photograph courtesy vance lauderdale archives
The stylish dining room of Limbros featured “air-foam booths in gold leatherette” with jukebox consoles and modern lighting fixtures. Note the cigars for sale at the front counter.
Dear Vance: In the 1960s, my family enjoyed dining downtown at Limbros, but after all these years I can’t recall the location. Where was this restaurant, and what happened to it? — K.M., Memphis.
Dear K.M.: After delving into the history of Limbros, I admit that the owner of this restaurant, an ambitious fellow named Nick Limberakis, has an “American Dream” success story that rivals that of the Lauderdales. His determined attempt to return to the U.S. from Europe is especially compelling — considering that he was actually born here.
It’s true. Though most reporters usually referred to Limberakis as Greek, he was born in 1918 in Birmingham, Alabama. His parents were Greek, though, and when the boy was only two years old, the family decided to return to the old country. As Limberakis grew up, he decided to return to his own birthplace.
photograph courtesy vance lauderdale archives
Nick Limberakis
“American people, they have good hearts,” he told a Memphis Press-Scimitar reporter (“in his groping English which has a British accent,” wrote that reporter). “The American country, I like it from the first time I hear of it.”
Obstacles stood in his way everywhere he turned. At the age of 16, he was conscripted into the Greek Army, and during World War II, during a skirmish at the Athens airport, he was captured by the Germans and sent to a prison camp in Austria. When the war ended, he moved to England, “figuring it would be easier to get to the United States from England,” according to reporters, and he worked there for several years as a coal miner, “learning the language” (which explains the British accent).
“I always dream of coming to America,” he told reporters, “and now I’m here, I like it better than my dreams.” — Nick Limberakis
All this time, he stayed in contact with members of the Limberakis family who had remained behind in the United States. Finally, in 1949, two uncles arranged for a temporary visa that would allow him to visit his “home country.” The problem, it seems, was that the U.S. government felt he had renounced his American citizenship when he joined the Greek Army. But that wasn’t going to stop him. He left England aboard the Queen Mary, and then took trains to Memphis, where he held a much-anticipated reunion with his uncles.
“He will be a son to me,” Uncle Pete Limberakis told the Press-Scimitar. “I have no children. I will let him run my business. I’m getting old and want to rest. I want my nephew to have his chance in America.”
I don’t have the space here to explain the legal efforts that finally resulted in U.S. officials agreeing that the young man born in Alabama was indeed a bona fide American. But after months of battling red tape, he began working at Uncle Pete’s restaurant, the One-Minute Lunch Room at 1323 Madison.
“I always dream of coming to America,” he told reporters, “and now I’m here, I like it better than my dreams.”
Within a year, he saved up enough money to buy the City Coffee Shop Café, facing Court Square, aided by “a handshake loan from the bank.” The Commercial Appeal said the tiny place “became a downtown staple for everyone from mayors to Millington sailors who met dates there.”
In 1952, he met and married Betsy Argol and moved into a nice bungalow on McNeil, where they raised two sons.
By 1959, Limberakis was ready for bigger and better things. He opened a full-scale restaurant at 86 North Main, a narrow space in a row of nineteenth-century buildings formerly occupied by a Kroger grocery. Calling his new establishment Limbros, it was an ideal location, right across from Bry’s (later Lowenstein’s) department store, next door to Easy Way #3, and within an easy walk of the city’s major downtown attractions.
photograph courtesy vance lauderdale archives
A menu from the early 1960s.
The postcard (top) shows an attractive restaurant, “receiving much acclaim for its pleasing appearance,” according to The Commercial Appeal. “A complete new building was erected inside the old building, with new walls, floor, ceiling, and lighting fixtures. Fourteen sets of air-foam booths, upholstered in gold leatherette, with antique cherry finish tables and chairs, create an attractive dining area to seat 107 persons.” Note also the little jukebox consoles mounted on the wall at every booth.
I managed to turn up a 1960s Limbros menu, with a personal message to all customers: “Your genial host, Nick, with many years of restaurant experience, will do his very best to see that you get the finest food and unexcelled service.”
