RIVER CITY JOURNAL: WHO COULD RESIST CHARMS OF PLACE CALLED FIRP AND BOB'S?

The newspaper from Nevada, Mo., usually takes about a week to make its way across the state. When it arrived yesterday, I was immediately drawn to a front-page story about the 54 Cafe, a landmark eatery in the western Missouri town.

Jeffrey Jackson, formerly of the Southeast Missourian news staff, is the editor in Nevada now. He follows a long line of distinguished editors, not necessarily including yours truly. For five years I toiled at the Nevada Daily Mail and Sunday Herald under the guidance of publisher Ben Weir Sr., who told me after my first week on the job: "I've made a big mistake, haven't I?" When I left Nevada, Ben and I had the utmost respect for each other, but it was hard-earned. For both of us. The year after I left, he died.

I couldn't resist sending Jeffrey a note about the 54 Cafe, particularly since there was a photo of historian Patrick Brophy accompanying the article -- a historian who couldn't remember how long the 54 Cafe had been a Nevada fixture. As you can see, my "note" soon turned into an epistle longer than some of St. Paul's.

So I'm sharing it with you. Here goes:

Jeffrey: I just read Elaine Grant's story on the 54 Cafe (the Pony Express would have delivered your paper sooner, but the rider's horse succumbed to Mad Cow Disease somewhere in the vicinity of Birch Tree, which just happens to be the hometown of our current governor -- I don't think there's a connection there), and I can personally testify that the 54 Cafe is at least 30 years old.

I know this, because the 54 Cafe was the first place I ate a meal when I arrived in Nevada in 1972. I still remember it. We arrived in the dead of night after a three-day journey by U-Haul truck from northern Idaho. We had reservations at the Rambler Motel, but we arrived too late to eat in the motel restaurant. We were directed to the 54 Cafe, and we were tickled to learn we could order breakfast that late at night. Breakfast is my favorite meal. If I had my way, breakfast would be served all day, every day at every restaurant in America. But I'm not in charge of such things.

I suspect the 54 Cafe is a lot older than 30 years. I'm surprised Patrick Brophy doesn't know for sure, since his beard makes him look a lot older than I'd look if I ever grew a beard -- which I did, once, when the folks in charge of Bushwhacker Days decided to assess a fine on any man who didn't grow a beard. I stopped shaving, since I was working for Ben Weir Sr. at the time and could not afford the fine. One night after about three weeks of razorless existence, I was reading a Golden Book to my two young sons. The elder of the pair kept looking up at me with a funny expression on his face. Finally, I said: "Jason, what's the problem?" To which he replied: "Pop, did you forget to shave this morning?" So much for my beard-growing attempt. I paid the fine after I told Ben Weir that my kids might have to go without food if the beard police caught me clean-shaven and he coughed up the five bucks. Don't ever say Ben Weir wasn't generous to a fault.

By the way, I never paid Ben back.

The reason I think the 54 Cafe is older than 30 years is that, upon my initial inspection and numerous subsequent visits, it already had a patina that comes from more than a few years of fried foods and cigarette smoke. To me, this amber coating -- on the walls, the floors, the ceilings -- is the mark of a good place to eat. Cute restaurants with clean curtains and shiny floors are a sure indication that the place hasn't been in business long enough to accumulate the grime of a successful establishment or is about to go under. If anyone in Nevada needs further proof, consider the fate of Bain's Delway Drive-In, home of the best double cheeseburger (with onions) and Susie-Qs in the world. Many Nevadans will remember the Delway shack where you walked up to the window illuminated by the yellow glow of a monstrous bug light to order your food -- if you didn't have the good sense to call in your order. There was always a line, even late into the night. After we left Nevada, the Bains decided to go upscale and built a charming seating area complete with polished wood and brass rails and -- you guessed it -- clean curtains. Where is the Delway today? Alas, it is only a memory in the minds of true burger aficionados who split their dining pleasure between the Delway, the White Grill, the 54 Cafe and Firp and Bob's. You could add Vieth's Cafe to that list too. Has anyone ever found another onion ring that good? When I think of the good old days, this is exactly what comes to my mind. As a matter of fact, for several years after I left Nevada, I made an annual visit just to eat at those favorite spots. Honest to goodness, one day I had such a burning desire for a Delway burger that I got in my car, drove to Nevada for lunch and then drove home. Oh. Did I mention I was living in Maryville at the time? Which means my lunch outing only took nine hours. My sons still recall those meals. They've eaten their way around the world two or three times, and they agree that Nevada's rich history of dining joints can't be matched anywhere. As a matter of fact, younger son still believes the tale I've told that he was born between a bowl of chili and a double cheeseburger in a booth at Firp and Bob's, even though his birth certificate says Nevada City Hospital.

I join all the customers at the 54 Cafe in saluting the new owners. I can only hope they have the good sense not to tinker so much that I can't smell last year's french fries -- or last century's for that matter -- whenever I next walk in the door. And I will. You can bet on it.

Look what I've done. I've rambled on and on -- so long, in fact, that it looks like you've got yourself a free column.

Consider it, in some contorted way, the repayment of my debt to Ben Weir.

Best regards.

~R. Joe Sullivan is the editor of the Southeast Missourian.