By Mary Webber

There’s probably one in every small town in America, and probably one in every small neighborhood in every large city in America. It might be a counter-and-booths place, a bakery or bagel shop, or a certain few tables in a favorite local restaurant. It might even be the local pub. No matter what it looks like, it’s a place where the guys gather each morning in knots, layers, and shifts for coffee, conversation, banter and good-natured abuse. It is a place and time of friendship.

The coffee shop is the real seat of local government, the place where a few words to the right person can settle a problem, or start one. It’s “the office” where business is often conducted and concluded. It’s where favors are traded, support is offered, where a class reunion may be instigated, or a fishing trip casually organized. It’s a place where personal news is exchanged, sports scores are dissected, world, national, and local news are discussed, and political issues are debated as fully as the Founding Fathers had hoped they would be. The coffee shop is the place where Tom Brokaw goes in jeans and a flannel shirt when he wants to take the pulse of the American public.

Across the country and around the corner, coffee shops are where everyday folks discuss the issues of the day.

In the small Maine town where I live, there are several gathering places, each with a distinct character. Among others, there’s Donati’s, there’s Shelly’s and there’s the Pinewood, each with a counter and tables. A McDonald’s opened recently and quickly became a favorite with its Sr. Citizen discount on that morning coffee. And then there’s the bagel shop where a group known as the “Brain Trust” comes together each morning.

While each group is different, there’s generally a core of five to seven regulars, with a fringe of maybe four or five others who stop by once in a while. Occasionally a wife may be accepted on a weekend morning, but generally during the week they know the “rules” and stay clear. Bringing along an outsider such as a visiting brother is okay, while inviting a future son-in-law denotes a level of acceptance roughly akin to taking him on the Saturday dump run.

Each group has its own daily schedule, with a complete change of scene and men about every forty-five minutes to an hour. The Brain Trust usually shows up at the bagel shop around 6:30 each morning, settling down with “the usual” and newspapers. This group is all in their early-to mid-fifties although those numbers don’t feel right; they’re younger at heart. Half of them grew up here in town, three even graduating together.

There’s Mitch, a local lawyer known as “the Judge.” Tom and Art are both in real estate from developing and selling to appraising while Jack is a salesman and Sawyer is a stockbroker. All are married, all but two still in first marriages, and all have children, ranging from 30-somethings down to a high-schooler.

These guys don’t all live in the same neighborhood, attend the same church or belong to the same clubs. They have varying degrees of individual friendship with each other, and they don’t often get together as a whole group outside of the coffee shop. Still they are an integral part of each other’s lives, usually knowing each other’s daily schedules better than wives or secretaries do. The guys keep track of each other in loose way, knowing vacation plans and noting when someone doesn’t show up for a day or two.

There’s a rhythm to the group such as the annual late winter ritual when Tom painstakingly crafts and hones his absolutely-will-win poetic entry for the Guiness’ Stout Win-A-Pub contest. Tom’s opus is thoroughly critiqued by the rest of the Brain Trust with visions, perhaps, of a lifetime of free brews.

The guys sympathize with each other about their kids’ college costs, sports schedules, and newly acquired driver’s licenses. They also empathize with each other about wives and family cars.

“Hey, I see you’ve got the Ranger today.”

“Yeah, my wife lets me take it when it needs gas.”

What gives each group its particular character is of course this banter and good-natured abuse. “Got a new kayak, huh? You ever gonna’ use that yuppie canoe, or are you just gonna’ drive around town with it on top of your van?”

These men don’t gossip of course, but they definitely “know what’s going on in town,” whether it‘s a messy divorce, a cost overrun on a town project, or who has just been diagnosed with cancer. They know who’s going into an empty storefront long before it’s publicly announced, how much money the Little League made on their booth at the town festival (as the last nickel is being counted), what the police found when they answered a certain house call, and who just won a $1,000 in the state lottery. There’s probably one in every small town in America, and probably one in every small neighborhood in every large city in America. No matter who or where a coffee group gathers, there is strength, decency, caring, camraderie and a deep sense of community.

From images of gatherings at the general store a hundred years ago to coffee down at the bagel shop just this morning, I hear America sipping!

From: www.cascobayweekly.com/

"Inside Scoop" 02.20.03

Mary Webber is a freelance writer living in Yarmouth who for a number of years did both a radio show and tv segment in the Portland area, and statewide.

You may e-mail Mary at Mary@FrugalFamilyKitchen.com