Good Diners, Good Neighborhoods
By Randy Garbin
Good diners help to make good neighborhoods. To this dictum, we further offer that saving the diner saves society, because the healthy neighborhood diner weaves an extremely important thread into the social fabric. We can cite many diners as examples, but none better exemplifies this assertion than the one found in Philadelphia's Mayfair neighborhood. Here you'll find what we like to call the biggest little diner in the country, the Mayfair Diner.
Though we have loved this mammoth 1956 O'Mahony on Frankford Avenue almost from the moment we stepped inside, our interest peaked the day owner Jack Mulholland told us that his 26-year-old daughter had been recently elected President of the Mayfair Business Association. He added that she had the stated intention of ensuring that Mayfair did not suffer the same fate as so many other grand and historic Philadelphia neighborhoods. At such a young age, and presumably so inexperienced, just how effective would her efforts prove?
The history of this diner is closely tied to the neighborhood itself. In 1932 Ed Mulholland, Henry Struhm, and Tom Morrison moved their first diner from Chestnut Street near Center City to Mayfair, naming it for their new location. As recounted in Richard Gutman's book, American Diner, Then and Now, the area at that time was sparsely populated, but their hunch paid off handsomely. When blocks and blocks of row-houses sprang up in the years that followed, the diner grew, both physically and financially. Today, when one visits the third O'Mahony to take on the name of Mayfair, one stands in awe over not only its size, but its degree of preservation. Once inside, one sits in awe of the terrific service, food, and atmosphere. As I say, it's the biggest little diner in the country.
Jack Mulholland, second-generation owner of this landmark, once told me, with some understatement, that he "just runs a neighborhood diner," and because of that, he has to keep things personable, friendly, and fresh. He and his staff certainly do. But the menu is ambitious, truly extensive -- specials change twice a day, giving reason to visit the diner at least seven times a week. And the Mayfair never closes (except for Christmas), so you can stop in any time you like and always find something different.
Since the diner depends so heavily upon the surrounding neighborhood for its very survival, it only makes sense that the Mulhollands keep a finger on the pulse, looking well beyond the borders of their parking lot to assess the current and future health of the business. Not far from Mayfair, one finds the war zones of Philly, areas that for one reason or another have spiraled into decline during the past 50 years. So far, Mayfair has resisted, and now at least one member of the Mulholland family has taken a very active and public stance against that prospect: Jack's 26-year-old daughter Debbie.
Father's Daughter
Good diners help make good neighborhoods -- I've repeated this like a mantra to anyone who would listen. Debbie's position as head of the Mayfair Business Association, the local business booster organization, began what will surely be a long, steady process of reviving interest in Mayfair as a business and retail center. Within six months of her election, Debbie signed up 50 new members, got SEPTA to repaint trolley poles, organized special retail events for the neighborhood, and secured a state grant to fix up a local park. Clearly, Debbie has become the face of this mantra.
Some people just stand out. Seen from across a room or heard in conversation, the undaunted soul distinguishes himself or herself without effort. The room turns to them upon arrival and their voices slice through the din with greater distinction. They speak without fear or doubt and they move without concern for obstacles.
Debbie Mulholland is one such person. Her unpretentious character, how she holds your glance, and her effortless manner with total strangers impresses everyone she meets. When faced with a problem, her first question is, "How can we fix that?" To those who doubt her, she will ask, "Why can't we do it?" While everyone talks about the weather, Debbie seems like the sort who could actually do something about it.
Jack tells me that Debbie's always been like this. "At two years old, she took up skiing," he recalls. So that's the secret? I asked. Push your kid down a mountain? Perhaps not, but in our conversation, Debbie in turn credits her father for many of her own attributes. "He's my whole support system. He's so logical, it's annoying," she told me, hastening to add that "he's an extremely intelligent man." Clearly his affirmation of a good idea only further motivates her. She also tells of many long, involved discussions about the business and neighborhood, and plans for the improvement of both. His accounting and economics background applied to the diner's operation and to everyday living tends to keep one's objectives grounded in reality.
While Jack always supported any organized effort to revive and nurture Mayfair, he never served on a board, preferring to apply his attentions to the diner's operation. Which is not to say he hasn't been active in local affairs. The Mayfair Diner, just by staying healthy and viable, provides a huge boost to the neighborhood, both to its economy and to its collective psyche. The diner has long sponsored local events and has served as a gathering place for neighborhood meetings, both formal and informal.
Neighbors have many reasons to stop at the diner: Breakfast after church; lunch during the workday; mid-afternoon brainstorming sessions; a respite from cooking dinner; an after-hours stop after closing time; first dates and 50th anniversaries. In fact, the diner's role as anchor of the neighborhood impressed upon Debbie since her first position in the diner at the age of 17. "Everybody has a story revolving around the diner," she observes. "I hope I never get desensitized to the importance of [the Mayfair]. It's very special."
