Coney Island Cafe Closes after 102 Years

Tomorrow, after 102 years, Coney Island Cafe in Hattiesburg, Mississippi will close its doors for the last time. Two years ago, almost to the day, I had the privilege of sitting at Coney Island's lunch counter, late at night, listening to owner Bj Fokakis tell me his story—a story about family and legacy, dreams and dedication, care and community.

After our interview, I took some photos and told BJ I was going to retell his story during my keynote for the downtown's annual meeting the following day.

"I'd love for you to be there," I said.

"It's pork chop day," he said in his 6-foot-five, 344 pound voice deeper than God's. "It'll be packed here, but I'll try."

Despite the pork chops, he made it.

And seeing those 300 weeping Hattiesburgers stand up, turn to BJ, and give him one of the loudest and longest standing ovations I've ever heard is a moment and a memory I'll never forget.

BJ, you fulfilled a dream of your father's. You *made* it! Although I didn't know him, I know Billy would be proud—SO proud—of you, your sister Kayla, and the community he loved and loved to serve.

Cheering you on in your next adventure, and hope to see you and the rest of Hattiesburg soon.

Everyone, you can read Coney Island's story below, and please do - but heads up, you might need some tissues.

The Story of Coney Island Cafe

“My great grandfather, Arthur, lived on the Isle of Patmos in Greece, the same island where the Book of Revelation was written. He came to the United States through New York, went South, and ended up here in Hattiesburg. Then, in 1923, out there on the sidewalk in front of the cafe, he set up a cart and sold fruit and hotdogs until he had enough money to build the building. He moved all the fruit inside for a few years and then decided to change it into a short-order cafe. After my great grandfather, my grandfather ran it until 1983, the year I was born. But then he had a stroke, and that's when my dad had to step in.

They say history repeats itself—and it does, because of why I had to take over for my dad.

For 35 years, my dad never missed a day of work. When he had to get his rotator cuff fixed, he scheduled the surgery for a Friday afternoon so he could be back at work on Monday morning, and he was.

One thing I’ll say about my dad is that I've never heard a bad thing about him, from anybody, ever. Even today, people come in and they’re like, ‘Where's the tall guy that worked here?’ They’ll say they used to eat here years ago, and when I tell them what happened, some of them will literally break down into tears and say, ‘He fed me when I didn't have any money.’

I was living with him when he got sick. One day, he came home from work, sat down to watch TV, and asked me to look at something. He pulled his shirt to the side and there was a knot on his neck. He said that it hurt, and was out of breath from just walking inside the house.

Well, the next day he came and said, ‘I'm going to go to the doctor today, something’s not right.’

The doctors thought that it could be lung cancer because he used to smoke. But after a biopsy, they found out it was an extremely rare form of cancer called signet ring cell adenocarcinoma, found in only 1 percent of cancer patients.

94% of those are stage four.

A couple of days before he went into hospice, things were to the point where we knew it wasn't going to be much longer. He was still able to talk then, so one night, me and my sister asked him what he wanted us to do with the cafe.

His exact words? ‘Y'all just sell it. Sell it and split the money. It needs too much work.’

But that didn’t sit right with us, so me, my sister, all the employees and about five customers who have been coming in for 50 years met up at the cafe to talk about what to do.

Nobody, not one person, wanted to see it sold.

My sister said, ‘Dad really wanted to make it to 100 years. We’re only five years away, and I think we can do it and I think BJ can run it.’

Right then I stopped her and said, ‘Look, if we're going to do this, the goal ain’t for five years. Either we're going for 100 more years or we're not doing it at all.’

It was only 29 days from the time he got sick to the day my sister called me and said, ‘You need to get here now.’

I drove 100 miles an hour the whole way, running every red light. When I walked into the room, everybody was in his room mourning, crying—he had passed about seven minutes before I got there, and that’s when I lost it.

I tell people that when I took over the cafe I didn’t even know how to cook a bowl of cereal, and that’s the truth. There were so many good customers who let me burn stuff, lie to me and tell me it was good, and then come back and give me another shot. I didn’t know anything about running a business, about having employees, anything about taxes.

It’s been five years since my dad passed away, and since then I've gotten better: better at being a boss, better at being a cook, better at being an owner, but I’ve still got a long way to go.

We do things the old way, and even though there are things we could change, they’ve worked for a long time. You don’t change what’s not broken because those are the things that people come back for.

And those people keep coming back. We have people who have been coming here every day, sitting in the same spot since before I was born. I love listening to their stories.

Bobby, he’s going to sit in that seat twice a day, every day: every morning at six and then around 11:30 a.m. for lunch. We have sixteen paintings he’s done, including one of my dad, hanging up on the wall.

Sitting across from Bobby at lunch will be a man with the nickname of ‘Country’. In 1953, he was on the high school basketball team. He couldn’t shoot his layups right and the coach told him, ‘You play basketball like a country boy!’ The name stuck. He’s been coming here since he was a baby, just a couple days old.

Sitting beside him will be Drew Turner, owner of Turner Taxidermy right around the block. He's the third or fourth generation in here eating and he's always got a story about animals or something he caught in his trap.

The man on the other side of that table is a man named R.T. He was one of my dad's best friends. He's an airbrush artist—he's done our signs up here for our prices. He spray-painted that hot dog back there and he's a family friend who has been eating here for 40 years.

I think if my dad could see us now, he would be happy that it's still here. Making it to 100 years was a goal of his and knowing we made it would make him proud.

He’d be proud of the fact that we're still open, not bankrupt and haven’t burned the building down. Proud that I get up and come in every day. I think he would be proud that I learned how to do this on my own.

They say history repeats itself...and our history is one I’m proud to repeat.

My dad did it for 35 years, never missing a day.

I'm five years in with 30 more to go.”

– BJ Fokasis of Coney Island Cafe