The Spirit of Gus
When Gus Vlahavas, owner of a diner in Brooklyn’s Prospect Heights, died at age 76 in early November, many people mourned the loss of a “beloved” “neighborhood institution.” But what makes a guy in a restaurant beloved, and his simple place an institution? We were reminded of a sweet little onscener written five years ago that somehow evokes the spirit of Gus — in a fittingly modest way. Here it is, our memorial to a beloved neighborhood institution.
It’s lunchtime on a Wednesday and Tom’s Restaurant looks like a cultural utopia. People of every color, gender, and age are seated in vintage booths and hand-painted red chairs. The tables are decorated with faux flowers. Every inch of the walls is covered with framed articles, ceramic plates and neon signs advertising menu items like orange pancakes and spinach omelets. The whirr of the ice machine provides a soothing background music.
Gus Vlahavas, the owner, stands behind a counter covered in pictures of his children and grandchildren. “How are you today, darling? You look stunning,” he says to a pair of older female customers who have popped in to pick up donuts and some of the restaurant’s famous cherry lime rickeys— a concoction of seltzer, 7-Up syrup, strawberry syrup and fresh lime on ice. Whenever Vlahavas recognizes a woman who walks in, she receives the same flattery.
Tom’s Restaurant has been a neighborhood institution since 1936. It was opened as an ice cream parlor by Vlahavas’ grandfather, Tom, but quickly evolved into a luncheonette. The restaurant survived the extreme decline of Prospect Heights throughout the ’60s, ’70s and ’80s (Vlahavas has a story he often tells of locals holding hands in front of the restaurant to protect it during the riots following the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr.), and has lived to see the Brooklyn renaissance of today.
On this particular day, a regular enters, joined by a friend who is new to Tom’s. They take a seat at a table near the front door. “It’s her first time here. What should she get today, Gus?” he asks. Vlahavas wastes no time recommending the special — a chicken lasagna with fresh vegetables that he is “sure you can’t get anywhere around.”
Most customers call Vlahavas by his first name, or in a few cases “Mr. Tom.” They come in all shapes, sizes and ages.
“It’s one of those places where hipster Brooklyn and old-school people meet and everyone is cool with it,” says Adam Sachs, a 26-year-old actor who eats at Tom’s whenever he stays at his girlfriend’s place nearby.
Vlahavas leaves the register, grabbing a Tupperware container full of oatmeal cookies. While making the rounds, offering cookies to each customer, he notices a homeless man outside the front door. He motions the man in and hands him a wad of dollar bills from his checkered shirt pocket.
“That man is my daddy. He takes care of me,” says the homeless man, showing a toothless smile.
Before leaving, customers always receive a sweet treat with their change. Today Vlahavas is giving out Hershey kisses. “I can’t eat candy anymore because I have problems with the sugar, but the people love it,” he says, “and I love them.”