Third Generation
Debbie's rise through the diner's ranks began in her late teens. While still attending Rider University in Lawrence, New Jersey, she worked at the diner as cashier and hostess. Though she had worked other jobs (a fruit stand, a dress shop), she never strayed too far from the family business. Eventually, when she was asked to pull waitress duty, her subsequent training and her can-do personality led to her to rewrite the training manual.
"Sure, I'll do anything," was her response to her new assignment, she told me. "I trained with 7 different waitresses for 5 weeks. By that time, after working here already, I knew where everything was, and that's half the battle [in a diner this large]. So I would take notes on everything that happened, and that was the basis for reworking our training procedures."
Waitressing led to office assistant, which led to bookkeeping, which segued into public relations manager. "I read four newspapers every day," she claims. Asked if she's retained a clipping service to keep tabs on the diner's publicity, she responds proudly, "Everyone who eats here is our clipping service."
Debbie also makes sure that every local paper and broadcast outlet knows about every Mayfair anniversary, special event, and bestowed accolade through a continual stream of press releases.
"You take very basic standards," she tells me, "and somehow it becomes this major accomplishment! You keep the place clean; you serve good food; you worry about its taste rather than concern yourself with the color of a garnish; and you make people feel comfortable."
She continues, "You treat people the way you would if you invited them to your house. Very simple stuff to me, but it seems it's becoming more scarce."
Connections
The operator of a successful diner often has much more influence than he or she realizes, and Debbie says she still getting a grasp on it. Consider: Hundreds of people walk through the door every day, entrusting her with one of the most basic elements of life. If the customer returns and returns often, the diner establishes a potentially life-long bond with that person -- a relationship any politician would envy.
The good diner plays a key role in the lives of its customers. A good neighborhood diner at some point over a short span of time sees just about everyone who lives and works nearby. Everyone, from the local state representative to the guy who fixes sidewalks to the woman who runs a bookkeeping operation from her home office to the priest at the local parish all stop by for lunch sooner or later. Some operators may regard these people as mere customers, but Debbie also sees them as a connection to other parts of the city to call upon as the need arises. Mindful that each customer represents a potential resource in the drive to better the neighborhood, Debbie works at building a powerful and effective network of allies. Award-winning crab cakes don't hurt, either.
The Mayfair neighborhood still enjoys its status as one of the better locales in this old city, but it faces the same threats to every traditional neighborhood. Often cited as a prime example of the crisis of our urban centers, Philadelphia suffers under the burdens of an anemic tax base, high crime rates, continued flight to the suburbs, and a bad self-image. Though Mayfair remains stable and safe, the overall problems with the city affect this neighborhood as well. Potholes, crumbling sidewalks, neglected parks, and missing street signs all indicate a financially-strapped metropolis.
In such situations, the neighborhoods that protest the loudest and with the clearest voices tend receive the most attention. In other words, the grease goes to the squeakiest wheels. All too aware of how the public perceives these conditions, Debbie's wheel began getting louder. One of her first targets was the missing street signs. "I just started calling City Hall, just to see if I could just get them replaced."
Her persistent phone calls led to a relationship with Joan Krajewski, a Philadelphia city councilor, who further introduced her to more people in and outside of government. Debbie began developing a network of new friends, all politically affiliated.
Learning of the Mayfair Business Association, she began to attend meetings, but found that the group had contracted the same disease of poor self-image afflicting the rest of the city. "When I went to the meetings, I found it a big joke and a waste of time, but the people meant well and were doing their best to start this up."
In Debbie's mind, the achievement of the loftier goal of reviving Mayfair began with a series of smaller, more attainable goals, such as getting the sidewalks fixed and increasing police presence -- two very basic, but neglected, municipal responsibilities. With so many elderly residents, Debbie reasoned that a cracked sidewalk increases pedestrian hazards. Already, some Philadelphia neighborhoods, such as Manayunk and Center City, had effective organizations in place and had attracted grants to improve and maintain their streetscapes. In March of 1997, City Councilor Joan Krajewski called a general meeting of the Mayfair district's entrepreneurs to discuss the dispensation of a $800,000 grant to improve the streetscape. When only 15 out of a possible 300 showed up, Krajewski issued a wake-up call: Get organized, get a plan...or lose out.
An article published in February 1997 in the News Gleaner, a newspaper covering the city's Northeast neighborhoods, reported that the district's disarray among the merchants had jeopardized its streetscape improvement funding. At the same time, the article foisted Debbie into the spotlight as a leader in the district. A month later, the Association elected her president.
