The Peripheries

David Russell Beach
3 min readSep 12, 2024

--

September 11, 2024

On my recent nostalgic walks through DC, I strolled the south side of M Street, Northwest, between 18th and 19th Streets. In the ’80s, as is now, the north side is predominantly restaurants and clubs. Some of the stalwarts are still there: The Sign of the Whale still the sports bar that pre-dated sports bars, the Blue Moon Lounge with a heavy pour, Camelot’s ladies dancing on tables for dollar bills. (Jeff’s bachelor party at Camelot — Monica was tall, smelled great, and loved her job!)

Now, a tapas pace stands on the 19th Street corner. In the ’80s, it was an Italian restaurant. I took my mom there when she stayed a week after her mother died. She was enthralled by the accordion player and LOVED the food. A gang from work lunched there at least twice a week. I had my first fried calamari there. And my first cannelloni. But what was the name? I could remember black cursive letters, diagonally set on the corner wall, above the outdoor courtyard seating. The name escaped me.

Gusti’s on the corner of 19th & M Sts, NW, Washington, DC.

Most every day, I scan the obituaries in the Washington Post. Since I lived there almost three decades, every now and then I find one for someone I knew. In Tuesday’s paper there was a notice for Phyllis M. Bredice. The picture was vaguely familiar. Then I read the lead: “Native Washingtonian and longtime Owner/Operator of Gusti’s Restaurant.” That was it! Gusti’s! Phyllis greeted every customer with a smile, a pat on the back, and a list of specials.

People on the periphery of my life in DC. I never knew them, but I remember their kindness, their hospitality, the way they made me feel. Dino, the gruff, curmudgeonly owner of his namesake deli who never smiled but always asked, “See you again tomorrow?” Jim, one of the original Five Guys in Westmont Shopping Center, who ran the grill like an auctioneer and thanked everyone who ordered burgers. Rick, the hair stylist at Effinar in Arlington, who served martinis to the last customer — I always booked the last appointment. The blind woman at Roma Restaurant in Cleveland Park who played the piano in the garden and sang like a nightingale. The ancient Vietnamese barber in Lyon Village who spoke no English but cut my hair exactly the way I wanted, took care to brush me off, and patted my head. After I had been in Prague for a year, I went back for a haircut only to find a memorial for him in the corner of the shop. His son said I was one of his favorite customers.

Jim, one of the original Five Guys, Westmont Shopping Center, Arlington, c. 1987.

For so long, I thought the past was in the past. I’m a no-regrets, no-looking-back guy. Not really a fan of nostalgia, though I can call up the past without fail. That trip to DC joggled something within me. Those encounters, those experiences — they’re absorbed in my nature. And I hope those on my periphery have taught me some kindness, some compassion, some humanity. RIP Phyllis.

--

--

David Russell Beach
David Russell Beach

Written by David Russell Beach

David Beach is playwright/writer, director, dramaturg, and educator. He holds a PhD in education and an MFA in playwriting, and is a professor at Radford U.