Quaking icons

The earthquake in Los Angeles hit 5.4 on the Richter scale, but it was a shiver compared with the aftershock from yesterday’s collapse of a casual-dining icon. The public was reminded in story after story that the flat-liner was the company that built the venerable Bennigan’s and Steak and Ale chains. But the industry knew S&A Restaurant Corp. on a far more emotional level. For many of casual dining’s best and brightest, the company was the finishing school where they learned the business. The bankruptcy filing must’ve been like seeing your first home razed.

If the foodservice industry had the equivalent of a Cooperstown, the list of S&A alumni could serve as the roster of charter nominees: Chris Sullivan, Bob Basham, Tim Gannon (all of Outback fame), Doug Brooks (Brinker International), Dick Frank (Chuck E. Cheese’s), Dick Rivera, Hal Smith, Wally Doolin, Rick Berman, Lane Cardwell.

I used to joke that the MUFSO conference was just an S&A reunion in disguise. If an attendee was in a senior post at a casual-dining chain, chances were extremely high that he started at the operation that Norman Brinker conceived in the ‘60s as the obvious trade-up for baby boomers as they outgrew fast food. And for years it grew with their spending power and desire to dine out, becoming an industry force and prompting more imitation than the first reality-TV series.

But the company became part of a huge corporation and suffered the usual fate of losing its verve and agility. Upstarts roared past it, leaving the one-time innovator in a time warp.

More recent regimes did their best to revive the concepts, but the numbers suggest it was a pitched struggle. Systemwide sales for Bennigan’s, the spryer of the two concepts, slipped by about $13 million last year, and the chain contracted by about 10 stores, according to NRN research.

The times ultimately proved too daunting for the brands’ owner, prompting it to file for bankruptcy of the Chapter 7 variety. But franchisees believe they can make a go of it. The scuttlebutt is that they’ll try to provide the unification and support that once came from S&A. The model seems to be Ground Round, whose franchisees similarly found themselves orphaned when their franchisor suddenly threw in the napkin.

Now, of course, everyone is wondering what restaurant chain might be next. In media ranging from overseas newspapers to National Public Radio, the bankruptcy was cited as a weathervane for the economy, a milestone on the road to ruin. The surprise development is being portrayed as a leading indicator.

A fair-sized group of casual dining veterans probably knows better. They’re likely aware that many of S&A’s problems were a function of age and decisions made—or not made—decades ago.

For them, it was likely a seismic shift of another sort, and far more saddening than worrisome.

Farewell to a Famous Star

Last week the world lost an historic figure, a man whose celebrated achievement awed both those within his field and the millions who preferred to leave moon shots of that sort to the brave hearts who push on despite chilling risk. The heights he scaled would forever command wonder and respect, and, though thousands would follow in his footsteps, he would forever stand out for being at the forefront. Oh, and by the way: Edmund Hillary died.

I was speaking of Carl Karcher, the legendary entrepreneur who gave his name to the Carl’s Jr. regional burger chain. Those within the business know him as a character right out of Horatio Algier, a John Wayne-sized self-starter who borrowed $311 against his Plymouth to buy a hotdog cart and parlayed it into a fast-food empire. Those who’ve been in the trade for awhile would remember him as the basis for a cartoon Carl who appeared in his namesake chain’s commercials, holding the hand of the brand’s star-shaped mascot. It didn’t seem like such a whimsical take-off to those who’d see him at industry conferences, warmly responding to anyone who wanted to meet this industry legend, then slipping each of them—be it a CEO or a server working the banquet—a coupon for a free Famous Star burger.

But those who’ve only been on the customer’s side of a quick-service counter may not realize that Karcher was an American pioneer, on par with such business giants and restaurant-industry founding fathers as J. Willard Marriott, Ray Kroc, Col. Sanders, Norman Brinker or Bob Wian, a.k.a. the Bob of Bob’s Big Boy. His death late last week, just six days shy of his 91st birthday, was like the loss of Walt Disney or Babe Ruth—something far more than just the ending of an extraordinary life. He embodied a time and a dynamic that still seem to amaze and inspire us.

He was a giant of a man, literally and figuratively. Fortunately, his legacy is in proportion.