John Cafferata was born in Italy in 1876. He
immigrated to the United State in 1896, joining his older brothers
James and Joseph in St. Louis.
Cafferata initially lived with his brother
James above his saloon at Eleventh and Pine. He worked for his
brother as a bartender.
Cafferata married Christine Repetto in 1903.
They had three children; Alice was born in 1908, Eugene in 1910 and
Elinor in 1912.
In 1902, John Cafferata opened a saloon of his
own at the southwest corner of Delmar and Taylor. He called it
Cafferata's Cafe. He served lunch in a back room and later
transformed the back yard into a small summer wine garden. The cafe
was regarded as one of the most popular resorts in the West End.
Cafferata's Cafe, 4500 Delmar (double
door in background)
(click image to enlarge)
As automobiles and movie theaters shifted the
"night life" of St. Louis from downtown to the West End, Cafferata induced
Anheuser-Busch to erect a larger cafe and summer garden at
Hamilton and Delmar, and install him as a tenant. The idea was
laughed at; the suggested neighborhood was considered too far
out. But Cafferata persevered. The new
Cafferata's Cafe opened at 5901 Delmar in December of 1910.
St.
Louis Star, Jan 1, 1911
(click image to enlarge)
John Cafferata was generous to his friends and
always willing to accede to the request to "lend me ten, John." He
was also a good promotor.
A watermelon feast on
a scale seldom approached was spread yesterday for all who cared
to come by John Cafferata of 5901 Delmar boulevard, when he
distributed 1700 watermelons free to any who applied.
A car load of the fruit, stacked on
the sidewalk in front of his cafe at 3 o’clock yesterday
afternoon attracted a large crowd of small boys, who took a deep
interest in the ceremony of unloading and piling them up.
"Help yourselves, boys," said
Cafferata. The urchins were amazed and at first suspicious; but
their hesitation was only momentary. A shrill yell went up; then
each boy grabbed the largest melon he could carry.
Cafferata announced that he was
having the time of his life; and invited every passer-by to help
himself. There were no refusals.
As the news soon spread through the
neighborhood a crowd gathered that filled the street and almost
blocked street car traffic. Every passenger on one crowded
Delmar car got off and joined in the scramble.
Cafferata last night said that he had
received the car load of melons as a gift from a friend and
former business associate, who now owns a plantation in Newport,
La. Finding that they were so ripe that he would be unable to
keep them on hand more than a day or two, he decided to give
them to his neighbors. Those that were not carried away by
passers-by he sent around the neighborhood in wagons and
delivered several at each house.
St. Louis Globe-Democrat, Jul 20,
1911
Cafferata's friends referred to him as "the man
who made Hamilton and Delmar." The district was not much more than a
wilderness when his cafe was established there. Later, it became the
principal corner of a well built-up residence and apartment house
neighborhood.
Hamilton and Delmar also became the center of
night life in the West End. The Park Theater opened adjacent to
Cafferata's Cafe in January of 1914, offering
vaudeville and motion pictures.
Cafferata became president of the company which operated the theater
and his cafe attracted many theatergoers. The
Park Theater would be renamed the Pershing Theatre in 1919, the
latter venue dedicated to the silver screen.
Cafferata's Cafe adjacent to Pershing Theatre, 1919
(click image to enlarge)
Cafferata's Cafe was the gathering place for
men of all walks of life. The newsboy who sold papers on the corner
could be found beside well known members of the bench and bar. And
to all of them, Cafferata was just "John."
As he passed between tables, Cafferata always
offered the same query ― "Everything all right? Sure 'nough?" When
he had spoken to everyone, he'd stop somewhere in the room and the
crowd would gather around. Lounging in the bar room or sitting at a
table in the rear of the place, Cafferata kept his listeners in
constant laughter.
Everyone knew about Cafferata's bad check
drawer. He was often fooled by his patrons who would give him a bad
check for their bills. When the checks would come back marked
"insufficient funds," he would look at them in mock sadness and put
them away with the rest.
John Cafferata,
proprietor of a restaurant at 5901 Delmar Avenue, has a piece of
paper which he will gladly exchange for anything useful. It is a
check signed with the name "Grant R. Perry" and drawn for $120
on the Dearborn Street National Bank of Chicago. The check looks
better than Cafferata feels. The only thing wrong with it is
that it can't be cashed.
A tall, dark-haired man, who looked
like ready money and said he was Grant R. Perry of Chicago,
entered Cafferata's place Tuesday afternoon. He told Cafferata
that he was planning to give a dinner to 19 friends. Cafferata
sat down with the stranger and drew up several sample menus for
him. After a long conference he selected the items for a menu
which was to cost $100, or $3 a plate.
