. Other guys are always swarming
around her. It’s only a matter of time until she finds someone else.”

  “Stuart, did it ever occur to you she might see something in you that you don’t see in yourself?” I asked.

  Sitting back up straight on his stool, it appeared he was contemplating my question.

  I offered him my best advice: “Keep your eyes on the prize, and ignore everything else.”

  Shellie returned to her seat, and I placed their meals on the counter. Stuart took a taste of the chili and said, “Oh, man, this is incredibly good! I can’t believe I didn’t try this sooner. I’ve missed out on this for three and a half years.”

  Shellie reached over with her soup spoon to take a taste and reacted in similar fashion. Suddenly, she realized it wasn’t professional to be eating out of her coworker’s bowl. Shellie looked at Stuart and blushed.

  “It’s okay, he figured us out already,” Stuart told her.

  Between the two of them, the bowl was quickly emptied. Knowing they would be embarrassed to ask for seconds, I placed another bowl for each of them on the counter.

  “So, when is the next meeting for Team Chet?” I asked.

  Shellie laughed. “I like the sound of that. We should put that on t-shirts.”

  Stuart nodded in agreement, then answered my question, “We wanted to bring the entire team in one day next week to talk to you about the history of the restaurant.”

  “I’m going to have to insist that you change the meeting place to my house. My wife wants to meet the team and find out what’s new on campus.”

  Looking at Shellie, I said, “My wife has a jacket just like yours. I know she’ll want to talk with you about cheering. We haven’t been to a football game since our first son was born.”

  “Your wife was a Central Valley cheerleader?” Shellie asked.

  “All four years,” I replied.

  Stuart had a surprised look on his face.

  “Are you sure it’s not an imposition?” he asked.

  “I spend too much time here as it is. I’d like to see my family once in a while,” I replied.