Debbie's first objective was to sign up more members. To get the process started, she did things the old fashioned way, going door to door soliciting merchants for their input on the streetscape project. Though most she spoke to thought it was a good idea and long overdue, few placed any faith in this "kid" getting anything accomplished.
Ever resilient, "I used their response to my advantage," she explains. "With such low expectations, they'd be that much more impressed when I succeeded."
In the meantime, Debbie began pushing for the little things -- and succeeding. No one could remember the last time SEPTA, the South Eastern Pennsylvania Transit Authority, had painted the trolley poles that line Frankford Avenue. After years of neglect, layers of old paint in various colors began to peel and chip, giving the district one more small but very visible sign of decay. Weeks of persistent calls and letters ultimately paid off, and the poles were painted last summer. Perhaps most people didn't notice, but these are things that people shouldn't notice.
Mayfair vs. the Malls
The little victories began to add up to some major accomplishments. By the end of April, the MBA, now under active Debbie's leadership and with 50 new members, mapped out its plan for recovery, virtually assuring them of the capital improvement money promised by Krajewski. People began to take this "kid" a little more seriously.
The following June 4th, Debbie successfully convinced Mayfair shop owners to stay open until 9:00 P.M. for "Mayfair Night Out," a special retail promotion to also show off Frankford Avenue's new lighting. On the heels of this event, only 10 days later, the MBA sponsored "Cruise Night," blocking off the avenue to make room for a display of antique and classic cars.
Finally, in October 1997, the News Gleaner announced that the city had awarded the grant for streetscape improvements that now totals $2 million -- $1.2 million more than originally requested! The news came just as the city had completed restoration of the pocket park that also served as a gateway to the district [see box, page 14]. The recovery had begun.
Though one could hardly describe Mayfair as a shopping mecca, residents can still find most of the necessities for daily living within easy walking distance of their front door. How many neighborhoods can still boast that? However, most businesses on the avenue consist of simple mom-and pop-operations selling some rather specialized items.
A recent addition to Frankford is Umbrellas Unlimited, a 100 year-old umbrella maker and repair shop that relocated from another Philly neighborhood. Umbrellas Unlimited joins such Mayfair mainstays as Moe's Deli and Torresdale Flower Shop. However, today's tastes judge the vibrancy of the urban environment by the numbers of cafés and brew-pubs, and by this measure, Mayfair still comes up short. One might see this as a plus, but Starbuck's has yet to establish itself here.
Living in Mayfair
Living in a Pennsylvania rowhouse requires a willingness to "sacrifice" space for convenience. Though the population density of such neighborhoods doubles that of your typical suburban subdivision, in a traditional pedestrian neighborhood such as Mayfair, it also means buying a gallon of milk without taking a six-mile round trip using a $20,000 machine. Even by IRS allowances, that $2.40 gallon of milk costs double under those conditions. (Under AAA estimates, it more than triples.) So what makes more sense, speaking strictly from an environmental and cost-benefit standpoint? Who stands to weather the next oil shock better?
A well-maintained rowhouse can make a great starter home for young professionals and their eventual families. This housing option actually comes in several different varieties, and given the growing regional popularity of many new condo-townhouse developments swallowing up surrounding farmland, one could successfully market these well-built, charming dwellings to such people.
Where to park? The city operates an extensive transit system, which includes a far-flung commuter rail system so residents don't need to rely on their cars so much. Yet the density in Mayfair doesn't necessarily mean tight parking. If you don't insist on a space directly in front of your house or shopping destination, you can always find a space. Larger rowhouses have back alleys in which to park vehicles.
According to Debbie, a typical three-bedroom rowhouse in Mayfair costs only about $95,000, and one can rent a similar-size apartment in the same neighborhood for only $550 per month.
The power of home fries
While quiet Pennsylvania Dutch modesty keeps the Mulholland family from boasting of their achievements, they obviously foster their history and role in the community with a great deal of pride. Understandably grateful to those who have made their diner a second home for decades, Jack -- and now Debbie -- have a firm grip on the importance of their place in Mayfair.
Debbie admits to rather selfish motives, but she clearly makes the case for rational self-interest. This "neighborhood diner" depends not only upon its own ability to provide great meals, but also upon the viability of the other businesses on the avenue to help draw in customers hungry after a day of shopping. Acknowledging the important relationship between her business and those next door marks the emergence of the enlightened operator.
With this in mind, Mayfair customers can rest assured that one of the country's greatest diners will remain so for years to come. "I take this very seriously," Debbie vows. "This is my family's livelihood, and I'm doing my part in preserving it."