Ohio passed a horrific milestone number last week — more than 5,000 state residents had lost their lives to the coronavirus.
That's more Ohioans than died in the Korean (1,777) and Vietnam (2,997) wars combined.
It's a heartbreaking number by any measurement, which is only compounded when considering the nearly 180,000 Ohio residents who have been diagnosed with the virus.
The ripple effects of this pandemic continue to spread beyond those who have died or been infected. Workers losing their jobs. Struggles with virtual learning. An increase in mental health issues. Businesses closing.
And not just businesses closing. Iconic, full-Cleveland businesses closing.
Last week we learned Cleveland's legendary Sokolowski's University Inn was put up for sale for $2.7 million, a decision forced by the coronavirus pandemic. The third-generation Eastern European eatery, which sat on the edge of the industrial valley on Cleveland's South Side (aka, Tremont) for almost 100 years, could soon join nearly 100,000 other restaurants that have ceased operations — permanently — because of COVID-19, according to a National Restaurant Association survey in September.
I wasn't born and raised in Cleveland, but I've spent my adult life here, and enjoyed many meals at Sokolowski's. I can't tell you the countless birthdays my family celebrated there — and even my son's graduation party. (In the movie "The Graduate," the advice to Benjamin, Dustin Hoffman's character, was "Just one word: plastics." At my son's graduation, it was "Just one word: pierogi.")
Sokolowski's was the go-to place to take our out-of-town guests, who would leave smiling with their bellies groaning from a trip down a culinary memory lane. "Now THAT'S Cleveland," we'd say.
As good as the food was — the pierogi, chicken paprikash and stuffed cabbage (my favorite) — it was the kindness that siblings Bernie, Mary and Mike Sokolowski and their loved ones showed to restaurant regulars like my family that left an indelible mark.
No matter how busy the cafeteria-style line was — and on Fridays and Saturday nights, it would often stretch out the door — there was always a moment to say hello, inquire how the family was doing and share a laugh. Those of us devoted to Sokolowski's would wear comfy shoes — and clothes — for an often hour-long wait (with refreshments from the bar) in line for our favorite comfort food.
My fondest memory was the joy Sokolowski's gave my father on one of his final days in 2018. After a rough morning at Fairview Hospital, my dad's vital signs began to improve by mid-afternoon. The end was near and we all sensed it.
By dinnertime, he was surprisingly hungry and had a hankering for, of all things, kielbasa. My husband Mike and I looked at each other and knew exactly where we needed to go: Sokolowski's. The line that Saturday night snaked through the warren of the restaurant's rooms, past the bar and beyond the fireplace and out into the parking lot, as usual. Our time with Dad was limited and we knew it. So we headed directly to the register, asked to speak to Bernie, and explained Dad's request. Within minutes, we were weighed down with two groaning boxes of kielbasa, pierogi, cabbages and sauerkraut.
It felt like Christmas morning when we arrived in Dad's hospital room, which was brimming with family, as we bore our Eastern European feast. Dad was delighted as he savored every bite. Mom was by his side, herself suffering from dementia, as my sister fed her. I will always remember her happiness, and the grin on Dad's face as he ate his last meal from Sokolowski's.
Many Clevelanders like my family felt that connection to Sokolowski's, handed down from generation to generation, just like the restaurant itself. It was because Sokolowski's was family. It was Cleveland. And it felt that way from the moment you walked in.
It has been closed since early on in the pandemic. And the family has decided that now is the time to take their well-earned retirement. Still, there are business matters to tend to and, if the place doesn't sell for the proper price, they've said there is the slightest of chances they'll be back in the kitchen.
And while some hold out hope that another plate of pierogi and a bowl of the most amazing mushroom soup will somehow once again make it onto a tray headed for the vaunted piano room, I am at peace with reality.
My father worked hard all his life and deserved his respite, made even sweeter by a simple Sokolowski's meal made with love.
And the Sokolowski family, too, has worked hard and deserve their retirement, made sweeter by a legion of Clevelanders whose hearts, not just their bellies, were made full by a family whose mission was to feed both.
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October 18, 2020 at 03:00PM
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A sweet, but sad, ending for Sokolowski's - Crain's Cleveland Business
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