The Atrium Café in Sault Ste. Marie is quiet now. No one is flipping burgers or making a chicken pot pie or offering a cup of hot coffee to the faithful customers. Taco Thursday is but a memory. In the evening, when I walk around the halls of the second floor, there is no enticing aroma of a special dish being prepared in the café for the following day. The burgundy canvas walls are zipped and locked. The proprietor, Rich Michalski, is gone. His days of earthly toil ended with his unexpected passing on May 28. He never recovered from a stroke.
Some folks come into our lives and leave a lasting impression. I didn’t meet Rich until I moved into an Avery Square Apartment 18 months ago. I suppose it isn’t the length of time we spend with someone that we get to know their worth, but the words they express. Two weeks prior to his death, we shared our last conversation. He told me he always tried to remember the name of each person who regularly walked by. He said he wanted people to feel special. It didn’t matter if they patronized his café or if they were employees of Chippewa County’s Community Action Agency walking by on their way to work. When they passed his way, he made a point of calling a greeting that included their first name. He stressed the importance of letting folks know they had not been ignored.
He spoke those few words with genuine warmth. He truly believed what he was saying. He wasn’t just making conversation. Regardless of the color of their skin, their political beliefs, the condition of their clothing, their infirmities, or the amount of money they spent at his café, he treated everyone with respect. All were welcome. He made people feel like they were part of his family.
Early every morning a small group of friends gathered around his table for coffee and camaraderie. Now that he’s gone, their chairs are empty, but the photos his fiancée, Catherine, placed on the table are daily reminders of the love they shared as they worked together and created something greater than meals. They created friendships that will endure the test of time and memories that death can never steal.
I thought of a poem Edgar A. Guest wrote in 1922. Perhaps it was Rich’s philosophy regarding life. It’s called “Don’t Quit.” I’d like to share it with you as you grieve his passing: “When things go wrong as they sometimes will, and the road you’re trudging seems all uphill, when the funds are low and the debts are high and you want to smile, but you have to sigh, when care is pressing you down a bit, rest if you must, but don’t you quit. Life is queer with its twists and turns as every one of us must learn, and many a fellow has turned about when he might have won had he struck it out. Don’t give up though the pace seems slow. You may succeed with another blow. Often the goal is nearer than it seems, to a faint and faltering man. Often the struggler has given up, when victory wasn’t at hand. And he learned too late when the night came down, how close he was to the golden crown. Success is failure turned inside out. It’s the silver within the clouds of doubt. And you never can tell how close you are. It might be near when it seems so far. So stick to the fight when you’re hardest hit. It’s when things seem worst that you must not quit.”
Godspeed, Rich. You’ve entered a vast and unknown universe and left behind a legacy of love to those you held dear. Even the atrium seems lost without you — its quiet solitude a tribute and farewell to someone who made it a very special place.
To contact Sharon Kennedy, send her an email at sharonkennedy1947@gmail.com. Kennedy’s book, “The SideRoad Kids as Adults,” is available from her or Amazon.
This article originally appeared on The Petoskey News-Review: The quiet of Avery’s Atrium | Opinion
Reporting by Sharon Kennedy, Community Columnist / The Petoskey News-Review
USA TODAY Network via Reuters Connect
By Sharon Kennedy, Community Columnist | USA TODAY Network