He then wrote the $120 check and
handed it to Cafferata, who reminded him that the price was to
be only $100. Perry said the mistake was on him and that he
would either write out another check or Cafferata could give him
$20 in change. When he looked through his apparently well-filled
wallet, he couldn't find another check blank.
"Oh, well, just keep that check and
give me the difference," he said. Cafferata handed over $20. The
stranger bought a round of drinks and departed. Cafferata wired
to the Chicago bank and received a message saying there was no
Grant R. Perry on its list of depositors.
St. Louis Post-Dispatch, Dec 17,
1913
John
Cafferata, 1914
Pre
Prohibition Whisky Bottle
Cafferata employed 146 persons in his
establishment. His cafe had a seating capacity of 700. More than
double this number could be accommodated in the inner and outer
gardens. The outdoor garden was beautiful, with trees, grass, an
aquarium and a balcony on its south side.
Cafferata consistently refused to provide
entertainment in his cafe.
I believe the
function of the cafe is to dispense food and drink, not
entertainment. There is no cabaret, but a small orchestra, at my
place. I am going to send my orchestra home tonight. If I see
there is a demand for an orchestra I may bring it back, but the
cost of food is too high to spend money on frills.
Cafferata permitted patrons to have the run of
the kitchen and ice-box, to select their own viands and to watch as
they were cooked. This added to the popularity of the restaurant.
Fresh seafood was
flown in daily. Crabmeat was obtained from Baltimore, soft shell
crabs came in from Greenfield, Maryland, lobsters were secured from
Rockland, Maine and live frogs came direct from Reelfoot Lake,
Tennessee.
St.
Louis Star, Oct 16, 1915
1918
Cafferata's Menu
(click image to enlarge)
John Cafferata was an avid hunter.
Persons on the
downtown streets yesterday were surprised to see a motor car
loaded with freshly killed game. The game was bagged on a
hunting trip by John Cafferata, a restaurateur.
The load consisted of three bucks,
one of which weighed 272 pounds when dressed, two wild turkeys
weighing 152 pounds and 23 mallard ducks. Cafferata was
accompanied on the trip by Roger Gray, an actor.
The hunt took place on Cafferata's
preserve of 640 acres, in Taney County, Missouri, about 270
miles from St. Louis.
St. Louis Globe-Democrat, Nov 13,
1914
John
Cafferata (left) and fellow hunters pose with trophies
of a deer hunt
St. Louis Post-Dispatch, Dec 7, 1919
The spoils from Cafferata's hunting trips often
found their way into his cafe. This led to frequent tilts with the
game wardens, who raided his refrigerator in search of contraband
game.
John Cafferata,
proprietor of a cafe at Delmar and Hamilton avenues, was late in
sitting down to a dinner given in his honor there last night.
Just as he was preparing to enjoy the toasts, volunteer game
wardens explored his restaurant icebox and found 46 quail.
Arthur D. Holthaus, who has a
commission as an honorary game warden, piloted by J. P. Heller,
a member at the Missouri Fish and Game League, tracked the
forbidden game to its lair.
While Cafferata parleyed with the
quail detectives, his 100 hosts waited for him to join them in
celebrating the fifth anniversary of the restaurant's opening.
In vain, Cafferata pleaded that he
had never unlawfully served quail. He said he had killed 25 of
the quail himself and that the other 21 belonged to Dr. E. J.
Neville of 5891 Washington boulevard, for whom he was storing
them.
Holthaus
and Heller were equally insistent that a restaurant proprietor
has no right to have protected game on his premises, whether he
sold it or not.
While this parley was going on, his
hosts, including many business and professional men, were
waiting for him at the dinner tables. Holthaus decided not to
arrest Cafferata, but it was necessary to "take somebody down."
The head waiter was considered as a hostage, but it was finally
agreed that the head waiter couldn't be spared on so festive an
occasion.
A
compromise was reached by which one of the waiters was arrested.
Judge Ben Clark of the Court of Criminal Correction was one of
the hosts of the delayed anniversary dinner. He agreed to accept
a bond for the waiter on the spot. The bond was signed by former
Justice of the Peace Anthony A. O'Hallaron. This didn't free the
waiter at once. It was necessary to take him to police
headquarters to make the arrest legal.
Cafferata loaned Holthaus and Heller
his automobile and chauffeur to take the prisoner to
headquarters.
Then the belated anniversary dinner began with a flood or
oratory, in which William Marion Reedy, after the guest of the
evening had been presented with a shotgun, advised Cafferata to
use it not on game, but on game wardens.
