Johnny Ballas’ decision to close The Crystal Grill was not totally unexpected. On the occasions in the past year or two when he stopped by my table, he confided that he was hanging on but wasn’t sure how much longer.
Still, when word came Tuesday that the longtime and beloved downtown restaurant would not be reopening ever again after taking its traditional Fourth of July vacation, it was like hearing that a close friend had suddenly died.
Out rolled the tributes, the memories and, for many like me, the sadness. I’m sad for our community, and I’m sad for myself.
The feelings have been softened a little by Johnny’s extremely generous offer to donate his building and the equipment in it to the Community Kitchen, the ministry that provides a meal five days a week to the needy in our town.
That landmark building, once the transition occurs, will continue as a place for food and fellowship, catering to a different clientele but maybe one that needs both of those things more than those of us who were loyal patrons of The Crystal.
It wasn’t long after I moved to Greenwood in the early 1980s that I was introduced to the restaurant, its excellent food and reasonable prices — and the strange front door with a slot for reading the magnet strip on a membership card.
The Crystal was just moving out of its “segregationist” period, the decade or so when it operated as a private club and served only white patrons, going along with those who pressured places of public accommodation to resist the desegregation orders of the federal courts. Even after the restaurant dropped the club status and discontinued the membership cards, it was several years before that door with the card reader was replaced.
But gradually things changed, as did the racial attitudes in this community. Black people started to come to the restaurant, first after Sunday church services, providing a second wave of diners as their services usually ran at least an hour later than those of the predominately white churches. Then, as word spread that the restaurant welcomed all comers, Black patrons came at all times. It made enjoying the delicious food a little easier on the conscience.
When I had visitors, whether family or business, come to town, I frequently took them to The Crystal. They would ask me for a recommendation. My pat answer was that everything on the menu was good. That was not an exaggeration. If I ever had a bad meal there, I can’t remember it.
You could eat healthy at The Crystal. Blackened catfish or broiled chicken, broccoli and fresh fruit salad or chicken soup were what I ordered when I was behaving.
Or you could be decadent, with a fried veal cutlet and creamed potatoes and gravy — all the things, Johnny would joke, that taste good but aren’t good for you.
I also learned from The Crystal to appreciate some Southern dishes that had not been part of my past dining experience, such as broiled chicken livers, rice pudding and yams.
I passed over the yams for years until one Sunday when I overheard a hunter, fresh from the fields, telling his young companion how delicious were the yams, coated with a glaze of what I’m guessing was melted butter, brown sugar and nutmeg. After one forkful, I was a convert.
Johnny said one of his frustrations had become finding and keeping good employees. The faces of the wait staff did change a lot. But there were also some fixtures whom we got to know on a first-name basis, like Tony and Hollywood, who manned the front door and brought the takeout boxes to your car, or Rivers, the waitress with a crotchety exterior but a kind heart.
It took a while for Rivers to warm up to my wife, Betty Gail, and me. Until Rivers retired, though, we often tried to sit at one of her tables. Our daughter said we were gluttons for punishment.
On weeknights and at Sunday lunch, the meal included your choice of a selection of desserts. Lemon icebox pie, Betty Gail’s favorite, rarely if ever appeared among the choices.
The first time I informed Rivers that’s what Betty Gail would like for dessert, she replied gruffly, “That will be extra,” and she charged us for it.
But on most of our visits after that, she would slip a slice to Betty Gail. It was our secret.
Sorry, Johnny.
– Contact Tim Kalich at 662-581-7243 or tkalich@gwcommonwealth.com.
