A tribute to a departing friend -- Genio's Restaurant
Genio's Restaurant is closing at
the end of this month. It was almost 50 years ago that I first walked into its
coffee shop -- not knowing that it would be, to me, what Rick's Cafe was to
For me, writing about Genio’s Restaurant right now is like writing about someone you love who is very much alive, but who will die without a bone marrow transplant.
Marvin Cecchini and his grown kids are determined to find a
But they’re more concerned that the sale of the building
will put their dedicated servers, bartenders, cooks, dishwashers, busboys,
hosts and hostesses out of work. Marvin can’t hide the dread he’s feeling.
The people who prepare and serve the food and drinks talk
about the “break” or “vacation” they’re about to be taking – it’s obvious,
though, that there’s a chance there won’t be a Genio’s and they’ll have to
replace “vacation” with “between jobs.”
For every Genio’s employee, there are probably a hundred or more customers who will also be in mourning. It’s a place where people came to share important moments and to meet with essential people. Most of those customers have a Genio’s story. Here’s mine:
I was seven or eight when my mother told me she wanted to
take me to lunch at a place in Burbank. It was around 1956 or 1957.
She parked the cream colored 1951 Mercury on the street and
we walked past the plate glass windows and entered the coffee shop through the
glass door on
The long counter ran parallel to the kitchen in what’s now
one of the dining rooms. Today, of course, the windows and the glass door are
gone and about where the counter was is the solid kitchen wall.
After I ate my grilled cheese sandwich, fries and a Coke,
my mother said, “How do you like this place?”
I told her it was great. Yep, I liked it.
“OK,” she said with a smile. “Then I’ll take the job!”
I don’t know why she sought my approval before she hired on
as a waitress, but today I realize that working at an established restaurant
meant that she would have the independence and security she would need to leave
a marriage that was nothing short of hell. I’m sure she saw it as one necessary
step toward liberating me and my sister, Nancy, from the terror we were
Within a year, she divorced our father and the three of us
moved from Sun Valley to an upstairs apartment on
Mom worked a split shift most of the time and relied on
Nancy and me to take care of ourselves when she couldn’t afford a babysitter.
Nancy and I would stay up late sometimes to wait for Mom to
come home with a purse full of coins and a bag of garlic bread. We’d help her
stack her pennies, nickels, dimes, quarters and half-dollars before we went to
Often times, the garlic bread was my preferred breakfast.
The apartment owner was a kind little man named Pete
Antista. He drove a bread truck and delivered the famous sourdough bread to
Genio’s. Once he took me with him on his early-morning run. There was only a
driver’s seat in his panel truck, so I got to sit on a big loaf of sourdough
bread. When we got home, he paid me with a whole, chocolate crème pie.
Mom took her job seriously and was able to neutralize the
advances of male customers without discouraging the all-important tips. But one
customer wasn’t going to let her excuses for not going out with him get in the
Each time she told Ed Ripley that she couldn’t afford a
baby sitter, he would make the tip even bigger. When it was obvious the
babysitter ploy was no longer working, she played the “I can’t get off work”
Rip, as we would all call him, took his case to Genio
himself and asked him to give my mother a night off so that they could go out.
Within a year, Genio hosted the wedding reception at his
One afternoon Rip threw me a fastball and I caught it wrong
and broke my left thumb, up near the wrist. When the doctor got through putting
a sizable cast on it, Rip took me to Genio’s to break the news of the break to
She was carrying plates to a table in the coffee shop when
she saw us. Her face broke into a giant smile. Then she noticed the cast and
dropped everything on the floor.
At that time, the restaurant’s back door was not far from
where the rest rooms are today. I can still remember Genio’s lanky,
twenty-something-year-old son, Marvin, helping seat people while he learned the
business. His brother, Gene, Jr., was learning how to run the kitchen. Their
sister, Paula, was still a child – two years younger than I was.
When I was in high school, I’d drive my 1952 Studebaker to
Genio’s for lunch. Being
My favorite busboy at the time was Arturo. He was from
Indeed, he was always hard at work. Sometimes, however, he
wouldn’t return following the weekend. In the beginning people would worry
about him. Soon word would get back to the restaurant that “La Migra” had
nabbed him and sent him back to
I was never more proud of my mother and stepfather when I
found out that they were in the process of sponsoring him so that he could get
a green card. Arturo went on to become a bartender and would probably be a
bartender today if a family crisis hadn’t forced him to move out of state.