St. Louis Post-Dispatch, Dec 31,
1915
When the Wartime Prohibition Act took effect on
July 1, 1919, St. Louis saloon keepers and restaurateurs were no
longer allowed to serve alcohol. Publicly, Cafferata had taken the
new ban in stride.
For five or six years
I have taken in more money on Sundays, when I only sell soft
drinks, than on the days of the week, when it is "wet." When
prohibition goes into effect, I figure every day will be Sunday.
St. Louis Post-Dispatch, Mar 20,
1919
Cafferata converted his bar into a combined
delicatessen, cigar store and soda fountain. The restaurant and
garden ran as usual, minus the alcohol. Supposedly . . .
A policeman in
civilian attire called for a highball at the cafe of John
Cafferata, 5901 Delmar boulevard, yesterday afternoon, and
Adolph Zimmerman, a waiter, served him something in a teacup.
The policeman said the drink contained real whisky and arrested
Zimmerman.
Later, when Cafferata called at the Page Boulevard police
station to see about getting the waiter out on bond, he, too,
was arrested on a charge of violating wartime prohibition and
the Sunday liquor law. He was in a cell for a half hour before
friends arrived with Federal bonds.
St. Louis Post-Dispatch, Sep 29,
1919
After multiple arrests, Cafferata decided to
close his bar. He continued the operation of his restaurant and sold
soft drinks at the tables.
It's no use fighting
them any longer. I'm through. We can't take the thing into the
courts, as it would cost more money than we could make between
now and January. I quit this afternoon.
St. Louis Star, Oct 29, 1919
But Cafferata wasn't finished skirmishing with
the authorities.
John Cafferata is not
worrying about the shortage in farm hands. He is getting his
spring plowing done for nothing on his farm in St. Louis County.
Several days ago, two dry enforcement agents appeared on the
place.
"Mr.
Cafferata has some whisky secreted about the place and we are
going to find it," they told the man in charge. Then they
searched the premises from roof to basement without result.
"Well, it must be in the ground,"
said one of them. "We'll plow up the place."
Cafferata bought an assortment of
seed today. "When my men are through plowing, “he said, “I am
going to plant my spring crop."
St. Louis Star, Mar 26, 1920
* *
* * *
John Cafferata died on September 20, 1922 of
chronic renal disease. He was 46 years old. His friends spoke fondly
of him.
He was generous as a
man could be. No one, except his widow, will ever know of the
good he has done. Sometimes ― too often ― he was too generous,
and he often gave to charity when he could ill afford it.
One of the distinguishing traits in
Cafferata's humor was that he could always crack a joke on
himself and enjoy it with the rest of us.
He was the last of the old school, a
real good fellow. We'll miss his "Everything all right? Sure
'nough?"
* *
* * *
Cafferata's estate, including his cafe, was
inherited by his widow, Christine. She took on management of
Cafferata's Cafe, but found the work arduous and the profit not in
proportion. In April of 1926, she sold the cafe to Joseph Cusamano.
She sold the equipment and goodwill, but refused to sell the name
"Cafferata," although offered a considerable sum.
Cusamano changed the cafe's name to "Marigold
Garden," operating it for two years before giving up the lease. The
space was occupied by China Garden, a Chinese restaurant, for about
a year.
In August of 1930, an application was filed by
the Firestone Tire and Rubber Company to raze the building at
Hamilton and Delmar to make way for a filling station.
On September 1, 1930, an "obituary" appeared in
the St. Louis Star.
Folks are too busy
these days to shed tears over scenery. Otherwise there might be
a deluge at the prospective tearing down of the old Cafferata
cafe and "garden" at Delmar and Hamilton, to make way for an oil
filling station. A blow hit the old-timers when Cicardi's, of
similar description, was razed at Euclid and Delmar. Cafferata's
struggled on. It refused to quit when prohibition came and the
Pershing theater next door permanently closed its doors. Its
owner died and new hands took hold. They could not survive
merely serving good food when so many speakeasies in the
neighborhood were serving drinks. Delmar changed from a street
to a boulevard. New hotels, bank buildings and shops were built.
The auto came and made Delmar a speedway. The Wabash built its
new passenger station nearby, but still Cafferata’s fell behind.
It was out of step with the fast modern gait. Delmar, laid out
as a fine residence street, had changed permanently to business.
Society went to newer cafes in less noisy neighborhoods. And now
the wreckers are at work.
Nevertheless, the aroma of thick,
juicy steaks and the reflection of amber and other colored
fluids always will linger around that corner. No odor of
gasoline and lubricating oil can drown it out. There ought to be
a bronze tablet in the sidewalk: "On this spot Conviviality was
killed."
