Dear Vance,
I found an old postcard for an establishment with the unusual name of the Green Beetle Lunch Room, and I wondered what you can tell me about it.
— R.B., Memphis
Dear R.B.,
My, that’s an enticing name for an eatery, isn’t it? I wonder if Green Beetle Stew was one of the specialties?
Your hand-colored postcard shows a rather inviting lunch room, complete with red-tiled floors, rows of ceiling fans, a massive brass cash register, and — right at the foot of the stairs — a large cuspidor, just the thing you want to see before a mouth-watering meal. Although the long marble-topped counter is prominently featured, the card assures us that tables were apparently available (somewhere) “for ladies and gentlemen.” What’s more, and you know they would never lie about such things, this eatery was the “best place in the city for a splendid meal at a moderate price.”
Frank Liberto
Now the card clearly identifies the location as the Peabody Hotel, but I rather quickly determined that the Green Beetle was never located in the present-day landmark on Union, but was instead tucked into the basement of the first Peabody Hotel, located at Main and Monroe (right). Not many people seem to remember this place, but it was erected in 1869 by a Memphis businessman named Hu. L. Brinkley (yes, that’s how he spelled his first name: “Hu.” — with a period). Some sources say he originally gave the property his own name, but within a year renamed it the Peabody Hotel after George Peabody (1795-1869), an interesting character who is often described as simply a “philanthropist.” Scott Faragher and Katherine Harrington, authors of the book The Peabody Hotel, explained that “he became extremely successful in dealing with financial matters between English and American companies” and we’ll just leave it at that. In short, he was much like the Lauderdales.
But unlike the Lauderdales, he never lived here. Born in Massachusetts, he lived in Boston, Washington, D.C., and then London, which is always surprising when one reads about so many things named after him in Memphis (Peabody Hotel, Peabody Avenue, Peabody Park) and elsewhere in America (George Peabody College for Teachers in Nashville).
But I digress. Let’s get back to the Green Beetle. I confess I wasn’t able to find much about this place. I turned up no old menus, or anything that mentioned its managers, or how the name came to be. It first shows up in city directories in 1917, simply described as “The Place To Eat” and remained in business until 1923. That’s when the original Peabody closed, and the complex of four separate buildings that made up the hotel was demolished to make way for the new Lowenstein’s department store building. Meanwhile, a few blocks away, demolition was also taking place on Union Avenue, to make way for the new Peabody, the one standing today. Although the new hotel had all sorts of restaurants, snack bars, and eateries, the Green Beetle wasn’t one of them.
So why do I say Green Beetles (plural) in the title of this column? Well, in 1939, an enterprising fellow named Frank Liberto, an Italian immigrant with only a fourth-grade education, opened a cafe at the southwest corner of Main and Vance and called it — yes — the Green Beetle. Why such an unappetizing name for a place where you hope you don’t find bugs in your food? “I was about 24 and it was my first business,” Liberto told a Memphis Press-Scimitar reporter in 1971. “There had been a place at Peabody and Main [I assume he means the place in the Peabody when it was on Main] called the Green Beetle. I said to myself, ‘If I ever grow up, I’m going to run a place like that.’”
Picking the name was as simple as that. There was apparently no connection between the Peabody’s Green Beetle Lunch Room and the cafe, except Liberto remembered and liked the name. Was it the best choice for a restaurant? Well, in that same 1971 article, even the newspaper wondered about that, but concluded, “Although the two giant green beetles on the front have deceived many persons, the place is attractive and neat.” And Liberto himself insisted, “We have had an ‘A’ rating ever since we have been in business.”
Liberto’s first Green Beetle was a little place, and he and his wife, Mary, did all the work themselves. “I did all the cooking, then served and collected the dishes,” he told the Press-Scimitar. “My wife was the waitress and cashier. We worked from 6 a.m. to midnight. It was hard work, but we were young.”
Their food must have been tasty, because the Green Beetle moved into a larger space, just across Vance, and a year later moved again, to an even larger building that once housed a grocery store. His neighbors in the same busy block included L&N Cleaners, New Flower Shoe Repairs, Bernstacky Casket Supplies, and the Ambassador Hotel. This was a convenient location, since it was right next door to the liquor store that Liberto also owned on South Main Street, called simply Frank’s Liquors.
In that 1971 article, Liberto recalled that diners could get a decent plate lunch for only 15 cents. Coffee was a dime. “About the most expensive thing we served was a 10-ounce T-bone steak for 25 cents.” Can you imagine? Even by 1971, as the photo here shows, patrons could enjoy a breakfast of eggs and sausage or bacon for only 65 cents (and coffee was still a dime). By all accounts, Liberto was a decent, hard-working fellow, and some of his employees remember that “when times were rough, he would give the food left on the steam table to schoolchildren for their meals.”
But times then got really rough, for children and everybody else trying to make a living downtown following the 1968 death of Dr. Martin Luther King, and in 1971, the Green Beetle closed its doors after 38 years in business. “I just can’t get anybody dependable to work nights,” Liberto told reporters. “Last Saturday it was time for the 3 p.m. shift, and nobody showed up. I just said, ‘I quit.’”
The location was shuttered, along with many other businesses along the street, for years. But as everyone knows, downtown made a comeback, and after going through a series of owners, in 2011 the old Green Beetle was purchased by Josh Huckaby, the grandson of Frank Liberto. He kept the curious name, because he had no choice; according to the cafe’s website, “the deed states any establishment at 325 South Main must be named Green Beetle.”
You can’t get those 25-cent T-bones, anymore, but patrons can still enjoy the Green Beetle Burger — and other tasty items — at the little eatery that calls itself “the oldest tavern in town.”
Well, that’s the story of the first and second Green Beetles, but I feel bad because I didn’t solve two mysteries: 1) Who came up with such a distinctive name, and 2) Why is a “31” scribbled in ink on the front of that old postcard?
Got a question for Vance?
Email: askvance@memphismagazine.com
Mail: Vance Lauderdale, Memphis magazine,460 Tennessee Street #200, Memphis, TN 38103
