The Legend at Oliver’s Grill by Foxy Howard

     Oliver’s Grill was born on March 21, 1949 at 306 Howe Street.  In attendance were Edward L. Oliver, the father, and Antoinette Oliver, the head nurse.  On that day no one in Southport realized that a tradition had just been born that would live on in the memory of people from Ohio to Florida for several generations to come.

     Just going in to Oliver’s Grill was an exciting experience- the oiled wooden floors that bore the aroma of grilled hamburgers, the pleasant odor of Budweiser spilled from the long-necker brown bottles that Ed always demanded from his suppliers and, of course, the all knowing wisdom of Ed Oliver himself who, as many old-time Southporters will attest, was certainly an authority on any subject that came up, made this a visit to be remembered and cherished.

     More meetings of the Board of Alderman were held in Oliver’s Grill than were held in City Hall, and Ed Oliver, who was not even an alderman at that time had as much, or more, influence on the important issues of city government as did the mayor.  After Ed closed the grill at about 5:30 or 6 p.m. each afternoon, the real business of the day would begin as Pierce Horne, Al Trunnell, Harold “Gumstump” Spencer, Bobby Jones, and various city officials gathered to reduce the inventory of long-necker bottles of Budweiser and decide what next needed to be done from city hall to the halls of Congress.  Any time they were stumped they turned to Ed for advice.

     Ed’s hamburgers gained fame far and wide.  There was one banker who lived in Morehead City who made weekly trips to Southport to gorge himself on these famous sandwiches.  There was one little Southport boy who demanded that he be taken to Oliver’s Grill every Saturday morning so he could have a hamburger with “collards” on it, meaning lettuce of course.   And then Ed had one steady customer with four legs and an unlimited charge account.  Every morning this canine customer would come to the grill’s back door and bark until Ed carried him a hamburger on a bun with tomato ketchup and mustard, but no lettuce on it.  His master came by every week to pay the bill.

     There was another customer who did odd jobs for Ed-  washed the windows, swept and mopped, or cleaned up behind the grill.  No matter what job he did, he always charged $1.69 which, incidentally, was the price Ed charged for this fellow’s favorite brand of wine.  As soon as Ed paid him he would buy a bottle of the wine with the money he had just earned, and trot off happily toward Taylor Field.

     Many yachtsmen, motoring down the Intracoastal Waterway, between New York and Florida, made regular stops in Southport to buy a bag of Ed’s hamburgers.  But the strangest incident of all was the day a prominent Deacon Emeritus of the Baptist Church fell headfirst out of the front door of Oliver’s Grill and sprained his wrist- it took him awhile to live that down, but he always claimed that the ketchup on the hamburgers had fermented.

     Oliver’s Grill lived the life of a grand old lady.  She passed away on April 25, 1985 after 36 years of meritorious service “above and beyond” the call of duty.  Everyone was saddened, but the pall-bearers dutifully gathered together in the empty grill to do their share of helping Ed eliminate the final inventory of long-neckers.  The tombstone in the window attests that she died a virgin.

Originally published in the The Pelican Post June 1996 issue.