The Countertop

Hoard and Historian

Category: Preservation

Published on Thursday, 16 May 2013 14:40

Written by Randy Garbin

Anyone visiting the Bus Stop Diner in Carteret, New Jersey will treat themselves not only to some good food in a renovated space, but a gallery of poster-sized vintage linen postcards featuring streamline and art deco Greyhound stations as well. My company performed those renovations in 2006, and I thought that those images would provide a worthy enhancement to the diner's new, streamlined atmosphere. The images themselves came from Don Preziosi, whose postcard archive has few rivals. Preziosi quoted us a per-image rental fee of $50. I almost balked at this price, but deadline pressures and the fact that Preziosi was the source for such images forced my hand.

If I had to do the same project today, I doubt I would approach or much less need Don Preziosi. All of those images no doubt already exist somewhere on the web. If I can't find one quite large enough to reproduce in poster format, the technology exists today that will allow me to recreate a reasonable facsimile in a short amount of time. Preziosi may possess the card, but he does not own the image. Preziosi must see the writing on the wall. Today, he offers a bus station image on Ebay for $11.95.

As impressive as Preziosi's archive might be, when people stop caring about it, it becomes a pile of paper. When they don't even know about it, it becomes a fire hazard. I like to think that the value of his archive and the collections of others comes from the lessons they might teach us. The images and documents, like any history, presents a body of knowledge from which we can (or should) build upon.

The Atlantic Cities blog recently ran an interview with David Rumsey who has digitized and put on the web over 38,000 maps he has in his personal collection. He displays a rather refreshing and generous attitude toward his trove of knowledge. "I think open access for anything — maps, art, books — is an incredible opportunity that the Web allows us to accomplish," he tells Atlantic Cities. "It's kind of introducing the public to what I call in the academic world primary sources."

Rumsey understands that allowing broad access to his collection spreads both awareness of and appreciation for it. Overlaying historic maps over the most current Google maps shows us how much we have changed the planet, for better or for worse. Collecting dust on a shelf somewhere or never allowing light to fall on it renders the collection largely pointless in the eyes of the public. He gets bragging rights for having all those maps, but so what?

Before the internet came along, academics relied upon traditional publishing to disseminate this knowledge, assuming that a market existed for the information. We know now how that's changed especially for anything "roadside" related. Anyone with a car and a digital camera can hit the road and set up a Tumblr blog to post their photos of their breakfast under the glow of fabulous neon signs.

Quick Google searches allow instant access to vast photo archives of historical images. What nascent roadside historian hasn't already wiled away hours immersed in the Library of Congress "American Memory" website? Or Flickr's "Commons" section? Interested in White Towers? A Google image search will satiate that impulse. Who needs a book, especially since most of us only bought them for the pictures?

Truth is, those collections never had a whole lot of monetary value to them to begin with, and no real investment value. Ebay made money for some, but the cash value of any historical collection rises and falls on the whims of the generation that cares about it. A perfectly restored Ford Model T won't get anything close to a mint 1964-1/2 Ford Mustang. Everyone who bought or lusted after a Model T in 1920 is probably dead.

The lucky few who got into diners early such as Baeder and Richard Gutman managed to parlay their collections and resulting knowledge into a career of sorts. Baeder, however, profited far more from his own paintings than from his books and calendars. Gutman's books sold well enough to merit additional printings, but based on my own experience, considering the time, travel, and other expenses, specialty book publishing is a break-even proposition at best—at least for the author. No one except the publisher really makes any money, and they have to combine that book with dozens of others to keep the lights on and the presses running.

My generation reveres this history because we lived some of it. We have a direct connection or are not that far removed. Our parents took us to these places and told us stories about others, but what about the generations that come next?

Someone who is 25 today was three years old when Roadside appeared. Statistically speaking, that kid grew up in a cul-de-sac miles away from the nearest vintage diner. More likely, he went to McDonald's, Applebee's, and the Cheesecake Factory. As a kid he went to play-dates held in well-cushioned, privately-owned recreation centers. As a teenager he hung out in the mall and at Starbucks. That young adult has no personal connection to this history we value so much. He has no clue and will not care about those O'Mahony blueprints, Worcester clocks, or the Big Boy statues. This is why no one publishes books about this topic any more.

The generation familiar with this greatness knows instinctively when it presents itself, but how many times have we had our hearts broken by pointless and irreversible renovations or the misguided attempt to recreate that greatness? Many times have I later heard something akin to: "I didn't know any better."

The old-school historians among us remain wary of the internet. When some do wade into the digital waters, they'll often mar amazing historical images with large unsightly watermarks, and it makes me wonder what, exactly, is more important to them: That we better understand what we lost or that we know damn well who scanned and posted an image that they do not own? Did they honestly think that anyone will truly make any real money off of their "hard work?"

I remain a believer in protecting that work which you yourself create. I don't post reviews on Yelp, and I've long-ago stopped submitting photos or time gratis to major publications or the producers of television programs. I don't give away my time anymore. However, I always try to share what few historical artifacts I have in my own archives. The passage of time has made my own photography historical, but if there's something you want to see, and I'm not getting it out there fast enough, just ask.

