'McCoffee' drinkers migrate to convenience store
By JILLIAN OVERSTAKE
Intern Staff Writer
A few weeks ago, an early-morning passerby looking through the front window of Hillsboro's McDonald's would have seen the tables packed with happy patrons, drinking coffee and socializing.
But after the corporate giant closed its doors on Hillsboro, the happy patrons migrated a few blocks west on D Street, to Ampride convenience store.
The men were so happy to find another place for their caffeine camaraderie that they helped store employees move cases of beer and pop to the other side of the store, in order to make room for a folding table and several folding chairs. The table and chairs are next to permanent booths that had been seldom used.
But under these new circumstances, they just wouldn't do.
These coffee-guzzlers are farmers, business owners, and long-time Hillsboro residents (and Trojan fans), most of whom have known each other for years. They weren't about to give up their get-togethers just because McDonald's closed.
But while they're beginning to adjust to the move, they don't like it. All of them dream of a new fast-food establishment coming to Hillsboro.
All agreed it had better get here soon.
"This town, it's a hamburger town," said one of the men, who wished to remain anonymous. "This place is a gold mine and we'll get someone in."
On Monday morning, the Ampride door binged about every minute, and soon the long brown table was full and the built-in booths were beginning to grow crowded. The men's raucous laughter and conversation filled the small building.
This morning's topic focused mostly on their forced migration. With a little prodding about losing their front-window seats at McDonald's, along with the hotcakes and biscuits and gravy, the conversations sprouted like spring crops.
The men were cordial, but refused to give their names to the female reporter who sat amongst them, sticking out like a sore thumb.
It was obvious the men were workers. Many of them had just come in from being outside in the bitter cold, doing chores. The hands which thawed around coffee cups were callused. Under their fingernails were bruises turned black, qualities that earn the respect from fellow working men. The Kansas-farmer nail job.
Warming up to the reporter's questions, one of the "men who would not be named" said the coffee guys started their morning meetings at McDonald's "from day one," when it opened 12 1/2 years ago.
"Everybody went there," he said. "We were just looking for a place to hang out."
After returning from the coffee machine with a second or third cup, another regular chimed in that the biggest problem with Ampride is parking. On Monday, a dozen pickups
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were parked on the ends of the building, and along the curb on Ash Street. To accommodate regular customers, Ampride management put up "five minute parking only" signs in the places nearest to the front door.
"They put a sign on our table," he said, knocking it with his rough knuckles. "Don't park out front."
"We'll sit here for hours!" another man joked.
After a moment of silence, one man took a breath.
"It's really a dilemma, though, no matter how you look at it," he said of the closure. "The coffee drinkers, we made it look like a business down there."
If these men could send a message to someone considering Hillsboro for a fast food site, they'd tell them that McDonald's had plenty of business.
Between 75 and 100 men came to McDonald's every day, in three shifts, from 6 to 11 a.m. Many of them ate breakfast there as well.
"All the front tables were full," one man said. "And at times, that drive-through had cars all the way around, continuously."
Said another, "We don't want to put out the wrong image that there was no business. We've got to sell the idea that there was money, there was business.
"If we sell that, then Hillsboro can't be too small."
The coffee guys agreed that losing the McDonald's was a blow to Hillsboro's status, but every man was confident the community is capable of luring a fast-food burger place, and making it work. In fact, they're counting on it.
"We must absolutely replace it," they said.
"Open a hamburger stand!"
"We would welcome it!"
"We'd move right back over!"
The men expressed gratitude toward Ampride's hospitality, but a burger stand would be better, they said. A new morning restaurant would mean healthier breakfasts ("maybe with some biscuits and gravy") than the sugary donuts ("I just had two!") and the "things wrapped in cellophane" they find themselves eating now.
Behind the counter, the on-duty manager of Ampride, Jeanette Schaefer, looked up from her ledger. "Coffee sales have gone way up," Schaefer said, adding that since the men started coming in, coffee orders have more than doubled.
"So have donut sales," said cashier Don Chamberlain, smiling in the direction of the men.
The door chimed again and another mug-bearing man came in. The third shift of coffee drinkers was starting to arrive.
Going outside Ampride, even with the doors closed, you could hear the voices of longtime friends, enjoying fellowship, a laugh, and a hot cup o' joe.
