Midtown Kroger – Memphis Flyer

I was wandering through the Midtown Kroger on a recent Saturday night. Sounds like the beginning of a really bad novel, right? Or maybe I just have a lousy social life? Neither, actually. We were having friends over the next day and I needed a couple of things, and decided I’d rather go at night than battle the Sunday post-church crowd.

So, there I was, pondering whether or not I needed another package of bacon, when I saw former Mayor A C Wharton, also shopping alone. He was wearing a sharp, pin-striped seersucker suit. Crisp white shirt. No tie. I felt a bit under-dressed.

“Hello, Mr. Mayor,” I said.

“Why, hello,” he responded. “How are you?”

“Pretty good, sir.”

“You have plenty to write about these days, don’t you?”

“I sure do.”

The former mayor went on to mention that he really liked a column I wrote about President Trump’s cabinet meeting — the one where everyone in the room toadied up to Trump with fulsome praise.

“I now require my staff to praise me at the beginning of each meeting,” Wharton said, grinning.

“Good plan,” I said. “I do the same. Keeps them on their toes.”

And on we went about our shopping. It was such a Memphis moment. At that same Kroger I’ve seen tons of Grizzlies players, notable musicians of every stripe (from Stax legends to opera singers to current stars), leaders in the arts and education and theater, congressmen, chefs, hotshot lawyers — you name it. Everybody in Memphis goes Krogering, it seems. It’s the great equalizer.

Ronnie Grisanti’s restaurant at Poplar and Humes was also that kind of place. You’d see Wharton, Harold Ford, Steve Cohen, Willie Herenton, Jerry West, and every Grizzlies coach who ever coached, including the three Italians in a row we once had (Fratelli, Barone, and Iavaroni), each of whom I saw hanging at Ronnie’s bar on many occasions.

It was the center of the Memphis dining universe from the mid-’90s to the mid-aughts, and it was often my habit to go on Tuesdays after we put the Flyer to bed. I never had a boring evening or a bad meal.

And Ronnie was at the center of it all, greeting everyone by name, shuffling you to the bar with a bit of gossip in your ear while you waited for your table. No reservations at Ronnie’s. You showed up and took your chances. And if you were a regular, at some point Ronnie would take your picture and put it on the wall somewhere. Mine was on the men’s room door, but hey, it was there, a badge of honor, a sign I’d made it. Or something.

Ronnie died last weekend, at 79, marking the end of an era. He’d moved his restaurant out to Collierville in recent years, out of my dining comfort zone, but I’m sure it was a nice place, because he was a nice man — larger than life — and he’ll be missed by all who knew him.

I spend my Tuesday nights at another joint now, a cozy, friendly place at Cooper and Peabody, near my house. I call the owners and bartenders my friends. I can’t go there without seeing 10 people I know. And that’s the way I like it, a home away from home. A place where everybody knows your name.

In these tempestuous times, where change comes at the drop of a tweet, it’s good to have traditions and to savor them, like you savor your food and your friends and your family.

And your memories.

Bruce VanWyngarden
brucev@memphisflyer.com

My wife and I live on Idlewild Street, very near the new Midtown Kroger, so near, in fact, that Tom Brady could probably throw a football from our backyard into the parking lot. He’d have to clear a couple other backyards and some tall trees, but I believe he could do it.

Given our proximity, we have watched with great interest — and no small amount of trepidation — the process of demolition and construction that has transpired on Union as the Taj Mahal Kroger has come into being.

Our street, despite its connection to one of the city’s main thoroughfares, has always been a quiet one. There are only nine houses on the block. I know the names of all our neighbors, and the names of their kids. They ride bikes and play basketball in the street.

We all feared the new Kroger might mean the loss of our little enclave, especially when we learned another development was planned for the nearby corner of McLean and Union. This precipitated what came to be known “gate-gate” on nextdoor.com. It began with a proposal from McLean developer Ron Belz to gate South Idlewild (his childhood street) from Union. As residents of Idlewild, we thought, “Hell, yes!” Other neighbors were not so enthusiastic; in fact, they hated the idea, which I understand. After much back and forth, a compromise was reached. (Or, as my attorney wife says, “If you want a kitten, ask for a pony.”) It was agreed (and approved by city council) that Idlewild would be one-way north, which would theoretically prevent traffic leaving the new Kroger from using our street. Theoretically.

Then we watched as cranes and wrecking balls ate the old apartment tower and as a new temporary lot was constructed to service the old store. When construction on the new store began, we endured months of loud booms, and jackhammers, and literally earth-shaking pounding. Dust coated our outside window sills. The only consolation was that there was absolutely no traffic on our street.

Then came the opening of the glorious new Kroger, and possibly the largest traffic fustercluck in the history of Midtown. Getting a parking place at Midtown Kroger was like winning the lottery. People were coming from all over — tourists from Bartlett and Southaven, and probably from Switzerland and Romania. City traffic personnel were brought in to direct cars in and out of the lot. Both sides of our street were filled with the parked cars of Kroger shoppers. Grocery carts were left on our sidewalks. Worst of all, hundreds of people just ignored the one-way signs (and red lights and stanchions half-way across the street) and drove south on Idlewild.

Yelling “WRONG WAY” at cars became the neighborhood mantra. At first, if you stopped someone and gently told them they were going the wrong way, they’d look embarrassed and surprised and say “Oops, sorry.” Then they started doing it on purpose, and began speeding up the street to avoid being caught. They no longer said “Sorry” when accosted. They said “Bite me,” or worse. It was the wild west on Idlewild.

But after complaints were made to MPD, everything changed. Officers parked on the street every day and began issuing tickets, dozens of tickets. The city of Memphis had to have made thousands of dollars nailing Kroger scofflaws. We residents took to going outside and high-fiving each other and taking photos of the violaters meekly accepting their tickets. Revenge was sweet.

And now? Knock on wood, things finally appear to be normalizing. You can find parking in the Kroger lot most of the time, and Idlewild is calm again, with only the occasional evil-doer driving the wrong way. The new Kroger is a grand and cavernous store with lovely windows that showcase the beautiful Idlewild Presbyterian Church across the street. And there appears, at long last, to be peace in the valley. At least, until the first time snow is predicted.