I hope to see entire collections of artifacts that document the colorful history of diners and all-else-related on the web. I want upcoming generations to know and understand why the rest of us cherish this history. Real, lasting value emerges from this body of knowledge only when it can be put to use in the broadest context possible. The reward comes by enjoying more real-life examples of the places we profess to love.

Get it out there, and let a thousand diners bloom. 

Tossing Mom off the roadside

Category: Preservation

Published on Thursday, 04 April 2013 23:24

Written by Randy Garbin

Another diner relegated to the history books. Photo by Michael Rosol.

I just received word tonight from Woodbridge Patch that the demolition of Mom's Diner in Avenel, New Jersey is complete. You will no longer find it listed in the Diner Finder. Clearing this rare early 1950s Fodero diner from the roadside clears the way for yet another Wawa convenience store and gas station on a stretch of Route 1 that is lousy with convenience stores and gas stations. Ignorance has prevailed again.

I've all but run out of ways to describe the madness of this wholesale and often-unnecessary destruction of these treasures. There's really little left to say. From what I understand, the circumstances surrounding this tragedy smelled distinctively rotten from the outset. I was contacted by the editor of Woodbridge Patch, who told me that interested parties had emerged pledging to move the diner months before the planned demolition, but that the people listed on the tax rolls as the owners of the property denied any association with it. With no one to buy it from, the diner got caught in the crosshairs. 

The Gateway Diner in Trooper, PA continues to decay. Photo by Scott Lichterman.When asked point-blank why this had to happen, the mayor replied with stone silence. One has to assume a quid pro quo between city hall, the developers, the owners, and Wawa. Saving a diner would just impede "progress," which in this case likely meant a progressively enriched bank account. 

I have for more than twenty years tried to get a handle on this mindset that believes in the superiority of the new and cheap over the old and well-made, and in people who have such callous disregard for the preservation of anything, even at no cost to them, but I've largely given up. When people leave comments at the end of stories about Skee's Diner, calling the carefully crafted O'Mahony an eyesore, it makes one wonder about any devotion to this cause. 

A similar story now plays out in Trooper, Pennsylvania with a very similar diner. It remains to be seen if the ending will be happier, but I can't get my hopes up. 

Let the healing begin

Category: The Countertop

Published on Wednesday, 21 November 2012 12:00

Written by Randy Garbin

Age has a funny way of changing one's perspective. As I start to see the tunnel at the end of the light, I find myself taking some measure of how long it might take to get there, and what I might pass along the way. I hope to continue to take in as much scenery as I possibly can with the resources available. I hope to see my child grow up and blossom into a productive citizen, to continue cultivating my garden, to share more experiences with more friends, to see more, eat more, and to mend a few fences along the way.

A few years ago, I made a single New Year's resolution that I renew every year, which is simply this: I resolve to spend more time with people I actually care about. The year I made that resolution, I finally visited a dear friend after a ten-year absence only to learn of his death three weeks later.

This past year I drove over 2000 miles, ostensibly for a goofy pancake party, but in truth, I made the trek to finally actually shake hands with a kindred spirit I had only known via emails and Facebook. And it was worth every mile.

This altered perspective also inspired another meeting. A few weeks ago, I met up with Mike Engle and Glenn Wells. Diner enthusiasts should know them well. Mike co-authored Diners of New York with Mario Monti, and he does important and ongoing research into diner history through his site nydiners.com and his associated blog. When I began Roadside in 1990, I depended upon people like Mike who actually spend the time rifling through library archives hunting down the history of obscure but notable diners and individuals who worked in the industry, assembling the pastiche that tells our story as a culture.

Get the kids to the diner

Category: In the Trenches

Published on Friday, 17 August 2012 08:31

Written by Randy Garbin

SouthCoastToday.com just posted a bit-too-late story about the closing of Al Mac's Diner in Fall River, Massachusetts. While we all know by now of the diner's demise, the article contained this juicy little nugget:

As time marched on, the diner lost more and more of its most faithful patrons, Gauthier said.

"We have some loyal customers, but every time there's an obituary in the paper, there goes another," Gauthier said. "I don't know what next month brings."

This comment points to a serious problem facing all-too-many diners, old and new, across the country: Their  aging clientele. If any long-running restaurant forgets how to cater to and attract younger customers, then they number their days. Where do Millenials and Gen-Xers go to eat these days? Are they looking for heaping piles of meat loaf? Maybe they are, but maybe they'd like fresher, more natural alternatives. Maybe they want an espresso. 

Down on Broadway

Category: Preservation

Published on Thursday, 26 July 2012 23:32

Written by Randy Garbin

Today, during a diner finding tour of the Hudson Valley, I traveled down the lower section of Broadway in Newburgh, New York where I found this storefront. 

I just wanted to say that I don't think you will find a more amazing place, both geographically and architecturally, than this city. And yet, from all outward appearances, the powers that be have flushed this place down the toilet. 

This storefront is only one of the amazing finds here. It stands only about a half mile or less from the Hudson River, where oddly enough, you will find a happy little entertainment district. The dichotomy would be laughable if not so painful to see. 

If anyone has any stories to tell about Newburgh's prospects, please share!