Zombies have invaded Springfield. Don’t
believe me? Venture downtown some Sunday morning. You will see
clots of automatons restlessly roaming the streets, trudging ever
forward, but shackled by the fact that they haven’t the
slightest clue where they’re going. Their eyes, wide open but
unfocused, sweep slowly side to side, hopelessly, searching for
. . . two eggs over easy, hash browns, toast, a side of bacon, and
a cuppa joe. Oatmeal for the mother-in-law. French toast for
grandpa. Pancakes for the kids.
Might as well be hunting the Holy Grail.
When I first moved here, almost three years
ago, I couldn’t help noticing that downtown Springfield
— so vibrant during the week and on weekend nights —
becomes a ghost town on Sunday mornings. Lamentations
couldn’t cure it, so instead I embraced the void,
occasionally spending those mornings taking my sons to the Old
State Capitol Plaza and turning them loose on their scooters. I
felt sure they wouldn’t knock down any pedestrians —
can’t knock down what isn’t there.
This year, in April, everything changed. The Abraham Lincoln Presidential Museum opened,
bringing at least 5,000 visitors per weekend. The three-day
Memorial Day weekend brought 8,400 folks to the museum, according to
ALPLM statistics.
Not surprisingly, some visitors crave
nutrition either before or after trekking from Kentucky to Indiana
to Illinois to Washington, D.C., and back to Springfield with our
16th president. If, for whatever reason, they decide to eschew the
Augie’s outlet located inside the museum, these travelers
will find a fair number of choices downtown — on weekdays. On
Saturdays, the possibilities dwindle, especially in the afternoon.
But Sundays are when you see the most wayfarers wandering
listlessly, looking for food.
By my own informal survey (apologies to anyone
I overlooked), their choices range from expensive fixed-price
spreads at the two large hotels down to a sandwich at Subway and
coffee at Starbucks. Further south, they may discover Caffe Panini
(open 9 a.m. to 4 p.m.), Trout Lily Café and Café
Brio (both open 11 a.m. to 3 p.m.), and Sammy’s Sports Bar
and Grill (open 11 a.m. to midnight).
These are the kind of eateries that give
tourists a unique and lasting impression of Springfield — the
homemade cinnamon rolls at Trout Lily, the tamale cakes at
Café Brio, the spicy fried pickles at Sammy’s, and the
fresh brewed smoothies at Panini.
But sightseers stumble upon these treasures only
if they’re optimistic and hearty enough to traipse several blocks
south, which can seem like several miles if they’re accompanying
toddlers or toddling elders, especially if the weather’s hot. And
at present, there’s nothing showing them the way or promising
that they’ll find shops open after passing so many that are
closed.
Tim Farley, executive director of
Springfield’s Convention and Visitors Bureau, hopes to
produce a map of some sort showing tourists where to find
restaurants and gift shops, and which ones are open on the
weekends. But he won’t reach that goal anytime soon.
“I don’t have a budget for
this,” he says.
Meanwhile, he continues to receive occasional
e-mails from tourists complaining about the lack of dining and
shopping choices downtown.
“One said, ‘Where’s the
beef?’ We got a couple saying they were delighted with the
downtown area but disappointed not to have any place to eat,”
Farley says.
Victoria Clemons, executive director of
Downtown Springfield Inc., says her organization has sent letters
to more than 100 specialty chains, hoping to lure a bagel or
doughnut-oriented operation to the area. “We’re trying
to get them to come to Springfield based on our new
demographic,” she says. “It’s frustrating, but
we’re going through growing pains right now.”
Both Clemons and Farley say they’re
trying to gently prod local eateries and shops — long
accustomed to the ghost town scenario — into opening for
business on Sundays.
“A lot of these are small businesses,
and to bring in an entire staff for a day could be
difficult,” Farley says. “If I try to talk them into
it, I have to basically guarantee it will pay off financially, and
I can’t really say I can guarantee it.”
Clemons says some shop owners regard Sunday as
their sacred day off.
“These are unique, wonderfully eclectic
businesses and they’re working 70 hours a week now,”
Clemons says. “They may be weighing that as maybe that day
off means more to me than the $200 I could make selling
coffee.”
But the few businesses open on Sunday say
they’re busier than expected.
Steve Mainwaring, manager of Panini, has had
to increase staffing on both Saturdays and Sundays to keep up with
the number of tourists — and locals — craving his apple
fritters and lattes.
“It’s been profitable,” he
says.
It probably also explains why all the zombies
I see are walking south. The people I see walking back toward
the north look healthier and happier.
This article appears in Jul 7-13, 2005.
