Philomath's Missing "Greasy Spoon"

The other day, as I was driving down Main Street, I started thinking. I thought about how much Philomath has changed in my lifetime. I remember when there were no fast food restaurants; when there was only one Main Street; when the high school had no second floor; when the police station was in that little building not far from the museum. I thought about the transition the town is making—from a “logging town” to Corvallis’ sister-town—where we now have a growler fill station at Vinwood. How modern of us.

While I continued driving, I saw the construction at Dollar General, where the iconic but eyesore-of-a-building, Wing Sing, used to be. I saw the future home of Nectar Mead, where all those trees used to be. But with so many changes, I realized there’s something missing. Philomath is missing its greasy spoon.

For 30-something years CD&J Cafe was our greasy spoon. Housed within that run-down building with the permanent window sign “BEST BACON AROUND,” I always wondered what that sign meant. Around where? That part of town? All of town? All of the Willamette Valley? It didn’t matter. They made good bacon.

But it wasn’t the food that brought me there. And it surely wasn’t the aesthetics. It was the hometown locale that is becoming harder to find.

Every time we would open the door, that clunky bell would ring, alerting the same waitress that always seemed to serve us, Rachel. There was no pretense in the service; she treated you like you just walked into your own kitchen.

“Hi guys!” she would say as if she missed us. “Have a seat, I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”

As we would slide into those vintage vinyl bench seats, our bottoms would slip into the well-worn indents created by thousands that sat before us. The same viney plant crawled up the wall, or perhaps grew into the wall, as it slowly took over the area by the register. Sometimes we would help to clear our table, stacking the previous patron’s plates for Rachel to grab on-the-go.

While we would wait for our turn to order, we watched Rachel run around, seemingly doing the job of two or three people. Since the bench seats were snug against each other, we often found ourselves chatting with our neighbors. We were all in the wait together, no one seemed to get upset or impatient. Going there wasn’t about fast service or innovative meals. It was about the experience.

Most of the time, we went in the early morning. There was no other place in town I felt comfortable rolling out of bed to grab coffee and pancakes when I was still in my house clothes.

On almost every visit we saw the same couple, an old cowboy and his wife. I was always captivated by the cowboy, Bill. He was in his 80s, if I had to guess. His weathered, wrinkled skin told many stories of his years in the sun, working hard, sweating. He may have even fought in a war or two. My imagination soared.

I came to expect him to be wearing his cowboy hat, flannel shirt, big ‘ol belt buckle, and Wranglers short enough to see the ankles of his boots. To me, he looked like the Marlboro man, if he were alive today. I tried not to stare, but a man with that kind of character is far and few between.

On several occasions, as Rachel scrambled to take orders and catch up on the life events of her customers, Bill would get up from his table, walk behind the counter, and grab the pot of coffee. He would walk among the tables and refill the cups of anyone who showed interest. He may have even offered a joke or two. He didn’t do this, I assume, for any thanks. He did it because he felt at home—in his community, with his community. That is the beauty of a greasy spoon.

I realize that as a town grows up, it also grows out of some of the places that once made it unique. To me, CD&J is the perfect example of such a place. Philomath has a growing population and is beginning to serve a different demographic. Times change.

We now have wineries and art galleries and photography studios. And, don’t get me wrong, I appreciate those places. But, with such changes, and closures like that of CD&J, comes the end of an era—a time when there was a place comparable to the sitcom “Cheers.” A place where everybody knows your name.