Before I left for
I lied to my folks about the date I’d be coming home, so I
was able to sneak back into
The first place I went was to Genio’s so that I could
surprise my mother. It was a busy lunchtime when I came in the door. By that
time in her career, Mom was working the cash register and seating people. When
I walked in, my Mom wasn’t in sight. The other cashier said she was seating
I couldn’t wait. I walked back toward the dining room and
saw her waking back from the cove with some menus in her hand.
At first, she saw a guy in an Army uniform who hadn’t read
the “Please wait to be seated sign.” She shook her head slightly and then made
eye contact. The menus took flight and my mother catapulted herself into my
arms. Within a moment or two the customers nearby figured out what was
happening and began applauding. Some of them stood up.
That spot in the dining room is sort of a sacred place to
me even to this day.
I had dinner there that night and, just as he had promised,
Marvin picked up the tab.
A couple of years I was out of the Army and working as a letter
carrier for the Burbank Post Office. I’d have my lunch at Genio’s. Arturo would
automatically bring me a glass of iced tea with two extra lemon slices and say,
“¿Qué está haciendo?”
That was 35 years ago. Today, when I sit down at Genio’s,
either the busboy or the server brings me a glass of iced tea with two extra
slices of lemon. Arturo trained everyone well and they’ve been passing it on
all of these years.
When I got married the next year, my friends gathered for
the reception at Genio’s. When my stepfather died a few years later, we met at
Genio’s to remember how the restaurant brought him into our lives.
When my grandmother died back in
I had always wanted to be a writer, but it took a while for
it to happen. The first time I ever saw my work in print, however, was when I
wrote a review of Genio’s for the local paper. The paper’s restaurant writer
got the byline, but I was proud knowing that it was actually my work.
When my first wife and I got divorced, somehow she seemed
to have gotten custody of my mother. They remained good friends and I’d often
run into my ex there at Genio’s. In 1983 I bought a little house across the
street from Genio’s and down a bit. Genio’s brother-in-law, Tony, had retired
as the bartender and was living three doors down from me on the corner.
Tony painted many of the beautiful landscapes that still
adorn the walls of Genio’s. If my mother would see me admiring one of them, she’d
buy it from Tony and wrap it up as a Christmas gift. I treasure two of his
paintings that are on my wall today.
Tony had little to live for after his sister, Joan, died
and later, her husband, the founder of Genio’s. They still refer to the little
bar in the banquet room as Tony’s Bar.
My mother met her third and final husband, George Quinn,
there at Genio’s. They were married for only a couple of years when he died.
Before she retired, Mom went along with Marvin’s suggestion
that she join other professional
When Mother passed away in 1997, Marvin Cecchini stood up
at her memorial and told stories we’d never heard before about a woman it
seemed everybody loved.
Then he invited everyone to the restaurant to celebrate her
life and her spirit.
I can’t go in there without thinking about the zany things
she’d do on evenings when none of the owners were around. They were innocent
things, such as pedaling through the restaurant on a busboy’s bicycle or
joining the cooks, dishwashers and busboys when they’d declare the kitchen a
Mexican restaurant and put on a secret Taco Fest.
It’s going to be devastating when they close the doors for
the last time and I won’t be able to surround myself with the people, the
pictures, the sounds and the smells that have brought me so much pleasure for
most of my life.
I’ll miss the always-welcome smiles from the people there
who treat me as if I’m special.
I’m not special, but they treat me that way because I’m “
If you’ve never eaten at Genio’s, you should do it once, just
to say you’ve been there and to know what
Order the garlic bread and ask for them to make it extra
crisp – almost burnt – and ask them to make it drip with garlic butter. Forget the
cholesterol this one time and immerse yourself in Italian bliss.
And, despite what your server says about his or her
impending “vacation”, leave a few extra bucks this time around.
You never know if your waiter or waitress is counting on
taking home an order of garlic bread to feed the kids.
And if you get to chatting and they ask you how you know so
much about the place, tell them you heard it from
NOTE: Don Ray’s Genio’s website, mygenios.com, is here.