For such a relatively small place, the selection was impressive; I took the time to count more than a hundred different dining options. For breakfast (“Served Any Time”) diners could start their day with Tennessee country ham, bacon, sausage, eggs, omelets, hominy, “golden creamy waffles,” buttermilk hotcake, sweet rolls, biscuits, and even fresh donuts.
For lunch or dinner, entrees included steaks, pork chops, sugar-cured ham, roast prime rib, calf liver, chicken liver, pan-fried trout, stuffed deviled crab, select oysters, Tennessee River catfish, rainbow trout, whole flounder, and lots more. The Italian section tempted diners with spaghetti, ravioli, chicken cacciatore, and veal cutlets, all with or without meatballs. Diners could also have six flavors of pizzas, still quite a novelty in Memphis in those days.
Anyone just wanting a sandwich could choose from Tennessee turkey, Southern barbecue, kosher-style salami, roast beef, pork shoulder, baked ham, corned beef, sliced chicken, pimiento cheese, braunschweiger, and of course a regular hamburger or cheeseburger. “South of the Border” specialties included homemade chili, chili mac, and hot tamales.
It’s rather surprising that only one dish on this extensive menu hinted of the owner’s Greek heritage — a “Grecque Sparta Salad.” (For that matter, another “foreign” option was “Chilled Norwegian Sardines Garni.”)
In 1966, Limberakis hired a partner, Jimmy Anaston. A Press-Scimitar ad announced, “Memphians can now enjoy the ultimate in eating pleasure. With Jimmy’s kitchen know-how and Nick’s ‘as your host’ know-how — they KNOW HOW to buy, prepare, and serve good food.”
So what happened to Limbros?
Well, Main Street and other parts of downtown — once a perfect location for restaurants and retail — turned into a ghost town following the 1968 assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. About this time, newer shopping centers — Poplar Plaza and Laurelwood — along with a new concept called shopping malls — lured customers east.
In November 1972, Limberakis announced he was closing the restaurant he had operated for 23 years. “I’m really sorry to leave, but I have to,” he told reporters. “Breakfast and dinner are nothing. Business at lunch is terrific, but you can’t support a business like this on one lunch a day.” Not with an extensive menu like that, certainly.
A Commercial Appeal reporter spoke with a Limbros customer, who shared the bleak situation: “We’ve all eaten at Limbros during the noon rush and waited for tables. Recently, my wife and I ate there at 7 p.m. For most of the meal, we were the only ones there, dining to the sweet strains of the Hoover vacuum cleaner taking care of the carpet and the TV entertaining the bored employees.”
Limberakis told reporters he would auction off all the restaurant equipment within a few weeks and said, “I’m looking for a spot out east.”
That never happened. It seems Limberakis left the restaurant business entirely, taking a job as a security guard at the Shelby County Administration Building. He made the news in 1976 when, during a power outage, he tumbled down an open elevator shaft. Luckily, he was on the ground floor and landed in the basement. Newspapers said he was in “fair condition” at St. Joseph Hospital and soon recovered.
Nick Limberakis passed away in 1999. He had remained active in the community most of his life. For several years, he was president of the Annunciation Greek Orthodox Church on North Highland and was a member of the Masonic Lodge, Scottish Rite, and Al Chymia Shrine Temple. In his obituary, the newspaper noted that he was always known to friends and family as “Mr. Nick” and “he kept his pockets full of peppermints, which he doled out always with the same joke, ‘Sweets for the sweet.’”
His first restaurant, the City Coffee Shop Café, located at 103 South Court, is now empty. Limbros Restaurant later became home to a Sandwich Chef for years, but now also stands empty, along with the rest of that building.
A 2021 structural survey by the Downtown Memphis Commission revealed that the entire structure needs a new roof, but concluded: “Overall, in our engineering judgment, the existing condition of the structural system is good for a building of this age and comparable construction type. The building does require repairs but can be remediated to meet the accepted existing building code standards.”
With upgrades, the old building could someday house new businesses. But I doubt if the owners could tell an “American Dream” story quite like that of Nick Limberakis.
Got a question for Vance?
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MAIL: Vance Lauderdale, Memphis Magazine, P.O. Box 1738, Memphis, TN 38101
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